#i’ve been practicing being okay w the physical part (like shaking someone’s hand)

[danothan]

[strictly speaking from my personal experiences]

the more i think abt how i've been touch-averse for most of my life, the more i'm realizing how gendered physical touch is

i'm thinking abt how i always let girls hug me or play w my hair bc i thought it was nice for them, but i never cared to initiate that kind of touch myself. and when it came to boys, i loved rough-housing w them, but they never fought back. it confused and frustrated me to the point that i was practically begging them to hit me so we could be even. i didn't rly understand that it wasn’t the same

but that was my way of connecting physically, that was me extending an olive branch for physical affection. i grew up mostly having guy friends, and it's all intricate rituals. they can’t hug or hold hands, but they can hit and push and pull, and you'd know that it was meant with affection. i never asked for hugs, but i did ask for this. but boys aren't allowed to hit girls, so i never got the favor returned to me, and i just internalized the subtext instead

i didn't lack physical affection growing up, but it didn't make it feel any less isolating. i wasn't getting it from my female friends bc i didn't care abt that kind of touch, and i didn't get it from my male friends bc they couldn’t touch me like that. idk why i had this distinction in my head back then tbh

now that i’m older, i understand how girls hug, and how boys fight, and how they overlap and intertwine, and how it’s actually all the same, and how i’ve closed myself off to it all either way bc i can only associate human contact w contamination and invasiveness (thanks a lot, ocd)

we need to make adult recess a thing. i need a reason to hug guys and fight girls (affectionate)

[whaleofatjme1920]

The Ends of Hallways (Proxies X F!Reader)

The Ends of Hallways

[Proxies X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight language]

[AN: Y'all are just gonna have to thank Eris for always sending me the best requests. I don't have favorites,,, but Reader, I have favorites. Also no Kate sorry :( ]

Your face was practically squished against the glass of the car Hoodie had stolen as the four of you pull into the parking lot of woods that brim with the Operator’s energy. You’ve never seen these woods in person - only in dreams. You’ve never even really seen your master in person, once again, like these woods, he too has been confined to your dreams. But you hear him, and often. His voice falls down on your ears like gentle rains that fall from the heavens. He is everything and more. That is why it is so exciting for you to finally be here, so close to him, and to his presence.

“You excited?” You hear your group leader ask.

You nod and press harder up against the glass. “Are we going now?” You’re ready to bounce out of the car and everyone can see that.

He chuckles in response. “What do you think Hood? Time to go?”

The hazel eyed man behind him shoots the driver a look. “Masky, just look at her, she’s gonna break the window if we don’t.” There’s a slight playfulness in his tone that tells you the right hand really isn’t annoyed with you.

“Fair enough,” Masky smiles. He then reaches behind his seat, hand slapping at who used to be the runt’s knee. “Tobes? Tob-Tobes, get up.”

Toby’s eyes shoot open as he lurches forward. “I’m u-u-up, I-I’m u-up,” he yawns as his hands rub tiredly at his eyes. “Are w-w-we here a-alaready?” He asks, the exhaustion still clear in his tone.

Both of the men in the front seats nod. “C’mon, let’s get going,” Hoodie says as he pulls up the lock on his car door before sliding out.

You wait impatiently for Masky to unlock the car then zip out like a bat from hell. You’re immediately at the edge of one of the forest’s many trails and taking in the sights and sounds of your boss’s woods. They’re beautiful, really. The autumn colors bathe the woods in fiery oranges and passionate reds with threads of gold to interlock it all together. The sky is just the slightest shade of blue as clouds cover the sun. There weren’t any people here either - not under the little structures, not exploring, not anyone but you and your comrades.

“Wrong one,” Hoodie says as he closes the trunk to the car before tossing a backpack to Toby, who catches it like second nature.

You whip your head around to see that Masky, Hoodie and Toby are smiling at how excited you are before silently asking you to follow them. “Where are we going?” You ask, eyes wide as you jog up to them.

“Across the field. There’s this cool tunnel of trees we think you’ll appreciate,” Masky replies as he leads his group across the grass. It crunches slightly as the four of you move, like it hasn’t been watered in a long time.

“R-Really?” Toby hums as he puts his hands in his pockets. “You s-s-sure we’re n-not gonna be l-late?” The young proxy gives a slight look to his group leader, eyebrow raised as if he’s sure the Operator is okay with them possibly being tardy.

Masky shakes his head before tapping his temple with his free hand, “he told me it’s okay.”

“He did?” You ask as stars cloud your eyes. The Operator, as you’ve heard so far, is to be feared and respected. He’s like a father you can look at but never touch. He seems so out of your range, like he’s not even visible - not even if you squint your eyes. You wonder what makes you so… interesting… in his eyes. You really don’t think you’re worth all the fuss. Clearly he does.

Masky chuckles before ruffling your hair with his hand, “yeah. I think he finds your enthusiasm endearing.” Masky’s not entirely incorrect. When they first got Toby, the Operator was strangely favorable towards the young proxy as well - maybe because he was hand plucked, special, and therefore deemed worthy of his time. You were similar to Toby, albeit, you accidentally got involved with the Operator. He liked you, chose you, then kept you.

Hoodie whistles slightly as the four of you step into the trees, his gloved hand reaching up to tear off a branch from one of the low hanging trees then swing it aimlessly as his side. “Seems pretty obvious in my opinion,” he whacks Toby lightly with the stick making said proxy laugh. “Looks like Toby isn’t the only golden child anymore.”

“P-Probably not,” Toby hums, a slight melancholy coming into his tone. “Think I-I’ve been losing f-f-favor with h-hin for a w-while.” He glances over his shoulder and smiles at you.

You frown slightly and place your hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just means he has two golden child-s now.”

Toby beams.

You do too.

The group continues to move through the trees, mostly silent save for Masky and Hoodie pointing out little memories from time to time. Things such as some guy named ‘Alex’ chasing them through here, Masky’s waking up with no memory, Hoodie’s nature shots, and everything in between. You learn a lot about the hands of your group from when they were just scared film students to the things they’ve done as proxies here. It’s kind of nice as you’ve never really spoken to them this way before.

When you first came into this life and were placed in this group, the hazing process kicked in like wildfire. Almost every day was a mentally or physically, sometimes both, a draining task and a bonding agent. Authority was not to be questioned and they made that more than clear. Eventually, the hazing grew lighter and lighter until it just… didn’t exist. That was how it went - you were no longer considered naive and starry eyed. Still, authority was not to be questioned, and it’s why you and your comrades have never really talked on this specific level before.

It’s why it’s such a treat that you get to talk to them like this now.

Eventually, the four of you make it to an odd stretch of trees. They tunnel over each other, a lot like a thorny funnel, but they frame the sky so well.

“If the sun was setting,” Masky starts. “It would look like a cradle.”

You take a step back and observe the tunnel of trees, trying to imagine the setting sun. The mental image is pretty. “Will we ever be back here to see it?”

“Oh definitely,” Masky continues. “But uh, the business we’re here for today? Don’t know if that’s meant for anyone but me and maybe Hoodie.”

You look on instinct to Hoodie who nods. “Is that normal?”

“Sure is,” Hoodie says as he takes in the scent of the cooling autumn woods. He knows the group is almost to the limits of the Operator’s realm. “Tell me what you feel right now, Reader,” he says in passing as he flicks the stick somewhere off the given trail.

With a glance around at your surroundings, you attempt to get a feel for the area you’re in. It’s cold, much colder, but the atmosphere still feels a little thick. The further you go into the woods (and by extension the Operator’s bounds to which you don’t even know exist yet), you get that odd feeling in your legs that feels like they’ve fallen asleep. It’s like the physical sensation of static. You try to explain it in words, but they fail. Instead, you allow Hoodie into your thoughts.

“Nice,” he smiles. “Alright, try to ask for permission in.”

“I need to ask for permission?”

“E-Everytime,” Toby begins as he and the others pause. They’re right on the edge of the bubble and can feel it so much stronger than you can. “It’s t-to ensure n-normal humans c-can’t come in,” Toby begins to explain as you gaze around your surroundings, wondering how you’ll even begin to ask. “T-Though, their f-feelings sometimes k-kick into o-overdrive and they e-end up p-piercing through the v-veil on a-a-accident.” He chuckles softly and you know exactly what he’s referring to - you’ve heard tales of the people who get stuck wandering where they shouldn’t: always ends in someone strung up in the pines. “W-We’ve all learned t-to ask p-permission like b-breathing.”

You shoot your comrade a confused glance, wondering what that will mean for you. “I just ask?”

“Kind o-of,” Toby says. “Just l-let your f-f-feelings guide you. She’ll t-t-tell you whether you’re a-a-allowed in or not.”

You close your eyes and begin to hone in on whatever your heart is telling you. It’s a cold feeling, mostly like vines that slip up and down your limbs as they grow upwards and then inwards towards your heart. It’s an odd feeling. Once the static vines pierce through your heart, you physically see a fog roll into the forest around you. It consumes you and your comrades before you remember Toby mentioned ‘she.’ The fog thickens. “Wait, she?” You say as the static begins to leave your system. It feels like you’re tearing through roots as you walk forward.

“He didn’t mean it,” Masky quickly replies as he begins to pull you through the fog. “Good job on asking though. Strong response,” he says as gestures to the fog, his hand swimming through the billowy clouds. “Wives’ tale is the stronger the fog, the more genuine you were in response.”

You wade your fingers through the thick fog as you and the others walk forward, deeper and deeper into the darkness where there was none. “Must’ve had a really genuine response, huh?” You mumble to yourself. The fog doesn’t even feel like normal fog - it feels thick and heavy and leaves slight dew on your clothing as you walk. How interesting.

‘Head talk from here on out,’ Hoodie says as the four of you reach a stretch of woods that feels slightly dangerous.

‘Did you feel it too?’ Toby asks, his hand at his hatchet.

Hoodie nods slightly, his eyes narrowing as he slows his pace so he’s guarding the back. He gives you a slightly concerned look as the fog evens out. Everyone but you knows that they’re in perhaps one of the most dangerous parts of the veil. The Operator’s mere presence is usually enough to deter the things like the Rake from his grounds, but that often means they get trapped here - in the in-between - and lash out on the first thing they sense. The sooner the four of you get out of this dangerous spot, the better.

‘What do you sense?’ You ask, cutting mentally through the rough silence, your own hand moving to your blade.

Hoodie looks like he’s about to answer you before he holds his fist up and the other three of you duck down instantly, dipping below the fog. Just then, some deer begin walking past.

‘Deer?’ You say in a questioning tone.

‘Not just any deer,’ Hoodie begins as the deer slowly nibbles on the leaves and other things. ‘Take a good look at their bodies. They look normal to you?’

You narrow your eyes slightly and get used to peering through the fog as the deer pass. Eventually, you’re able to look at their coats. There’s something off about them, something wrong. Something you can’t quite place. The longer you watch them as they move in front of you, the stronger that off feeling gets. They have every physical part of the deer down but it’s just not right. It’s like their joints don’t fit well beneath their skin. And their eyes… Their eyes are completely hollow.

‘You see it?’ Masky asks as the last of the deer passes by. He glances over his shoulder briefly to see you nod. ‘We’re lucky they didn’t change this time,’ he mumbles, slowly inching forward while crouched against the earth.

‘What would’ve happened if they changed?’ You inquire, moving quietly alongside your comrades.

‘Nightmare fuel,’ Toby finally pipes in. ‘Nothing about them looks right. Big mouths full of sharp teeth, black eyes, too many limbs, like a messed up centipede,’ he finishes, a slight shudder coming into his mental tone.

You notice the other two of your group members nodding in agreement before finally deeming it safe enough to stand up and finally exit the in-between of the veil.

You’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful, rustic looking Germanic mansion surrounded by iron gates that hold honeycomb patterns that trail skywards only to end on sharp peaks that you’re almost certain your boss has spiked people on plenty of times. There’s also flowers of every kind in the front gardens that catch your eyes the moment you step through the grand gates. There’s fountains and topiaires, statues and benches that tell you the Operator drips with style and elegance.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Masky smiles.

You nod, “it’s gorgeous.” The air smells slightly expensive, but mostly sweet. How is it that a place like this can even possibly exist? Around the mansion are autumnal trees, mostly maple, some sycamore and other birch. Scattered on the front lawn are other proxies and some independents, mostly catching up and talking before leaving through the same gates you entered from. Some of them smile and wave as they pass you, others grunt and turn their nose up at you upon realizing you’re the youngest. This place sings with the Operator’s overwhelming presence.

Your comrades continue to watch your amused expression as they lead you to the front doors of the mansion. They’re large and stained glass, slightly gothic in woodwork and tower over you.

“Go ahead,” Hoodie chuckles as he nods for you to open the doors.

You glance back to him, then at the large doors before tentatively placing your hands on their surface. With a small breath, you push them open and find yourself greeted to the most exquisite foyer you’ve ever seen. Large chandeliers hang from the ceiling, sapphires and rubies drip from the fixtures and shine the light beautifully across the marble floors. Gold leaf adorns almost everything that juts out while the huge staircase in front of you beckons you forward.

“Doesn’t seem like he needs us yet,” Masky says as he checks his watch. “Got here earlier than expected, huh?” He lightly ribs Hoodie who rolls his eyes in response. “C’mon, let’s go to the sun room. Don’t wanna wait around in here.” He nods for the three of you to follow.

Toby clears his throat slightly as if to remind the two in charge that you’re still very much here and new.

“Oh, right,” Masky says. “Reader, this is super important, so listen up,” your group leader begins as he turns on his heels to eventually rest his hands on your shoulders.

You raise a brow at his sudden contact. Masky normally didn’t touch you unless what he had to say was important - which really, really didn’t happen often.

“This mansion likes to play off your thoughts, feelings, and logic,” he says, his hand gesturing to the staircase that’s slowly moving directions. You didn’t even hear it begin to shift. “The Operator usually keeps things in line for when he summons you, it’s almost a guaranteed path you’ll make it to him, but,” his eyes go serious. “If it’s just you and you’re moving around, you need to have a place in mind or it’ll accidentally spit you out somewhere totally random. We’ve had people get lost in here because the mansion is slightly playful and weirdly baneful depending on the individual walking around.”

“The Operator has a playful side?”

Masky stifles a laugh before shaking you lightly. “I legitimately mean it, you need to have a place in mind or you’re gonna get lost and the Operator isn’t gonna be happy. By extension, I won’t be happy because I need to come get you.”

“Mhm,” Hoodie nods in agreement. “And you can’t have the thought in passing either, it’s gotta be on your mind until it’s in sight.” After Hoodie’s words leave his mouth, Masky lets you go.

You take all the information in and wonder just what makes the place run. It’s like it has its own personality - it’s playful and baneful? You have to ask it permission to even enter its grounds and it deems whether you’re worthy or not? What kind of power does the Operator even have and why on earth would he even care about that kind of stuff? If he truly wanted his proxies to access him, he’d do it with no hesitation. The humans that would wander into his rooms would just end up tasting someone’s blade.

“Sun room?” Hoodie reminds Masky.

Your entire walk to the sun room you try to conjure a mental image in your head. They say it’s doubtful you’ll get lost so long as you’re with them, but you consider it good practice. When you finally make it to the sun room, you’re pleased to see it’s relatively empty save for a few groups interspersed in the large, window adorned room overlooking a silver lake. There’s a few independents walking around with carts holding different tea time finger-foods and waiting tea sets on every table. Maasky leads you over to one of the tables nearest to the view of the lake.

“So, what business exactly are we here for today?” You ask as you waste no time in pouring yourself some tea.

Masky shrugs, “no idea. He said he just wanted us to come.”

“T-Think he r-really only n-needs an audience w-with them though,” Toby adds before silently thanking you for pouring him some tea as well. “L-Leaves us some t-t-time to chat. Y’know, t-the thing H-Hood hates us d-doing,” he lightly jokes.

Hoodie scoffs and feigns being annoyed, “I only hate you two chatting when we’re in the middle of tearing out some guy’s entrails.”

“Y-Yeah, which is a-all the time,” Toby giggles.

You laugh as well.

The four of you are in a heated argument about something relatively stupid when static overtakes Masky and Hoodie’s hearing. They visibly pause, as if they’re trying to key into something you can’t understand when it suddenly stops.

“Have t-to go?” Toby inquires before taking a strawberry tart and popping it into his mouth.

Both Masky and Hoodie nod.

“Yeah. Keep an eye on Reader, please? We won’t be too long,” Masky replies with a small, tired smile.

Toby flashes the two a thumbs up before the both of you watch them leave, a clear destination on their minds.

It’s not long until Toby gets distracted by some other independents that stroll into the mansion. You recognize the two of them as relatively minor legends - well, maybe not the one with the smile. His name is Jeff.

“So, this is your fresh meat, huh?” Jeff chuckles as he lightly pushes Toby’s shoulder. “She looks a little scrawny. Are you feeding her right?”

Toby laughs and nods, “Masky w-w-would lose his m-mind if you s-s-said that.”

Jeff’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “I’m joking,” he holds his hand up as a sign of truce. “Hope you know you’re running with one of the only decent groups out there, Reader,” he says before picking up his tea cup. It looks slightly comical as he brings it to his lips.

You offer him a smile and nod, “yeah, I know.”

The man to Jeff’s left nods in agreement, “Masky’s really good at what he does. Got one of the best.”

Toby immediately fights the notion (playfully) and the three engage in conversation that’s lively and vibrant all the same. You listen to the three verbally duke it out before you find yourself bored. You can’t just leave though, but you want to move at the same time.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I excuse myself?”

“W-Where to?”

“Washroom,” you reply.

“Do y-you need m-me to a-accompany y-y-you?”

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff scoff.

“She’s a big girl, let her go,” Jeff says as he nods his own approval for you to go. “You told her about the mindset thing?”

Toby nods.

“Yeah, then she’s good to go,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

You flash the men at your table a smile before getting up. You push in your chair and then make it to the entrance of the sunroom, leading into the halls. You don’t have a set destination in mind. The moment you step out of the sunroom, you feel the air change. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s different. On instinct, you turn your gaze over your shoulder to see the sunroom is gone. It’s just hall and lining the hall are doors upon doors.

Alright, you can work with that! A small smile comes to your face as you begin to walk forwards, allowing your curiosity to bloom. The first door you decide to open is one that’s honestly not that exciting. It was just a storage unit. Another was a study. Then it was someone’s room. Another room. And another. How many residence rooms are there?

You close yet another door and then feel a thought come into your head, taking a seat on your train of thought like a butterfly sunbathes on a flower. She - Toby had mentioned it. And you wondered. You let the thought stay. Before you know it, you’re walking through the halls guided by forces you don’t quite understand, and the further you get into the mansion, the stranger the atmosphere becomes. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s not a normal feeling either. You watch as the light fixtures change from something relatively modern and regress into something more vintage. The dust begins to kick up. Irish lace begins to pepper the ceiling. You notice how the doors change style as well. How strange.

Eventually, you reach a dead end stretch of hall. At the very end of this hall is a singular door that looks weathered, as if it was sunbleached and painted over in oils. There’s an elegance to it you can’t quite place, and like a siren song, you find yourself being beckoned to it. Your proxy instincts kick in like second nature the closer you draw to it. You feel your breathing lighten, your steps as well, and you move towards it with a silence that is unmatched - as if you’re floating on air. You draw closer and closer to the door. It’s so magnetic, and you can’t quite explain why/ But closer still you must be to it.

Your hand tenderly grasps the doorknob - it feels like ice - and you twist it open. You wonder if you should be doing this. A part of you feels like you shouldn’t be doing this, but another part of you says this is what you were meant to see. You push the door open ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see inside, but the door is heavy, almost as if it doesn’t want you to. Like it’s trying to protect you from something further. You wonder if it just wishes to keep its secrets.

It’s gorgeous, it truly is. It puts the rest of the mansion to shame. It looks old - perhaps from 16th century Germany and fit for royalty. Plants of all kinds line the walls. They look like emeralds as light shines through their leaves. The sunlight kisses the flowers that sprout from the stalks. Beautiful woodwork surrounds the windows that are covered in fairytale-esque stained glass pieces. The scent is of something much, much sweeter and warmer than the rest of the mansion. Your eyes then draw to the center of the room, where an ornate table sits. There’s gold leaf decorating its legs followed by symbols you can’t really pin down. A tablecloth that looks like it was weaved from the stars above is the only thing that separates a delicate tea set from the precious mahogany table. The tea smells heavenly from where you stand.

Before you can press into the room, you pause upon seeing slender, pale hands take hold of the tea pot. Your eyes follow upwards to the owner of the hands only to see a woman so much more beautiful than the moon in twilight and the sun in the morning. Falling from her shoulders was golden hair that looked like a sea of amber as it cascaded down near the floor. Flowers were woven into it - mostly snowdrops, baby’s breath and queen Anne’s lace. She’s dressed in something from medieval Europe, and never once does her sleeve touch the table. She begins to pour herself some tea, a honey like hum coming from her being as she pours the sweet liquid. Her eyes flick upwards for but a moment when she hears a bird chirping outside. Her eyes are so dark, there exists no white sclera. They’re so dark, like black holes that hide in the depths of space, but you feel as if she holds the universe inside of them. She’s so beautiful, you’re not sure she’s real. A cat has jumped up onto the table, purring at her. When she smiles, your heart sings.

You want to say hello to her and spend time in her presence when you attempt to open the door some more. It creaks slightly. The hinges are ancient. Before you can say anything, the door is slammed shut, sending you flying backwards. You let out a sound of shock before seeing Toby reaching down to get you.

“What t-the hell a-a-are you thinking?” He hisses as he picks you up, grabbing your bicep and beginning to drag you away from the door that still holds your attention. “You r-really just w-wandered off l-like that?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, attempting to get free of his grasp as he continues to pull you along. No matter how hard you smack at him, he doesn’t let go.

“M-Masky said it’s not s-safe for y-y-you to wander o-off. A-And without m-me? D-D-Did you have a-any cognitive t-t-thought when you w-went out on a l-limb like t-that?” He sounds so heated.

You find he’s bringing you back to the sunroom, undoubtedly going to tell Masky and Hoodie about your misbehavior. “Why are you being so weird?” You retort as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. “It’s just a room!” You cry out in an exasperated tone.

Toby only reprimands you louder. It’s a losing game.

You eventually find yourself back in the sunroom. Only, instead of Eyeless Jack and Jeff, you see the deeply concerned and slightly pissed off faces of Masky and Hoodie. They’re not happy to see you, and you’re not exactly thrilled to see you either.

“Take a s-s-seat,” Toby says in a harsh tone as he thrusts you back into your seat.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Masky asks, not even attempting to mask his voice because that’s the privilege of being a proxy. You’re able to reprimand your proxies without anyone giving a care.

“You can’t just go off like that,” Hoodie continues as he furrows his brows. “You could’ve gotten-”

“Hurt? This is the Operator’s mansion, what the fuck is gonna hurt me in here other than himself or you two?”

“That’s it,” Masky points out. “He can seriously hurt you if you snoop where you shouldn’t!” His hands grips at your wrist, tightening to a point of pain.

When you feel tears prick your eyes, Hoodie sighs and puts his hand on Masky’s shoulder, “stop it.”

Masky hesitantly lets you go.

“What did you see?” Hoodie asks with a deep sigh, his posture tensing. He’s really hoping you didn’t see the Operator’s trophy room.

You give your comrades a concerned look, not sure whether you should answer or not when Hoodie raises a slight brow. Damn it. You’re emotionally compromised. He’s seeing what he needs to without your permission.

“That’s… Odd…” He says.

Masky glances to Hoodie. “No.”

“Unfortunately, I think yeah,” Hoodie says with a growing frown. He glances to Toby for confirmation, and upon seeing Toby’s nod, says “yeah,” again.

Masky groans and puts his face into his hands, finding comfort in being buried into himself.

You hold your wrist in your hand and lean back in your chair. “Just… What is it you guys aren’t telling me?” You question, hoping they’d just bite the bullet and tell you.

The group shares a look, debating whether they should even say it or not. When no one says anything, you press them again.

“Come on,” you sigh. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It really could be,” Masky says as he finally releases his face from his hands. “No one knows what seeing it does.”

Your eyes widen before you bark a laugh. “What?”

“No, he’s serious,” Hoodie picks up. “Seeing that door is rare, like, rainbow pikachu rare. Proxies think it’s an omen or a bad luck thing. To see it means a group’s eventual demise.”

You briefly scoff at the thought of proxies being superstitious before you remember some of you can actually cast portals. It’s really not that out of pocket.

“N-No one has e-e-ever found o-out though,” Toby shrugs. “W-We just know t-that the g-groups that h-h-have n-normally e-end in death.” He looks a little uncomfortable as he says the words, like there’s a legitimate truth to what he’s saying even though he’d rather it be utter BS.

“To be fair, we thought it was a rumor prior to you sneaking off,” Hoodie says as he tries to calm down his group.

You take in this information with a small frown. How could something that beautiful be that evil or a harbinger of doom? The thought of it left you perplexed as your comrades continued to lecture you on not wandering off until Masky and Hoodie were called away.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving Reader here with-”

Toby rolls his eyes, “you c-cant just s-say you want m-me to come with i-instead. N-Not need to insult m-my competence a-a-as a babysitter,” he mumbles before glancing down to his hatchets.

Masky sighs and nods for Toby to follow him out. Looks like it’s just you and Hoodie.

“So,” you awkwardly begin, not really sure what to do or what to say.

“So,” Hoodie hums back. “Anywhere you wanted to go?” When he sees the glint in your eyes, he shakes his head. “Like, a normal place. We’re gonna be here for a while while those two are out,” he chuckles, watching as you visibly deflate.

You allow the question to bang around in your head until you nod with a thought in mind. “The library. I’d like to go to the library.”

Hoodie smiles at that suggestion and finishes the rest of his tea before standing up. He stretches for a moment, then leads you to the hallway your original snooping began. You noticed as his thoughts immediately became clouded with the word and vision of ‘library’ as the two of you trekked the halls. As you walked, you barely recognized any of the doors you passed. They weren’t on your radar, which was odd in your opinion as you had opened a lot of door you probably shouldn’t have.

Eventually, you reach two large oak doors. Hoodie pushes them open and you’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful library. It’s impossibly huge - how could such a place exist in the mansion? You’re well aware it’s a huge place, but the fact that all of this is here… It’s bigger than a downtown city library you visited when passing through Chicago a few months ago. The Operator’s influence is beautiful, isn’t it?

“I’m gonna be in the sci-fi section,” Hoodie says as he nods over to the right wing of the library. “It’s on the second floor.” You notice the spiral staircase that leads to what appears to be a balcony - it must stretch backwards forever. “Check in with me in about 15 minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” It’s surprising how relaxed he’s being with you. You would have expected someone like Hoodie to be a lot angerier and more observational.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you nod and flash him a thumb’s up before bounding over to the left wing of the library. Nothing is properly labeled, but you get a strong bout of intuition where everything is. Right now, you’re on the hunt for history.

The aisle that holds the history books looks just as old as you would have expected it to. The books here aren’t any you’ve ever seen in stores either - they’re largely from the time period they’re to be representing. Some are more modern, but you get the feeling that they don’t exist anywhere else but under the Operator’s influence. You find a few books that talk about the early history of proxies, some on independents, but nothing to inform you on what you had found.

It’s honestly a little maddening. You check in with Hoodie when you have to - he asks you to list the spines of the books you’re currently looking at - and then you’re back to your fruitless search. You run up and down the halls of the history section looking for anything when you hear static begin to buzz in your heads. The feeling travels upwards like the vines you felt earlier from your heels to your chest. When they claw deep into your heart, you feel a pull. And once again, like a sailor beckoned to the rocks due to a siren’s song, you follow it.

It twists and turns you through the shelves, making you zip past the few proxies and independents that are currently visiting this wing of the library before you’re drawn to a rotunda. You look backwards and see in the distance the front doors of the library. When did this place get a middle wing? It was just straight shelves and a wall with large windows overlooking the rolling hills of the woods. You turn your attention upwards to the ceiling of the rotunda. There’s a large skylight that allows sunlight to cascade down. Around that are gems you don’t even know the name of that weave a mosaic of something positively divine. You allow your gaze to follow the shaft of warm sunlight down, and there, sitting at a table with a book in hand (it looks like a journal) is the Operator himself.

“S-Sir!” You manage to squeak out as you find yourself startled to be in his presence, Heat rises to your cheeks when he looks up from his book to turn his attention to you.

“How did you get here?” He asks, confusion etching his body as he curiously tilts his head.

Your breath hitches. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, bowing your head almost immediately. “I don’t know how I got here. It just felt like a pull and suddenly I was here? I was in the left wing and looking over history books and I-” you continue to rattle off until the Operator holds up his hand, silently signaling you to stop. You do so as soon as he asks.

“I-. It’s no matter,” he waves off. “Come, sit down beside me.” An inky black tendril sprouts from his back as he pulls the chair in front of him out, allowing you to sit in his presence.

You will your stone-like legs forward and attempt to gracefully take a seat in front of him. It’s a slightly awkward silence before he speaks again.

“How have you been, Miss Reader?”

“I’m alright,” you reply, voice no higher than a whisper.

The Operator hums. “Good.”

Another pregnant pause.

“Child, where is your book?”

“I uh, didn’t grab one?” You answer softly. You can tell the Operator is looking at you with what he can convey to his fullest as confusion. “When I was pulled here I just.. Followed,” you attempt to explain. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“And what have you done today?” He asks, giving his passing attention to you like a father would.

You bite your lip before steering the conversation towards the room you saw. “I think I met someone.”

“You did, did you?”There’s a passing interest as if he’s saying ‘that’s nice, honey.’

You nod. “She was in a tea room-”

He pauses.

“I found her by accident-”

He makes sure he’s hearing you correctly.

“Her hair was golden-”

He looks up.

“She had plants-”

He’s sitting upright now.

“She had a cat-”

He leans forward.

“Her smile rivaled the stars-”

He’s focusing so intently on you now.

“Her voice was like honey-”

He entirely focused on you.

“She was beautiful.”

The Operator’s ichor pauses for just a moment as he takes in the description of the woman you described. It makes a part of him sing and another part of him sob. He hasn’t heard of her in so, so long.

When you look up, you see the Operator practically leaned halfway over the table and entirely focused on you. It makes you jump. “I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, thinking you saw something you shouldn’t have. “I wasn’t thinking and I uh, think the mansion led me to her?”

The Operator wordlessly nods. “Was she pouring tea?” He asked, voice so much gentler than anything you could ever expect him to conjure up.

You slowly nod. “She was.”

The Operator suddenly slumps down, making you jolt. You rise on instinct to help him when he waves you back down. “Do you realize who you’ve come into contact with?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I’m afraid not, Sir,” you say with slight remorse.

The Operator chuckles deeply - it rumbles his chest and in your head. “You found her.” He could smile, you were sure it would be from ear to ear if he had the correct facial features. “All these years later and you found her.” He emphasizes you like a bittersweet affirmation.

“Who is she?” You ask softly.

Your boss sits back up again. “Someone who loves me,” his tendril sprouts once again from his back and moves towards you. “Someone who loves you,” it taps your nose. “Someone who loves us.” The tendril makes a grand, sweeping gesture.

You take in the words and nod, still not knowing what they mean. Upon seeing your confusion, he decides to elaborate.

“A long, long time ago, in a realm you could not begin to fathom, there was light and there was dark,” he begins, his voice slipping into something akin to someone saying a bedtime story. “I was the light, and that cur we call Zalgo was the dark.”

You scrunch your nose at the sound of his name.

“The dark and the light were born from nothing, and she was beautiful.” His audible smile is actually endearing to hear. “Throughout the years, the light and the dark fought, constantly at each other's throats. It was woven in the threads of history, it had been our birthright. When we came to this place, this planet after being cast from our home - a palace amongst all palaces, a kingdom that rose far above any other, the nothingness came with us. She called herself Liebevolle Frau. She loved her children.” By this point in the story, the Operator has taken the liquids from the coffee cup he drinks from and animated them into the characters for this story.

You watch with stars in your eyes.

“But no guardian is without its favorites, and I happened to be hers.” Liebevolle Frau’s figure was shown sheltering the Operator’s much smaller one. “And this caused a rift that could not be mended through the light and dark. Eventually, the dark waged war on the light.”

It’s a war you’re still fighting to this day.

“In the 1500s, long after this mansion had been built and my power continued to grow, Zalgo had almost wiped us off the face of the earth to splatter out remains across all the five realms. Liebevolle Frau, thought caught off guard,” that would explain the tea, “sheltered me and protected this place and all who resided in it. At the time,” the Operator looks at you. “Independents and proxies had lived here much more commonly than they do now.”

You smile softly.

“Liebevolle Frau’s power had been pushed to its limit in holding back her first born son, and mind, as well as her heart, broke because of it. In her remaining moments of lucidity, she imbued herself, her soul,” the liquids take the form of something fluttering and soft, like a bird, “her everything, and became the place I hold jurisdiction over today.”

Your eyes widen as you think back to the odd feelings you’ve had coming here for today - and Toby’s slip-up.

“I have not been able to find her since the late 1500s,” The Operator explains as the liquids dance back into the coffee mug, the figure of Liebevolle Frau taking a hair longer than the rest. “She lives in everything.”

You’re honestly speechless over everything the Operator has said because it’s so… It’s strangely heartfelt. You’ve never even spoken face to face with your boss and when you do, it’s because some force is guiding you to do so. But if that force felt so alive, it must have meant she wanted you to know.

“Her physical form,” you finally manage to wisp out. “She wanted to be at peace, didn’t she?”

The Operator chuckles deeply. “I would assume so.”

Before you can respond to anything or even come up with another response, you hear both Masky AND Hoodie yelling for you in your head. The jarring difference between your boss’s gentle voice and Masky and Hoodie crying out for blood is enough to make you jump (once again).

Upon seeing your sudden switch in atmosphere, the Operator hushes the voices in your head and calls them to his side.

Toby is the first to show up though, and quickly trailing after him is Masky and Hoodie. They both look ready to reprimand you but upon seeing you sitting with the Operator, nothing but reverence crosses their minds and bodies.

“Good evening, Sir,” Masky says as he bows his head. “Are you well?”

“Thoughtful, aren't you, Timothy?” There’s no animosity or anger in the Operator’s tone, but it makes Masky blush all the same.

A pregnant pause passes.

“I was just speaking with your newest member, Miss Reader,” a pale hand gestures to you. “Come, join us. I could use the company.”

You watch as confused glances get shared between your three comrades before they take a seat beside you.

A pleasant silence passes through the air before a gentle humming that’s sweeter than honey overtakes it like a passing breeze.

[amazingmsme]

Hot Boy Summer

AN: Here’s my fic for the @ticklesofcolor fic exchange! I wrote for @calmturquoise & I had a blast writing this fic for you! So sorry for the delay, I just finished up with my associates & I had to write 2 final papers. I hope you’re okay that I was liberal with your prompt, since I went with Zuko & Sokka it would kind of be hard for him to use his bending to tickle someone, but I still tried to incorporate it! I also completely threw in the towel with this title. I hope you enjoy it! Sokka & Zuko just play off of each other so well.

Zuko was hot. Like strictly temperature wise Sokka told himself. But firebending proved to be quite useful to him. When they were camping, he was the warmest to sit next to. Not to mention, he made great fires for roasting weenies and marshmallows. But Sokka's favorite thing about it was that it meant he was pretty easy to tick off, which made for good fun.

He would never actually get too angry, so he assumed he didn't actually mind it all that much. And the truth was, he didn't. Zuko never really had friends of his own, and the playful teasing, if annoying, was actually fun. The others picked up on the habits too. It ended up with Toph claiming Zuko as her body pillow to hug against while she slept.

"Hey, can you hold this?" Without waiting for an answer, Sokka shoved a wet clay bowl in Zuko's warm hands.

"Wha- uh- sure," he said, perplexed but not setting it down. Sokka's cheeks were puffed out like a frog from trying to contain his laughter. Zuko realized what he was trying to do and huffed to keep himself from chuckling along. "Hell no, go find a kiln," he said, shoving it back in Sokka's hands.

As annoying as it was, it made Zuko feel... accepted. Like he was actually a part of the group instead of the outcast he was so used to being. He thought that they would all hate him: fearing his flame and mistrusting of everything he did. But that wasn't the case. And it felt good. He felt like, maybe, he could return the playful teasing. Toph was surprisingly easy to embarrass when he mentioned how "hot" she must thing he is from cuddling him all the time. Coincidentally, an embarrassed Toph and an angry Toph we're pretty much one in the same, and a sharp rock had launched him several feet in the air.

Katara could see right through his attempts at teasing, at being friendly, but she was still not amused by him. Aang was too happy all the time to get a rise out of him, though it was still fun to mess with the young avatar. Sokka was the most fun however. He had a sense of humor, and even though Zuko's wasn't what you'd consider "good" the other boy could still recognize what was meant to be a joke or a tease and deliver one right back. He was dramatic, and therefore, very easy to evoke a reaction.

He couldn't help but notice how the rest of them were very physical. Like, they'd constantly be touching each other. At first he found it a little unsettling, but they had done a pretty good job of making him get used to it. And eventually, he began reaching out to them.

So when Sokka grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point to make a flame shoot out to toast a mallow. He snatched his hand back and shakes a finger in his face to scold him. "Alright I've had just about enough of you using me as your personal lighter!" he admonished, the smirk on his face revealing his amusement. Sokka's smirk was even wider. More smug and full of pride.

"Why? It's not like you'll do anything," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko glared at him. He was right, he'd probably just let it slide. Except he'd watched how they all play with each other and wanted them to know he could be fun like that too. He always hesitated to reach out, but he wanted to change. So they were both a little shocked when he shoved Sokka to the ground and sat on his legs, just above the knee. He blinked a few times then chuckled. "Nice try flambo, but it'll take more than just sitting on me to teach me a lesson," he sassed.

"I know," he said, looking down at him. He'd seen the others tickle Sokka to tears when he won't knock it off with the lame jokes, so he knew this method would be affective. Except, he didn't really know where to start. He'd never been in many tickle fights with his sister, and when he did he usually didn't win. But it had been years since he'd engaged with someone like this. But he'd watched enough, he was sure he could figure it out!

He gave a tentative poke to his belly, eliciting a quick squeak. Sokka's eyes widen and a nervous grin breaks out as he shook his head. Zuko placed a few more pokes to his stomach and sides before wiggling his fingers over the skin. Sokka was squirming and giggling lightly which... wasn't right. He'd seen the others get him, he should be howling with laughter. So why wasn't he?

"W-wohow you're really bahad at this," Sokka spoke fairly easily. Zuko huffed and shoved him against the ground and clambered away to stand. Sokka sighed and reached up, snatching his wrist. "Hey don't go, I was just teasing."

Zuko glared at the ground, lower lip jutting out slightly in a mix between a scowl and a pout. "Why not? It's true." When he didn't move to sit back down, Sokka yanked him to the ground, none too gently he might add.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that you know!" he complained, leaning to the side so he could rub his sore butt. Thankfully the grass cushioned his fall, but unexpectedly crashing down on your tailbone was never fun.

He shrugged. "I know, but it was the easiest way to make sure you wouldn't leave." He offered a softer, more genuine smile. "Besides, it's not your fault you don't know how. I doubt you had much time for goofing off like that," he said, his voice sympathetic. Zuko nodded shyly.

"Yeah, once mom was gone, things really picked up. And they were never easy before, but everything just got a lot more intense after that," he admitted. After keeping things bottled up all his life, it felt good to get it off his chest. Not all at once, but slowly; small things, like now.

Sokka seemed to mull something over in his head before deciding, "I can teach you if you want." Zuko blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I mean, I can't leave you all defenseless like that," he teased with a poke to his side. His lip twitched in a smile and he jerked away.

"Hey I can defend myself just fine! But um, who's our first target?" he asked slightly confused, staring out at the others spread around their small camp. "'Cause I think Aang'll be our best bet-" he rambled on, unaware of how Sokka was creeping up from behind.

"You are!" Zuko barely had time to process what he said before a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against Sokka's chest. He gasped as realization dawned on him and he tried to pry himself free.

"What? Why me? I-I can't learn like this!" he yelped. His friend only laughed.

"You will. You gotta know what different techniques feel like so you can get the best reactions. You gotta try different things 'cause certain things work better on some people," he explained. The way he was so casual about it just embarrassed Zuko even more.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I'm really more of a hands on kind of learner," he said as he squirmed. Sokka practically lit up.

"Then this is perfect! See? Hands-" he held them up for him to see before immediately diving for his stomach. "On!" Zuko practically screamed.

"Nohoho! Thihihis ihisn't fair!" he squealed through his laughter.

"What do you mean, of course it is! I'm giving you a lesson in tickling 101!" he chirped happily, kneading at his sides. Zuko cackled and doubled over, hands weakly prying at his wrists.

"Nohohot ohon mehehe!" he protested.

"Like I said, in order to tickle someone, you gotta know what different techniques feel like. There's light skittering," he said, demonstrating by spidering his fingers over his ribs. His laughter turned breathy and giggly, the squirming dying down as it became slightly more bearable. "Also quick squeezes," he said as he rapidly squeezed down his sides, making him squeal and twist back and forth. "Oh, and poking! But you seem to have that one down," he said, delivering quick pokes all over his torso.

"Ohohokahay I gehehet ihit! Stohop!" he cried out. Sokka shook his head.

"Not yet, the lesson's not over!" Suddenly, his hands shot down to squeeze his thighs. Zuko shrieked and kicked out, feet scrambling in the grass. "There's squeezing, oh! And kneading!" he said, switching tactics and demonstrating the new technique on his stomach. His laughter deepened as he desperately tried to squirm away, sucking in his belly and leaning away from the touch. This only succeeded in him pressing against Sokka even more, trapping him further in his hold.

"I can't believe I almost forgot one of the most important steps," Sokka said, managing to bring one arm up to smack himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

Zuko didn't want to know what he meant by that, but then again, he kind of did. Curiosity killed the cat. "W-whahahat's thahat?" he asked. Now that the other boy had brought it up, he simply had to know.

"Teasing of course!" he exclaimed. Oh no, he really shouldn't have asked. "Sokka nohoho dohon't!"

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head. "Are you too ticklish to handle it?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking tone. For some reason, that made the sensations even stronger and all the more maddening.

"Shuhuhut up mahahan!" he squealed, doubling over and pushing at his tickling hands. "You're really not in a position to be making demands," he said smugly. Zuko managed to growl through his laughter. Sokka chuckled at the noise.

"I can't believe it: even when you're giggling up a storm you still try to appear all broody and grouchy!" he taunted. His cheeks turned pink upon hearing this and he tried to hide his face in his hands.

"Sohohokka ohohokay! I gehet it nohohow!" he pleaded.

"Alright, last lesson. You know what raspberries are, right?" he asked. Zuko could remember how his mother would play with him when he was younger, sometimes blowing raspberries on his pudgy tummy or neck. His eyes widen and he shook his head.

"Don't you dahahare!" he tried to scold.

"Oh, I dare," Sokka said with a sly smirk, placing his lips on the nape of his neck and blew hard. A loud, wet fart noise filled the air along with Zuko's wild cackles. He arched his back as much as he could, squirming and thrashing in his hold. He managed to twist away and shoved Sokka's face back with a little more force than necessary.

Sokka's shit eating grin remained plastered on his face. "You're the worst," he spat out between panting breaths. He closed his eyes and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

"You're welcome." Zuko's blush burned brighter and he playfully punched his shoulder. "I didn't say thank you!"

"Yeah but you were thinking it," he teased further. "If you still suck at tickling then there's just no hope for you," he said, patting his back consolingly. A rare glint of mischief shined in Zuko's eyes.

"I think it's coming back to me... Only one way to find out." Before Sokka could react, he slammed into him with his shoulder, knocking him on his back. He wasted no time pinning him.

Sokka stated up at him in shock, already giggling with nerves. "C-can't we talk about this?"

Zuko smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nope."

[sserpente]

Ablaze (Part II)

A/N: I am way too excited about this TV series. I wonder how many theories will make sense in the end. Here goes Part II, enjoy everyone! ♥

Read Part I here.

Words: 4138 Warnings: there’s going to be a gory corpse

A dark scream ripped you from your uneasy sleep. Alarmed, you sat up straight, ready to defend yourself with the next-best weapon within your reach—a table lamp, in this case. But there was no one there to hurt you. Instead, you noticed Loki, the god who was practically holding you hostage in your own flat after setting the headquarters of TVA, the secret organisation monitoring the multiverse, on fire, thrashing in bed right next to you as if he was possessed. Wait… was he… dreaming?

“No…” He growled. “No!”

Still giddy, you switched on the table lamp and studied the heavily breathing Trickster by your side. His blue eyes were closed. So he was having a nightmare. Should you… should you wake him? What if he accidentally hurt you in his frenzy?

Biting your lower lip, and with your heart pounding in your chest like a steam hammer, you reached for him, carefully grabbing his bare shoulder. The singeing sensation of his remarkably cool skin under your palm made you flinch.

“L-Loki? Loki, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

You gasped for air, terrified, when he opened his eyes with a start, momentarily disoriented. His hand darted forward to snatch your wrist so firmly it hurt. You winced.

“Loki…”

It took him another moment to realise you were no threat to him. Finally, his deadly expression softened. His breath was shaky, sweat pooling on his forehead, his neck and even his chest, shimmering in the artificial light of your table lamp. It was, quite strangely, a sight which would have aroused you if it wasn’t for the fact he was a war and time criminal, held you captive and could have killed you in his sleep just a moment ago. God, how could you even think about his looks in this whole horrifying situation?

With a start, Loki let go of his wrists as if hot flames were licking at his cold fingers, defending your body.

He said nothing more. Instead, he merely turned his back to you again… almost as if nothing had happened at all. You would never find out that he noticed you spent the majority of the rest of the night wide awake. But so did he.

-

Drowsily, you blinked against the gentle sunlight fighting its way through your curtains. It was a beautiful morning, peaceful. You sat up, your eyes registering an empty mug and a dark stain on your carpet.

Your heart skipped a beat when you remembered. Last night, you had involuntarily fallen asleep next to the God of Mischief who had taken you hostage in your own flat after destroying TVA’s headquarters like a house made of LEGO bricks. You remembered his nightmare, too. The way he had had jerked and grunted, almost as if his own subconscious was inflicting serious pain on him… as if it was torturing him. What, for Heaven’s sake, caused such terrifying bad dreams? What… what had he been through opening and travelling through all those portals on your radar?

You were in danger, serious danger so. You had no clue if Loki planned to kill you anytime soon. If he forced you into doing his biddings with violence… no. No, he did not seem like the sort of person who would physically harm women simply for the sake of it. There were limits even to his malice, you were sure of it. Or at least, that was what you were hoping.

As expected, and much to your relief, the other side of the bed was empty, the sheets unmade. You could hear him in the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards almost frantically. With your heart in your mouth, you made your way into the kitchen.

“Is there anything edible in your accommodation?” He complained, shutting the fridge shut without even spinning around to face you. “Where is the sweet hot chocolate mixture you used last night?”

“In the cupboard above the counter.” I mean, what was the point of lying? He would find it anyway, at some point, only angrier. You almost snorted at the thought of trading your survival for hot chocolate.

“Make us something to eat. I need sustenance.”

Make us something to eat? You clenched your fists, eyeing the coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen and wondering if you were less likely to risk your life by talking back once you had pumped your body full of caffeine.

Your heart was pounding. You barely dared to move around him. Loki glared at you but said nothing. It was like he felt you remembering what had happened last night.

“If you lose a word about what you witnessed last night…” He growled darkly.

“Don’t threaten me,” you whispered weakly. “It’s not like I have anyone left to tell anyway.” You paused, curious whether he was going to reply. He did not. “I-I’m having cereal.” You said, despite your lack of appetite. “You can have a bowl too.” As if I had a choice sharing my food with you…

You had just poured some milk into both your cereal bowls when a loud song ripped apart the tense silence in the kitchen. Your phone! Your eyes widened. Oh God, you still had your phone! How could you have been so stupid?

Starting for the living room, you were panting by the time you picked up. It was Isabelle, one of your co-workers. A fellow agent who must have survived! Your hands were shaking.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)! Thank the Lord, you’re okay.”

“So are you! I-I am… more or less, I…” You did not need to turn around to feel his presence behind you. Loki was eyeing you threateningly, circling you slowly. The message was clear—if you told anyone he was here, you would be in some serious trouble. You swallowed thickly.

“Do you… do you know who else made it out?”

“I’ve been on the phone all morning but nothing’s confirmed yet. They’re optimistic but Jed is devastated. He’s trying to get us all back on track… whoever’s left of us, anyway.” Jed was your boss, more or less, guiding your missions and keeping a neat overview over everything that happened within TVA. You eyed Loki from the corners of his eyes, looking for anything to ease your mind. A hint of remorse, perhaps. Regret, pity, anything would have sufficed. He was like an impenetrable wall.

“Can you meet us? By the river? Jed is already on his way.”

“W-why?”

“We found traces of another portal but…”

“But what?!”

“This time… there is… (Y/N), someone has been murdered.” You took a sharp breath. Ever since Loki’s capture, you had almost forgotten about those mysterious portals that seemed to keep appearing out of nowhere. For a moment there, you had all assumed it had been Loki himself, repeatedly using the Tesseract. Given that he had been with you last night, however, and before that, had spent his time in custody at TVA’s headquarters... before he had… burned them all down… it could not possibly have been him. You swallowed. For once, you knew that he was innocent. There was someone else still out there. And they were, so it appeared, equally dangerous. “Where are you right now?”

It was then Loki snatched the phone from your grasp, clutching it so tightly the screen cracked… and went black. Fuck. You should have screamed bloody murder the minute you had picked it up.

“W-what…”

“Do you truly think I will let you tell them about your whereabouts so lightly?” He snarled.

“They will get suspicious if I don’t show up!” You yelled, your lower lip shaking.

“Show up where?”

“T-the crime scene. There has been a murder.”

Loki frowned. “I believed you are monitoring time travel, not petty crimes.”

Slowly, you shook your head. Murder was hardly petty. Well… perhaps it was to him, given you were only humans. Swallowing your anger, you looked up at him with courage. “We normally don’t but…”

“But?” He probed strictly when you trailed off. You flinched.

“There… we have repeatedly recorded interdimensional portals. They interfere with our readings. Something is… off about this and now someone is dead and I… we have been trying to find out what it is even before you came along and destroyed our headquarters, you know.” It was just that SHIELD wouldn’t let you. It was a fight over power and recognition, really.

“I want to see it.” Loki stated simply. Your eyes widened. “How many portals have there been?”

“Thirteen.”

“You believe they have a harmful cause?”

“We don’t know that yet. We are monitoring everything. Those energy waves did not go unnoticed by our radars, they are going to start tearing time and reality apart if we don’t stop whoever is creating them. SHIELD has already…”

Loki’s face distorted.

“You work with SHIELD?”

“We do, if we must but we prefer to keep our distance.”

He rolled his eyes. “I see. When did the first portals begin to appear?”

“A few weeks ago. Whoever it is… I don’t think they realise that they are being watched.” Hugging yourself, you took the opportunity to move away from him a little, watching from a safer distance how he pensively looked out of the window. Suddenly, the weather did not at all fit the depressing situation you were in, let alone the topic you were talking about.

“Yes… I can imagine that.”

“W-what?�� You frowned. “What do you mean by that? Do you know who it could be? Is it one of your allies?”

Loki’s gaze darted back to you—seriously. “I don’t have allies,” he spat. “I shall join you.”

“You can’t just… walk in on a crime scene unauthorised.”

“I just walked into your flat, did I not?” He mocked.

“They will recognise you.” You argued, voice shaking audibly.

“They will not.” Loki smirked. “No one but you will be able to see who I truly am.”

Fuck. Did you have a choice? After what he had done last night… could you refuse him? You sighed, defeated. No. Probably not.

-

There were thunders in the distance when you left, the initially blue sky slowly turning grey. Heavy clouds pushed in front of the sun, blocking its light from reaching Earth. That is more like it. If you got suspended today because you brought a war criminal to a crime scene revealing important details about another potential threat, at least it would not happen in broad and warm sunlight.

You were nervous. No, you were terrified. If there was one thing your boss did not accept, it was weakness and fear of what might happen if you chose to prioritise your survival over protecting life in the multiverse. It sounded cruel and ridiculously altruistic but you had known what you got yourself into with working for TVA. There was only one thing worse than egoism. And that was treason.

Yet here you were now, approaching a crime scene with a criminal who had ensured you he would be looking like a normal Midgardian man to anyone you met. Spotting SHIELD first thing you arrived did not exactly ease your nerves. Taking a shaky breath, you approached them. Rain was falling by now, wetting the asphalt and your clothes. At least, part of your uniform was waterproof.

You could tell Loki was watching you intently as you tensed the closer you got. He was dressed in a surprisingly inconspicuous police uniform—plain beige trousers and a white shirt, a black tie and an equally beige police jacket with a badge.

Luckily enough, Jed arrived just when the SHIELD agent, Jeff, so you knew, lifted his arms to stop you from stepping over the barrier tape despite your ID. With his blonde hair fluttering in the wind, he looked a little like Owen Wilson. He even sounded a little like him too.

“What are you doing here, TVA?” Jeff groaned with dismay. “This is our crime scene. You have no business here.”

“Shut it. The energy readings we keep getting from these portals say something different. They have been interfering with our radars for weeks now. We can’t keep the world safe from potential threats in time and the multiverse if we can’t observe it properly. So I disagree. This is our crime scene too. Now get out of my way.” He paused, turning to you. “(Y/N), I’m glad to see you’re well.”

“You too.” You replied with a court nod.

“Who is that?”

“Uh… He is, uh, with the… the police.” You lied quickly. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Help me, you attempted to scream with your eyes. You must realise that something is wrong! But he did not.

“Luke.” Loki jumped in, letting his charm do all the work as he offered Jed his hand. He took and shook it, his initial suspicion dying down once the God of Mischief gave him a sly smile.

“Right. Pleased to meet you, Sir. We’ll do our best to get the situation under control, then I promise we’ll leave you to it. A lot of my agents have been in a critical state in the hospital since that Asgardian arsehole escaped from us last night. There is no excuse for that faux-pas but he is… difficult to say the least. It’ll take us a while to make amends.”

“Asgardian arsehole?” Jeff interrupted. “What are you talking about? The war criminal Loki was taken back to Asgard by Thor years ago.”

Jed pressed his lips together to a thin line. “It’s complicated.”

Panicking, you gasped for air but much to your surprise, Loki did nothing whatsoever. He only smiled—maliciously so.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss.” He stated hollowly, making you swallow thickly. If Jed only knew… “So? What is it that interferes with your radars, agent?”

“We don’t know. It almost feels like…” Jed looked at you.

“As if there are remnants of… magic… it’s crackling.” The both of you were unable to tell him more than you already had. As a TVA agent, you were not dealing with murders often. Accidents, yes but actual murder? Hardly, fortunately.

Loki lifted his chin. “Show me this corpse.”

-

“Here,” you announced, taking a step back when you felt the energy waves pushing against every fibre of your skin. You had been focused not to give the dead body surrounded by barrier tape and a pool of blood more glances than absolutely necessary, to ignore the dreadful and almost sweet stench of decay. It had been… cut in half. The victim must have tried to enter the portal after whoever had created it—but had been too slow to make it through entirely. Scrunching up your nose, you resisted a gag. You were a TVA agent, for Goodness sake. Pull yourself together. There are worse things. Just like being kept hostage by a dangerous god without anyone even knowing. It certainly was a good sign he had not harmed you as of yet though, no? What, however, would happen once you got a chance to tell Jed the truth? Would he kill you after all? Set your flat on fire as well?

Gulping, you wiped your sweaty palms on your trousers, your heart speeding up in your chest when you felt his presence behind you. His body temperature was remarkably cool, yet you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him, making you feel small and powerless next to him. Still, there was this tiny part of you—a barely audible voice whispering in your mind—that enjoyed the fear and the excitement that came with being Loki’s… captive.

The urge to slap yourself rose.

“What causes this?” You managed to choke out.

You watched, almost in awe, how he brought up his palm to touch the remaining energy waves your radars had recorded prior to arriving at the crime scene. Unlike yours, however, his palms began to shimmer in a green light.

“It is unlike the gamma radiation the Tesseract emits. It’s more… crackling. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh, it makes perfect sense.” Loki replied matter-of-factly. “The crackling, as you describe it, is of magical origin. On Asgard, we call it seidr. Few can wield it, fewer are able to take their skills beyond simple tricks.”

“What… are you saying that whoever is creating these portals is Asgardian too?”

“I am not…” Loki took a deep breath and pressed his lips together to a thin line before speaking on. “They might be. I only know one person who would be capable of finding a way to open doors to other realities like that.”

Glancing at him in utter shock, you waited for him to continue. He did not. Instead, he directed his attention at the person approaching you before you even registered the footsteps on the wet asphalt yourself. You were hauled into a hug, all air pressed from your lungs and your eyesight blocked by waves of her long ginger hair.

“Isabelle!”

“Don’t you dare scare me like that ever again! The connection was lost and when I tried to call you back, I could only reach your voicemail. What happened? I thought Loki attacked you!”

Well, technically… you swallowed thickly. “No, I, um… I was doing the washing up to distract myself from… you know… and the phone fell into the sink. I put it in a bowl of rice, it should be fine again tomorrow.” There went another lie. You would have to buy a new phone and you sincerely doubted that Loki would let you. Next to you, the God of Mischief chuckled maliciously. Bastard.

“Who are you?” Isabelle frowned at him.

“Luke. Officer Luke.”

“He’s with the… police.”

“I see. You are here alone?” She probed suspiciously.

“I am. I am merely here to ensure things are… taken care of, so to speak.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. Your superiors are familiar with our work and how significant it is for all our wellbeing.” Loki only raised his eyebrows in a seemingly unimpressed manner.

You wondered, briefly, what would happen if you screamed bloody murder and warned her about him, gave away his identity. Would he kill you straight away? Torture you first? After he had set the TVA headquarters on fire, anything was possible. Bruce Banner had not been wrong. That man’s mind was like a bag full of cats.

“Where is the rest of our team?” You asked her instead. “Have they still not arrived? Jed said a lot of them are being treated in the hospital but…”

“They’re busy finding Loki.”

“Do you, um…” Your voice was shaky. Clearing your throat, you continued despite his threatening presence right beside you. “I didn’t dare to ask Jed back there.” Or Loki, for that matter. “How many agents died in the fire?”

“Only two. Pete and Roth.” The very same agents who had caught Loki. Loki barely put any effort into hiding his satisfaction. Clearly, he had planned this. Taken his revenge. It made you wonder what else he’d have in store for this world even without you spilling his dirty secret. But then again… you remembered how vulnerable he had looked last night in his sleep. There had to be more. So much more.

A loud and alarming bleeping tore through the crispy air with a start. Both Isabelle und you flinched, turning your heads towards the computer station Jed had by now stationed at the crime scene with the help of another agent. The radar was blinking red and purple, the noise downright ear-piercing.

“Jed, what is it?” Isabelle covered her ears.

“Another portal opened.” Loki answered for him, his expression hardening.

“What?! When?! Now?”

He did not reply—instead, he turned on his heel and ran, presumably straight towards the source of the readings.

“Officer! Officer Sir, no, it’s too dangerous! Officer! Damn it. (Y/N), stay where you are!” But you weren’t listening either. You hurried after him, for what reason you did not know yourself. Loki was perfectly capable of defending himself—you were not. If what he had said was true and there was another Asgardian wreaking havoc in this city, you’d do well to leg it and flee. Besides… why would you care? If he died playing curiosity kills the cat, your entire organisation had one problem less to deal with. Why, for Heaven’s sake, did part of you feel like you owed him in spite of this nerve-wrecking fear?

“Stay back!” He yelled.

Gnashing your teeth, you stopped dead in your tracks, blinded by the bright green lights illuminating the narrow alley Loki had run off into.

The energy the portal was radiating was numbing, almost. Like an invisible wall you were trying to step closer, tensing every single muscle in your body to no avail. Loki, however, seemed to have no problems approaching the hazardous time threat at all.

Finally, a tall, blonde woman stepped through. The portal closed behind her, drowning the alley in rainy darkness once more. The impact of the energy ebbing away nearly knocked you off your feet. Right before you could fall, however, a strong and cold hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you up again seemingly without any effort whatsoever. Gazing up, bedazzled, you met Loki’s serious and reproachful glare.

“I told you to stay back.” He growled, his grip around your wrist almost painful. It was the one already forming a bruise from his sleepy attack last night. He let go as if he had burned himself when he noticed, leaving you there all exhausted and trembling. It was then an almost soft voice sounded behind him, making him stiffen and go pale—if only just a little. Your lips parted.

“By Odin’s beard… Loki?!”

The God of Mischief took a deep breath. “Sylvie.” He too, was surprised, to say the least. Yet if there was one thing Loki was really good at, it was hiding his feelings. So they knew each other. Just great.

“I would recognise that mischievous voice anywhere. What in the nine realms happened to your face?” With some words, it almost sounded like she had a lisp.

“An illusion. I am a fugitive, so it seems.”

“Oh, what have you done now, hmm?” Her laughter tore through the dark alley, next you thing you witnessed she had already thrown herself into his arms, her feet dangling in the air. Loki, albeit hesitantly, reciprocated the hug. “I missed you! Midgard is so boring without you.” She pouted. Never before had you felt as redundant as you did now. It seemed to have been your cue.

“Oh, not again…” She suddenly complained, her brown eyes finding you standing in the background. She glared at you darkly. “Didn’t you see what happened to the last human who attempted to follow me? You would do well to leave me alone if you do not wish to suffer from the same fate.”

“You look very human to me.” At least she was dressed human, unlike Loki when they had first found and brought them to your headquarters.

“Well, I am not. I am Asgardian.” Loki opened his mouth. He never got to say what he intended to.

“Put your hands up in the air and no harm will come to you!” It was Jed’s voice that ripped you all from this uncomfortable and undoubtedly dangerous situation. His gun was aimed at the blonde who rolled her eyes in response. “Officer, step away from her, please! She is likely a hostile!”

The curse Loki uttered sounded a lot like he had spoken it in a foreign language. “We need to leave, now. They have weapons which immobilise even me—long enough for them to shackle you.”

“What? Those meagre mortals? Oh, please…” While the strange woman crossed her arms, Loki reacted already. Unceremoniously, he pulled out the Tesseract out of… seemingly nowhere—your heart skipped a beat when it appeared in his hand and he held it without any sort of protection—and offered her his arm. The woman’s eyes widened. Without any hesitation, she took it. And then, everything happened at once.

“Sir, what are you… the Tesseract. This is Loki! Everyone, this is Loki! Fuck!” More guns were aimed at you all, a low chuckle from the God of Mischief sending ice-cold shivers up and down your spine.

“Wait, don’t shoot! (Y/N) is in the line of fire!” Isabelle’s ear-piercing scream barely reached you when the first gunshots tore through the air as wild as a swarm of wasps. So this was it. You would be shot by your own colleagues and a handful of SHIELD agents.

The last thing you expected Loki to do, however, was to grab you, pull you flush against him and tear you with him into the unknown.

-

A/N: Stay tuned for Part III!

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[sondepoch]

Chapter 4

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

“Bro, you good?”

Satan blinks the sleep from his eyes at the feeling of a pencil tapping against his shoulder, groggily turning to face the owner of the voice that tore him from his precious slumber.

“...bwha?” is the educated response Satan can come up with in his sleep-addled mind.

Solomon snorts.

“Dude, this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in class this week.” The white-haired athlete grins. “Keep this up and I’m gonna score better than you on tomorrow’s test.”

“We have a…”

Satan groans inwardly. He has a test tomorrow? The blonde blinks up at the board. It takes a second for his vision to clear, but then it registers that he’s in math class, and everything else falls into place. A quick scan over the whiteboard confirms that Satan didn’t miss anything important, that the chapter the teacher is covering is something Satan taught himself roughly two years back, but the boy still groans to himself in frustration. He doesn’t like to sleep through class. Ever.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Satan mumbles to his friend when he glances at the clock. It seems that Solomon let him doze for nearly the entire period, opting to wake him up a mere minute before the bell should ring. 

“No problem. But seriously, I’ve never seen you slack this hard. You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired because…” Satan trails off, hesitant to confess that the reason he’s so exhausted is because of you. No doubt, Solomon would read way too deeply into that—nope, wait, it looks like Solomon figured it out on his own from the shit-eating grin he’s now sporting.

“Ah, your future girlfriend, is it?” Solomon leans back in his chair, grinning. “The love life is rough, buddy. Make sure you’re using protection at night, though.”

Satan has never been more relieved to hear a bell ring.

“Would you lower your voice?” He growls when a couple of kids passing by give him weird looks. Satan glares hard at Solomon, but the latter gives a grand total of zero (0) shits.

“Sorry,” Solomon says in a voice that makes it all too clear that he’s not sorry.

Satan has never hated his schedule more than in the next moment when he realizes that Solomon is in his next class and that they can’t split ways. Worse yet, it’s Physical Education—the stupidest course of all time because all it consists of is kids walking in circles for an entire hour and being “encouraged” to run. And somehow, to top it off, Satan always ends up walking with Solomon. 

“We’re not together,” Satan grunts to his friend when they’re outside doing laps around the track. “It’s just that it’s fucking hard to balance club duties, her volleyball schedule, and my own studies.” 

“I totally get it,” Solomon blurts. “But you’ve gotta get used to it, bro. Imagine how much harder it’s gonna be to when the two of you start dating! You’ll have to take her out on dates, and—fuck—have you ever been to one of her games? She has crazy stamina, man. The two of you’ll be at it all night.”

Satan thinks back to freshman orientation, wondering why, of all the places to sit, he chose the seat next to the most annoying person in the entire academy. 

“Solomon, can you shut the fuck up?”

Solomon, unsurprisingly, does not shut the fuck up.

With enough difficulty, Satan does finally manage to steer the topic away from Solomon’s matchmaking attempts and towards more normal topics. Namely, Satan’s matchmaking attempts. Of course, just as Satan places no weight on Solomon’s opinions on his love life, Solomon completely ignores Satan’s advice to stop beating around the bush and just ask Asmo out, the athlete having the nerve to say “I’ll ask Asmo out when you ask our volleyball captain out”—as if you and Satan have a remotely similar history to Asmo and Solomon, who, as now known by the entire campus, are both desperately pining for each other but are too dumb to see it.

Satan sighs, shaking his head.

Idiots, he thinks. I’m surrounded by idiots.

It’s to this thought that Satan hears someone calling his name in the distance: an extremely familiar voice, almost grating on the ears, but a voice he knows he should not be hearing. 

Satan shakes his head, deciding that he’ll clear up his schedule today so he gets a nap in because surely, surely he must be imagining you calling his voice. Surely you’re not actually on this track field. Surely you’re not cutting English, of all courses, a subject that Satan insists you pay extra attention to because it’s the single course you're most likely to fail.

“Bro,” Solomon whispers, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Satan closes his eyes, trying to see if pretending that he doesn’t hear your footsteps sprinting closer and closer towards him will make it so that they’re not real.

It doesn’t work.

“Satan!” You shriek, now close enough that he can’t pretend you’re a figment of his imagination anymore. “Satan! Satan, Satan, Satan!”

The blonde continues staring resolutely forward, committing himself to the ideology of I do not see it, therefore it is not happening.

Unfortunately, Satan sees it. And so it happens.

Without any warning whatsoever, you lurch forward and grapple on to Satan, wrapping your limbs around him like a literal koala as you yeet yourself onto him with enough force that Satan is just barely able to remain standing when you attach yourself to him while shrieking: ”Satan! Guess what, guess what!”

The blonde is at a loss for words, so dumbfounded and taken aback that it’s all he can do to sputter out a confused “w-what?” 

You grin at him with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts, and Satan can only stare as you reveal what made you so happy.

“I got an 85 on the Shakespeare test!” 

The Shakespeare test, the man thinks, trying to remember.

The Shakespeare test, he repeats in his mind, a vision of you cram-reading the final acts of King Lear flashing through his mind

The Shakespeare test! Satan realizes with a start, suddenly recalling how it was a test he expected you to fail.

Satan’s mouth drops open at that. He had been prepared for you to get a 20, a 30; the highest you told him to expect was a 60, and even that was below the fail margin, but an 85? Holy shit, Satan might cry if he got a grade like that, but for you, it’s a genuine accomplishment, and he’s fucking proud.

“You’re joking,” he blurts, already calculating how this will affect your average and, holy shit, it’s actually going to pull you up to a passing grade.

“I’m not!” you declare with so much happiness that it’s infectious, and then the two of you are hugging and laughing except that Satan’s literally carrying you so it’s awkward, but neither of you care because this is the highest grade you’ve pulled all year, and Satan is finally beginning to feel like the late hours and the sleepless nights are all worth it.

The two of you are grinning and beaming at each other even when you finally de-koala yourself from Satan and land on the ground; and it’s at this precise moment that Satan realizes just how many people are watching. 

The blonde clears his throat awkwardly. 

It felt so natural when you tackled Satan midair, but he’s now beginning to realize just how intimate that whole scene looked to any onlookers. He stiffens, and you seem to notice, your own demeanor turning sheepish in turn.

A low whistle from next to you diffuses the situation.

“An 85, huh?” Solomon slings an arm around your shoulder, sandwiching you between him and Satan as the three of you continue walking along the track field—effectively sending a message to anyone watching that the show is over. “Not bad, Captain, not bad.”

“It’s amazing, Solomon!” you cry out in turn, grinning as you lean into his shoulder. (Satan doesn’t feel weird when he sees that, he swears he doesn’t.) “I haven’t scored this high since, well, I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to the scores I get because they’re always so low!”

Solomon laughs at that, definitely remembering when he was the same way. 

“It’s all thanks to Satan, no?” Solomon prods, and the blonde shoots a sharp look at his friend. He’s up to something. Satan isn’t sure if he wants to know what.

“Oh, definitely! He literally read every single text out loud to me! I left this one book for the very last day, and he actually stayed with me and—”

“You need to get back to class,” Satan swiftly interrupts, his ears turning red. “You did well on one test, but you need to pay attention if you want to continue.”

“Oh, but—”

Satan practically shoves you away, gesturing wildly the whole time with a vigor that has you confused but compliant as you slowly depart, doubtlessly making your way back to the English building as slowly as you possibly can.

When you’re gone, Solomon snorts.

“You read to her?” He asks, expression brimming with mirth.

“It’s not—it’s an effective studying technique that we use to save time—”

“Oh my god,” Solomon mumbles under his breath, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Next thing you know, I’ll find out that she’s sleeping on your shoulder or something. Seriously, Satan, way to make a move early on.”

Satan is incredibly grateful that Solomon doesn’t see how his face changes at that part, a flush rising on his cheeks when he realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder not once, now, but several times. 

“Shut up,” Satan grumbles, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No way, man!” Solomon cackles with laughter, finding great amusement in his friend’s frustration. “Oh my god, the two of you are so perfect for each other that it hurts! Here, take a look at this—”

Solomon pulls up his phone and opens up his Photo Gallery, swiping twice before handing it over to Satan.

“Just look at that, dude—” he gestures vaguely at the picture. “You two already look like you’re dating.”

Satan stares at the image, his feet slowing down. It’s a picture of you and Satan hugging, taken conveniently when you were still koala-ing Satan with your entire body because of course Solomon was able to get a picture that quickly, and although Satan can’t see either of your faces due to the side angle, even he has to acknowledge that the two of you really do look like a couple.

“It’s not like that,” Satan mumbles, shaking his head as he hands the phone back to Solomon. 

This might be the first time, though, that he actually entertains the thought of what it would be if it was like that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

You hate away-scrimmages for a lot of reasons.

The first reason is that, more often than not, the environment is hostile. The other team is always bound to have more support, more cheering, more motivation powering them forward while yours has nothing more than the girls on the bench and the loud voice of your coach. 

The second reason is that they always feel like a waste of time. Scrimmages, by nature, are meant to be an extension of practice. So what’s the point of a scrimmage if you spend more time driving to the school than you spend playing against the school? It’s totally backwards, in your opinion, and pretty stupid.

The third reason is the most compelling reason, though. And it’s probably because this is the issue you’re dealing with right now: the fact that at away-scrimmages, if there does happen to be someone from your school who puts in the time and effort to come watch, the pressure on your shoulders instantly triples. Scrimmages are supposed to be fun, enjoyable. They’re nothing more than practice matches to collect data and get ready for when you’ll go against the school for real—but when people from your school travel such a long distance to watch you play not even a game but a scrimmage, it feels like you owe it to them to bring home a win, to succeed, to make the match worth their while.

And while Satan doubtlessly had no intentions of adding to your stress when he asked to watch you play at today's scrimmage, that’s exactly what has happened.

“Listen, girls,” your voice is low as your team groups up in what will likely be the last huddle of the match. “I want us to win this. Really badly. Do what it takes, but bring home that victory.” You take a moment to recite the weaknesses of the other team, trying to downplay their skill and build confidence in your own teammates, but ultimately, you all know the truth. “It all comes down to how we play this point, girls, so let’s play our best.”

You glance around at your teammates, stealing a glance at the bleachers where Satan sits, watching the scrimmage.

You want to make him proud.

“Wolves on three: one, two, three—”

“Wolves!” your teammates echo, raising their fists as the lot of you split off into your serve receive positions.

As it stands, match point is weighing against you, and your team is at a heavy disadvantage. From what you’ve gathered on the opposing team, their libero is a literal legend when it comes to front row saves, and they have an amazing right-side hitter, one that easily rivals your own skill. This entire game, their team has been leading, but all your team needs to secure victory is a measly three points, three points that you know you can obtain if you try hard enough.

You crouch low, getting ready for the opposing team’s serve.

The first two points are easy for your team to get: the first point comes when the opposing team’s outside hitter rams the ball into the net, and the second comes when your team's right-side hitter manages a clean hit through a line of defense that jumped a second too late.

The final point, as always, is the hardest to get.

It just so happens that it’s your serve, so you consciously aim at what you think is the weakest link in the opposing team, but they’re able to recover. From then on, it’s an intense volley back and forth until it’s just you versus the right-side hitter, #18, the two of you fighting it out in a rhythmic contest of pass-set-hit that just won’t end.

It’s at this time that you feel the pressure beating down on you heavier than ever before. More than anything, you want to win. Not just because you’re naturally competitive, not just because you really fucking hate #18 right now (seriously, what business does she have being as good as you?), but because you know that Satan is watching. 

You really, really, really want to bring home a win for him.

It’s to this thought that you set the ball over on the first touch, sabotaging the flow of the game and ruining the other team’s momentum. 

It happens in slow motion as the ball falls, slowly, slowly.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as three girls on the opposing team, #18 included, all pancake-dive for the ball. Sensing their success, you bend your knees, preparing for the ball’s return.

It never comes.

The blow of the ref’s whistle is surreal, almost as faraway as the subsequent cheers of your own team, so empty and distant as they instantly group up for a team tackle—but for the first time, you don’t join them. 

Instead, you’re left staring up at Satan who, from his spot on the bleachers, is grinning down at you with a proud look on his face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to win a scrimmage. 

Everything else passes by in a blur. Your team regroups and changes out of your uniforms, and the lot of you board the bus that’s set to bring you back to the Royal Academy of Barbatos. 

You, however, stay back.

“I’ll get a ride from my tutor,” you tell your coach, bidding farewell to your friends. 

The man arches an eyebrow at you, asking once and then twice if you’re certain you don’t want to stay with the team, but you nod your head. 

Weird, you think as you go to find Satan, who’s waiting for you at his car. This must be the first time I’ve prioritized someone else over the team.

You decide not to dwell on that thought. 

Instead, you choose to think about how sick Satan’s ride is.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, gawking as soon as you see the car. “Satan, I knew you were loaded, but I had no clue you were this loaded.”

Satan laughs at your reaction, grinning when you can do nothing but stand and stare at the sheer beauty of it: a slick, black Bugatti with a single green stripe down the middle. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you coo, marveling at the interior when you slide into the passenger seat and slug your volleyball bag unceremoniously in the back. “Satan, I think I like this car better than I like you.”

The blonde gives a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he gets inside next to you. “I’ll let you drive it someday,” he offers.

You’re quick to decline, shuddering to think about how many more sports scholarships you’d need to ever pay such a thing off if you were to crash it. 

Satan can only smile at that, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t hear.

“Your match was amazing, by the way,” he says before you can probe him about what he said. “It looked really intense. It’s impressive that you were able to keep a level head even at the end.”

You don’t tell Satan that your head wasn’t level, that you were practically dizzy with fear from the possibility of losing in front of him.

“It comes with practice,” you instead choose to say. “Something we’ve gotta do tonight!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

You shoot Satan an innocent smile in response.

“Your match lasted a good hour, and I saw you practicing with your team before your bus left.” Satan shakes his head, a frown beginning to spread across his lips. “You’re going to destroy your muscles if you try to do any more. Even you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but resting is boring.” You lean back in your seat and stare at your palms. “Besides, that scrimmage was way too close for comfort. Didn’t you see number eighteen? She was, like, really good. If both our teams make it to the state tournament, we’re going to have a lot of trouble dealing with her unless we practice like crazy until then.”

“Exactly,” Satan says. “Your team needs to practice, not you. The best thing you can do for them is relax and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

“But don't you want to reward me for getting a good grade on my Shakespeare test?” A smile curls onto your lips because you know that's something Satan has been thinking about. “Come on, just a few balls? It’ll be quick, I promise. I just want to try a few moves out.”

Satan lets out an exasperated sigh that lets you know he’s agreeing.

“Yes!” You exclaim, resisting the urge to jump out of your seat and hug him because he probably won't be as inclined to help you if you make him crash his car. “Thank you so much, Satan! I won’t be long, I promise!”

The blonde doesn’t say anything to that, sighing softly as he switches his destination from the student parking lot to the on-campus gym you usually conduct your practice sessions in. It takes a while, but when the two of you get there, the spot Satan pulls into is far from the doors. It's a necessity since all the other spots are taken, but it makes you raise an eyebrow because this is the first time you’ve seen this gym even remotely filled up.

You nudge Satan out of his car regardless.

“Alright, so today I want you to make my tosses higher than normal. Number eighteen was taller than me, so I’ll need to increase my jump height if I want to be able to break past her defense.” You pull him to the door, wasting no time to get inside. “And don’t worry if your tosses aren’t perfect! It’ll be good practice for...for when…”

Your train of thought is disrupted when you see how packed the gym is.

“Damn,” Satan mumbles next to you, frowning. 

There must be some kind of athletic event coming up. That's the only explanation you can think of for the picture in front of you. As it stands, there are tons of students inside this gym, everyone practicing their own sport. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because even sports that are traditionally outdoors are practicing inside. You can see Solomon leading his soccer team through a few drills on the far side of the court, taking up one half of one of the six nets set up in the gym.

“They must be here because it’s so muddy outside. All the outdoor sports are practicing inside.” Satan crosses his arms. “Let’s come back tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to get an effective practice in.”

“No!” you immediately exclaim, if only because you see a group of people setting up to leave. “Look, we can take that side of the court. Let’s go! I don’t want someone else to get there first.”

It’s a bit harder to find a spare cart of volleyballs than it was to find a spot to practice, but after checking enough supply rooms, you finally find what you’re looking for. After that, it takes you all of two minutes to wheel the cart over to Satan where you present your findings to him proudly.

“Shouldn’t you stretch first?” He frowns. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

“Come on, Satan. I just came back from a match! My muscles are all loosened up, so let’s get straight into it! The faster we can get this done, the faster we can return to the dorm, so let’s hurry!”

The boy doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he acquiesces to your request nonetheless, throwing you a toss higher than usual as you jump to slam it down.

It’s only once the two of you have returned to your usual rhythm that you begin to feel the stretch in your thighs, and for a moment, you stop to consider the fact that it might have been better if you’d stretched after all, but you ultimately decide that you’ve already started so there’s no point in stopping.

The practice whizzes by, as usual. It's almost pitiful how quickly the end of it nears.

“Three more balls,” Satan says, glancing at the number of balls left in the cart. “Then we go back, alright?”

“Sure thing!” you exclaim with pride, the familiar sense of satisfaction after a practice session well-done setting in.

Satan tosses you the third-last ball, and your feet begin following it as soon as it leaves his fingers. Your feet follow a familiar pattern—left, right, left, jump!—and you force yourself to put in a little bit of extra power to increase the height of your jump, letting your palm collide with the ball just a few inches beneath the peak of the arc to let it slam onto the court at an angle so steep that even a reinforced defense wouldn’t have been able to save it.

“Perfect!” you shout the moment your feet land on the floor. “Two more like that, and we’re set!”

Even Satan can’t hold off a smile at that.

Already in-tune with you, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready before throwing the next ball into the air. 

Again, you go through the motions that have been ingrained into your muscle memory since you were eight years old. The sting of pain against your palm is familiar, too familiar, and you’re still high in your jump when the ball spikes down onto the floor.

What isn’t familiar is the immediate calls of concern from across the court.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, the loud group of soccer players who are on the far side of the gym and are all shouting to watch out. You stare at them in confusion for a moment, squinting to look for what they're all pointing at, because right now you don’t see anything to watch out for, and why—

Your eyebrows furrow.

Why are they all looking at you?

That thought is the only warning you get before your feet land—and the first thing you realize is that you landed way too early, that you should have been in the air for longer given the height of your jump. That’s when you realize that you haven’t landed, that your foot is instead twisting on top of a soccer ball that’s rolled directly underneath you.

Your hands go out to catch yourself when you fall, but there’s nothing you can do about the swell of pain that bursts from your ankle when the soccer ball pops out from underneath you.

There’s a moment of trepidation, a single second where your body is completely suspended in the air, and the gym is silent.

In that quiet moment, you hear Satan call out your name in a terrified voice.

Then, the ground collides with you and hard, and there’s nothing you can do as the pain you’d been feeling earlier blossoms out from all parts of your body.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: ive returneddd :D this chapter is dedicated to the vball captain who, in my freshman year of high school, injured herself. her injury was more dramatic, given that it was way more severe and it was during an important match, but irene, i carry you in my heart <3

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

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

[taelme]

Vampire!Bang Chan

genre: childhood friends-to-lovers!au, vampire!au, (fluff, mild angst, slow burn, slightly suggestive)

pairing/s: Chan / Reader (ft Minho and Mingyu don't ask me why I just thought they would fit) 

word count: 20k (I didn't realise this would be as long as it is rip) 

tw: mentions of blood and fighting, coarse language

a/n: hope u guys have as much fun reading this as I had writing it!! its a little different from the usual vampire aus, kind of modern? in a way? but yes ! anyway requests are currently open! so do feel free to request~~ 

"Honey, you know it's not like...they haven't been in our neighbourhood before," your mom eyed your new neighbour suspiciously, something in the way she spoke and the way she held herself seeming too familiar to dismiss.

"You can't be serious..." your dad glanced nervously between the woman and their child, a pale curly haired boy who was currently making their way over to where you were in the classroom, wanting to play with the same toys as you, "they have a kid!" your father tried to reason.

"Va-" your mom lowered her voice, "vampires can have children...I've seen it happen before."

Your mom kept her gaze (or glare, it was a very fine line now) fixed firmly onto the neighbours.

"And don't think I haven't noticed how the blood bags in the hospital have been disappearing ever since they moved in."

"I mean, yeah. Of course they're disappearing, because we have to use them? For the patients?" Your dad shrugged, his grip tightening around his camera hanging from his neck, feelings of anxiousness building within him as well (even if he was dead set on not showing it).

Your mom glared at your dad.

"I'm gonna go confront them."

"W-What? Why? Where's all this aggression coming from? What if they kill us?"

Your mom rolled her eyes.

"They can't. I'm gonna strike a deal with them," she shrugged, "think about it, honey. Their kid is the same age as ours. And if anything, it's been ages since there were vampires living in our town, we've got to deal with it head-on to handle it effectively."

Your dad grimaced, reaching out a hand quickly to grasp at your mom’s wrist as she made to walk over to the woman. He looked as though he'd wanted to say something else to dissuade her, but the look in your mom’s eyes was too resolute to bargain with.

"Okay fine, but I’ll be close behind, alright? If anything's wrong just give me a signal and I’ll come over."

Your mom grinned, nodding firmly before making her way over to the woman who was currently fanning herself with a brochure given by the teachers.

Smiling at your mom in greeting, your mom returned the smile, "Mrs Bang, right?"

The woman nodded, giving your mom a friendly smile as her child ran up to her.

“Some weather, isn't it? Little Chan's having a bit of a hard time adapting," she laughed as she used a small cloth to wipe the boy's sweat from his face and neck, patting the curly-haired boy on the back and directing his attention to your mother.

"Say hi, honey,” she prompted her son.

The boy looked up, his slightly downturned eyes making his expression puppy-like, giving your mother a shy wave.

Your mom bent down to be on eye level with the boy.

“Is he? You sure seem to be doing fine, you probably don't feel a thing, do you?" your mom cooed, hoping her words would strike a chord with the woman.

"Go and play with your friends, Channie," she nudged her son in the direction of the other children, straightening up and looking at your mom with an oddly unnerving smile.

Perfect.

"What do you want?" her tone was a stark contrast from her expression, enough to make your mother's heart rate pick up at the thought that her assumptions were more than just that. Should she be this happy that there was an annoyed potentially lethal specimen standing right in front of her? Debatable.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question? You know, why come here of all places? There aren’t many people for you to....negotiate with." Your mother narrowed her eyes at the woman, folding her arms over her chest.

Your dad, who was watching closely from afar, had recognised her body language as her go-to attempt to look intimidating, wincing at the thought of the kind of conversation they could be having that would warrant such a 'power pose' (as your mother liked to call it).

Looking over to where you were, playing with the new neighbour's son, he could overhear you asking the boy for his favourite colour, preparing to make a birthday cake out of Lego for him.

Well, at least your kids seemed to be getting along.

Your dad watched for a short while, how you played with the curly haired boy, and how the boy seemed to be rather shy, though that didn't seem to deter you from dragging him into your many shenanigans.

This made your dad’s anxiousness grow slightly, deciding that it was about time to go over to your new neighbour and your mom to make his presence as head doctor known. Though, your mom’s conversation seemed to have ended prematurely, the said woman strolling calmly back to your father before he could intervene.

"Do I wanna know how it went?" your dad grimaced upon seeing the triumphant smile on your mom’s face.

"Yes, you do. It went absolutely great! We're having dinner tomorrow night to discuss our arrangement in more detail."

"And this arrangement is...?"

Your dad was interrupted by the presence of your new neighbours who had taken a seat next to your mom, your teacher's voice drowning out the rest of the noise.

"Parents, could you please take your seats now? The briefing will be starting soon."

You had caught the eye of your parents who were waving you over, making sure you grabbed Chan's hand to bring him over to where both your parents were seated.

"She's usually pretty unfriendly with strangers," your dad tried to make conversation with Chan’s dad, earning a nod from him.

“Yeah, Chan’s a bit shy with his peers too. But she seems to be including him pretty well.”

Your dad laughed nervously, “huh…. yeah,” he felt a slap to his shoulder, turning to see Chan’s father looking at him almost endearingly.

“Looking forward to this friendship with you.”

===

“Come to think of it, he’s not that bad, don’t you think?” You hummed, gesturing to your television where you were currently watching one of the vampire romance movies they were playing that night, shifting in your seat so you could tap Chan on the thigh, urging him to look up from his phone.

“Which one? The vampire dude?” Chan made a face at you. He never really paid attention to the show (well, not as much as you did, at least), the only things he remembered about it being that there were witches inside and a lot of people died.

“Yeah that one,” you pointed at the screen, “I thought he was a really big asshole at first, but now that I’m seeing more of him, he doesn’t seem all that bad. I think falling in love with the girl kind of like...reawakened the part of him that actually cares about things,” you laughed.

Chan shook his head, practically giggling in endearment at how invested you were in the show, “are you sure you’re not just saying that ‘cause you think he’s cute?”

You gasped, shoving Chan, shifting in your seat so you could lean against his shoulder.


“You know me so well,” you felt Chan’s shoulders shake as he laughed, bringing a hand over your shoulder to rest on the back of the sofa comfortably, allowing you to lean against him more.

“Come on, that’s totally impossible,” Chan laughed, gesturing to the scene on the tv where the vampire had pushed a big truck out of the way to protect someone in the truck’s way.

You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly, “yeah? Says who?” You challenged, though you knew it was a little extreme for that to be possible as well.

“Physics,” he justified, making you shush him with a hand over his mouth before he went on another one of his rampages.

“Alright, alright, it’s not possible, don’t ruin the show for me.”

Removing your hand from his mouth, he’d continued watching with you in silence, before he’d suddenly asked you a question.

“Don’t you think I’d be cuter than him if I was a vampire?” Chan pouted, nudging at your head gently with his shoulder to get your attention, pushing his beanie up slightly.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen those vampires in movies have bleached hair before,” you teased in an attempt to calm yourself down, knowing for yourself your answer to his question was yes. However, your response only served to make his pout grow.

“Answer the question!” He whined, a giggle escaping his lips as he grasped your arm.

“You? A vampire?” You laughed, a hand flying over your mouth in a poor attempt to stifle your laughter.

Chan scoffed in disbelief.

“I don’t see why I can’t pass off as one if he can!” Chan pointed at the screen sulkily, making you shake your head.

“You’d never survive as a vampire who has to hunt on their own. You can barely hurt a fly,” you scrunched your nose at the thought, bursting into another fit of giggles when you felt Chan muss your hair, feigning hurt over your statement (but knowing all too well that you were right).

“You still didn’t answer if I’d be cuter or not.”

Rolling your eyes, you stuck your tongue out at him, “Invalid comparison, no comment,” your poorly stifled laughter had only made the both of you erupt into giggles, Chan shaking his head at you.

Once your laughter had died down, you let out a tired sigh.  

“D’you remember how our parents used to always talk about how vampires used to live in our town in the past?” You hummed, letting your train of thought steer away from the show.

Chan had a feeling he knew where your thought process was heading.

“You believe them, don’t you?”

“And you don’t?” you raised your eyebrows, lifting your head off his shoulders to look at him expectantly, curious to hear his reasoning even though you’ve probably heard it a thousand times already.

“I mean, it’s just a little hard to believe because of how it's portrayed in such a…fantasy kind of way in the media. And it just...doesn’t really make sense to me. As much as I hear the stories from our parents and all it’s kind of hard to find a biological explanation for it that I can actually accept.”

You shot him an amused look, your nose scrunching as you smiled.

“I still can’t believe you can even try to think about something like vampires scientifically,” you snickered, earning a shrug from him.

“You know who I always thought would be a vampire if there were any in our neighbourhood?” You continued, stopping to yawn as you awaited Chan’s indication that he was listening.

“Who?”

“That guy whose dad is in the town council,” your voice dropped to a mumble, “the one that basically threatened me to go to prom with him.”  

Chan pursed his lips, knowing who you were referring to even without you mentioning his name. He felt a pang of jealousy in his heart at the mention of that guy, but dismissed it quickly, knowing that you shared the same sentiments as he did, there was nothing to be jealous of.

“He’s the one that’s in the swim team our school always goes against, right?” Chan’s hand shifted from the back of the sofa to grasp your shoulder, squeezing gently as he rubbed your arm soothingly. Chan didn’t have to pretend to ask you for affirmation, he knew who you were referring to, a part of him just did it as a silent confirmation that you were sure you wanted to talk about him.

You nodded.

“There’s always been something off about him. He just really makes me...uncomfortable. Not that I’m saying all vampires are bad, more of like a…he’d fit the description if you asked me to think of those evil vampires in movies. You get what I mean, right?” you looked at him seriously, and Chan struggled to contain his smile, finding you absolutely cute but not wanting you to think he wasn’t respecting how you felt.

“The vibe I get whenever he tries to talk to me...just” you shuddered, “feels like he’s not even human.”

Chan nodded, remembering how shaken up you got on one occasion after one of his swim meets when that guy approached you.

You’d only told Chan about it a month after, and since Chan was Chan, he’d simply comforted you, telling you that you shouldn’t have kept it in for so long. But at the same time, you were thankful that you had someone as balanced as Chan to comfort you when you needed.

After all, Chan was never one to resort to violence.

“Let’s….not talk about him, kind of don’t wanna go to sleep thinking about him,” Chan huffed, making you let out a small giggle.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want you dreaming of him, would we?” You joked, earning a groan of agreement from Chan.

You’d felt his thumb rub your arm gently, his left hand checking the time on his phone, seeing that it was almost 2 in the morning.

“Are you tired? I kind of wanna pass out soon,” Chan yawned, earning a vigorous nod from you.

Leaning over to turn the tv off, you headed upstairs with Chan, walking into the bathroom and pushing Chan’s cup containing the toothbrush he used whenever he stayed over at your house to the unoccupied area of your sink. You’d already started to brush your teeth, seeing Chan walk into the bathroom shortly after with a tired smile on his face, noticing he'd taken his hoodie off.

“Your hair’s getting long,” your words were muffled around your toothbrush as you reached a hand up to touch his fluffy hair, which seemed even more curly now that you were seeing it in the light, having only seen it covered by his beanie for the whole day.

Chan couldn’t help the smile from his face as you did so, trying to distract himself with squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush, putting his toothbrush in his mouth with a grin directed at you through the mirror, his dimples showing cutely.

“I was thinking of dying it back to black,” he stopped brushing halfway to tell you, earning a sound of surprise from you.

Rinsing your mouth, you straightened up quickly to nod at him.

“You should, your hair would look just like it did when you were a kid,” you stepped into the shower to wash your face so that Chan could have more space at the sink.

“Is that a good thing?” Chan laughed.

You rolled your eyes, “of course it is, you looked so cute when you were a kid.”

Before Chan could react to your backhanded compliment, you continued, “when’s your next swim meet?”

“About a month from now?” He paused to rinse his mouth, starting to wash his face, speaking even as his eyes were closed.

“Who are you gonna be up against?” You asked, rinsing the face wash off of your face and stepping out again, Chan handing you a towel as he rinsed his own face as well, your routine flowing naturally from how regularly you would sleep over at each other’s houses.

“Who else?” He sighed.

You winced, stepping out of your bathroom before Chan, letting him turn off the lights as you slipped into your bed, and without even thinking, you had slung your arm around Chan’s waist, snuggling closer to him with your face pressing against his back.

“How’s swim meet preparation been?” You yawned.

Chan hummed, letting one of his hands cover your hand at his stomach, interlocking his fingers with yours as he rubbed the back of your hand gently. You’d found it strange how the action made you shy, dismissing the thought quickly as you took deep breaths.

“Can you breathe? Am I suffocating you?” Chan laughed, finding your sudden heavy breathing rather amusing, but most of all rather ticklish against his back.

You immediately stopped, not realising you were holding your breath, “uh-huh. Breathing’s fine.”

Chan smiled, “anyway, my dad’s been having me on this new diet and exercise plan, wants me to bulk up or something.”

You let out an amused snort, “I'm guessing this is a complaint?"

Chan nodded, even though he was pretty sure you couldn't see him, feeling your face against his back.

"Sure is. Honestly, I’m pretty sure he's only making me do all of this because he's been trying to get me as interested in exercising as him.”

“Aren’t you already, though?” You laughed, earning a shrug from him, as he turned to face you, his hand going back to playing with yours as he closed his eyes.

Struggling to keep your tone as steady as you could, you replied, "whatever it is, I'll be there to cheer you on. Win or lose."

Chan bit his lip, immensely thankful now that the light was dim enough that you weren't able to see his face clearly, dismissing the heat creeping onto his cheeks and the pounding of his heart to be due to how touching your words were to him.

Running his thumb over your knuckles, you didn't have to hear it to know Chan was thankful.

"Hopefully, I'll win, of course."

You scoffed, “goodnight, Chan."

You heard him hum, mumbling a soft "Night," before you lay in silence till you fell asleep.

===

"Chan? Chan, dude," Minho nudged the boy seated next to him.

Chan was struggling to focus in class. To him, he was hearing everything except whatever his teacher was explaining at the front of the hall. Things ranging from the low humming of the air conditioning to the hushed whispers of students that Chan couldn't even spot were beginning to sound deafening.

"Huh?" Chan turned his head to face his classmate Minho, who was seated at the table next to him, leaning over with his paper in hand.

"Did you get the answer for this question?"

Chan glanced at his worksheet, nodding and handing his worksheet to Minho to copy the correct answer, bringing his hands up to massage his temples, sighing as he shook his head.

What's wrong with you? just focus!

Chan rolled his eyes in frustration, giving Minho a small nod as he took his paper back, his leg starting to bounce and his hands beginning to fidget, twirling his pen only to stop seconds after because the sound simply added to the jumbled mess of noise in his brain.

“They should really fix that speaker,” Chan sighed, leaning back in his seat in slight resignation to the fact that he wasn’t getting rid of his headache anytime soon, wondering if it were possible that his head would just burst from how much it was pounding.

“Huh? Which speaker?” Minho frowned, making Chan’s mouth fall agape.

“You don’t hear it? It’s making this really loud buzzing sound!” Chan pointed with his pen to the speaker at the front of the hall, glaring at it as if it were buzzing on purpose.

Minho eyed Chan curiously, “dude…I’m really sorry but I’m not hearing what you’re hearing...”

Chan shook his head, “It’s fine, maybe I’m just hearing something else.”

"Are you meeting Y/N later?" he asked Chan, earning a nod from him.

"What are you guys gonna do?"

Chan's eyebrows lifted in confusion, "nothing?" he dragged out the word in his uncertainty on what Minho was asking him about.

Minho rolled his eyes, "how unromantic."

Chan sputtered, wanting to be upset but at the same time not quite knowing what he was getting upset about.

"What do you expect us to do? Have a candlelight dinner on a school day?"

Minho remained unamused, "I mean, you said you liked her, right? Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

Chan tapped his pen on his paper, taking down the answer for the new question on the screen as he replied Minho.

"Key word, I like her. It's not necessarily very mutual right now."

Minho groaned, "obviously you wouldn't know because you're not even trying to find out."

Chan gave Minho his best distressed expression, which only made him sigh, shaking his head.

"Whatever, it's not like you'd have the guts to confess to her without my help anyway."

Chan shot Minho a dirty look, returning his attention back to the screen, still struggling to place the various sounds he was hearing as his teacher's voice blared through the speakers.

He figured it would go away by lunch, but when he’d walked into the cafeteria, it only got worse.

You spotted Chan standing stunned at one of the pillars near the water cooler in the cafeteria, holding his bag strap tightly in his hand as he scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head firmly as he opened his eyes again, spotting you immediately after.

Dressed in his usual all black attire (not that you’d expected anything else from him), he’d slumped onto the seat of the bench you were sitting at, giving you a pitiful pained expression, tugging his hood over his head as he murmured a greeting to you.

Looking at him curiously as you munched on your lunch, you tilted your head at him, “what’s with the face?”

“Okay, I don’t know if I’m just going crazy but…I literally can’t focus today,” he sighed, pulling out his bottle which you assumed was his protein shake.

“What do you mean?” You hummed, “also, is this the thing your dad’s been making you drink?” You gestured to the bottle, earning a grim nod from him.

Pulling it closer to yourself, you took a whiff of its contents, resisting the urge to hurl once you’d done so, immediately cringing and pushing it back to him.

“Oh, man. Life’s hard.”

Chan mirrored your expression as he took the shake back from you.

“Anyway, I don’t know. Just now in class it was like every single sound was suddenly super loud and clear, I could barely single out my teacher’s voice. Even now it’s really hard for me to not pay attention to all these conversations around us,” he frowned, making you hum in thought.

Bringing a hand to your chin thoughtfully, you narrowed your eyes before shrugging abruptly.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s like ADHD or something,” you shrugged.

“You think so? It was so bad I actually considered that for a second…like mostly the inattention,” he shrugged.

“Maybe you should ask your mom if you could get checked if it doesn't go away by next week,” you suggested, earning a half-hearted shrug from him.

Chan focused on downing the rest of his strange protein shake at one go, not wanting to prolong his suffering, letting out a loud groan when he was done.

“D’you have any plans after school?” He asked, earning a shake of the head from you.

“Why?”

Chan thought back to what Minho said during class, wondering if he should try to create opportunities (or excuses) to hang out with you more.

“Oh, you know, my mom's asking if you wanna join us for dinner..." Chan's gaze searched your expression.

"You know, since your parents are working late at the hospital today," he added as an afterthought.

Mental note to tell mom Y/N is coming over.

You grinned at that, having always liked Chan’s mother’s cooking, giving him a vigorous nod.

"I finish pretty early today, though. So, I might head home first and shower or something,” you spoke around your mouthful of food, earning a sound of distaste from Chan.

Swallowing your food with a sheepish grin, you continued, "you have training today, right?"

He nodded, stealing a piece of meat from your plate, "But don't worry about me, I'll just meet you at my house after I'm done."

===

"Hey, babe,” your mom had met your dad at the vending machine at the hospital lift lobby while she was on the way to another patient's room.

Looking up and spotting your mom, your dad gave her an exaggerated look of pain, “just got out of surgery.” He heaved a sigh as he bent over to wait for his drink to fall to the bottom of the machine.

“Poor you. Anyway, I haven't heard from Chan's mom whether they got the…extract packets yet, you did deliver them, didn't you?"

Your dad's hand stopped mid-grab at the can of drink, the realisation that he indeed hadn't delivered them yet almost causing the can to slip from his hand.

He could picture the box sitting on the countertop in the kitchen, he'd even taken it out of the cooler fridge in the morning since he'd wanted to drop by Chan's house to deliver it to his parents before going to work that afternoon.

"Uh...yeah," his voice cracked as he replied your mother, giving her a more confident nod and clearing his throat.

"Yeah, you know I think they probably haven't seen it yet. I can ask Y/N to help us check, she told us she'd be going over to their house for dinner."

Your dad had managed to successfully divert your mom's attention away from the blood bags, letting out a snort at the mention of dinner.

"I still can't believe they do those family dinner things, once Chan's father tried describing the taste of steak to me and I couldn't get it out of my head whenever I saw him cooking it."

Your dad gave her a knowing look.

"You know they do it more for Chan than anything," he explained, “plus, he's got a pretty big appetite."

Your mom frowned, "I guess that makes sense. It'll be easier to tell if his tastes are changing."

Your dad nodded in agreement, “especially now. Remember what they said the other day? That he would probably start showing symptoms of a transition around this period of his life."

His expression was grim as he spoke, unsure what that would imply for you since you were in such close contact with Chan, who currently had no idea about anything to do with vampires.

"I have to go, we can talk about this another time," giving your dad an apologetic smile, your mom left promptly after.

Heaving a sigh of relief, your dad pulled his phone from his pocket to send you a text before he forgot.

dad 3:42pm - r u at home?-

Your reply came in shortly after

3:42pm - yeah i am, whats the stuff on the counter? R they the extract packets for Chan's family?-

dad 3:43pm - yes can u put them in the fridge quickly please! can u be a dear and pass it to them when you go over for dinner?- 3:43pm - and dont tell your mother i forgot!-

3:44pm -alrighty-

You thought nothing of it, simply doing as you were told since it was a common occurrence for your parents to gift Chan's family with things like this, you know, with Chan's parents being fairly health conscious and your own parents being doctors.

Glancing at the time, you were confident that you had a few hours to kill, proceeding to think of countless things you could do in an attempt to satisfy your boredom.

You’d spent majority of your time lazing on your bed contemplating on getting work done (which you eventually decided against), choosing to watch a movie to kill time before dinner, putting on whatever you could find on Netflix. You didn’t really care what the movie was about, simply wanting something to play in the background so you wouldn’t feel so bored.

Gradually, though, you’d found yourself growing jittery, increasingly excited and impatient for Chan to be done with his training so you could hang out with him, not knowing that he was already done, having hitched a ride home with his dad.

You were almost about to fall asleep to the protagonist of the movie’s monologue when the buzzing of your phone had woken you up, jumping slightly from the shock. Squinting at the bright screen of your phone, you read the text from Chan that just came in.

Chan 6:38pm -im home alr, gna take a shower but u can come over ill be done rly quick-

You yawned, sliding out of bed and putting on a sweater over your shirt, shoving your phone into your pocket and making your way to your kitchen in your half-asleep daze.

Heaving the box of extract packets out from the cooler fridge and setting it on the counter, you reached over to grab your keys and shove them into the other pocket of your sweatpants before you left the house, kicking the door closed behind you.

Knocking on the door, you’d tried to shift the box higher in your arms, supporting it with your leg as you waited for someone to open the door.

Soon enough, the door opened to reveal Chan’s mom, a flowery apron wrapped around her torso, her eyes widening as she saw you, a loud squeal leaving her lips as you greeted her.

“Y/N! Here, here, let me get that for you.”

She lifted the box you were struggling to carry with apparent ease, setting it aside before giving you a big hug, giving you a tight squeeze before pulling away, her hands coming up to cup your face, smoothing your hair down from where it got messy from the wind.

“Do you want to take a seat at the dining table first? Chan should be down soon,” she told you, not waiting for your reply before she went behind you, lightly pushing you into the kitchen where you’d spotted Chan’s dad with a similar apron on.

“Is that Y/N?” His dad turned, giving you a warm wave with his spatula, urging you to sit down at the dining table while you waited for the food to be done. You figured you were waiting for Chan to be done as well, being able to hear the faint sound of a hairdryer from upstairs as you walked to the dining area.

You’d sat and waited patiently after many (failed) attempts at trying to help them set the table, spotting Chan coming down the stairs as his parents were getting seated.

Dressed in a black sweater, his hair looking freshly dried and fluffy, you spotted Chan entering the dining room, the smile he was giving you looking awfully giddy as he took a seat next to you.

Your stomach almost growled at the sight of the food on your plate, thankful for Chan’s mom’s queue for everyone to start eating, and you dug in almost immediately, letting out a small sigh at the taste of the food.

“Wow, this tastes really good,” you praised, earning a chorus of ‘go ahead! Eat more!’ From his parents.

Chan momentarily wondered if it was the protein shake that was making his appetite wonky, deciding to just dismiss his reluctant feelings and swallow the food, figuring that maybe he just wasn’t in the mood for lamb chops today.

“How’ve you been, Y/N?” Chan’s dad asked you, and you would’ve almost spoken through your mouthful of food if not for the warning look Chan gave you.

Hurriedly swallowing your food, you smiled, “honestly, things have been pretty boring. There’s not much going on other than homework and lessons,” you let out a huff of amusement.

Chan nodded in agreement, “right, I forgot you didn’t join any clubs.”

“What about you, Chan? You’ve got a swim meet soon, right?”

He nodded, prompting his mom to continue.

“Has your body been feeling okay? Any changes in appetite? You know, it’s important to be in your best condition during competition season.”

Chan’s dad inspected his face for any sign of affirmation as his mother spoke, both parents feeling anxious at their son’s imminent transition and obviously not knowing how to approach it since it was, after all, their first and only child.

Chan shrugged, unsure how to explain this to his parents since he’d grown so used to competitions since he was a child, but he was only seeming to notice changes now.

You perked up at the mention of changes, nudging Chan with your elbow, making him turn to you with an expectant look, “you should tell her about the hearing thing.”

"What hearing thing?"

Chan shook his head in dismissal, but you hadn't waited for him to continue, knowing he would downplay it like how he always did when he didn't want his parents to worry.

"He was saying how he found it hard to focus because he can hear so many things and keeps getting distracted," you began, missing the knowing look Chan's mom had cast towards her husband.

Chan’s dad was quick to respond, “your mom used to go through something similar, but don’t worry, it'll go away after a while."

Chan raised his eyebrows in question but nodded nonetheless.

That night after dinner, you had both adjourned to Chan’s room, the comforting smell upon entering, that you couldn’t describe as anything other than Chan, instantly putting you in a relaxed mood.

You'd flopped belly-down onto Chan's bed, closing your eyes and letting a satisfied sigh escape your lips while the said boy was bringing his homework over to where you were, pushing you so you rolled over to make space for him.

You opened your eyes with a pout that he'd made you roll over, leaning over to inspect the papers before flopping back down on his bed.

"What's that?" you asked.

"Chemistry homework," he murmured, twirling his pen between his fingers as he glared at the questions, filling in answers with ease.

"Ew."

Chan let out an amused huff, his tongue sticking out slightly to wet his lips before he spoke, "do you still need a tutor? I can help you if you need."

You let out a sigh, rolling over so you were lying on your back now, your head next to Chan's textbook, his flipping causing his knuckles to graze your face lightly, the sensation almost causing Chan to pull back his hand instinctively.

"It's a little late for that, already have one. And thanks to him my chemistry is kind of improving,"

"Who?" there was an edge to Chan's voice that you found interesting, not knowing why this information was so important to him.

"Mingyu?” You answered, your hesitance making it sound like more of a question than an answer, “he's my lab partner."

Chan clenched his jaw, nodding. It wasn't any secret that you'd mentioned that Mingyu was 'charismatic' countless times before, but it wasn't as if you meant anything by it.

To you, it was the same as admiring an actor on tv.  But of course, Chan knew that. Which was why he surprised himself with how jealous he was getting at the mere thought of Mingyu tutoring you, getting carried away by thinking of all the opportunities he would get to joke with you or to see the small satisfied smile you would always have on your face after getting a question right. He was getting unusually sulky.

It was just chemistry, wasn't it? There was no reason to feel threatened.

Yet, Chan couldn't shake from his mind the possibility of you being attracted to Mingyu on a deeper level, something Chan wished he could achieve.

He'd caught you off guard when he glanced at you, his expression almost unreadable. As Chan leant over ever so slightly, you felt your heart rate pick up, the racing of your heartbeat loud as ever in your ears, almost making it hard to breathe (or maybe it was how nice he smelled, you weren't sure).

"Why didn't you ask me?" he teased, making your eyes widen, shoving him further away in your panic.

"Y-you know, it just never crossed my mind! And plus, like, you know, it's easier 'cause Mingyu's my lab partner," you fumbled for an excuse, your mind picturing Chan tutoring you instead of Mingyu, feeling strangely shy at the thought.

What was wrong with you? it's just tutoring, it's not that romantic.

Chan huffed, dimples appearing on his face as he smirked, shaking his head at you.

"You say it like you don't spend hours lying on my bed doing nothing almost every day," He sighed, his hand that was next to your head clenching tighter on his textbook, hoping he was just hallucinating when he thought he could hear the quick thumping of your heart.

In your panic, you'd gotten up from the bed abruptly, removing your sweater from how warm you'd gotten after whateverjust happened.

"Is that a new perfume you're wearing?" he mumbled absentmindedly once you'd removed your sweater, his gaze still fixed on his worksheets, penning down an answer as he awaited your reply.

"Nope, it's the one I've always been using," you told him, hearing him hum in surprise.

"Really? That's weird. I remember it smelling good when you started wearing it, but I never remembered it smelling this good," he laughed.

Rolling your eyes, you stretched your arm out so your wrist was exposed just below his nose. Taking a whiff, Chan winced at the sudden dull ache at his gums, at the same time it was like his other senses were dulled, the only thing he was able to focus on being the sudden urge to….eat?  

Gripping your wrist firmly, you watched with wide eyes as he brought your wrist down away from his face, trying to figure out why his appetite was only coming back now.

Maybe he really wasn't in the mood for lamb chops today.

"I'm kinda hungry, might go and grab something from the kitchen. You want anything?" you shook your head.

Leaving you (very confused) in his room, Chan had gone downstairs to the kitchen, his heavy footsteps getting the attention of his mom who was seated at the sofa, “Chan, dear can you help me throw this away in the kitchen?”

He made his way over to where his mom was seated, seeing that she was waving a now-empty packet of the concentrated extract packets your parents always gave them, humming in acknowledgement as he took the packet from her hands.

Bringing it over to the kitchen, Chan threw it into the bin, pulling the fridge open, only then realising that he’d gotten a bit of the extract on his fingers, bringing his thumb to his mouth to suck it off.

Then, there it was again. That dull ache in his gums, except this time he felt as though he’d found a taste similar to whatever he thought he was craving, the sweetness of the extract surprising him, since he remembered trying it in the past once when his parents weren’t home and only remembering it to have tasted horrible.

Maybe they changed the manufacturer.


Chan shrugged, deciding to take one of the packets from the fridge discreetly and head back upstairs. Entering the room, Chan spotted you lying on the same spot he’d left you in, staring curiously at his Chemistry homework.

“Why do your questions look so much harder?”

Chan scoffed, “maybe Mingyu needs to tutor you more,” he sing-songed, and you told yourself not to imagine the spitefulness to his tone.

Tearing an opening in the packet with his teeth and taking as sip of the extract, Chan almost let out a groan, looking at the packet with his eyebrows raised, still not being able to understand how it could taste so different from what he remembered.

“What’s that?”

“It’s the red ginseng thing your parents gave us,” he murmured, taking bigger sips of the extract, gulping it down as easily as if it were water, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Isn’t it really bitter?” You made a face of disgust, earning a vigorous shake of the head from him.

“No, not at all. You wanna try?” Chan held the packet in front of you, and taking it from his hands, you’d taken a small sip, the liquid immediately being rejected by your taste buds, the packet long forgotten as your hands flew up to cover your mouth before you could spit it out, getting up quickly to run to his bathroom, spitting out whatever you had in your mouth into the sink, finding the awful metallic taste of the liquid lingering on your tongue.

You weren’t sure if you were overreacting, but you’d got the sensing that what was in that packet was definitely not red ginseng, your mind naturally wandering to the most extreme possibility you could think of at the moment.

But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? You dismissed the thought quickly, figuring it would be too much of a coincidence, turning the tap on to rinse the liquid down the sink, not wanting to look at it any longer.

You almost hadn’t noticed Chan’s presence at the door of the bathroom, “are you okay? What happened? Did you like, choke or something?” He asked, concern laced in his tone and expression.

You shook your head, hiding your conflicting thoughts with a laugh, “I really…don’t think I can drink that stuff.”

You rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth in your desperate attempt to get rid of the metallic taste, turning to face Chan afterwards, who had his lips pulled into a thoughtful pout.

“That was really gross, I still feel like throwing up,” you groaned, watching Chan finish the rest of the packet and dispose of it in the trash.

“Maybe you should rest, do you want some water?”

You nodded profusely, pouting sulkily at him, “yes, please. Thank you.”

Chan had made his way downstairs again, this time, when he was on his way back upstairs with a glass of water for you, he’d bumped into his dad who looked as though he were about to knock on his bedroom door.

“Dad?”

“Oh, Chan, can I um speak to you for a minute?”

Chan shrugged, letting his dad lead him to his parent’s room, where his mom was seated on the bed, inspecting the contents of a small palm-sized box she was holding.

Sitting on the bed next to his mom, Chan’s dad stood next to them as his mom began, “your dad and I were thinking it was about time we give you this, since you’re growing up now.”

Chan accepted the box from his mom, opening it and seeing a thick rimmed engraved ring, with a translucent gem sitting nicely embedded in the ring.

“It’s for protection. Your dad’s parents gave one to him and me when we got married, and it’s been serving us well ever since. We need you to make sure you have it on you at all times, is that alright?”

“Oh…” Chan glanced briefly at his parent’s hands, inspecting their own individual rings, “protection?”

“Yes, we believe there’s a sort of… luck about the ring. Which is why it’s very important that you wear it," she stressed.

Chan felt as though he were in some sort of fantasy movie, having only seen these things in the likes of Harry Potter movies, nodding dumbly along with whatever his parents were saying.

“Alright, I uh…I’ll go back to my room now, Y/N’s probably waited really long already...” He stood up, holding the box tightly in his hand as he left the room.

"What was that?!" Chan's mom whispered harshly at his dad once Chan left the room, shuddering as she recalled their awkward presenting of Chan's ring.

"I thought parenting was hard but I didn't know it was gonna feel this weird too," Chan's mom sighed.

"I think we did pretty well," he shrugged.

And Chan thought they did well too, until he was walking back to his room and the swarm of questions started to flood his mind:

Was the ring water resistant? What about swim meets, would he have to take it off then? But his parents said wear it ‘all the time’, so didn’t that mean he couldn’t take it off?

Chan was ready to tell you everything that had happened, hoping you would indulge him and his many questions like you always did for each other, opening the door as he spoke, “I have a question-”

Chan stopped himself when he’d heard the light snoring coming from where you lay on the bed, your head nuzzled into his hoodie that he’d left there. Letting a soft huff escape his lips, he’d set the cup of water on the bedside table, walking around you and clearing the bed of his worksheets and textbooks, tucking an arm ever so slowly beneath your knees and behind your back to carefully shift your position so your head would be on the pillow.

Taking his laptop and bringing it over to the bedside table, Chan got into bed, carefully peeling his hoodie away from your face, seeing you frown in your sleep, rolling over only to have your face press against his side, a deep sigh leaving you, Chan momentarily tensing when he felt your hand sling over his waist, hugging him as though he were a bolster.

Taking deep breaths, Chan pulled his laptop onto his lap, clicking on his Netflix tab with a sigh, anticipating a long night ahead.

===

“Woah,” you gasped, gaping as you stared at the timer in your hands, the sloshing of water in the pool drowned out by your shock.

Chan's head surfaced from the pool, pushing his (rather freshly dyed and cut) hair away from his forehead as he looked at you, his hand going up to wipe the water from his face.

"How'd I do?"

You sputtered, too shocked to form words as you showed him his timing.

"That's literally...your fastest one yet."

Chan's eyes widened at the sight of the timing, staring at you with his eyebrows raised, "H... how did this even..." he sounded breathless, earning a nod of agreement from you.

"I don't think I’ve seen anyone swim this fast, what are you, a vampire?" you laughed, earning a splash of water in your direction.

"You know, I'm pretty convinced it's all the gymming and the whole diet plan thing.” Chan noticed your unamused expression, making him huff and roll his eyes.

Wading over to where you sat at the edge of the pool, he brought his arms to rest against the edge, using his arms to gesture as he spoke.

"No, like, seriously hear me out. Ever since I started like eating the protein shakes and whatever and I’ve been taking the red ginseng stuff too, and I feel great, like everything seems a lot…more intense?” Chan tried to explain, earning an intrigued hum from you.

“Like, it’s as if my senses are like…heightened. Do you know what I mean?” He continued, and you couldn’t help but think of all the stories your parents would tell you about vampires, about how common it used to be in the town back when her parents were children, looking at Chan who was busy touching the ring on his finger.

Chan’s parents seemed absolutely normal, it wouldn’t make sense, would it? Dismissing the thought quickly, Chan had noticed you staring at his hands, looking away and clearing his throat loudly in an attempt to get you out of whatever trance you were in.

You opened and closed your mouth, fumbling to swipe out of your timer app to do a quick search on the benefits of red ginseng.

“I mean, I did hear that red ginseng has a ton of benefits,” you shrugged, scrolling through the results, mindlessly naming the benefits to him as you tried not to stare at him getting out of the pool.

Maybe the gymming was starting to show, especially now that you were seeing him while he wasn’t drowning himself in his one-size-too-big hoodies. Looking away as he grabbed his towel, he rubbed the towel against his hair as he stretched his free hand out to you.

“Are you gonna tell your dad about your new timing? When’s the deadline for you to submit it to the swimming people?” You asked, grasping his hand and letting him pull you swiftly off of the ground, again surprising you with the ease at which he did so.  

“We’re past the deadline already, the competition's in a few days, I doubt they’d accept any more changes in entries this close to the competition,” he laughed.

Your lips made an o shape, a low impressed sound leaving you, “ohh, the other swimmers are really gonna be shocked, then. I don’t even remember your rival being this good.”

Chan shot you a pointed look, knowing you were referring to the town council member’s son, “he’s not my rival, Y/N,” Chan shook his head at you with a smile, and oh, how Chan it was of him to say that.

You rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, whatever, the bane of my existence, then. Speaking of which, he replied to my post the other day,” you murmured.

“Oh yeah? What did he say?” Chan grabbed his backpack, beginning to walk with you to the shower rooms. Pulling out your phone, you’d scrolled through your camera roll to find the screenshot of the post where you’d taken a picture of the pool, captioning it that you were still waiting for Chan to finish practicing so you could go and eat.

Chan squinted his eyes, trying to read the reply that guy had left on your post, “tell Chan not to work too hard to get his ass beat for me babe,” Chan rolled his eyes after reading the comment.

“I took a screenshot to show you before I deleted his comment,” you laughed, shoving your phone back into your pocket.

And as usual, Chan replied graciously, “don’t let him get to you,” he told you, setting his things down at the bench near the doors of the locker room.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chan was right that he still bothered you, and showing Chan his stupid comments wasn't going to make him any more bothered about it than you were because that was just how Chan was.

Patient, forgiving, no-violence Chan. Maybe that was what you liked so much about him, how he made you feel balanced, safe. And picturing him as a vampire was not doing anything for this already-formed judgement of Chan, afraid that it might change if it turned out to be true.

“Wait for me a little bit longer? I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Chan gave you a pleading look, even though he knew you would say yes.

And though you knew it too, you didn’t miss the opportunity to give him your best look of annoyance, making him rush to reassure you.

“Really, really, I swear. I’ll be quick. Sit tight,” he told you, entering the locker rooms as you were left to scroll through your social media.

True to his word, he was done quickly, and you'd made your way out of the indoor hall, unfortunately having to squeeze together with the crowd of students who were all rushing to go home as well.

You walked ahead of Chan, making your way through the halls when you suddenly felt a hand grip your wrist firmly, turning to see a rather uncomfortable-looking Chan, who had his other hand covering his mouth, the dull ache in his gums returning as the students pushed past the both of you.

"Hey, you okay?" your eyebrows were knit in concern, watching as his glazed-over gaze met yours, nodding a little belatedly.

"Yeah," he let out a controlled breath, "just gotta get out of here, feel like I can't breathe."

You'd never known Chan was claustrophobic, the newfound information making you grip his hand tighter and quicken your pace so you were out of the school gates in no time.

You heard him let out a deep sigh, his hand still grasping yours firmly, turning your head to watch closely as he brought a hand up to touch his teeth, feeling almost as though he were hallucinating when he'd felt his canines become more blunt, if that were possible (even though he was absolutely sure he'd cut his thumb on them the day before when he was inspecting his teeth in the mirror to find possible reasons behind his toothache).

"What happened just now? Are you okay?"

Chan shook his head, "nah it was nothing just.... happens when I'm in crowds, makes me feel really giddy and breathless, almost like I ran 50 laps without a sip of water."

You nodded in understanding, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. Could this have been...bloodlust?

"Maybe it's because I didn't cool down after practice," he shrugged, and for now, you accepted that answer.

===

Chan was practically humming with excitement when it was competition day, having drank the red ginseng every day since the last time he’d met you to practice, and you were the same, sitting in the spectators stand with some people who you recognised to be Chan’s classmates, who had invited you to sit with them since they’d seen you come in late.

You recognized one of them to be Minho, who you knew Chan was close to, and the both of you had managed to get along quite well whenever you talked, and you were glad he was here, providing you snacks and making conversation with you, even updating you on the events and the people whenever you were lost without you having to ask.

While you were waiting for the swim meet to start, you'd made conversation with Minho, delving into simple topics like what you studied and what you were planning on studying in the future and things like that.

"I bumped into Chan just now when I was on my way here," Minho mentioned casually, "has he been kind of weird lately?"

You raised an eyebrow at Minho's question, wondering what behaviour Chan showcased to make him think that way.

"Weird like how?"

"Like, I don't know. I asked you because he seemed a lot more energetic, thought you guys were finally dating or something."

You scoffed; your attention momentarily diverted as you heard the horn blast to commence the first swimming event.

"What made you think that?" you let out a nervous laugh, making him shrug, watching the swimmers with a satisfied smile on his face.

"No reason."

You watched in anticipation as the swimmers for the next event (which was Chan’s first event of the day), walked up to their respective lanes, with Chan in the middle lane.

"That guy keeps staring in our direction," Minho murmured.

Your frowned, "which guy?"

Minho gestured with his hand in the direction of the swimmers, "Chan's rival."

Your eyes lit up, "I'm not the only one who thinks they're rivals!" you cheered, only then realizing what Minho had said. "Wait, he's looking?"

You let go of your hesitance to cast a glance at the direction of the town council member's son, you realized that he was indeed looking in your direction, casting you a wink when you'd met his gaze.

Looking away immediately, your expression hardened, not wanting to show any sign of being affected by what he had done, simply giving Minho a shrug, "never liked him very much."

Minho let out an amused grunt, "same."

Watching the swimmers intently, you waited as Chan had participated for the breaststroke, and freestyle events, his last one being the Individual medley, where he'd essentially have to do four different types of swimming strokes. Though you knew Chan's timing for yourself, you couldn't help the nervousness that crept up on you once the event started, knowing Chan used to be weaker in his backstroke, not knowing if he'd improved.

But Chan had proven you wrong when you saw how fast he was swimming, finishing a lot faster than the other players.

"Woah." Minho's eyes were wide, turning to share a look of amazement with you.

You couldn't help but notice the dirty looks the council member's son was casting towards Chan, even going to the extent of spouting a few comments to try to throw Chan off, to which the boy would always respond by staring straight ahead, refusing to entertain him.

This wasn't to say Chan wasn't annoyed, no, he was very much annoyed. He just didn’t feel a need to react, not wanting his own personal feelings to get in the way of his performance. Like you always said, classic Chan.

The crowd cheered loudly when the event was over, and you cheered even louder knowing that this meant Chan was officially done with his events and that he could finally rest.

But before you could celebrate with him by watching a movie and snacking at his house, you had to sit through the wrapping up of the ceremony, unable to sit still through the prize ceremony (which seemed as though it lasted forever).

Figuring you might as well put your restlessness to good use, you tried taking pictures of Chan as he received his medals, zooming in as much as your phone allowed to get a good view of him. Minho seemed to sense your struggle with getting good photos of him, laughing at your lack of common sense.

"Why don't you just walk over there and take them? You'd get a much better view compared to here," Minho suggested, earning an impressed hum from you.  Going over to the balcony of the spectator stand in your attempt to take better pictures of Chan, trying to ignore the way he looked absolutely radiant from where he’d stood at the top of the stand, or trying to ignore how he would wave his hand in dismissal as he covered his smile, probably refusing another compliment from the Guest-of-Honour. But most of all, trying not to let your heart flutter at the tiny wave he gave you when he spotted you at the balcony.

After the ceremony had ended, you’d went back to your seat, focusing on filtering your pictures of Chan, favouriting the good ones so you could send it to him, feeling someone tap your shoulder, looking up to see that it was Minho.

“We're gonna head out first, will you be alright?"

You nodded profusely, waving a hand in dismissal.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, go ahead,” you told him and his other friends quickly, earning an appreciative smile from them.

“Thanks, tell Chan we said congrats!” They beamed, leaving you to continue editing your pictures of Chan.

You were surprised at the crowd that lingered, not missing the way you heard some of them saying they were just waiting for Chan to come out so they could congratulate him before leaving, and soon enough you heard hushed whispers, assuming Chan had arrived. 


Waiting for him to greet you, you’d looked up with a smile when you felt the tap on your shoulder. However, your smile immediately dropped when you saw who was actually in front of you.

Your blood ran cold, almost freezing up in place as you saw the smile he gave you, “hey, babe. Stayed to wait for me?”

In your attempt to look unintimidated, you’d scoffed, “nope,” you looked elsewhere, not daring to look him in the eye and letting your gaze falter.

You’d shifted away when he’d taken a seat next to you on the bench, his hand going up to grasp your shoulder, pushing your hair away from your shoulder to reveal more of your neck.

“What’s got you all angsty? All I wanted was to say hi,” he shrugged, one of his hands going to grasp your forearm, making you shake your hand out of his grip. You would've expected more courtesy from a council member's son.

“You’ve said hi, now I’d appreciate if you could leave me alone.”

You’d almost shivered when he brought a hand up to pinch your ear, flinching away and absolutely hating the dirty feeling that lingered when he removed his hand, all you could think of was that you were desperate for Chan to show up, not trusting your own ability to retort.

“Hmm, I have to say, Y/N. The more you play hard to get, the more it’s reeling me in,” he laughed, making you stand up abruptly, taking a step away from him, oblivious to the fact that Chan had heard your conversation, making his way up to the spectator stand as quickly as he could.

“I’m not playing…hard to get,” you took a deep breath in, clenching your fists and desperately trying to reduce the trembling of your voice.

“Whatever you say, babe,” he shrugged, leaving you to regulate your breathing as he sat at the spectators stands at the bottom of the section.

“Y/N,” you heard the voice you were so thankful to hear, turning to see Chan standing there, giving you a warm smile as he gave you a wave, his other hand full of his bouquet of flowers and his bag.

You heaved a sigh of relief, giving him a smile, hoping he hadn’t seen your interaction with that guy but knowing deep down he probably did.

Chan made his way to stand at the aisle next to where you sat, your hand reaching out to grab his free hand, relishing in the feeling of safety that washed over you instantly, feeling him swaying your hands gently as you resisted the urge to close your eyes.

“You did so well just now! I have so many videos, it was amazing,” you told him, seeing him shake his head, maintaining his modesty, never one to receive compliments very well.

“I was honestly really surprised myself,” he laughed, his free hand going up to grasp the back of his neck, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head in an attempt to hide his red ears.

Chan had unconsciously looked over to where the guy was sitting with his friends, noticing that they were looking in your direction as well, the guy letting out a scoff before gesturing to the both of you.

“Oh, I get it now, so the reason why she’s been so hesitant is basically ‘cause Chris’ got her on a leash,” he sneered, making Chan furrow his eyebrows.

You sensed his change in demeanour, frowning as you looked up at him, “hey, what’s wrong?”

Chan shook his head at first, figuring it wouldn’t do him or you any good if he were to get angry, choosing to ignore it as you stood up, your hands going to cup his face as you tried to place what emotion he was feeling. Your action had almost calmed Chan down, but it had also seemed to elicit a reaction from the guy’s group of friends as well.

“I don’t blame him, if it were me I’d want that all to myself too, I mean look at her, shit, she’d look so much hotter if she wasn’t always covering herself up,” one of his friends had sputtered out with a laugh, making the guy sigh loudly in agreement with his friend.

“Makes you wanna take it off for her yourself, doesn’t it?”

Chan’s expression hardened, making your eyebrows raise, concerned as to why he was suddenly looking so upset.

“What did you just say?” Chan’s tone was stern, making your eyes widen.

“Me?” Chan had peeled your hands off of his face, giving you a small smile as he tried to suppress his anger.

“Nothing, hey, can you go wait for me at the lobby first? I just need to grab something quick and then we can go,” he told you, making you a little confused at the sudden switch in his behaviour again but nodding nonetheless, wanting to get out of this place as soon as you could.

Once Chan was sure you were out of sight, he made his way to where the guy and his friends were sitting, staring them down as he found himself acting faster than his brain could process.

“I’d appreciate it if you keep your disgusting comments to yourself,” Chan snarled, his fists clenching at his sides.


This had only seemed to amuse the council member’s son, who raised a challenging eyebrow at Chan.

“What comments?”

Chan was practically seething with anger, his jaw clenching with the amount of sheer restraint he was trying to maintain not to lash out at the boy in front of him, finding it strange that he was feeling this way since he usually didn’t get so riled up from his comments.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I saw the way you acted towards her. Couldn’t you tell that she was uncomfortable?”

“Didn’t seem like it to me,” the boy drawled, “oh but, we do have a question for you. Is Y/N as good at using her mouth for doing things other than running it?” He looked at Chan, the lift of his eyebrows almost daring Chan to snap.

Chan let out a deep breath through his nose, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Comments like what you just said about Y/N, she’s not comfortable with it, and neither am I. So, I’d really appreciate it if you showed some decency and at least tried to keep such comments to yourself.”

The guy made an expression of realisation, turning to his friends to snicker.

“I completely understand," the guy stood up, his hand coming up to push at Chan's shoulder, forcing him to stumble back slightly. Bringing a hand up to slap Chan across the face, patting his cheek harshly after to prolong the sting.

“Chris here's just getting all emotional trying to protect his little pet, I completely under-“

Chan wasn’t sure what came over him in that moment, all he knew was that he really wanted to put that guy in his place, and he didn't care if he was gonna have to face the damn town council for it if it meant that he would stop going after you.

Throwing his first punch to the boy's face, managing to trigger a nosebleed as he stumbled onto the floor, fumbling to grab his seat to find some stability after the impact of Chan's punch.

Chan wanted to stop at that, since you were probably wondering where he was and why he was taking so long. However, something about the way the blood dripping from the boy's nose had smelled was making Chan hazier than he already was.

"What the fuck was that for, dude?" he sputtered, getting up and swinging a punch towards Chan, which Chan had seemed as though he hadn't felt, simply narrowing his eyes at the boy.

It was as though he was going in and out of focus, not even realising how far he'd gotten into the fight as the people in the swimming complex had gaped at the scene.

Chan, fighting? it didn't seem like it was real, especially not with the way the guy's friends had joined in in an attempt to defend their friend but yet Chan had seemed immune to the pain, his frustration getting the better of him.

"Hey, dude, don't think you can just run away after doing that," his friends threatened, grabbing Chan's arms as they tried to prevent Chan from leaving.

Meanwhile, in the lobby, you were busy trying to identify all the flowers in Chan's bouquet when you'd heard a commotion coming from the swimming area, hearing the large double doors open to reveal a few guys from Chan's swimming team that you knew the faces of but not their names, running over to you with panic-stricken expressions.

"Hey, uh, I think you should come with us, it’s Chris.”

You frowned, already following them with brisk footsteps, a sick feeling in your stomach growing as you tried to picture what could’ve possibly been going on.

“What happened?”

Pushing open the door leading to the swimming area, your eyes searched desperately to find Chan in the crowd.

“He got into a fight with uh-”

Upon spotting Chan in the crowd, your heart sank, “him.”

You saw people trying to break up the fight, yet also hesitant to do so in fear of the council member's son. You ran over to where he was, your hands shaking from anxiousness and your heart pounding so hard you could hear it, pushing your way through the crowd and flinching when you saw that guy grip Chan by the collar, as the rest of his friends had pulled Chan's hands behind him. Chan shoved his friends backwards, freeing his hands from their grip with apparent ease before taking the boy's hand that was grabbing his collar, pulling it away from his chest, making you wonder how hard Chan was gripping him for him to immediately cower in fear, desperately trying to pull Chan’s hand off of his.

“Chan!” You called, and you saw the guy turn to you, a look in his eyes begging you to stop Chan that you couldn’t help but pity.

Deciding it was now or never, you intercepted, pushing the guy away from Chan and grabbing Chan’s arms, successfully managing to direct his gaze to yours, and you almost sighed in relief when you saw his gaze soften, his expression changing to that of a kicked puppy, his haziness mixed with confusion at the sight of you.

The crowd had started to disperse, and you led Chan out of the swimming area, away from prying eyes. Mindlessly following you, he hadn’t uttered a word even as you left the school gates, too shocked to notice that the wounds on his knuckles were already healing, all he could process now being that he felt so embarrassed that he’d let himself act out like that, that he’d let his anger get the better of him even after all the times he told you not to let what he says get to you. Only now managing to let the haziness fade off now as you were walking briskly in front of him, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in.

“Are you mad at me?” You were shocked at the way his tone sounded so defeated, so afraid to hear your answer.

You shrugged, your hand still gripping his tightly. Glancing at his hand discreetly while walking, you noticed the smoothness of his previously bruised knuckles. His wounds were healing.

“Should I be?”

You didn’t know what the fight was about, or how it started, and frankly you didn’t really care at this point of time. All you knew was that you saw the way his expression looked when you stopped him, and you knew you wanted to make sure that he was okay.

“I’m sorry,” he stopped you before you reached the street you both lived on, his gaze directed towards anywhere but you.

“I don’t know what came over me, I just…got really angry and before I knew it you were stopping me,” he sighed, feeling as though he could cry thinking of how easy it was for him to underestimate his strength.

You nodded, “I know, it’s not like you to get into physical fights like these,” you murmured, regretting your choice of words when you saw him look even more upset.

Giving you a nod, he continued, “yeah…it isn’t.”

Chan felt like burying his face in a pillow and screaming, there was no way you’d be able to see him in the same light as before, all he’d shown to you was that he was reckless, and from what he was sure of, there was no way that was part of traits you looked for in a guy.

“I’m really…really sorry,” you heard him say, starting to walk again, and you were starting to grow worried at how Chan seemed as though he were beginning to shut down, knowing that it was best to give him his space to collect his thoughts now.

You’d walked the rest of the way with him to his house in an uncomfortably tense silence. Your phone was lighting up non-stop with notifications from different people, sending you the video someone had taken of the fight and telling you to look at it. While you were holding up your phone, Chan had caught a glimpse of the contents of the messages, only serving to make him feel even worse about himself.

Entering his house, Chan had let go of your hand silently after giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” Chan gave you a sad smile before heading upstairs, ignoring the calls of his mother who was currently in the living room typing on her computer.

“Y/N, honey. What happened? Is Chan alright?”

Setting her laptop on the sofa cushion, she’d gotten up to approach you, casting a concerned glance upstairs.

You let out a nervous laugh, “uh... I guess? He’s not really okay, per se. It’s more of like a…” you trailed off in your rambling, unsure how to approach the topic.

You lowered your voice, “he kind of got into a fight at school,” you murmured, earning a wide-eyed look from his mom.

She opened and closed her mouth in lack of a response, tilting her head in disbelief, “fight?”

You huffed in nervousness.

“Yeah, I know, it’s pretty…out of character. But he seemed really upset about it, and I thought it was better if you knew… you know, before the school calls you about it and all," you shrugged, “or the town council, you really never know,” you added as an afterthought.

She let out a small sigh, nodding, “thanks for telling me, dear. I'll have a chat with him, are you going up?"

You shook your head quickly.

"Oh, nah, it's fine. I think it'd be better if I let him have his space...and stuff," you huffed, flashing Chan's mom a polite smile before leaving the house.

Meanwhile, Chan had taken the longest shower of his life, hoping the water would drown out the sound of you and his mom talking downstairs. He'd been in the shower long enough that his mom had turned off the water heater, Chan taking that as his queue that it was about time to stop prolonging his shower to delay facing his worries.

Once he was out of the shower, Chan wasn't sure why he'd expected to see you in his room, letting out a deep sigh when he was met with the opposite.

Checking his phone in the hope that you could’ve messaged him, he was surprised when he saw that he really did have a notification from you.

He scrolled past the pictures and videos from his swim meet, immediately reading the string of messages you'd sent:

7:34pm -text me so I know you’re okay :(- 7:37pm -and before you ask me again, I’m really not mad at you- 7:37pm -let me know if you need to talk, alright? Rest well-

Chan was about to reply you, hearing a knock at his door and hearing his mom whispering harshly outside to whom could only be his dad.

Chan 8:00pm -thanks, u shld get some rest too-

Chan watched as his bedroom door opened, his parents entering his room with serious expressions that only made him dread what kind of conversation they were about to have even more. Not that his parents had ever lectured him before, but he knew that this circumstance was different.

“Hey, honey, how are you feeling?” His mom began, sitting next to where he was sitting leaning against the headboard, his dad walking over to his desk table, picking up the packet of red ginseng Chan had forgotten he’d left there.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you I’ve kind of been drinking the red ginseng extract,” Chan sighed, making his mom suck in a sharp breath.

“Right, that’s kind of what we wanted to talk to you about, honey. That’s…not red ginseng,” his mom began, pressing her lips together firmly before mustering a casual smile.

“Okay, remember how mom and dad used to tell you and Y/N stories about vampires in this town?”

Chan felt himself freeze up, his gaze immediately falling onto his ring, unsure if he was reading too much into what his mom was saying.

“There’s no other way to tell you this, Chan, your mom and I, we’re vampires,” Chan’s eyes widened, staring blankly at his parents as his dad continued.

“Your mom was turned after you were born, so we thought initially that you might not show the same traits as all vampires, but we only found out after you were born that you would only develop the traits later on in your life, which is…now.”

Chan felt as though he were dreaming, that this was just another story that he heard that he would share with you later on, except it wasn’t, because his parents had started to name the traits, and only then did Chan realise how much he’d been misidentifying his traits, potentially putting the people around him in danger.

“And uh…Y/N’s parents know, of course, since they’ve been providing us with the blood.”

“Does Y/N know?” Chan frowned.

His mom shook her head hesitantly, “we don’t…think so, from what we know she still doesn’t know.”

Chan inhaled deeply, feeling as though the weight on his chest had only gotten heavier. He hadn’t even told you he liked you yet, and now he had to tell you he was a vampire of all things too?

“And about the blood, usually one bag is enough to last you for a week, but we're thinking the reason you might be finding it a little hard to control your bloodlust is because you've been drinking it so regularly that your body, especially because you’re still adjusting, just needs more, do you understand?"

Chan felt like he was gonna be sick, this whole time he had been drinking blood? He recalled the time he'd let you try it and you'd almost puked at the taste; Chan hadn't found it weird then but now that he knew this, he felt veryuncomfortable.

"Is it…human blood?"

His dad nodded his head. “The hospital has a system where people donate their blood for the sake of this arrangement, similarly to how they did in the past when there were more vampires in the town. And it’s ensured that the people are taken care of and allowed to recover after donating.”

Now Chan really felt sick, not being able to quite process the events that had been occurring the past few weeks in a new light.

He thought about the fight that had happened, how hazy he was because all he could think about was how thirsty he was and how giddy with frustration that was making him feel, only now he could actually place what he was craving.

"Which is also why we gave you the ring, it's to protect you from the sun. If you don't wear it when you go out, you could pretty much burn to death." Chan’s dad shot a look at his mom for her bluntness, having been able to sense how shocked his son was.

Chan's eyes widened in shock, his hand instinctively going to touch his ring.

"Are we missing anything out?" Chan's mom turned to his dad to ask, earning a delayed shake of his head.

"I don't think so, but Chan, if you have any questions about it please come to your mom and I, we really...we were afraid of how you'd adjust to the changes so we just wanna make sure you're okay."

Chan nodded, still feeling as though his head was spinning with the sheer weight of the information he was suddenly receiving.

"I think I just need some time to get used to it, but I'll be fine...hopefully," he let out a half-hearted laugh.

Chan's dad mouthed to his mom while he was busy zoning out 'we should leave him alone'

Taking the queue to leave, Chan's mom patted his leg gently, "we'll go now, then. Goodnight, honey."

Giving them a small smile, Chan waited for them to leave before he could flop back onto his pillow with a groan.

===

That night, your parents had returned home earlier than usual, having eaten dinner already, you’d sat yourself on the recliner in your living room, debating on whether or not to watch the video that you now had multiple copies of saved in your phone from the sheer multitude of times it was sent to you.

Deciding to click on it, you went to the comments first, hoping it would give you a little insight on what the contents of the video were.

You scrolled through the comments.

‘wow he’s such an asshole, if I were that guy I wldve beat him up too’

‘is he talking abt y/n???’

‘I was there at the fight… he didn’t do anything wrong...I would’ve been mad if I heard someone talking abt my friend like that too’  

You let out a sigh, deciding to click on the video and turn the volume up so you could hear what he said, a strong feeling of discomfort building in you as you heard what that boy had said about you, flinching in shock when you saw the way Chan had punched him, the impact sending the boy stumbling to the ground.

You’d continued watching with wide eyes, the recording only stopping after you had intervened, setting your phone down with a small sigh, resting your head in your hands and closing your eyes, trying to process what had happened.

Chan was definitely going to get suspended because of you.

“Y/N?” You raised your head slowly, spotting your dad entering the living room with a bowl of fruits, going over to sit on the sofa closest to you, holding the bowl out for you to take.

You mustered a smile as you took the bowl from him, deciding against telling him about what had happened, not wanting to trouble your dad after his long day at work.

“Thanks. How was your day?” You asked him before he could direct the question to you, seeing him give you a knowing look.

“Got called in to treat this boy’s injuries today, boy called for the head doctor specifically because his dad was a council member,” your heart sank, wondering how badly he was injured since you’d left the scene so hastily. So much for not telling him what happened.

“The kid came in with a broken wrist, nose and ribs,” your dad continued, making you wince at the thought of the amount of strength Chan would’ve had to have to cause such injuries just from what you saw in the video. “So, you know. As a doctor, I have to ask how it happened, right?”

Your eyes widened, “dad, you have to understand, Chan really doesn't usually get into fights like this, I wasn’t there when it happened, I tried to stop him as fast as I cou—"

“I’m not mad at Chan, honey.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “you’re…not?”

Your dad smiled, shaking his head, “I mean, of course, as a medical practitioner I should be against all sorts of violence, but…I understand why Chan did it. Hell, even your mom wanted to pummel that poor boy, you should’ve seen his face when he realised who we were. I’ve watched Chan grow up, I know he’s a good kid.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you were able to picture your mom’s reaction.

Your mom had finished washing up, making her way downstairs to join you and your father in the living room, “are you guys talking about that stupid boy we saw in the hospital today?”

She’d huffed in annoyance as your dad nodded, taking a seat next to your dad as she munched on the remaining fruits your dad had left over for her.

“We saw the video,” your mom said, earning a grimace from you.

“I really didn’t like the things he said about you, baby. But I’m glad Chan was there to stand up for you when we couldn’t,” she told you seriously, “I have to say, I’m really glad you and Chan have each other.”

“How is he, anyway?”

You shrugged, “a mess, basically. He feels really bad for hitting the guy, thought he could use some space, so we haven’t talked much after I brought him home.”

Your mom scoffed, “yeah well that boy deserved it.”

Your dad gave her a warning look, letting out a small sigh.

“Chan’s a good kid,” he said, more to remind himself than anything, his previous reservations about how safe you would be around Chan beginning to dissipate. If today wasn’t enough evidence, it was clear that you were the last person Chan would want to hurt. Instead, you were the one he would go out on a limb for to protect.

You frowned. You knew Chan was a good kid, of course you knew that, he was your closest friend. You’d seen him grow from being too shy to even introduce himself to the class to someone who was strong, stood for what he believed in, and unashamed to be generous with his love (although he was still a little shy).

Knowing Chan, you couldn’t imagine the kind of inner conflict he was going through now, wanting to comfort him but at the same time knowing he needed space to think. If he was a vampire, how much of him would change? So far, all you saw were physical changes, but you were starting to wonder if there were actually changes taking place that you couldn’t see, changes that could’ve made him act up like how he did today.

“What’s with that expression, baby?”

You shook your head, “nothing…actually, do you remember all the stories you used to tell us about vampires?”

You missed the look your mom and dad had exchanged, shifting your position on the recliner so you were sitting on your legs, hearing them hum in affirmation.

“Uh-huh, what about them?”

You pursed your lips, a part of you knowing you had to ask but another part of you having an inkling on what reply they were going to give you, figuring you’d might as well ask now so you could stop theorising about it.

“I have a question, but it requires you to answer me with complete honesty, okay?”

“About what, dear?” Your dad asked.

You took a deep breath,

“Chan…is he like,” you huffed in amusement, finding the situation to feel all too unreal yet extremely real at the same time, “is he a vampire?”

===

You hadn’t seen Chan for the next few days, hearing from Chan’s mom that he was still resting and that he’d been suspended for a week after the fight. Sure, you’d text, but it was never more than asking what you did in school or telling him what he’d missed in lessons. It was as if neither of you wanted to talk about the fight, especially Chan.

You were waiting for him to reach out to you first, and it was only a matter of days before he did, sending you a text on whether you wanted to hang out that evening.

3:38pm -wanna come over to my place instead? We can watch the latest episodes of my vampire show-

You had texted him, and Chan was determined not to let the whole vampire situation deter him. He would have to face it at one point, anyway.

Chan 3:40pm -sure thing-

In the time that Chan was waiting for you to get home, he was busy trying to rehearse how to act.

Do I bring dinner there? But if I bring dinner there I won’t wanna eat it and she’s gonna sense something is up. Unless I just act really well?

Chan dismissed the thought. He couldn’t help but wonder if things would be awkward for the both of you since you were so used to seeing each other regularly. And would you be able to sense that things were off? Chan always whined about your vampire show, you didn’t even notice how compliant he was being this time, simply focused on how much you wanted to see him and make sure he was doing okay.

Chan had taken a shower in a poor attempt to make himself feel less stressed, changing into his black hoodie and sweatpants when he saw your text saying he could come over already, and that you ordered take out.

He’d also noticed another text from his mom

Mom 6:01pm -make sure to eat, alright? you haven’t eaten since your game day-

Chan sighed, replying his mother to appease her and going over to your house. Upon knocking on your door, you wondered why Chan hadn’t just let himself in like he always did, but you jogged over to the door nonetheless, hoping you didn’t look overly excited when you saw him.

If you did, it was gone quickly. Chan looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, looking more tired than anything, giving you a small smile when he saw you.

“You look tired, Chan,” you frowned, and out of habit, you’d brought your hands up to cup his face, your eyes filled with concern, which only served to make Chan even more shy under your gaze, knowing his…eating habits weren’t the easiest thing to explain to you at this point.

Bringing his hands up to grasp at your wrists, he gave you a reassuring smile, “I’m fine, Y/N, don’t worry about me.”

You removed your hands from his face, closing the door behind him and locking it before you’d gone to the living room, where he saw that the food you ordered was already sitting on the coffee table (as if he hadn’t been able to smell it the moment he stood outside your door).

“How’s house arrest?” You joked.

Chan let out a groan, “boring. I’ve already done all the homework so there’s literally nothing else for me to do.”

“What a nerd,” you scrunched your nose up, making him scoff, a satisfied smile appearing on your face as your comment elicited a smile from him.

You flipped open the pizza box and took a slice for yourself as your free hand switched the television on, “well, I must be your lifesaver, then, for asking you to come over. Though I wasn’t expecting you to say yes,” you shot him a knowing look, “you always make fun of my vampire show.”

Chan shrugged, letting out a high-pitched sound in his hesitance, “you know, I guess it’s not that bad,” he shrugged.

You hadn’t questioned Chan on why he wasn’t eating, not wanting to put him on the spot. You’d explained to him the context of the show when he’d asked, finding him awfully quiet while watching the show, a drastic absence of his usual comments on how it was unrealistic. Chan knowing very well that it was possible now.

When an episode of your show had ended, you’d gone to dispose of the pizza box and kept the leftovers in case your parents wanted something to snack on when they came back from the hospital. Washing your hands and cutting some fruits before returning to the living room.

In a momentary lapse of judgement, you’d offered Chan a forkful of fruit, only realising the absurdity of the question afterwards, but not being able to withdraw your offer without it seeming weird. Chan knew this as well, simply leaning over and biting the fruit off of your fork, swallowing it down after barely chewing it.

“Sweet,” he murmured, frankly not knowing whether it was sweet or not with how quickly he’d swallowed it.

You’d let the next episode play, looking as though you were watching the show intently but frankly not being able to focus on anything other than Chan’s presence next to you. It was strange, almost upsetting, how he’d suddenly not dared to wrap his arm around your shoulder like he usually did, or rest his hand on one of your legs so you could let him play with your fingers absently like how he usually did. Now all he did was fiddle with his own fingers as he sat restlessly in his seat.

“Are you…staying over?” You asked, preparing yourself for the disappointment of him saying no.

“Can I?” He asked, turning to look at you with an expression similar to that of a child asking for extra sweets.

You let out a huff, not being able to understand why he felt the need to ask you after so many years of doing so yet knowing why at the same time.

“Of course, you can. You don’t even need to ask,” you shifted your body on the sofa so you were facing him a little more, supporting your elbow on the sofa cushion as you continued to eat your fruits.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” he told you, making you furrow your eyebrows, giving him a confused frown.

“For what?”

“For inviting me over.”

You’d almost forgotten the show was playing, a loud commotion from the show dragging your attention away from Chan temporarily, the both of you having only being able to focus on this conversation you were having with each other.

“You were the one that wanted to hang out first, I should be thanking you” You murmured, seeing him poke his tongue in his cheek before shaking his head slowly.

“I didn’t wanna show up uninvited...and all…. didn’t sit right with me after…whatever happened. Felt like you needed your space too,” he shrugged, knowing you were just as shaken up as he was from your interaction with the guy, something you were still unaware that Chan had seen.

You couldn’t help but smile, “you’re always invited, alright? You could show up at 4am unannounced and I’d still let you in,” you laughed, seeing a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“Thank you,” he took in a deep breath, “I was starting to come up with any excuse I could to come over.”

Chan huffed, his gaze searching yours for an expression he could place, “I really needed any excuse to see you.”

You felt as though you couldn’t move, averting your gaze from Chan so you would stop glancing at his lips. You just weren’t sure what was coming over you, all of a sudden feeling so enamoured of him as he was sitting in front of you, filled with so much unadulterated affection towards him that you’d just really wanted to kiss him.

You’d wished you could slap yourself, here you were having a nice comforting moment with Chan, yet you couldn’t stand the fact that he was sitting so far away from you. That wasn’t how these things usually worked, was it?


“Lets…continue watching the show,” you blurted, thankful he hadn’t refuted.

And so you did, except this time, you both did what you always did, snuggle up against Chan as his hand rested comfortably around you, his other hand playing with your fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers against your fingertips and smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, his actions exuding warmth.

And as habitual your actions were, somehow, they felt extremely new, the warmth and comfort Chan made you feel slowly lulling you to sleep, your show long forgotten by the both of you.

Chan had woken up when he heard the crack of thunder outside the window, not knowing how the both of you had ended up falling asleep, your head bent at what looked like an uncomfortable angle as you were fast asleep, your hand grasping Chan’s.

Chan had carefully lifted himself from the sofa, slipping his hands under you to lift you up, almost hissing when you’d stirred awake, your eyes opening to blink at him groggily. Chan decided to pull you all the way up into a standing position, his hand coming up to smooth your hair down, eliciting a tired smile from you. You’d wanted to turn your head, halting halfway when you felt a sore pain in your neck, Chan immediately knowing it was from your bad sleeping posture.

“Are you okay?” His hand gently massaged your neck at where your hand was, “let’s get you upstairs, hmm?”

You’d frowned, emotions heightened in your half-asleep daze.

“I missed you,” you frowned, as if you were only realising it now as he was standing before you, especially because there was a part of you that was afraid he wasn’t going to be there when you woke up and that you’d just dreamed up this meeting of yours.

“You’re always so…. nice to me,” you sighed, sleepiness taking over and causing you to let your head rest against his chest. Chan was thankful you weren’t awake enough to notice how flustered he was, letting his hand continue to gently rub at your neck.

“I care about you a lot too, you know?” you mumbled, making Chan halt his actions. His eyebrows raising in surprise, unsure how to react.

“You must be really tired, let’s get you upstairs so you can sleep,” his tone was gentle, leading you upstairs and into your room, as you slipped under the covers and waited for him to do so as well, stretching his arm out so you could come closer, wrapping your arm around his waist as your head pressed against his chest. Chan held you close to himself, too tired to pay any heed to the way his fangs ached, suppressing his hunger for your sake.

Chan wasn’t sure what came over him to warrant his next sentence, “what if I said I liked you?”

You smiled, already slipping into that foggy period between sleep and wakefulness, “I’d be glad.”

Chan’s eyes widened.

“You’re joking, right?” He asked. Figuring he was too late when he was only met with your light snoring in reply.

===

"I knew you'd cave," Minho's smug tone echoed in Chan's bedroom, earning an eye roll from Chan.

"Yeah, alright. Fine, so what do you think? Is it a good idea?" Chan brushed Minho's comment aside, already whipping his sketchbook out in his assumption that Minho would acknowledge the ingenuity of his idea.

"Absolutely not," Minho burst into a fit of giggles.

Chan scoffed, his hand halting before he could write anything down on the sketchbook.

"Why not?" he whined, setting his pen down on his sketchbook with a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair to run his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Are you hearing yourself? You really think she’s gonna swoon if you re-enact some scene from some rom com you're not even a hundred percent sure she's seen before?"

Chan pouted. The idea seemed pretty romantic in his head, the whole 'love actually' sketchbook scene. There were many pros to it in Chan's eyes: Firstly, that he wouldn't have to speak, and secondly, that he would be able to plan his words beforehand. And Thirdly, it was certified as ‘romantic’ by the general public, so there was a higher chance of you thinking it was romantic too, in Chan’s opinion.

However, Minho had only seemed to see the cons.

"First of all, didn't the sketchbook guy get friend-zoned? Secondly, stop hiding behind these movie moments, this is like the 5th romantic movie related confession scene you've brought up in this one conversation."

"Then what do you suggest I do? Stand outside her window and shout out my love for her?"

Minho snorted, "okay, slow down, Romeo. Take this systematically. What kind of things does Y/N like?"

Chan's answers came from the top of his head, "I don't know?! Cute vampires?"

Minho guffawed, his laughter muffled obnoxiously over the phone, "well that's perfect, then, isn't it? You're already a vampire, get her a bit tipsy and she'll probably think you're cute too!"

Chan huffed, "ha, ha, very funny. This is giving me a headache."

Minho let out an intrigued hum, "headache?"

Chan sighed, "yeah, jokes aside, my head's been hurting since the morning."

Minho frowned, a short period of silence on his side of the line before he questioned, "are you seriously still not eating?"

Chan fell silent, not wanting to pursue the topic and end up getting another lecture from Minho. He was the only one that knew about it other than his parents, but in moments like this, Chan wished he hadn't told someone as sharp as Minho.

"No comment," Chan murmured.

Chan heard Minho let out a deep sigh, his following words falling on deaf ears when he saw your contact pop up on his phone screen.

y/n 10:14pm -wyd? kind of need ur help-

Chan replied quickly.

10:14pm -nothing much, want me to come over?-

y/n 10:14pm -yes pls that’d be great thank u-

That was all Chan needed you to say for him to get ready to go over.

"Hey, Minho, thanks for the help. I'm going to her house now, I'll talk to you another time."

Minho let out a displeased grunt, "yeah, yeah. Whatever, go."

Chan couldn't help the smile from his face, grabbing his jacket and heading downstairs.

“Where are you going, honey?” His mom asked, wondering why her son looked so happy to be heading out in the middle of the night.

“Y/N’s house, I’ll be late, bye!” he called, which Chan’s mom took as ‘I’ll be staying over’, in other words.  

Letting himself into your house with his spare key, Chan had heard the sound of your voice coming from the living room.

”Chan, I'm over here," you called.

Walking into your living room, Chan had spotted you sitting on the floor at the coffee table, leaning against the sofa with your eyes closed.

He'd noticed the haphazard layout of what he assumed was schoolwork splayed across the expanse of the coffee table, along with the almost empty cup of tea sitting at the edge of the table, making a ring on one of your discarded pieces of writing.

"What's the damage?" Chan huffed in amusement, his dimples appearing as you opened your eyes to look at him tiredly.

"I've been avoiding these questions for like basically half the day, but I really tried doing it and I really can't seem to figure it out," you lamented, stretching your hand out to beckon Chan over, eyeing him as he peeked over at the contents of the worksheets, figuring he couldn't miss this opportunity to tease you once he saw what it was.

"Chemistry, huh? Why didn't you ask Mingyu?"

Your eyes widened, looking blankly at him as he scooched over closer to you, picking up the paper with your circled, un-done questions.

"I...I don't know," you murmured, shrugging. You were too tired to think straight at this point, simply speaking off your mind in reply to Chan's question.

"Guess you were the first person that crossed my mind to call."

Chan had lifted the paper higher to hide his face from you, his smile growing as his shyness doubled, giving you a thoughtful hum.

Chan gestured to your first circled question, “this one is solved pretty much the same as the previous question. You got the answer at first, why'd you erase it?" he laughed, gesturing to your angry pencil scribbles next to the question, making you frown.

"That was correct? What the-"

"And for this question, you have to use this equation," he scribbled next to the question, "It's really similar to the one you used but you have to use this because the question mentions this," his words weren't making sense to you because of the tapping of the pen on the paper when he gestured between the equation, the questions and your scribbles.

"Are you following me?" Chan asked, seeing your delayed reaction of removing your gaze from your paper to give him a wide-eyed look. He knew you weren't listening, and that you'd ask him how to do the questions again later on while you were doing it, Chan just couldn't help but want to tease you, especially with how tired and sleepy you looked, practically begging for cuddles.

"Uh-huh," you nodded.

“As for this one, I think you should read the question out loud,” there was a slight smirk at his lips, handing the paper over to you as you read out the question slowly, only then realising what you missed out, looking at him with a sheepish expression.

After you’d done the questions, you’d wanted to go get a refill for your tea.

“Do you want anything?” You yawned, earning a shake of the head from him.

“Alright, I’ll be quick,” you told him, bringing your cup over to the kitchen. The hot water jug was full, since you’d just filled it before you started doing your work.

However, in your haste to pick it up, you felt a sharp pain in your wrist, reflexively dropping the jug back onto the table, knocking the teacup off of the counter in the process, causing it to break into shards against the tiled floor.

In your haste to pick the pieces up, you’d underestimated the crack on the glass, which nicked your palm painfully, making you let go of the glass as you sucked in a sharp breath.

Chan had gone over to the kitchen the moment he heard the teacup shattering, going over to help you clean up but stopping in his tracks when he’d smelled the blood from the cut, feeling the now-familiar ache in his gums.

Was not feeding for more than 2 weeks a good idea? In retrospect, probably not, Chan was realising now, as he struggled to suppress his thirst as he looked upon the scene.

“Wait, wait, don’t move,” his words were muffled by the hand covering his mouth, and only then did you realise the blood had started to drip slightly down your wrist.

You’d taken a step back, trying to stop the bleeding with a cloth as Chan helped you clear up the glass, disposing of it quickly.

He’d kept his mouth closed the entire time, not wanting to risk anything as he insisted on helping you to tend to your wound.

“Chan, it’s fine I can do it myself,” you dismissed, earning a stern look from him.

“With one hand? I don’t think so. Look, just sit here, let me do it for you,” he told you with his back facing you as he took the first-aid kit out of the overhead shelves, making you sit at the dining table.

Pulling his shirt up to cover his nose as you washed your hand, you couldn’t help but find his determination to cover his mouth rather amusing.

“Did they teach you this in first-aid training?” You joked, trying to stifle your laughter as he narrowed his eyes at you.

You didn’t miss the hazy look in Chan’s eyes as he was taking the ointment out from the first-aid kit, staring at your hand and visibly gulping.

“Chan,” you called, drawing his gaze away from your cut, only then realising that he wasn’t doing anything.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Shaking his head, he’d squeezed the ointment on the cotton bud, applying it on your cut as gently as he could, his hands moving quickly to grab the gauze to cover the cut with, disposing of the cotton bud and returning the first-aid kit to its original place, walking past you to sit at the dinner table, his hands going back up to cover his mouth, not even noticing he was staring at your hand with a far-too-glazed-over-to-be-normal look.

“Chan, are you okay?”

He averted his gaze almost reluctantly from your hand, looking at you with wide eyes, his hands still covering his mouth.

“Yeah, just…yeah…”

“You look even more tired than you did the other day, are you sure you’re okay?”

Chan shook his head, “nah, yeah, I’m really fine.”

You had to stop yourself from looking too amused, standing up to walk over to your fridge, where your parents kept the other smaller box of extract packets that they hadn’t given Chan’s family yet. Taking one out of the box, Chan’s eyes widened as you brought it over to him, pushing it towards him.

“Hmm?”

“You look like you could use it, you know… all those… revitalising properties.”

Chan shook his head firmly, “no, no, really it’s fine.”

“I’m serious, Chan. Just drink it.”

Chan looked at you curiously, wanting to figure out what you were trying to do but at the same time not being able to resist the temptation of his food right in front of him.

He thought back to how dangerous it could have been for you if he had less self-control than he did just now, deciding it was in his and your best intentions to eat now.

Reaching over hesitantly, Chan had grabbed the packet from the table top, bringing it slowly to his mouth, “don’t look, please.”

“Why not? We’ve eaten in front of each other a thousand times,” you laughed.

Chan shook his head, “no I’m kind of like...a messy eater.”

You entertained him for now, looking away briefly but looking back at him just as quick, watching intently as he brought the packet up to his lips. Chan felt the ache in his gums return, ripping a slightly-too-big opening in the packet with his teeth in his haste, beginning to drink from the packet.

Chan was sure it was because of how he hadn’t fed in so long, but something about him was starting to feel so, so hungry.

You were absolutely fascinated, watching as he drained the packet quickly, almost letting out a moan at how satisfied he was.

He was still hungry. Pulling the packet away from his lips, he hadn’t noticed the blood lingering at the corner of his lips, his pupils looking blown and his face was already beginning to look less tired.

“Can I uh…can I have another one, please?” His voice was hoarse, making him clear his throat and look at you expectantly.

You nodded, standing up and walking over to the fridge, Chan following behind you like a lost puppy, his hand on your back impatiently while you were retrieving the packet, a slight heat creeping up in your cheeks at his proximity.

Clicking your tongue at him in feigned annoyance as you handed him the next packet, you hoisted yourself up onto the counter as he stood facing you, leaning against the chair of the dining table.

Too hungry to be shy at this point, Chan bit off another opening in the packet, squeezing the packet as he drank, draining it just as quickly as he did to the previous packet, a bit of the blood getting on his fingers and his lips in his greed.

You weren’t sure why the sight of him was so endearing to you. It was as if nothing was different, that after all this was still Chan standing before you, shy, stupid Chan.

You’d taken a few tissues from the box behind you on the counter, reaching over to wipe his mouth, gently grazing his fangs as you did so.

Holding out one of your hands, you let out a disgruntled noise as he brought his fingers to his lips instead, sucking the remaining blood from his fingers.

“You know, I know, don’t you?” You bit your lip, amusement in your tone.

“Huh?” He frowned in confusion as he brought his hand away from his mouth slowly, not missing the way he'd checked if he missed any blood out. Chan's downturned eyes and pout making you bring your hands up to cup his face, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“That you’re a vampire.”

Chan’s eyes widened in realisation, tensing up at your words, his mouth falling slightly agape in shock.

“What? You really think I would’ve just fed you red ginseng in the middle of the night? And that I wouldn’t have been able to tell with your fangs on full display in front of me now?”

Chan had closed his mouth quickly, opening them again when he was sure they had retracted, averting his gaze as much as he could, even though your hands on his cheeks were begging him to look at you, Chan almost leaning into your touch despite the feeling of your gauze against his cheek.

“Are you…grossed out? Cause I can totally understand that…”

You laughed, shaking your head as you let your thumb caress his cheek gently, “I…. don’t really care.”

“But like, I drink human blood now! That’s like… basically cannibalism!”

You hummed thoughtfully to entertain him, “now that you’re a vampire, it’s not quite cannibalism, is it?”

“Y/N, you can’t seriously not think of me differently—”

You shook your head, making him stop mid-sentence, “honestly, I knew for a while now. From the time I helped you train for your swim meet. But… after observing you, kind of, for a while, I realised that nothing really changed about you.”

"What do you mean nothing changed? so many things changed, I became stronger, faster, my eating preferences changed, I have fangs now-"

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, "you know that's not what I mean. I mean you're still...  you! You still wouldn't hurt anyone if you had a choice, you're always looking out for others before yourself. And don't even try to lie, I know you probably haven't been eating ever since you found out you were a vampire because you feel bad."

Chan frowned, hating how you were right because that meant he had less reasons to deter you now, yet at the same time glad that this was so, since he didn't really want to deter you in the first place, he just wasn't sure whether he could believe what you were implying.

You shrugged, pulling your hands away from his face to rest on your lap, “you’re still the Chan I know and love,” you smiled, not believing you uttered those words for yourself, and now it was your turn for your hands to cover your mouth in shock.

Chan couldn't comprehend how lightly you were taking it, a part of him practically able to hear Minho calling him an idiot for not professing his love for you then and there.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t…love a vampire, it’s too dangerous. Didn’t you see how injured that guy got? It’s just not logical, I probably still don’t know the full extent of my strength!” Chan shook his head, finding the situation too good to be true.

You rolled your eyes, groaning, “shut up, Chan. If your mom could love a vampire when she was a human, why can't I?"

This had shut him up quickly, the urge to kiss you only growing. Your words implied romantic love, but Chan couldn't quite seem to come to terms with that.

Chan's gaze was unwavering, tilting his head at you, "you...huh?"

You shook your head, getting off of the counter as you let out a dramatic sigh, "fine, Chan. If you don't believe me there's really nothing else for me to do."

You had already begun walking away, leaving Chan speechless in the kitchen, following after you quickly once he'd realised what you said.

Finding you at your previous seat in the living room, you were packing up your worksheets as best as you could without hurting your hand too much.

Chan made his way over to kneel next to you, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I saw the video, you know," you told Chan abruptly, in your haste to find ways to prove to him that you meant what you said.

Chan had fallen silent, sitting on his knees as he rest his elbow on the sofa to support himself.

"I'm sorry he said those things about you," Chan muttered.

Letting go of your papers and looking at him with a childlike smile, you shook your head, "you got angry and stood up for me, that's enough for me."

Chan felt something stir in himself, feeling a sudden surge of confidence in him as compared to the usual uncertainty he felt approaching you.

“You really mean what you said?” He asked you, earning a nod from you, “fine,” he murmured, a certain hint of determination in his tone.

“It’s not gonna be easy, though…it’s gonna be really hard,” he told you, “and we’re gonna have to work at this everyday…but I wanna do that because I want you.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, trying your best not to burst out laughing at how adorable Chan was.

“Are you seriously…quoting ‘The Notebook’ right now?”

Chan’s lips parted in shock, again being able to hear Minho tell him ‘I told you it was a bad idea’, but before he could cower in embarrassment, he’d felt you take his hand gently, “that was really cute, Chan but….I’d like to hear it from you, and not one of those rom coms you’ve watched with me a thousand times.”

Chan huffed, “fine,” he took in a deep breath,

"I really, really like you," he murmured, before deciding that that wasn't enough to express how he felt.

"No, honestly? I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you. Like, if I knew anything about love...this would be it."

You were at a loss for words, looking at him blankly as he stopped leaning against the sofa, looking at you for any form of affirmation or acknowledgement.

"I.." you began, "I think this would be it for me too," you mumbled, your confidence from before dissipating, seeming to have been transferred to Chan as he gave you a confident smile, grabbing your good hand as he pulled you closer to him.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he told you, his dimples appearing with his smile as his hand made its way to your neck.

"Never thought I’d say this but... me too," you smiled.

Chan took that as his cue to pull you even closer to him, pressing his lips against yours, your arms wrapping around his neck for stability, almost feeling overwhelmed when Chan deepened the kiss.

Too distracted by each other, it'd felt like it was just this moment that was all you could focus on, feeling Chan push you further back, his hand going to the floor behind you so as not to hurt you when your back came into contact with the floor, which you couldn’t help but laugh at, even in his haste Chan could think about things like you hurting your back.

Chan was straddling you now, yet careful not to put too much of his weight on you, your hands absently running through his hair, knowing Chan was a sucker for you playing with his hair.

Chan was beginning to get lost in the kiss, and you swore you'd felt something sharp poking at your lower lip, hearing him hum softly as his hand behind your waist pulled you towards him, making your back arch slightly. Feeling a slight pain at your lower lip, you made a surprised sound when you felt his tongue lick your lower lip, almost absolutely certain he'd drawn blood, making you flick his head in a silent warning.

Your heart stopped when you heard the door unlocking, tapping Chan on the back quickly in an attempt to warn him, the said boy not budging until the door had opened, making you shove the nearest thing you could find between the both of your faces, in this case, it was a pillow from the sofa.

"Y/N, we heard Chan was-"

You shoved Chan off of you quickly, hoping your parents hadn't seen anything, but wanting to wince at the sight of messy haired Chan with a pillow shoved against his mouth and you, whose shirt was riding up and lower lip was an angry red.

Your mom pressed her lips together tightly in an attempt to hide her smile, Chan hearing her whisper to your dad that they should let you two be alone, making the heat in his cheeks worsen.

Your dad raised an eyebrow at Chan, who still had the pillow against his face as he bowed his head slightly in greeting towards your parents.

"There’s uh... pizza in the fridge if you guys want," you attempted to lessen your embarrassment, which wasn't very well working with how your parents were cooing at Chan.

"We'll... be upstairs. You're a good kid, Chan," your dad gave him a pointed look, smirking as he headed upstairs with your mom.

"Aren't you supposed to be the one with super hearing?!" you whispered harshly, making Chan give you a sheepish look, his hand going up to run his fingers through his hair, only serving to make it messier.

You reached over to pull the pillow from his face, only realising now why he hadn't done so sooner, spotting two clear tears in the pillowcase, right at the 'o' in 'home' that your mom had embroidered on the pillow.

"Sorry, got a little bit carried away," he admitted.

You gasped, "this is my mom's favourite pillow..."

Chan made an 'o' shape with his mouth in realisation, before turning back to you.

"I guess I could sew it back?"

You exchanged a look with Chan, the both of you knowing very well that a) Chan had no idea how to sew, and b) there was no way you could fix the hole he made in the embroidery with his beginner skills.

You'd erupted into a fit of laughter, the shyness from the events prior only hitting you now.

Taking the pillow from him, you tossed it aside, "we'll worry about that tomorrow, I'm too tired to worry about it now."

Chan glanced at you before looking at the pillow, pursing his lips as if in deep thought, making you let out an amused huff.

"What is it now?"

"Are you too tired to continue where we left off?"

===

"This embroidery is beautiful!"

Chan's parents were over for tea, with you at the kitchen preparing drinks for them and Chan in the living room with the rest of them.

"Did you do this yourself?" Chan gulped when he saw his mom pick up the 'home sweet home' pillow from the sofa, earning a nod from your mom.

"Wait a second," your mom's gaze had instantly spotted the holes on the pillow, narrowing her gaze at the letter 'o'.

"Y/N? What happened to my pillow?" she called over to you in the kitchen.

Almost snorting in amusement, you shrugged, bringing the drinks back to the living room.

"I don't know, why don't you ask Chan?"

Chan shot you a wide-eyed look, furrowing his eyebrows in warning before looking back at your mom sweetly.

"Oh, yeah, sorry that was my fault. I uh... I fell and uh... it got like caught on my ring," he held his hand up to show the ridges of his ring the pillow could've gotten torn on.

Chan's mom shot him a knowing look.

“You fell?" her tone was sceptical as she watched Chan fumble with his words.

"Oh, dear. Please be more careful next time, I really like this pillow."

You held back a laugh as you handed Chan his drink, noticing his fangs peek out as he took a sip, "awfully similar in width, don't you think?" you whispered, holding the pillow up near his face.

"Yes, please be more careful, honey," Chan's mom gave him a pointed look.

Chan nudged you, smiling innocently at your parents, "yep, we'll be more careful."

[justatiredpotato]

Set Me Free | Chapter 7 (Ending)

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 4,000~  Total: 40,000~

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: mentions of physical abuse, injuries, blood, trauma, a lot of crying but there’s a happy ending I swear

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: In this fic the reader’s name is Yeoji

Another Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this fic! It took a long time for me to finish and edit, but I’m so glad I finally got the idea out of my head and into the world. I’ve been kicking around ideas for a little epilogue (something short and fluffy) if anyone would be interested in that. I also have plans for future fics with the other boys in this same AU. :)

As soon as you recognized the man in the video, you called the police. Kwon Hyunjoong’s name wasn’t unfamiliar to the city police. They’d had multiple run-ins with him investigating hybrid crimes. But he was always careful enough to worm his way out of the charges. The lax hybrid rights laws didn’t help the situation. Even with all the progress and new policies implemented in recent years there was often next to nothing that could be done to stop the atrocities. Fortunately, since Yoongi was registered as yours, the police could pursue it as a theft and potentially damage to personal property. Depending on the degree of harm, it could be brought to trial as an animal abuse case. You didn’t like it, but it was the only way they could help you. 

The problem was that Hyunjoong had multiple establishments at different locations, so the police weren’t sure where to start looking. Luckily the head of the hybrid crimes division, Detective Moon Bora, was more than happy to take it as an opportunity for a police raid on several of his known locations. Hopefully that would give them a chance to gather evidence and shut at least part of his operation down. Still, you needed to find the place he’d taken Yoongi too. You remembered the business card the snake of a man had given you when he came into the cafe. You quickly dialed Jin, who was still at your apartment with the rest of the guys.

“Jin, can you look for something in my desk? It’s a business card, mostly purple with some kind of logo on it. Should say the name Kwon Hyunjoong on it,” you said, not bothering with a hello.

“On it,” Jin said. You heard his footsteps and then the shuffling as he rifled through your desk drawers. “Got it! The Eclipse Club. *** W. **th Street. Is that where he is?”

“Maybe,” you responded, then hung up. You quickly called the police back and told them what was on the card. They assured you’d they’d send units there immediately, but you couldn’t bring yourself to just wait. So you snagged Namjoon’s keys out of his pocket and ran back to the car. By the time he, Jimin, and Jungkook caught up you were already pulling out of the parking lot. Namjoon banged on the window and tugged at the door handle but the doors had locked automatically when you put it in drive and there was no way you were stopping the car. You didn’t even glance in the rearview as you drove away, not seeing your little brother run his hands through his hair in frustration, Jungkook frantically dialing for a cab, and Jimin watching with wide, frightened eyes.

You punched the address into your phone’s GPS at the next light. To say you were speeding would be an understatement of comical proportions, but none of the cops that zipped past you with their sirens blaring, seemed to care. It both comforted and terrified you to see the pure volume of police heading to the same destination as you. You pulled up in front of the club to find several police cars already stopped near the entrance. The officers were trying to set up a perimeter so no potential witnesses or perpetrators could slip away. They weren’t being nearly as cautious about letting people in, so you managed to shoulder your way through the writhing crowd of sweaty and inebriated club-goers. 

Once inside you suddenly felt overwhelmed. You had no idea where to start looking. With no better ideas, you started elbowing people aside and moving through the building, screaming Yoongi’s name. A young girl—she couldn’t have been more than nineteen—with round black ears nestled in her curly white hair bumped into you. One of her eyes was blacked and a split ran through her pretty doll-like lip. She hurried to apologize, straightening her microscopic tulle skirt as she bowed. You quickly grabbed her arm drawing her eyes back up to meet yours.

“Yoongi!” you shouted at her. She frowned, understandably confused. “I’m looking for a guy called Yoongi,” you said again, leaning closer in hopes she could hear you better over the deafening sound of the crowd and the music still blaring through the speakers.

“Yoongi?” she said, clearly not recognizing the name. Your heart sank as you realized with horror that Kwon Hyunjoong might not have brought Yoongi here. “Yeah. Smallish guy, soft cheeks, honey-blond hair, little black cat hears and tail.” You described, hoping to jog her memory.

“Suga?” she said, coming to a realization. “They just brought him back. The master took him to the cage.” She nodded to a hallway in the back where several police officers were already shoving their way though the crowd. “He looked angry,” she added with a frown, ears twitching nervously.

“Thank you,” you said, giving her arm a squeeze as you started pushing through the crowd again. You reached the hallway relatively easily but your progress slowed when you came upon a crowd of officers gathered around a doorway, trying to usher two burly men in handcuffs through the throngs of inebriated people. You continued pushing your way through, managing to escape their notice for the most part even as you elbowed a few cops in the ribs. When you got close enough to the doorway you saw a set of metal stairs leading down, and heard a familiar voice echoing up the passage. Even in the form of pained wails and animal panic, you knew that voice.

“Yoongi!” you screeched, lurching past the last two people between you and the door. You practically fell down the stairs in your haste, the cops behind you shouting at you to stop. The officer at the door downstairs was shocked still for a moment by the appearance of your small, frantic frame. He came back to himself as you pushed past him, and he caught your arm to prevent you from entering. The wild swing of your arm caught you both off guard as you wrenched your arm free, stumbling forward onto your hands and knees and catching the officer in the jaw with a backhand in the process.

“Hey, stop right there!” the man shouted, but you were already moving toward the pale figure trying to make himself disappear into the corner. Yoongi hunkered there, pale and shaking in just a pair of boxers. Blood splattered the fabric where it dripped from lashes in his back and thighs. Two police officers, a man and a woman, stood a few feet away trying to get closer to help.

“What do we do?” the man asked.

“I don’t know. We might have to tranquilize him if he won’t let us get close.”

“S***, I hate to do it though. He’s already pretty messed up.” The male officer eyed the tranq gun in his hand unhappily.

“He needs medical attention thou-” the woman started. You’d heard more than enough. 

“Yoongi!” you cried again, sprinting across the room to him, the officer from the door right on your heels.

“Miss, stop! It’s dangerous.”

You got within a few feet of Yoongi, but pulled up short when he hissed, actually hissed at you. He tried to shuffle further away. That was when you noticed one of his legs stretched out, held by a chain bolted to the center of the room. Everytime he tried to escape further the chain bit into his flesh, the skin already raw and bleeding there.

“Yoon? Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Yeoji-noona. Yoongi, baby, please.” 

His head lifted just the tiniest bit as he looked at you. “Noona?” he said weakly. His voice was raw and wobbly, barely audible, but that was all you needed to hear. You were at his side in a heartbeat. He finally moved forward a bit, no longer pulling against the chain and you heard him draw a breath through his teeth at the sting as the metal shifted against the wound on his ankle. He pressed himself to you, burying his face in your chest. You did your best to hold him without touching the raw skin of his back. 

You pulled away for a moment and he sobbed, panicked, so you hurried to peel off your sweater and pull it over his body. He didn’t even put his arms through the sleeves, more concerned with getting as close to you as possible. Your scent enveloping him made him feel so safe despite the intense pain he was in, and that only made him sob harder. You knew the movement from crying so hard must hurt considering how bad his injuries were, so you patted his hair soothingly, wrapping an arm over his waist and hip—the least damaged section of skin you could find—to hold him closer. It took a moment to realize that it wasn’t just his cries filling the room, you were crying with him. 

The cops gave up on pulling you away from him, so you sat like that for several minutes. The voices in the room seemed very far away, not that you could hear very well anyway over your own breathing and pounding heartbeat. Someone touched your shoulder, lightly trying to pull you away. You shook them off with a terrified cry that didn’t even seem human. It was a primal wail of heartbreak and terror at even the hint of separating you from Yoongi.

“Noona.” A warm voice broke through your emotional haze. “Noona, hyung, it’s Hoseok. It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

You lifted your face from where it was buried in Yoongi’s hair, and found Hoseok standing there, emergency response bag in hand.

“Hobi,” you said, voice barely holding. “Help him.” Despite your words, you didn’t let Yoongi go, only turning with him in your arms so Hoseok could get a look at his back. He packed some gauze onto the wounds and then waved over two men with a stretcher.

“We’ve gotta get him to a hospital. The staff at my hospital is fantastic, they’ll look after you.” You bristled as the two paramedics settled Yoongi on his stomach on the stretcher, never letting go of his hand.

“You aren’t coming with us?” you asked. 

“Yoongi-hyung isn’t the only person here who needs medical attention. Some of them are going straight to the shelter. I need to stay and help out.”

“Take us to the shelter too,” you decided. “Someone else can go to the hospital. I only trust you and Jin’s staff.”

“Noona…”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi, mumbled into the cushion of the stretcher. He winced as he spoke, not continuing, but you both took it as him weighing in on the argument. Hoseok sighed and turned to the paramedics.

“Take them to Remedy shelter. Taehyung will be waiting for you at the emergency entrance.” Hoseok placed a comforting kiss on top of your head and hurried off to help elsewhere.

The ambulance ride was silent and tense as you hovered over the paramedics’ every move. You shot daggers at them when Yoongi so much as winced. You knew it wasn’t their fault, but your protective instincts were in overdrive, especially after having failed him so recently.

Taehyung was indeed waiting at the emergency entrance for you. Other ambulances were also unloading patients. Apparently Detective Moon had been serious about the extent of the raids taking place that night. Tae was frantically checking patients in and dealing with drivers and medical staff.

“Yoongi-hyung!” he cried, abandoning the conversation he’d been having as soon as the ambulance doors opened. He appeared around the door, eyes puffy and red, obvious tear tracks staining his cheeks. His voice hiccuped as he spoke and it made more tears fall from your eyes. To be honest they had never really stopped. Yoongi didn’t answer, passed out from a combination of pain, pain-killers, and exhaustion. Tae looked at you anxiously, the question clear in his eyes.

“He’s- He’ll be okay. I think he’ll be okay,” was all you managed.

A doctor met you at the door. He was young, handsome, and remarkably calm. “Dr. Ko Shinwon,” he introduced himself as the paramedics wheeled Yoongi to a trauma bay and transferred him to a hospital bed. They briefed Dr. Ko on Yoongi’s condition before returning to the ambulance. A nurse stepped in to assist him as Dr. Ko started working.

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside,” another nurse asked. She placed a gentle hand on your arm to guide you away.

“No! No, I can’t leave him.” You stepped closer to Yoongi’s side. 

“Miss, I really have to insist.”

Yoongi groaned, making Dr. Ko and the nurses glance at him. He slipped his hand off the edge of the bed and felt for your fingers, threading them together and holding on tightly. “Noona, please,” he whimpered.

“It’s fine, Nurse Jung. Please just try to keep out of the way, miss.” He gave you a serious, appraising look before going about his tasks. You crouched next to Yoongi, gently petting his hair and whispering sweet nonsense, shushing and cooing every time he winced at pain that managed to cut through the numbing. The stitches were the worst part, and it was all you could do to avert your eyes and not pass out. Once the wounds were dressed Dr. Ko excused himself to see his next patient and the nurses checked monitors and IVs. They told you to call if anything changed, then slipped out and pulled the curtain shut.

A few moments later Yoongi shuddered and whimpered a little. “Cold,” he said. 

You straightened and looked around, spotting a blanket folded in the cupboard next to the bed. You pulled it out with the hand Yoongi wasn’t clinging to and draped it over him. Then you paused, considering. Yoongi shivered again and you quickly made up your mind, slipping under the blanket next to him. Your body was only half way on the bed, wanting to leave more than enough room for him, but you didn’t care. He immediately shifted, wincing a little at the movement, and settled with his head on your chest, side pressed tightly to yours. You ran your hands through his hair. 

You sat quietly for a while, listening as his breathing evened out and his muscles relaxed. The familiar warmth reminded you of the night before, and the thought brought tears to your eyes again. How could you have been so blind to Yoongi’s feelings? You hurt him so badly, and you almost lost him because of it. You held back from crying harder again, not wanting to disturb Yoongi, but your guilt over the whole situation ate at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, looking lovingly at the boy before you.

“‘m sorry, noona.” 

You startled at the sound of his voice, surprised he was listening. “Don’t be sorry, baby. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Made you uncomfortable. Shouldn’t have done that. Made you worry. ‘s bad. Sorry.”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. You aren’t bad. My sweet honey boy, you are so perfect. I love you,” you said. Your voice was thick with emotion but you said the words clearly, with certainty.

Yoongi chuckled, flinching as he did so. You could feel the movement against your chest. “Not the same. ’s okay. Doesn’t have to be the same. Just let me love you ‘n I’m okay.”

You craned your neck to look at him. “What if it is the same? Yoongi, it is the same. I love you so much, I can’t believe you haven’t seen through me yet.” He tilted his head up to face you, uncertainty creasing his brow. You smiled softly and ran your thumb over his face to smooth out the wrinkle. “I love you, Yoongi.” You hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a firm but gentle kiss to his lips. You’d imagined doing this an embarrassing number of times, but somehow, they were even softer than you expected. The kiss only lasted a second before you pulled away, examining his face for a reaction. He didn’t disappoint, gracing you with the gummy smile that could single-handedly keep your heart beating. His eyelids were heavy, but he clearly had things to say.

“Love you,” he mumbled. His next words were more or less unintelligible.

“Shh,” you stopped him, running your fingers through his hair and scratching gently at his ears. “Talk tomorrow.”

He grumbled a protest, but didn’t try to say anything more. Instead he leaned his face up toward you expectantly. You chuckled and gave him three quick pecks, one on his forehead, one on his button nose, and one on his pouty lips. He smiled into that last kiss, then nuzzled into your neck where your scent was strongest. The combination of your perfume and your natural fragrance lulled him into unconsciousness within minutes, one of his hands finding the soft flesh of your hip to knead at. You smiled, wiped the tears from your cheeks with your free hand, and closed your eyes.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Yoongi was in the hospital for two weeks. The beating had done some internal damage and the doctors were concerned about infection in the lacerations on his back. The boys helped out, taking care of things at the cafe so you could spend every possible moment by Yoongi’s bedside. 

The relief you felt when they gave him the okay to go home was indescribable. It felt like you finally had permission to get back to normal. But of course, things weren’t entirely back to normal. Sometimes it felt like all the progress Yoongi made when he came to live with you had evaporated. He was jumpy and timid again, shying away from the boys when they came around. He even flinched away from you sometimes when you moved too fast. 

You realized quickly that you couldn’t have him working with the public in the cafe again. Not yet. So Jimin and Jungkook picked up extra shifts whenever they could. You thanked them at least once every time you saw them, but they just brushed you off. You had to fight tooth and nail for them to take the pay for their extra hours. Every time you had to leave Yoongi and look after the business it broke your heart. He always watched you walk out the door as if you might not come back to him.

One particularly warm spring afternoon Jimin burst into the cafe, running late and still wearing his clothes from dance practice.

“Sorry I’m late, noona! Let me go get changed,” he panted as he slipped behind the counter.

“No worries. You can use my room to change in.” You nodded back toward the apartment and he ran off to get cleaned up for work. When he reemerged barely ten minutes later he managed to look more put together than you did after a half hour of effort. His bubble-gum pink hair nicely coiffed instead of the disheveled state it was in when he arrived.

“How do you always look so nice?” you marveled. You reached up and scratched his ear, careful not to disturb his neatly styled hair. He purred happily at the compliment. You hoped someday Yoongi might purr as freely as Jimin did.

“Thanks!” Jimin smiled, eyes turning to little crescent lines as he did. “I can take it from here. You should get back to Yoongi-hyung.” He paused for a moment, like he wanted to say something else. “Noona, aren’t you guys…?” He let the words hang in the air, but you knew what he was asking.

The truth was, after your confession that night in the hospital, you hadn’t really talked about your relationship. With everything that happened, it just never seemed like the right time. You spent much of the time since then wrapped in Yoongi’s arms, or him in yours, even placing the occasional peck on his cheek. But it was like both of you feared going any further. You saw the hesitation in his eyes everytime he stood just a little too close to you, or looked into your eyes a little too long. He couldn’t seem to find the courage to say or do anything, and you didn’t want to push him too far. He would make a move when he was ready, right? 

You blinked, realizing Jimin had been waiting for you to speak while you stared into space. “I- I don’t know, Jimin. We were. At least I thought we were… something. I told him I loved him, in the hospital.” Jimin’s eyes widened, a hint of a smile on his lips. You leaned on the counter and let out a sigh before continuing. “He seemed happy. He even said it back. But we haven’t talked about it since then. He was so high on adrenaline and painkillers then, I’m not even sure he knew what he was saying.”

Jimin stopped you before you could make any more excuses. “He knew. Noona, he’s loved you for so much longer than you realize. But you know better than anyone else how scared he must be. If you rejected him, he might never recover, so he can’t do anything at all. I’m sure he feels like you’re too good for him. He needs you to assure him that you love him, and he deserves that.” You looked at Jimin, amazed at the wisdom he’d just dropped out of nowhere. He smiled, clearly pleased with the advice he’d given and your reaction. “I sounded pretty cool just now, huh?”

You grinned pulling him into a vicious bear hug. “Yes my sweet Chim Chim, you were super cool just now. Thank you.” You pulled back and he examined your face, clearly reading the nervousness there and in your scent. “I need to go talk to Yoongi.”

You took a steadying breath and he patted your shoulder. “Fighting!” he cheered as he waved you off.

Back in the apartment dinner was already finished. Yoongi was waiting at the table scrolling on his phone.

“I’m sorry I’m late Yoongs! Let me go change real quick.” You quickly peeled off your work clothes and put on shorts and a tank top, knowing the apartment was already warm, and it would be warmer when Yoongi inevitably wanted snuggles later. You returned to the table and took a chair across from him.

“Wow, this looks great!” You looked over the table, genuinely impressed. Yoongi had been cooking a lot lately. He found it was a relaxing way to pass his time, and he loved to see you enjoy what he prepared. You’d purchased several new kitchen tools and appliances for him, and he used them all. “Did you make this pasta yourself?” you asked, incredulous as he served you a generous slice of lasagna. Glancing at the kitchen counter you found the pasta press out, still dusted with flour. He nodded bashfully in response.

“This is my first attempt, so don’t expect too much. I’m just hoping it’s edible.” You both laughed and dug into the food. It was great. All of Yoongi’s first attempts seemed to end up delicious, unlike your kitchen misadventures.

After dinner you settled onto the couch together. He was sprawled half on top of you, laying between the back of the couch and your body, head on your shoulder. He was focused on the TV—he’d been watching obsessed with old Iron Chef episodes of late—but you were focused on him, hands gently stroking his hair and ears. A satisfied smile spread on your face when the now-familiar rumble started from his chest. You decided that now, when he was happy and relaxed, was as good a time as any to talk about everything.

“Yoon?” you called softly, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“Hm?” He looked up at you questioningly.

“Can we talk about something?” You tried to phrase it in a non-threatening way and keep your tone light, but his brow still furrowed as he grabbed the remote to pause his show.

“What do you want to talk about?” He propped himself up on one elbow and avoided your eyes.

“It’s nothing bad. At least I really hope not,” you said with a nervous laugh that did little to ease Yoongi’s anxiety. “Do you remember that first night in the hospital?” 

Yoongi’s eyes widened, then looked away again. Clearly he remembered something. “Some of it. It’s a little blurry in spots. What about it?”

“We… We talked about some things. Do you remember that?” You looked at him expectantly, but he stayed quiet. “I told you I love you,” you said quietly.

He looked at you sharply. “That was real?” he asked, almost more to himself than to you.

“What?”

“I thought I dreamed that. I was on so much pain medication that I figured I was hallucinating or something. You- You actually said that?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes. And I meant it. I still mean it. I’d like to be more than just your friend, if that’s something you want.” You put a hand on his cheek so he’d hold your gaze, stroking it gently with your thumb. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Yoongi said without hesitation. His eyes were glassy and he studied your face for a moment. Half of him expected this to be a cruel prank, but you didn’t laugh. You just smiled softly, admiring the soft features of his face. You reached down to clasp your other hand with his.

“Does that mean you’ll be my boyfriend?” you asked, still somehow nervous now that everything was out in the open. 

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed you. After a second he leaned back and looked at you to gage your reaction. You smiled and leaned up, bumping his nose with yours. He grinned and kissed you again. His lips moved against yours, gentle but you could feel the emotion in every move. You ran your fingers through his soft blond hair, tugging on it a little and he nipped teasingly at your lip. You let out a surprised gasp and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You enthusiastically followed his lead, wrapping your leg over his hip to pull his body closer to yours. Your hand pulled free from his to rest on his waist. He shuddered as you trailed your fingers down his side. The hand not supporting his weight grabbed your hip. Your fingers found the edge of his t-shirt and slid under it, finding the warm skin of his back.

At the feeling of your fingers on his bare skin he tensed, breaking the kiss. You looked at him confused, but immediately stopped touching him, removing your leg and releasing your gentle grip on his hair. He sat up, his body shaking a little.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” you asked, growing concerned at his obvious distress.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just.” He squeezed his eyes shut and slowed his breathing. You waited, resting your hand palm up on your lap so he could take it if he wanted to. He did. He twined your fingers together and took a longer, slower breath before he spoke. “I’ve never had someone I actually like, y’know, touch me, or kiss me. It felt nice, but when you touched my skin, my scars…” Your fingers tightened on his hand, heart aching as you realized what he was getting at. “I just started to remember all the bad times, the bad people, the things they did, the things they made me do.”

“We can go as slow as you need. Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s enough for me.”

He huffed, frustrated tears welling in his eyes. “I just- I want this. I love you and I trust you. I hate that I’m letting them take this from me; letting them beat me.”

“Hey.” You wiped a tear from his cheek and kissed his forehead. “They are not beating you. You’re here, with me. You are safe and healthy. You’re still able to love someone, and you are loved. You have a family. Despite everything you’ve been through, you survived. Sure, you have scars, but you’re working hard to heal. I am so proud of you, Yoongi. You deserve a happy ending, and you’ll get one. We both will.”

“You think?”

“I know. I promise, we’ll get through this.”

He nodded and lay back down, resting his head on your chest so he could listen to your heartbeat. You resumed the forgotten episode of Iron Chef and went back to playing with his hair. You were just dozing off, his purr lulling you to sleep, when Yoongi spoke again.

“Noona?”

“Mhm?”

“I really love you.”

You smiled, already half in a dream. “I love you too, honey boy.” You kissed his head and fell asleep with your face tucked in his hair.

[sneezefiction]

just take my hand

Yaku x Reader - Scenario

@hunntea’s event request: “happy 600 gracie! 💕 yaku w the prompt “just take my hand” perhaps?”

a/n: mmmm I’ve been craving some Yaku fanfics for a while now :,,)) this is a little on the angstier side, but we do end with some sweetness. thank you for requesting, love!!

warnings: heavy anxiety, angst, fear, some language

wc: 1410

---

It’s been 6 hours.

6 hours of relentless, restless work.

And the pressure continues to build. Eyes darting frantically from laptop, to keyboard, to shaky and cramped hands, back to your glowing alarm clock.

It’s 3 am.

Again.

You flip the wooden pencil between your fingers, balancing it on the tips. Red, strained eyes glued to a half-written paper. It was messy. Lines and phrases were missing. Suggested edits went unchecked. Thoughts, completely unfinished. A paper for one of your most important projects this year was falling apart at the seams. And so were you.

Unsatisfactory. Wrong. Trashy. Unprofessional. Worthless. 

Demeaning thoughts playing like a broken record have you tripping over the same words. Were you bound to fail? Why now? Unable to type even a handful of simple, fucking sentences.

This self-talk echos through your mind, resonating and seeping out into your physical body. No matter how hard you tried, it would always find it’s way out, affecting everyone and everything around you.

Thus the anxiety begins to crack its way through you, into the dead of night.

Your exhaustion had set you up for a multitude of unrealistic goals. Standards you couldn’t possibly meet in the state you are currently in. It left you in tatters, grasping for a vision that would never fully come to fruition. At least not without abandoning any semblance of sanity over the next few days.

It has your head spinning.

The clamminess of your palms and the ever-darkening circles under your eyes expressed this clearly. You’d gone days with only a few hours of disquieted sleep. Your caffeine intake had managed to double. Your workload continued to build while your mental state crashed into an abyss of worst-case scenarios. All self-care was thrown out the window as your deadline neared.

But tonight just happened to be your true limit.

Your eyes were no longer blurry from the screen in front of you. 

No, this time it had to do with the pounding in your chest. The rush of blood to your head, making you dizzy. In the time you had taken to scan over your progress, you lost touch with your physical surroundings. Everything seemed to fade in and out.

Eventually, the gentle whir from your ceiling fan turns into ringing in your ears, effectively blocking off your other senses. The flickering of the candle and the papers scattered across your desk became hazy flickers and blurry shapes.

It was all too much. The mixture of fear and humiliation quickly gained on you, overwhelming your entire body with shocking ease, leaving you out of touch with the world around you.

You’re not sure how long it’s been, but you eventually feel vibrations from behind your chair. It seems impossible to figure out what it’s coming from. The movements behind you grow in intensity and soon you realize that someone is in front of you. They’d turned your desk chair around, spinning it to see your face.

You could tell that their lips were moving, but the noise was muffled and faded, as though you were trying to communicate from the other side of a pitch-black, echoing tunnel. Yes, there were words, but your eyes were glazed over and your ears, unwilling to pick up on the sound.

He was there.

Yaku is right in front of you…

but you can’t hear him.

That is until he takes you by the arms, grasping you firmly. You finally make out the foggy picture in front of you as he gently shakes you, stroking your arms just enough to garner your attention, awakening you from your anxiety and fatigue induced daze.

“-you okay? Please say something to me, baby.” His words dripping in a forcibly softened panic.

It’s funny. 

He sounds even more anxious than the voice in your head does… 

Why?

You’ve seen Yaku worried before, but the alarm in his eyes and the way his brow creases shocks you slightly. The heat in his hands, the intensity of his heart rate, those beads of sweat on his forehead...

He’s beyond worried about you.

Yes, worried doesn’t even begin to match the level of fear in his eyes. Yaku is scared.

Scared for you. For your health. For your mind.

Because you aren’t looking too good right now. You’d pushed yourself too far, so much so that your body refused to hold up any longer.

He’d warned you. Telling you to slow down. To take breaks. To lay with him so that he “could see your pretty face.” Anything that would get you out of your head and into his arms.

But you didn’t listen.

Yet here he is, fear pulsing through his body… and it’s all because he cares this much for you.

You expect a lecture. For him to yell at you, wondering why you didn’t take his advice. Why you didn’t take a break. How you were too prideful to ask for an extension on the deadline. Why you didn’t request help from somebody.

Hell, you thought he might even start bawling at the sad sight of you.

Well, at least you are about to break down.

But as you faze back into his touch, eyes slowly gaining visuals back, you’re met with a loving gaze. You can practically watch the relief streaming over his body like a cool breeze. His eyes hold not an ounce of animosity.

Yaku just needed the pure reassurance that you were safe. That you were okay. That he could stop worrying for now.

Upon recognizing his nurturing, brown-eyed gaze, your own eyes overflow in a burst of release from the past several days.

“I’m so sorry, Yaku.” You choke out, tears running down your cheeks and onto your legs below.

You simply hold his gaze, his eyes so sad for you.

Your breathing stutters, making it hard to explain, but you try to anyways, “I- I’ve tried s- so hard to just f-finish. I just n-need a break.” 

And another sob sputters out of your mouth. It isn’t pretty… but neither were the last 7 days.

You’d pushed so hard to make everything pristine. You’d overworked every fiber of your being. Written for such long hours that the tips of your fingers were beginning to rub raw.

Anything less than perfection felt wrong. Unworthy. Like you had failed and wasted your time…

But the understanding, pained look in his eye reveals to you that Yaku doesn’t believe that.

All he wants is to take care of you. To remind you that you needed to let go for a while. That your best was good enough and that you didn’t need to try and push yourself any further.

You attempt to speak again, but the way you’re subconsciously leaning towards his chest reminds him of just how tired you really are. That you don’t need to be talking right now.

You just needed support.

His gaze falls to your shaking hands, another jolt of empathy pains striking his heart. He knows what to do.

“Just take my hand, okay y/n?”

He always said that.

The tone was always quiet and considerate. If the feeling of “calm” had a voice, it would sound like Yaku offering to hold your hand.

Whether you were breaking down into big, blurry-eyed tears, rushing through a haunted house, or flirting with the ash-brown haired boy, he would never fail to offer you a hand.

They were reliable. 

Consistent. 

Loyal.

Once his hands were clasped firmly around yours, he refused to let you go, not even for a moment.

Both on and off the court, Yaku used his hands to protect. To defend. It was a part of his nature. If he could use his dedicated hands to help you in any way, he would do just that.

Even if that meant defending you against yourself.

You nod, wiping your eyes with your sleeves first. You quickly note that your boyfriend has managed to maintain his squatting position for the past 6 minutes. If you weren’t so exhausted, you might have laughed.

His palms are facing upwards on his knees, ready for you to place yours inside of them. 

And once you do, your cold, tired fingers are enveloped in strong, comforting digits.

Yaku wants to protect those smaller hands, shielding them from that dreaded keyboard that has brought you so many tears. To pull you into a place of peace if he has the power to do so. He longs to hold you, keeping you still and safe in his secure arms.

So even when you forget to care for yourself and even when you feel as though you’re not good enough, he’ll be there. 

Taking your hand, grasping it tightly, and guiding you into the fortress of his embrace.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @miss-rin

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

[badger-writes]

Star Wars OC Ship Week 2021 - for light and love

uhhhh Hello! 😄

This fic and all its chapters was written for Star Wars OC Ship Week's inaugural year 2021, an event spotlighting OCxEC romances & platonic friendships helmed by @findswoman! It's also the first time I've personally ever taken part in an event week so I hope I do a good job! 😅

Whether you're a High Republic fan or you just want to see the big lizard get smooches, hope you enjoy! Leave comments and kudos if you do! Looking forward to sharing all I've written over the course of the week w/ y'all!

1 - How They Met

It all started, as these things do, in a medical bay.

Kelto Lem, a Jedi healer, had been busying himself with organizing the implements and instruments of the first aid wing in the Halls of Healing. This was light work, and peaceful, which suited him fine. Rarely, if ever, were there emergencies in the Jedi Temple of such scope and scale as to totally overwhelm the medical ward, and to the best of his recollection they had never occurred in the early morning, when dew was still settled on the trees and grasses of Monument Park. This made it an optimal time for preparing the ward for most of the day’s eventualities well ahead of schedule; this making good sense to him, he settled into this habit as a padawan and had never quite given it up. In time, it became almost a meditative practice for him - refilling stores of fresh bandages, taking stock of available pharmaceuticals and herbal remedies, refilling the kolto canisters…

And so it was in the middle of this daily routine that he was interrupted by the door sliding open. He turned to look and nearly dropped the medical scanner he was holding - for two reasons.

 The first: his guest was built like a permacrete E-Web bunker. Broad and tall, with an implied physicality that not even Jedi robes concealed, the visitor - a Trandoshan - strode into the ward with an aura of stern command, stolid orange eyes locking upon Kelto almost immediately. His emerald scales shone with a slight luster as he walked, the claws of his toes clicking against the tile floor, until he came to the edge of the biobed in the center of the room less than a foot away from the resident healer. The sheer weight of his presence made Kelto feel small by comparison - he, a shorter pale-scaled Rodian with stripes of deep blue running along his jaw and neck, who wore a satchel of first aid essentials on his hip everywhere he went and tied back his spines in a long, narrow topknot ending in a spiky pom where they escaped the hold of the strip of linen which restrained them.

The second: he was covered in scorchmarks.

“Star’s End,” Kelto said, when he could finally get his (dry, dry) mouth to work correctly. “What in the world happened to you?”

The Trandoshan rumbled, mouth pulling to one side in chagrin. It was a deep, bassy sound, and it landed straight in the pit of Kelto’s stomach. 

“A… mishap with the duelling droid,” he grunted, in the sibilant speech of his species. “I was not focused. Lost sight of my present. It seized the opportunity, as you can see,” he added, gesturing to his scorched robes.

“You were training? This early? Chee,” Kelto said, shaking his head. “And I thought my morning habits were odd - jump up on the bench, here, I’ll patch you up.”

He turned away to fetch some burn relief supplies, piling them on a tray. When he turned back, the Trandoshan had sat upon the biobed - and his tunic was resting carefully folded on the bench beside him.

“Ahghg,” he said, and everything on his tray rattled as he short-circuited.

The Trandoshan gave him an odd look. “Yes?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I’m fine,” Kelto stammered. “Let me just, uhhh… set this down here.”

He let the tray’s repulsorlifts catch it in midair, so that it would hover at his side. Then he took a ball of fluff and daubed it in a squat open vial of kolto, letting the excess drip off and trying not to think too much about the barrel-chested masterpiece of physicality sitting just within arm’s reach to his right.

“So, how did this happen, Master …?”

“Knight, actually,” the patient replied. “Not master - not yet, anyway. And as I said, I was training.”

“Only a Knight? ...Well, I guess if you were a Master, you wouldn’t have ended up - err, you know what, forget I said that.”

With kolto-ball and medigauze dressings in hand, Kelto turned to his patient and gave him a quick once-over. There were injuries in areas roughly corresponding to the placement of scorch marks on the surface of his clothes, but fortunately, most of them didn’t seem too severe - the robes acting as a layer of insulation against the worst of it. Quite intentionally, he started on the outside limbs, an attempt to spare himself another hot flush provoked by looking straight on at his patient’s torso. Sskeer didn’t even flinch when he touched the wet medical fluff against an abrasion on the side of his arm.

“I train on one or two levels above the normal training setting,” the Trandoshan offered, by way of explanation. “Thus, my injuries.”

“Ah,” Kelto murmured, mostly to himself. “A masochist.”

Sskeer grunted reproachfully. “The training settings are designed to hold back. There will be no such reprieve in the field. Therefore, I train the body to anticipate the presence of harm - to become numb to its threat, and then, to surpass it.”

“So you’re fine with the pain?”

“Pain can be ignored. And my people have thick hides. I endure.” 

“Well, I’m no duelist, but in my estimation you could probably stand to bump back down a few levels,” Kelto observed, winding a bandage around his forearm. “At least until you can defeat one of those saber-happy droids.”

Sskeer hrrred. The sound landed in Kelto’s gut again. “Bold words from a nurse.”

“Bold enough to be a Knight, like you.” The Rodian retorted, flashing him a smirk - and turning away immediately when the sensation of being perceived became too much. (His cheeks were so warm - was it supposed to be so hot in here?) Falling silent, he took one of Sskeer’s wide, thick-fingered hands in his own, turning it to inspect the green welt on its back.

“I did not realize you had risen to Knighthood as well,” the Trandoshan offered as Kelto dressed his injury. “If I offended, it was not by intent.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather people forget, honestly. Most people, they see a Jedi and think, ‘wow! Laser swords! Magic powers!’ - but that’s… never really where I felt comfortable.”

“You feel your place is here.”

“It’s where my talents lie, I think. I’ve sort of been drawn to the healing halls ever since I left the creche. And… well, to be honest, I like being able to help people doing this. So… I guess it’s true what they say, about the Force having a path for us all, and all that.”

Sskeer hummed. “That is good.”

“Yeah, and I remember when I was little, Master Rancisis came by the ward and said a-- I’m sorry, am I rambling? I’m rambling, aren’t I? I’ll just shut up and tend you--”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I just dropped basically my whole backstory on you--”

“It’s fine,” Sskeer said - firmly, but patiently. “Really.”

And Kelto believed him.

It’s funny, he thought suddenly, how quickly you can get comfortable with someone else. A moment ago he could barely stand to meet Sskeer’s gaze - now, though, he could look him straight in the eye without feeling like wilting. Sskeer had surprisingly deep eyes, he noticed, for how small they were. Deep and dark. Like he could dip into his pupils and fall forever --

Oh gosh, there’s a huge green mark right on his temple. How did he miss that??

Kelto dunked a fresh puffball in the healing fluid and held it up to the Trandoshan’s brow, cradling it in his long, sucker-tipped fingers. This time, when it touched his skin, Sskeer flinched and barely suppressed a hiss. On instinct, Kelto shushed him - a habit picked up from soothing much younger patients, when he got his start tending the younglings’ skinned knees and broken bones.

“This one’s not so bad, I think,” he murmurs. “Just needs a little kolto to help keep it clean. Just put some ice on it every few hours for the swelling and it’ll go away soon.”

“And this?”

“Hm?”

Sskeer gestured again to a long line of angry green flesh across his trunk.

“OH Force,” the Rodian cried, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I completely missed that somehow, thank you so much, I’m so sorry. Gods, I’ll get right on that--”

The Trandoshan surprises him with a chuckle. “Rather absentminded for a healer, aren’t you?”

“D-don’t judge!” Kelto sputters. “I’ve been distracted.”

“By what, exactly?” Sskeer asked, with a smirk.

“... J-just lie all the way down, please?”

Sskeer leaned back onto the biobed, hands resting behind his back. Now the whole of his broad, stocky abdomen lies prone under the glowlights, throwing the long diagonal burn across his trunk into stark, unmistakable relief.

“Why is this one so much worse,” Kelto wonders aloud.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘worse’. As I said, I endure.”

“I’m sorry, this doesn’t look like a giant, stinging saber-welt to you?” Kelto peered closer at the mark, hesitantly plying the flesh of the Trandoshan’s belly under his fingers. “...Actually, wait. This is almost a first degree burn. What kind of training saber makes marks like these?”

Now it was Sskeer’s turn to fall quiet and avoid eye contact.

“...You… did something pretty dumb, didn’t you.”

“...When my performance against the droids began to suffer, I… disabled some of the limiters on the droids,” Sskeer growled, at length.

“Y-you did WHAT?”

“I thought it would motivate me to improve,” he shrugged.

“So when I called you a masochist earlier and you didn’t really deny it--”

This time, Sskeer almost snarled. “It’s no crime to seek out a proper challenge.”

“Oh, and if every adrenaline junkie Padawan jumped off the High Council Tower, you would too?”

“Will you just stop arguing and fix this?”

“I--” Kelto groaned. “Okay, whatever, big guy. Just - just hang on.”

He arranged his hands on either side of Sskeer’s wound - one above on his chest, one below on his stomach. Then he sucked in a deep breath through his snout and released it slowly, letting his eyes fall shut as he exhaled. 

He was panicking, he knew. Overcorrecting. There was no reason to take things this far when he was literally standing in a room filled with other, more practical solutions - and certainly not over something so silly as a shouting match with a Knight he barely knew. But by now, good sense and training had momentarily fled him. 

Here, in this moment, Kelto sank into the Force and let himself be guided by the simple instinct to help.

He took another slow breath in, and out, and began to concentrate.

And then…

Sskeer sensed it before he saw it. He craned his neck over his chest to see - and rose up on his elbows, watching intensely.

With preternatural speed, the hideous burn across his torso lightened, shrank - and then vanished. In its place only unblemished scales remained.

Like he’d never even been touched.

Kelto let out one final, explosive breath - and almost collapsed. Sskeer jolted to his feet and grabbed his arms, cradled his back in one arm, steadying him on his feet until he could recover.

“Nice catch,” Kelto panted, when he’d finally recovered.

Sskeer was looking at him differently, the Rodian noticed through the blur of lightheadedness. Looking with him with something like awe.

“That was… quite a feat,” the Trandoshan noted. “It seems you were correct to follow the path of the healers.” 

“Y-yes, well,” Kelto murmured sleepily, “we all have our own special talents.” 

His eyes trailed back to Sskeer’s chest, fingertips idly following their gaze down his trunk. They tickled, just slightly; Sskeer registered an unexpected, but not wholly unpleasant shiver down his spine.

“Think we’re all done now,” the Rodian mumbled. Then his big, sea-blue eyes blinked - slowly, then rapidly, like a Wookiee propeller-engine starting up - and he realized his hand was just shy of cupping one of Sskeer’s pecs.

“UM,” he said loudly, jumping away. “YEAH, so, all done. Clean bill of health. You should be completely fine within the next day or so, and then you can go get your butt handed to you by the training droids again, right? Yup, glad to help, have a nice day, May the Force Be With You and all that jizz, ahaha~”

The Rodian became a flurry of hyperactivity around the ward, re-stocking and re-checking shelves and cabinets for reasons Sskeer could not divine. To appear busy, he supposed - and discourage his continued presence.

It was, he decided, reather endearing. 

Sskeer let the flustered healer flail a moment more before saying, “I don’t think you ever shared your name.”

When he looked over his shoulder, Kelto’s face looked as bright as a Life Day orb - only much, much greener. “Huh?”

“Force healing is no small feat,” the Trandoshan observed, slipping his tunic and tabard back over his shoulders. “To have seen it performed is a privilege; for something as small as my own self-inflicted injury, and after my own stubbornness - an honor. 

“I’d prefer to thank you for it properly, and to apologize. But for that, I must ask your name.”

The Rodian stared. Then coughed, turning to lean back against the counter before him. “Uh, well… That’s … kind of you, but I - you know, we’re Jedi and all. W-we don’t really serve for gratitude’s sake.”

“For the sake of a fellow Jedi, then, and a friend?” 

“…Friend?”

A bemused head tilt. “Are we not?”

“W-well, that’s moving a bit quickly, isn’t it? I mean - we don’t even know each other’s names.”

Sskeer stared.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not dumb, I swear, I’m just -- panicking.”

The Trandoshan gave him a funny look. (It was kinda cute, Kelto noticed, when his nose scrunched up like that.) 

Just spit it out. Spit it out. Spit it out. You’re blowing it. Just spit it out spititout spititout---

“My name’s Kolto,” he said -- and groaned.

“Your name,” Sskeer echoed, “is...‘Kolto’?”

“Noooo, no, not ‘Kolto’ - Kelto! Kelto! My name is Kelto. Kelto Lem. I just - I’m just called ‘Kolto’. By - certain people.”

“Because… you work with kolto?” he ventured. “Or because it happens to sound similar?”

Kelto sulked, crossing his arms. “Because Torban Buck thinks he’s funny.” 

Understanding dawned. “Ah. Yes, he certainly does.”

“Mmmmgh. Well, now that I’ve botched my own introduction, I guess you know me. So you can leave me to my shame, now, I guess.” Kelto returned to the business of managing the ward - opening and closing cabinet doors slightly harder, this time.

A wide, three-fingered hand landed on his narrow shoulder, making him jump.

“Thank you, Kelto Lem,” Sskeer said. “Truly, you’re a credit to the Order.”

His voice was deep and warm. Kelto swore he could feel his breath tickling his ear.

“A-anytime,” he replied, spine locking ramrod straight.

He senses Sskeer’s presence pass by behind him, and imagines it’s what little Rodian swamp-fish feel like when big surface trawlers pass by, and catch them in their wake. “And perhaps when I continue my training,” Sskeer added, “I will remember to return here, for my wounds to be dressed.”

“Orrr you could crush those droids and never need to come back here again!” Kelto shakily returned.

“I’m sure I could, at that,” Sskeer chuckled. And the door slides shut behind him.

The moment Kelto was certain he was alone, he took a little paper cup and pours himself a drink of cool sinkwater. It takes gulping down two full cupfuls before he cools down, sinking heavily on his elbows against the counter.

“‘Kolto’,” he muttered, scoffing. “God damn it.”

[causeimthesupernovaa]

Rivalry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• Rowoon + Reader

• Genre: Fluff

• Words: 1.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kim Seokwoo. A tall and handsome guy by all means. Beautiful smile, friendly and with great habilities both academically and physically. Humph. It all doesn't change the fact that he's my enemy at the courts.

Since I was little I've always loved volleyball. So after insisting to my mother for months, I started attending classes for it twice a week. Through time and dedication, I've become one of the best among the students and decided to take part on championships, so I entered the school's official team at 13. Kim Seokwoo was part of it.

He was, and is till this day very good. I used to look admired at his serves and sets. I wouldn't speak much to him back then, but now we speak every championship, and a lot. Why the change? Well, because he became my enemy when he left our school at 15 and started playing for another team. Besides the historic rivalry between our schools, he and I are the best players of our teams, making a rivalry be born between us as well.

I take a deep breath and tie back my hair. Today's matches would be tough. First we would be playing against Han River High. Afterwards, against FNC High, where Seokwoo studies.

I leave the female locker room and walk to the courts. At this moment, I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Well, well. If it isn't Y/N?"

I turn around and force a smile.

"And if it isn't our school's traitor?"

Seokwoo smiles at me.

"No need to get all angry just because your team's best player left, Y/N."

I laugh.

"Best? I'm still right here."

"Keep deceiving yourself and being cocky," he replies.

"The one who started bragging was you," I start getting away. "If you'll excuse me, I have a match to win."

I turn around and smile to myself. For some reason, whenever we talked I would get all joyful inside.

After warming up with the rest of the team, we enter the court and start playing. By the half of the match, I notice Seokwoo analysing me from the bleachers. What is he...

The boy winks at me, leaving me completely flustered.

Out of nowhere, the ball falls in the ground right in front of me and I jump in place. Damn it, I was distracted! All my teammates give me a death stare.

"Sorry, guys. It won't happen again."

In the end, we end up winning 3 sets against 1. My team isn't mad at me anymore by then.

Well, but I am mad. Mad at that annoying of a Kim!

I drink some water and then go directly to him, who was still on the bleachers. I don't try hiding the irritation in my voice:

"What do you think you were doing? You disturbed me on purpose!"

Seokwoo gives an annoying smirk.

"Actually, it wasn't on purpose... but it would have been a good idea if it was..." he laughs a little.

I narrow my eyes.

"Prepare yourself, Kim Seokwoo. I won't have even an ounce of pity for you in our match."

His smile doesn't waver.

"I don't need to prepare myself, then. It's only you."

My desire to punch him right in the face is big, but I control myself.

"We'll see."

And I left the bleachers.

FNC's game against Seoul High starts half an hour later and I watch it. They win all the sets and Seokwoo smiles sarcastically at me from afar. I decide to ignore him and I cross the street to get some lunch at the mall.

At 4pm I've already warmed up and am ready for the match. I take a deep breath, wishing my parents were here to see me. There's no way though. They are busy working.

Well, that's not important now. The important thing right now is to not falter and win against that cocky boy.

Both teams enter the court and go to their positions. I walk up to Seokwoo and offer him my hand.

"Good luck," I say.

He laughs, not believing me for a second.

"Right. For you too."

I grin.

"No, really. You'll need it."

I get back to my team and laugh at the face he makes.

The game soon starts.

Both teams are very good, so the match is really balanced. We're already on the 5th set when I suddenly feel a strong pain on my head. The last thing I remember is falling to the ground.

...

Suddenly Jinwoo, who was new at Seokwoo's team, hits the ball right on Y/N's head. What was his problem?!

The match stops and him, the judge and the girl's team make a circle around her, who was unconscious. Seokwoo feels dispair grow inside him.

"She needs to go to the infirmary! What now? How are we to keep playing without her?"

The boy from her team looks very upset. What? Was it only with the game that he was worried with?

"Calm down," the judge says. "You've got your subtitutes, son."

He shakes his head.

"But is not the same thing, sir! Y/N is our best player. How are we going to defeat FNC?"

The man sights.

"It's life. Unexpected things happen. Now, someone please take this girl to the nursery before her or myself lose it!"

No one from the audience steps up. Was she alone?

Damn it.

"I'll take her."

Both teams as well as the public look at him surprised.

"You?!" the judge asks.

"Yes," he replies.

"But you know your team will have to replace you, don't you?"

"I do."

Seokwoo gives him a bitter smile and lowers himself, taking Y/N in his arms and bringing her to the nursery while ignoring his team's outraged looks. Once they arrive, he explains everything that happenned to nurse Choi.

"So, will she be okay?" he finally asks.

"Calm down, boy. Don't speak so desperately," she says and starts examining Y/N, who suddenly starts moving. The woman smiles. "She will be up soon, darling. Don't worry."

Seokwoo sights in relief and looks at the girl for a few seconds. He places the strands of hair which have escaped from her ponytail behind her ears, away from her forehead, which was moist from sweat. The boy unties her hair afterwards so that she feels lighter and smiles.

Y/N starts moving a little bit again and he decides to leave the room. She would probably not want to see him when she waked up...

...

I open my eyes and see myself laying on a litter at the nursery.

"Hello, darling," the nurse smiles at me.

"I-I—"

"Were hit in the head with a ball? Exactly. How do you feel?"

I put a hand on my head.

"A little dizzy, but I think I'm okay."

"What about the pain?" she asks.

"It's not that bad."

The nurse smiles again and writes something on a paper, which she gives me soon after.

"These are the prescriptions. If you get any worse, go to the hospital immeadiately, okay?"

I smile and agree.

I stay at the nursery for one more hour resting. I also try not to worry too much about the game's result. I fail.

After this restless resting time, I walk to the door, but I stop, remembering something.

"Nurse Choi," I turn around and look at her. "Who brought me here? My parents weren't there."

She smiles.

"Well... it was writen "Seokwoo" in his uniform."

I blink.

"Oh. Thank you."

I leave the room astonished. Kim Seokwoo? Why would he miss the match with such a big advantage in his team's favour just to help me? I don't get it...

I pass by a corner in the school, which was almost empty by now, but stop in my tracks. There were two boys having a heated argument. I see one of them push the other and decide to get closer. I'm shocked at what I see. The two guys were no other than Seokwoo and FNC High's newbie, Jinwoo.

"How could you do that on purpose?!" Seokwoo asks.

"Dude, we were taking a chance to lose!"

"That's no justification!" Seokwoo practically growls. I've never seen him furious like that.

"Come on! You two hate each other. What's the deal?!"

"I don't hate her, you—!"

The two guys start going at each other. In the beginning, I'm too shocked to do anything. Did he just say he didn't hate me? Did he...?

I snap back to reality and run to them.

"Stop!"

The two boys get apart and stare at me surprised. Seokwoo walks to me and I see Jinwoo running away to somewhere through the corner of my eyes.

"Y/N, I—"

"Shh," I look at the boy in front of me. "Your lip is bleading."

Seokwoo puts his fingers over his mouth.

"It's alright, it was just his punch. I—"

"It's not alright. Come here."

I take him by the wrist and tell him to wash himself. He does it, and I check to see if there is still blood running out. There isn't. I take a relieved breath.

"There."

I was about to leave when he touches my wrist.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

I look at him surprised.

"Yes, I am. Hmm... thank you for taking me to the nursery."

He places his hand behind his neck and blushes slightly.

"Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

"Nothing?!" I gasp. "You left the game to assist me!"

"I... it was no problem," he blushes a little more.

I shake my head.

"You would probably have won easily without me there."

"Well... let's just say my absence balanced things out," he says.

"But you didn't have to do it!" I stop, realising I didn't know how it all have turned out. I look at him. "Who has won afterall?"

Seokwoo shakes his head.

"Your team."

My eyes grow wide.

"What about now?" I ask. "Do you regret having left to help me?"

"No," the word leaves his mouth surely.

"W-What?"

He smiles a little shyly.

"You're more important than a game."

I look at him astonished and he returns my gaze. Slowly, he gets closer to me and stares at my lips. I look at his too. The little bruise over there only makes me want even more to... Wait up. What was I thinking?!

"Seokwoo—"

Suddenly, he kisses me and I close my eyes right away, returning his sweet touch. After that, we walk hand in hand to the exit, in silence. Once over there, he gives me a kiss on the forehead and grins.

"Don't you think just because I like you I'll take it easy on you at the championships."

I chuckle.

"Great, because I won't either."

I wink at him and take the bus home, the piece of paper with his hastily writen phone number inside my pocket.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

26. I Hate This Fandom, and I Hate All of You

I absolutely stole this line from an old friend in the Glee fandom, because it’s one that I think about EVERY TIME a fandom gets on my nerves, much the way that even this fandom does and in particular Simon stans. Idk what to tell y’all if y’all feel some type of way... be better people. ANYWHO! Shoutout to my friend for a quote that still means a lot to me 10 years later. Word Count: 4119

Previous

There was a lot of buzz surrounding the mini vacation for Simon’s birthday. Their families were together in Belize. Simon’s photos only reflected Simon either being with Grace and Hazel on the trip, or Grace. For the type to hyperfixate and go through everyone’s pages, they could find entire group photos and stuff on Mr. Laurent’s and Mrs. Monroe’s pages as Mr. Monroe didn’t have social media and Mrs. Laurent’s wasn’t sophisticated (inspirational quotes and recipes and DIYs that she was never going to actually try). Simon’s selected photos always looked like professional stills of the scenery, candids and capturing all the beauty possible, while Grace took hundreds of photos of everything from hijinks and mishaps to food to selfies, and they always just looked like somebody living her best life.

But, someone asked, “Are you in Belize with Grace Monroe?” on Simon’s photo of a pair two pairs of bare feet in the dirt - one an older person, dark brown skin, several scars from previous damages and new callouses, and a younger person’s lighter brown skin and cutesy temporary tattoos on the base of their feet. 

“Grounding, also called earthing, is a therapeutic technique that involves doing activities that “ground” or electrically reconnect you to the earth. This practice relies on earthing science and grounding physics to explain how electrical charges from the earth can have positive effects on your body.” Simon had put as the caption. In the same photo set, you could see an image of his own feet in the dirt, and...

“These are Grace and Hazel Monroe’s feet, right???” When they flipped through the set, there was near the end of several pictures of the landscape and sky, silhouettes of two people in the sunset - remarkably shaped like Grace and Hazel dancing in the dirt.

“OMG OGM GOM MOG MG OOMG…”

“Simon and Grace are BACK ON y’all!”

“Grace is letting Simon post photos of her! You all know that she’s very secretive about Simon these days, and now they’re in Belize and he’s posting photos! We WON everybody!”

“GRACE???”

Grace’s comments were a little bit less like that. A little bit. She had almost forgotten how “Simon’s fans” could get. She had looked up one of those “foods to order when you’re in Belize” articles and gotten everything on the list, took a photo of the table top and captioned, “About to go IN!” And less than a few moments later, had SO MANY, “Are you with Simon/Simon is gonna eat most of that/Save some for Simon/What did Simon order/So jealous that you get to eat all of that! Save room for desert AKA Simon!” That was the point where she decided to go on a comments black out. There could be no more comments on whatever photos that she took for the rest of the trip. Simon left his open, though. It blew his mind that half a year ago, people were telling him that they were disappointed in him for hurting Grace and lying about it, or that they were disappointed in him for trusting Grace again after everything, and now SOME of those very same people were extremely excited just to see them having brunch together that they were already working on wedding date headcanons and pregnancy foreshadowing. This entertained him. Grace wasn’t as much of a fan and contacted Hazel’s social media rep to ensure that any comments or questions about Simon were promptly deleted from any of her pages. Sometimes, they did that too. That was less amusing to Simon. He really believed that kids should be left out of things like that.

Simon knew that he was the reason that they didn’t last, as friends or otherwise and he had come to terms with that, but he still wanted her to be able to forgive him someday, trust him again and let him be a part of her life. This wasn’t her intention with this trip, so he definitely couldn’t take it as a sign. She was enjoying Belize with her daughter and making the most of the fact that her parents had foolishly invited him along, thinking it could be beneficial in some way. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to enjoy his limited time with her to the fullest. 

Plus, he and Hazel had made some small steps to acceptance on her tour of their memory lane. Surprisingly to him, Grace was very open with Hazel about her wrongs. She did tell her about how she fought and hunted down Simon’s bullies, how she stabbed one with a fork and kept it just to remind herself of that day. She told her things that Simon never would have wanted to ever let his kids know that he had done. Hazel just hugged her, told her that she understood her pain better now and that she was proud of her for being able to be a good and strong person now. She posted something about her mom being her hero and being so glad that she had somebody like her in her life. It was really cute. 

Simon went to follow her on her social media and someone even noticed THAT. “Simon Laurent is now following Hazel Monroe on like everything!” They posted with screenshots of his name following each account and an eyeballs emoji. He… blocked the person. He didn’t block people very much, but where Hazel was concerned, he didn’t want any of his stuff to bleed over into her space. Grace wouldn’t like that and he didn’t like it, either. 

He and Hazel had spoken about the charm bracelet. She had been chronicling the charms with their stories, and said something like, “I feel like I’m wearing a sacred relic on my wrist.” 

“Speaking of…” Simon had said, and reached into his satchel. “I made you copies of something…” 

He showed her some pages of what could ONLY be two Esmoroth books and she squealed, hugged them to herself and stuck them in her own tote. “Expect my notes on them, soon.” He gave her a salute. Grace watched them interact and she couldn’t remember many moments that he talked to kids - like she had seen him at work with them and even sometimes whenever she caught part of one of his scouts things, but seeing him and Hazel sort of bonding affected her. She was equal parts cautious and soft. Simon seemed genuine though, and that only became more noticeable during the trip.

He was doing stuff like making sure she was walking on the inside when they went down streets, reflexively shielding her in crowds, helping her over, up onto stuff whenever she looked like she might struggle - things that Grace would normally do/try to do but wait it out to see if Hazel could do it herself or ask her if she needed help. Simon jumped into action and it didn’t seem to bother Hazel, so Grace was able to watch her get babied a little bit. It was cute. She snapped several photos, just for herself, though. 

They got back to the villa to see that Mrs. Monroe had arranged another dinner. “This woman, I swear,” Grace mumbled. Simon laughed a little. 

Mrs. Monroe announced, “We had a spa day and I got the Laurents makeovers. The three of you get washed up and dressed. The photographer is already here and I don’t want him to catch you three looking like… This.” she circled her hands at them, then waved them off. 

“What… should I wear?” Simon asked as they walked off.

“I’ve set your outfits out!” Mrs. Monroe called at his back, “All of you!” 

“I really feel like I’m 15 again,” Grace said shaking her head. Simon let out a grunt of agreement. 

Hazel wondered, “This is what 15 feels like???” Not her 15. Grace was NEVER gonna do this type of stuff to her. But, the occasional bossiness of GlamMother Monroe would be fine. ONLY on occasion. 

They reconvened with the family on the patio, overlooking the water as they were relaxed enough to not be as uncomfortable as at the birthday dinner. Hazel and Simon were talking about how far along she had gotten in his book, which she had her copy of at the table and was going over notes so far (she was pleased with where it was going and she enjoyed the angst between the Future King and the Idol Princess, “A lot more than I would have before everything I learned about you and my mom,” Grace heard her say. 

“Do you want more?” Grace heard an unfamiliar voice ask. 

She turned to see Mrs. Laurent staring at her with gray eyes… Simon’s eyes. Ugh… This is where he got those? She forced a smile and shrugged, “Someday.”

The woman leaned closer to her and said, “It gets tougher whenever there’s another. You have a hard time juggling the same amount of love that you have in you between more bodies.”

“I don’t think I’ll have that problem, but I’m going to take everything that the professionals say into consideration whenever I begin to think about expanding the family.”

“Simon was really easy. You just give him a little block set or something to build and he would leave you alone for hours. His sister needed constant attention. She just couldn’t stand not being focused on. I could easily leave Simon alone for half a day whenever he was 6. Hope couldn’t be left for a couple of hours, even having someone there with her…”

“Leave her alone,” they heard Simon growl at his mother in a low voice. The woman frowned and sat back in her seat. “Are you okay, Grace?” Simon looked at Grace’s hands clutching the table. She looked at them too, and released her grip, then saw Hazel, looking at her concerned and looking at Mrs. Laurent suspiciously.

“Yeah. She was just talking about motherhood.”

“About how she was terrible at it?” Simon asked.

“Simon…” Grace started.

But Hazel interjected, “Not everybody has a mom like you, Grace.”

“My mom isn’t perfect…”

“I think she meant a mom who is like you,” Simon said. Hazel nodded. “Some of us got hit a lot and yelled at, called names…”

“Abandoned in a field for days…”Hazel added. “Not to say that GlamMother was better! Just… sometimes it’s harder to trust people again, depending on what they did and well… as a mommy, doing bad stuff to your kid makes it so hard to even be nice.”

Grace nodded and adjusted Hazel’s braids. She had braided her hair whenever they were on the plane, to pass the time on the long flight. “I understand. I’ve been hurt by somebody that I thought really loved me before…” Simon blinked and turned away. Hazel gave him a sympathetic glance. Grace added, “But, I’m really trying not to be angry with them forever, and I think maybe our moms might be able to inherit a little bit of the same kind of forgiveness that we would want from others.”

Hazel scoffed, “She is definitely talking to you, Simon. There’s no way I’m forgiving any time soon.”

Simon said, “Noted,” and stared into his cup. He sat for a while longer and then took his cup and left the table. Hazel lowered her eyes, avoiding looking at Grace. 

Mrs. Laurent offered, “He’s always been really sensitive. I’ll go…”

“No,” Grace said. “You… stay.” She stood up, glanced at Mrs. Laurent, slid Hazel’s chair away from her a little, basically letting Hazel know not to engage with that woman (though Hazel seemed to be the only person that the woman was kind hearted to, probably reminded her of her daughter or something). Grace found Simon pacing and clenching his fists. She turned to leave. This was a private moment, but he glanced up, saw her and stopped moving. She winced and clasped her hands together, “I was coming to check on you.” He relaxed a little and sat down on the nearby stairs. 

She leaned against the rail and explained, “I’m not saying that you have to forgive your mom if you want me to forgive you. That’s not what I meant to convey. I just mean… that I try to think about things from the other person’s shoes a lot more than I used to. I remember right before I snapped, I asked my mom if you really believed all of the things you said about me, or if you were just a really good liar. I still don’t really know for sure what the answer is and I don’t think you do, either. And, whenever we don’t even fully know ourselves, how can we possibly know what others are going through? For all I know, you’re in the most pain that has ever pained anyone. I couldn’t say. What I can say is that I won’t let your pain be an excuse to hurt me, and as long as you aren’t hurting me, I see no reason to punish you.” She sat next to him. “But, maybe you and your mom can’t be like that, and that’s valid. I was just throwing something out in the air. I probably should have thought it through.”

“It’s true though. The stuff I did is just as unforgivable as the stuff she did. How can I expect you to ever trust me again when I’m not willing to do the same with her?”

“I mean… you and me are different people. You and her are different people. Not everything is interchangeable.”

“Any time I’m near Hazel, you look like at any moment, you expect me to throw her into the ocean. It feels really bad, but I get it. So… I know that she MIGHT be hurting too. It’s just… so hard. And to think that this is the way that I make you feel when I’m around, trying to pretend that I’m normal… It’s the most painful part. What can I do though? I made it this way. I did things that can’t be undone. Even in trying to rectify it, that’s just… treating an injury. I’ll never be able to remove the scars.” He had tears falling down his face, which he wiped away before she could have the chance to feel bad. “And you’re the last person that I should be whining to about it, because you’re the victim in this story.”

“A survivor,” she corrected. “Who has chosen to try to understand. Let’s give each other a little more space. We went around town, living in the old days and that maybe threw us a bit out of reality’s orbit. You were fine before we hung out..” He opened his mouth to debate, but she caught herself and corrected, “Well, not fine, but better. And… you need to get increasingly better. Until you’re well.” She got up and he watched her go back out and collect Hazel. They turned in early that night. He went back out to talk to his mom… 

.

The Laurents were awake early and the only ones in the kitchen with Hazel whenever Grace emerged from their quarters. Mr. Laurent had made pancakes and eggs, and Hazel was stuffing her face and reading. Simon was next to her, ready to protect her, if he had to, while his mother was nursing a cup of coffee with a full, cold plate in front of her. “Good morning!” Grace cheered and kissed Hazel on top of the head, then Simon, though she awkwardly cringed after she did. He blushed, but didn’t make a big deal out of it. Yeah, she requested space, but she was also always affectionate and they had been around each other a lot the past few days. 

“Good morning,” Mr. Laurent said. “Plenty of pancakes and eggs!” 

“I’m having breakfast with my parents, but thank you for the offer,” she said in a fake sweet voice. “Hazel, why don’t you go get ready for the day. We’re spending it with your grands.”

“Yes!!! They give the BEST day out presents!” Grace sat down, and Simon noticed that with the off the shoulders blouse she had on, he could see the tan marks on her now even darker brown skin. He… liked tan marks. And… her hair smelled really good. Her lips looked so moist… She squinted her eyes at him and he quickly turned away and grabbed his plate and Hazel’s to clear them from the table. 

“What do you all have planned for the day?” She asked.

“I’m going to take Samantha to the beach,” Simon said. 

“If you can find her. I told you to keep her in her crate,” Mrs. Laurent said.

“I let her out in my quarters, not in the entire villa. She’s somewhere in my space,” he said. They had been bickering. He told her that he was trying to forgive her, because forgiving her might mean being able to forgive himself for the things that he had done. She told him that even if she tried for the rest of her life, she couldn’t forgive him for what he did to Hope… So… They weren’t any closer to whatever it was Grace was at in her growth journey. “I might do something with my hair,” Simon said, shrugging his shoulders as he washed dishes and returning his attention to Grace’s question. “Since I have that patch on the side from getting kicked in the head, I sort of want to do something Viking looking or elvish… Maybe a braid and a side do.”

“That sounds hot,” Grace said. He blushed again. “There might be something in Hazel’s Celtic book! There were some hairstyles in there. She carries the thing around a lot. Every since we found out that she had it in her DNA, she’s sorta been obsessed with Celtic history and the fact that there’s hazel tree lore is her favorite coincidence in the world.” Simon smiled and put the clean dishes away. 

“She’s a great kid. You’re doing great with her.”

“It’s really not that hard. I just love her a lot and always try to give her what’s best for her and trust her to let me know if she doesn’t agree with what’s best for her… which isn’t often, at all. I worry that she sometimes maybe has too much emotional maturity. Like, if I shouldn’t coddle her a little more…” She bit her lip. “Like… how can you even tell when it’s what’s best?”

“She is happy and healthy. I trust that you do what’s best.” He cut his eyes at his mother and dismissed himself just as Hazel returned. They high fived each other when they crossed paths and Grace got up so that they could leave. She’d meet her parents elsewhere later. She couldn’t just stay in there with the Laurents, no matter how nice they were maybe trying to be.

.

She and Simon did well enough keeping their space through the rest of the trip. By Monday morning, when they were all back home, Grace wondered if Hazel needed a day to recover, but she was SO READY to get to school and brag to her friends about how she had been given drafts of the next two books of Esmoroth and how she wouldn’t tell them what happened and they would be SO jealous and think she’s SO cool. “They might even think that I’m lying. That’s why I have photos of me and Simon, with both of the drafts. They’re gonna be extremely, extremely envious.”

Grace laughed, “Why do you want your friends to be envious?”

“Because, that’s how you know it’s the good stuff.” Hazel still had her braids in. They probably wouldn’t last as long as that style would in Grace’s head, but Grace estimated she still had a few weeks before they would have to take them down. Also, Grace noticed that after giving Simon the leaf in her hair whenever they went to get on their planes home… She hadn’t replaced it. She put in one of her leaf clips and almost left the door without Grace! Grace caught up with her and the girl was as lively as ever. Grace didn’t have that same enthusiasm. 

The weekend was exhausting for her. Seeing her parents wore her out. Seeing them, the Laurents, and specifically Simon? She was about to sleep this entire day, until it was time to meet up with Hazel afterschool. Back in her own bed, with her own energy in her space, her own schedule and company (or lack thereof) it was great. 

.

 Simon had went live while he was working on styling his hair, to clear up all of the rumors about he and Grace rekindling their romance, which essentially boiled down to, “Grace and I are not together. We aren’t even friends again. The Monroes were nice enough to treat my family to a vacation for my birthday. I love, admire, adore, worship, would die for Grace, but I’ve done too much stuff for her to ever trust me again and I have to be okay with that, so all of you should be, too.”

Grace didn’t know until Hazel told her that Forgive Him Grace and Groveling for Grace were a thing. She watched the video and was amazed that they had taken his words and decided to do the complete opposite, because of course they did! She merely made a post, with no tags or links that said, “I hate this fandom, and I hate all of you.” Some were in the comments laughing, because they knew exactly what she was talking about. Some were asking her what fandom it was and offering words of kindness. Some were just flooding it with those stupid hashtags. 

Simon messaged her to apologize and insist that he didn’t mean for THIS to happen. She turned it into a video call, which he immediately picked up.

“Your followers have always been a very… special kind. Unreasonable. Stubborn. Obsessively defensive, even when you absolutely don’t deserve it.” He looked embarrassed. “You trained them too well. Jeesh.”

“They’re literally a little cult on the internet,” he said.

“Yup. They better not be bothering my baby.”

“No. I shut that shit down the moment I see it. I actually pinned an exile list to the top of my pages specifically for that.”

She checked and saw “For troubling Hazel Monroe, you will be exiled and your name will go upon this wall of shame.” It was followed by a list of names of people he blocked and at the bottom, “Leave her alone or you won’t be welcome here.” 

“This is kinda adorable,” she said. “I love how you are with her. It means a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me, so she does too,” he said. She bit her lip and blew air through her lips. He smiled. “I love that you still do that. I was counting the similarities and differences.”

“I’d love to hear what you came up with!” She said.

“Okay. Similarities: You still do that brrrr thing with your mouth when you’re thinking or uncomfortable. You still play with people’s hair as a show of affection. You playfully tugged on Hazel’s braids so many times! Your feet still bother you… though they seem to be giving you more trouble than before. You still try to play nice with people and speak sweetly… Differences: You’re more confident. Not that you were insecure before, but you used to care what people think about you and now, you just don’t. It’s really sexy.” She blushed. “You’re independent. You don’t need anybody else and you used to always want somebody around. Like, you love Hazel and keep her close, but I can tell that you also allow her freedom and don’t demand her obedience like your parents did to you. And you’re… everything. I can’t believe that I convinced myself that you were nothing. You’re everything, and I would do anything for you.” They both just stared at each other a while. 

“Well… That’s a nice thought. I’ll think of you if I need anything.”

“Or if you want anything…. Anything at all, Grace. I swear.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon. Get your followers together!”

“I’m on it,” he said and rested his chin on his hands. She exited the conversation and took a deep breath. She didn’t know what he meant by any of that, but she had a feeling that it would be clear soon. Simon never made a declaration that he wasn’t going to come through about. Even “new” Simon. 

Next

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (Alternative Title: Three Touch-Starved, Insecure, Metaphysical Beings Constantly Misinterpreting Each Other and Yet Somehow Falling in Love)- Chapter One

Ao3,  MasterPost,  Chap.2,  Chap.3

Relationships: Eventual Analogince, implied Moceit

I usually have new stuff up on Wednesdays, Sorry this is late. I hope the length and angst will make up for this slight :) Also, because of how long this fucker is, I did not go in and manually add italics, so you can just. Imagine them there when you need them. 

Warnings: Panic attack (?), overworking oneself, self-hatred and insecurity, Excessive Amounts of Hurt/comfort, eventual friends-to-lovers, slow burn, arguing, crying, angst w/ a happy ending, swearing, creative blocks, mentions of isolating oneself, excessive hugging. 

Word Count: 6,396

What do you do when you find someone crying, and it’s all your fault? What do you say when you hear the muffled sobs and frantic words behind the blood-red door? When you know that, no matter how much you never wanted to hurt him- never wanted to hurt anyone- you still did. Is there anything you can do to fix it, when you’ve spent so long pretending that nothing was broken? When you’ve spent so long pretending that you didn’t care if things were broken or not? 

Well, if you're Logan Sanders, a metaphysical representation of the logical thinking of one Thomas Sanders (and you are, for the purposes of this story), then you book it down the hall in a desperate effort to find someone more emotionally competent to solve the problem. 

The search is short, lasting just to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as your feet touch down on the living room carpet, your haste brings you slamming into just the side you were looking for. Hands wrap around your middle, narrowly stopping you from stumbling over. 

“Geez, L, what’s the-” Virgil doesn’t finish his sentence, his expression wrinkling in concern when he sees your face. He leans down to your level, his gaze flickering over you to search for injuries. 

You take a step back and shake your head, struggling to explain. 

“Roman- I- He-” you’re supposed to be articulate, intelligent, eloquent- but when it comes to feelings, you never are. You never have been. You try so hard nowadays, but God, do you still need help sometimes. Like these times. These confusing, awful times when you hear dear sweet Creativity sobbing self-deprications loud enough to be heard from well outside of his room, many of which are dramatized repetitions of things that you have said to him.

“Is he okay?!” Virgil, bless him, snaps you out of the oncoming mental panic before it renders you any more useless. 

“Physically, yes- as far as I know- but emotionally, well-” you cut off, terrified of choking up. He seems to catch your meaning, though. 

Virgil doesn’t ask any follow up questions. He grabs your arm and the room blurs. Static hisses against your ears and pricks at your skin, this form of transportation being mostly foreign to you. You don’t even rise up, merely popping into existence right in front of Roman’s door. Virgil throws it open before you have the chance to react. 

Roman doesn’t notice the increased population of his room, which is concerning. His back is to the door as he works fervently at his desk, but evidently not making progress, shaking as he is. He’s muttering under his breath, much quieter than what you’d overheard before, but you can hear distinct utterances like ‘unrealistic… overused… disappointment…’ et cetera, et fucking cetera. 

“Roman, what happened?” Virgil’s voice is distorted, loud and quiet all at once. You barely keep yourself from covering your ears. 

Roman clamps his mouth shut mid-wail, his hands spasming in surprise against his desk. His quill drops to the paper with a soft clatter, a sound that echoes about the walls. Then, the only noise left is his staggering breathing.

Slowly, Roman peers over his shoulder at you, eyes puffy and red with mascara practically dripping down his chin. 

A gasp draws from you, against your will, at the sight. 

Roman makes some strangled throat-clearing sounds before trying to speak. 

“Oh, hey-” 

“Nope, none of that,” Virgil is across the room in two strides, effortlessly taking the lead in this situation. You can’t push yourself any further into the room, but you do shut the door behind you. Probably best not to involve any of the more unpredictable sides in what was sure to be an… emotionally charged discussion. 

Roman looks absolutely mortified, jolting up from his chair and backing into the wall like a cornered animal. With distance between himself and Virgil reestablished, he then buries his face in his hands. He trembles like a leaf caught in the wind of fall, and he’d probably crumble just as easily. 

Many times in your life, you’ve wished that you couldn’t feel. You even had yourself convinced that you couldn’t, for a while there. Now, all you wish is to know how to feel correctly. You’re meant to know things, Logan, aren’t you?

“Alright, so I’ve been having a bit of a rough time,” Roman’s voice cracks and wavers when he speaks, “It’s just writer’s block. Sure, I got a tad bit frustrated- but I’ll be back on track in no time, I promise! You needn’t concern yourself with my momentary lapse, I’ll have a new story for you by Saturday at the latest!” 

He’s looking at you. Virgil is standing right next to him, but he’s looking at you, all the way across the room. He’s trying to… appease you? Reason with you? Give you what he thinks you want?

Say something, Logan.

“You need to take a break, Ro,” Virgil’s voice slips back to normal, “C’mon, you’re overworking yourself,” he tries to be nonchalant, but it’s obvious just how concerned he is. You can hardly blame him. When he reaches his hand out, Roman recoils, showing his face enough to see the guilt written across it. 

You need to say something, goddammit. 

“I can’t just ‘take a break’,” he spits, “I can’t stop now. I need to get this done first- I’ll stop when I finally do this properly. So, maybe never, right?” He laughs, horrible and twisted, and he looks at you because he’s really, truly asking you. Is he really expecting you to agree? Is that the impression you’ve left him with? 

You say something.

“This is all my fault.”

Clearly, neither of them expected that. You press on.

“Your worth as a side-” no, not quite right, “-Your worth as a person is not measured solely by your productivity. I know we’ve talked before about the damages of excessive perfectionism, but I know I may not have been effective in ‘showing not telling’ that your ideas don’t need to be flawless. My harshness. My Coldness. I thought I was doing better, but obviously... I was wrong.” Again. 

Virgil looks half-way to anger, but it’s unclear what he’s directing it towards. You aren’t sure of anything right now, really, except for the general upset tugging at your stomach.

“L, no, if this is anybody’s fault- it’s mine,” he turns to Roman, and what. “I didn’t know how hard you were taking all this. Dude, I had no idea. But I owe you an apology, I have for a while, for making fun of you about your insecurity. Like, kind of a lot. Long after you stopped doing it to me. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t realize how much it was actually getting to you.”

“What? Virgil, I truly appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was clearly the one who pushed Roman too far,” you find the courage to step a little closer as you argue Virgil’s point, spurred on by how ridiculous you find this exchange.

“Well, I mocked his sensitivities. This is my responsibility!”

“But you didn’t know you were doing that- I acted like I didn’t care for him, and now he thinks I don’t! I am doubtlessly the one to blame.”

Virgil looks ready to snap back, and you’d be just as ready to retort, but a quiet sniffle alerts both of your attention to the matter still at hand. Roman, standing back against the wall, growing increasingly bewildered. He’s still crying, a surprisingly open display for a prideful trait such as himself, but you get the impression that he simply can’t hold it back anymore. You can see him squirm under Virgil’s and your gazes.

“It- It’s nice, that you both are attempting to take the blame for my failings, but you don’t have to. I can figure this out for myself. Then, I’ll finally prove myself to you, and no one will need to worry about anything. Which is why I need to keep working.” 

“You have proven yourself to me,” Virgil darts from the desk to Roman. He grabs the trait’s ink-stained arm, gaze fierce and unyielding. 

“Why, then,” Roman mutters, eyes downcast, “doesn’t it feel like I have?”

“I never tried to do right by you. Like you did for me.” 

You watch them sway, awkward, and finally, finally push movement into your legs. You step to Roman’s other side, much slower. It probably appears to be deliberate, but in truth you just feel unsure. You place your hand on his shoulder in a way that is hopefully comforting.

“The same, in a different sense, is true for myself. But if you would allow us to make it up to you…?” you aren’t sure where to go from there. Virgil nods, though, granting you a hint of pride. You don’t quite buy it when he says he’s part of the problem, but you’d rather not start any arguments at this particular moment. 

Roman won’t look at either of you for longer than a second, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. Just so he knows that you are, you gesture to your necktie, giving him the tiniest smile. 

He buckles to the ground immediately, a mess of sobs, the both of you letting yourself be dragged along. He clings to Virgil, and you try to keep an arm around him as well. He needs all the support he can get, really. 

“I-I’m so so-rry, I don’t- I-” 

Virgil shushes him and shoots you a deeply concerned look: This is really bad. I’m not letting him go. You rub Roman’s back as he shakes and return your friend’s gaze with a nod: I’m not either. We’re going to help him. Don’t worry. 

The three of you sit there for what feels like hours as he cries, and cries, and cries. None of you say a word, letting him get it all out. You let him hold onto you- you hold him as well, because you’re nearly as dismayed and unsure as he is. 

But eventually, you need to talk. Once he finally settles, his head resting against your collar and his legs splayed across Virgil’s lap, it’s you who gets the proverbial ball rolling.

“You already know that overworking yourself leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to an overall drop in productivity and quality of work,” Roman’s eyes fill with guilt, but you’re quick to elaborate, “but that isn’t at all my primary concern. I won’t carry on acting like it is for a moment longer, now that I see how it’s hurting you. Hurting you is something I would never intend. You mean so much to me. There are so many arguments I could use to convince you why you need to give yourself a break, but I’ll settle with this: a hypothetical ‘perfect story’ is not worth your suffering, and it never will be.” 

Roman looks up at you, once more crying, so that was probably a very unhelpful thing to say. But he leans into you and hugs you close, recontextualizing his emotional display. Relief washes over you. 

“Thank you, Logan.”

Virgil clears his throat.

“I know I’m not as, um, articulate as Lo is, but- for what it’s worth- I care about you, too, and all.”

You stretch out the arm that you had around Roman’s back, pulling Virgil into the hug. Roman lets out a shuddering breath from where he’s cradled between the both of you. It’s the deep, relieved breath that means the sobbing is through with, leaving only tired eyes and silence. 

It is at this point of alleviated tension that the uncomfortable nature of the floor begins irking you. Like hell you and Virgil would live Creativity alone like this, so after brief deliberation you stand to move as a unit. An amoeba of facets making their way down the hall, in a manner likely comical (though thankfully no one is around to see). Your room is the optimal place to rest, as it eases emotions and calms overthinking minds, even if it is a little chilly. 

You let your fellow traits drop down onto the couch, passing Roman the TV remote. Yes, whatever you like to watch, you inform him. Yes, really, anything, you confirm, waving your hand to conjure some blankets for them. The smile he gives you, though small, is enough to boost your hopes considerably. 

You really can’t fix everything- at least not immediately. But perhaps, with Virgil to fill in your gaps, you’ll be able to make things right for the Prince. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

So looking after this insecure dumbass is totally your job now. Said dumbass, of course, disagrees strongly; he tells you he’s doing better, and thanks so much for the one afternoon of help, Virgil, but he can totally take it from here. You do not give a single shit about what Roman claims, because he is very obviously lying, because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Yeah, as if. 

You’re taking care of that idiot if it kills you.

Thankfully, Logan is on the same page as you (proverbial page, as he would specify). It almost surprised you that he didn’t make himself scarce as soon as he told you about the situation, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise to have him by your side in this. Roman needs all the help he can get, and you can’t think of anyone better.

The pair of you only begrudgingly leave him alone after a sufficient several hours of Comfort Time, retreating to the hall so he can rest. He looked so fuckin’ tired, face a dull red and eyes puffy, but he was smiling. You count it as a temporary win. 

The first thing that you do, naturally, is slam your back against the wall and let yourself slide down to the floor out of sheer emotional exhaustion. 

Logan sits next to you, much less aggressively. It’s a nice gesture, considering how he absolutely despises sitting on the ground and this is the second time he’s had to do it in one day. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He keeps trying to say something, before clamping back down on it. You bump your shoulder against his, telling him that whatever it is, you’re listening. 

“I feel-” which is already a testament to how serious he’s taking the situation- “horrible.”

“Yeah, same- I mean, big mood- no, that’s worse, fuck-” you take a deep breath, hitting your head back against the wall, “I mean, me too. So, at least there’s that, right?” 

Logan shoots you one of his patented Microscopic Smiles.

“I suppose that counts for something, yes.” 

You manage a laugh, leaning even more against your friend. You’ve got a whole contradictory bundle of feelings coiled up in your chest, and it sucks, but also it’s a relief, but also it’s the worst thing ever. You exhale slowly, your eyes falling shut. 

“I don’t wanna leave him alone, ya know?”

“I know. We’ve done all we can do for now, though.”

“I guess.”

“I’m just glad he let us help at all.”

  “Well, assuming we did help. Who knows, we could’ve made him feel a million times worse by confronting him, and now-”

He cuts off your spiraling immediately. 

“But we didn’t. He clearly needed intervention by that point. Besides, If we’d been making it worse, it’s unlikely he would’ve let us stay for so long. Nor would he have accepted your plan of ‘helping him deal with all this shit from now on, no matter what he says.’”

“Right,” you take another deep breath, “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” 

You elbow Logan in the side, playfully. He smiles again, wider and brighter in a way that most others probably wouldn’t notice. It could, from some angles, in the right lighting, possibly maybe be considered a little bit pretty. Not that you think about things like that, of course, that would just be weird. 

You stop leaning so heavily against Logan, only to find how much your back hurts from sitting in the hall. Come to think of it, the hall might not be the best place to calm down from emotionally charged interactions. The only issue is that your room is literally the exact opposite of a good place to chill out right now, and you’re reluctant to move.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I- like, my room isn’t the best for times like this, and I-”

Logan’s  already standing, taking your arm to help you up. 

“Come on. I’ll set up the Planetarium for us.” 

“Thanks,” God, you’re thankful for somebody like him. Such a simple word, when you aren’t crazy about spelling out all of the gratitude and nervous tension that lays behind it, and he picks up on the layers perfectly. He gets it- he gets you. 

Things will be okay. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

Once upon a time (ha), you felt appreciated. Of course you did, else how would you remember it so vividly? How would you long for it so desperately? Yes, you can safely say that you, Roman Sanders, had once been cared for. But that was countless screw-ups ago, before hundreds of your careless insults, your many vicious words followed by weak apologies and unchanging ways. The distant past of a disgraced royal- one far too imperfect, far too cruel to be forgiven without first proving himself time and time again. 

That’s what you’d thought, anyway. When you expressed such beliefs to other sides for the first time, just a few mornings after said sides comforted you in the midst of a breakdown, they told you it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. Direct quote from Virgil. 

It was stupid, apparently, because you were forgiven so very long ago, and you are actually considered to be better now than you were then. It shakes you up inside to think about. In a good way, for once. 

They hover around you almost always, offering you plenty more of those somewhat aggressive reassurances whenever you give the vaguest hint of self-deprecation. You were sure they’d brush it under the rug after those first few days, perhaps even tease you about it, but it seemed that was completely false. It’s been a good week. 

They’re with you this very morning, chatting idly while you wait for the kettle to shriek. You let the drone of Logan’s voice wash over you as you finish fixing your tea. You don’t believe all of their reassurances just yet, but God are you trying. You want it to be true- more than you’ve ever wanted anything- when Logan says their care is unconditional, or Virgil says that he likes spending so much time with you. 

You turn around, the mug in your hands warm against your chest, and stare at the sides on the couch. The three of you are in your corner of the Mindscape; they had already invited themselves in when you awoke. You quite like that they do that- you still aren’t sure how to express that you want to be with them, without prompting. You would feel clingy. Greedy.

“Thank you,” you settle down Virgil, smiling groggily. He waves his hand dismissively. 

“Don’t worry about it, man. What’s on the agenda for today?” 

That’s another thing. It’s not all crying and hugging, Lord knows how old that would get- but they just end up hanging out with you. Sometimes it’s just Logan, if Virgil’s having an off day, or sometimes it’s the opposite, when Logan’s particularly busy, but you really like it best when it’s the three of you. 

That didn’t used to be unusual; you used to spend all of your time surrounded by all of your family (or most, in light of recent acceptances), laughing and joking and working all together. Then, slowly, you stopped, just as things became more complicated for everyone. Camaraderie was a waste of valuable time, time that could be used coming up with ideas that would finally be good enough. They got the hint easily enough, allowing you to isolate yourself until you were perfect for them. 

No, you aren’t thinking about that right now! It isn’t the time to worry about how this will all have to end eventually. You’ll have to think about it soon, but not now, dammit!

You swing back a sip of scalding cinnamon tea, letting it clear both your throat and your mind. 

“I have a wonderful idea for today!” You puff your chest out and straighten your back. In actuality, you haven’t had a ‘wonderful’ idea in ages, but you hope the confident stance will give you one. 

It doesn’t. Logan notices this. 

“I sincerely hope that this is not yet another attempt to ‘cure’ your writer’s block and attempt to get ‘back on task’?” he chides you. You falter, letting the regal pose fall away. Logan tells you that what you need is rest. You do not want to rest. But you don’t want to get lectured, either.

“I do not have any ideas for today. Or in general,” you grind out, the second part tacked on bitterly. You don’t look at them, even as Virgil knocks your elbow with his. 

“Good, that means you can come play Scrabble with us.”

The hesitance must show on your face, because Logan sighs and adds:

“I will allow you to use your original- completely nonsense, meaningless, irrational- words, if butchering the English language makes the game more fun for you.” 

Now that. That is a tempting offer. You really would be a fool to pass it up. 

You might as well indulge yourself this much, for however longer they’re willing to let you. It’ll be a nice memory to draw from when you do get back to work.

 Good God, your ribs hurt. You can’t breathe.

“I’m just saying, you can’t prove that the earth is round,” Virgil claims, staring mischievously across the table at Logan. Logan fumes. It is fucking hysterical.

“That’s ridiculous! Putting aside the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary for a moment, you can literally see the curve of the earth on the horizon!” 

“Uhh, it looks pretty flat to me. I’m not buying your government propaganda, Lo,” Virgil’s very clearly trying not to chuckle, and his resolve is impressive. You’ve already been reduced to unintelligible cackling at their interaction. This exchange has brought the progress on the jigsaw puzzle you’d been solving together to a screeching halt, but you couldn’t care less. 

“What do you mean ‘propaganda’?! This is common knowledge!”

Virgil cracks, bursting into raucous laughter. He grabs onto your arm as gravelly chuckles escape him, the both of you scrambling to keep upright. Logan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Unbelievable. Infuriating. Intolerable, the both of you.”

You compose yourself just enough to stick your tongue out at him teasingly, before hunching right back over into your giggle fit.

Then, you notice it as it happens. The aggravated expression etched across Logan’s face shifts, but he keeps staring at you. It’s inscrutable, and also weird. 

“What’re you looking at?” you challenge, voice broken up by subsiding laughter. You turn your head to Virgil, as if to say wow, what a nerd, huh?, only to find him staring at you with much the same expression. 

“Guys? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Anxiety amends.

“I’m sure we were both just caught off guard, is all,” Logic adds, his attention redirected from you to the carpet hastily.

“In a good way, though. It’s nice to see you smile- ugh, that sounds so weird, I just meant- it’s been a long time since you’ve. Done that.”

You blink, taken aback, only to feel the dull ache in your face. You reach a hand up, pressing a finger to the corner of your upturned lips. It really has been a while since you’ve laughed like this, hasn’t it? 

A selfish, malicious creature that stalks around in your chest tells you to stop smiling. If you’re happy it means that their job is done, then you’ll be all alone again. Is that what you want, Roman? 

You almost listen to it. Before-

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you said just because Roman laughed, V.”

“Nah, you never forget anything, O keeper of memories,” Virgil flicks a puzzle piece at Logan, smirking just enough to show off his sharp teeth. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he flicks another puzzle piece. Logan’s face twitches in what is either a barely suppressed smile or a grimace, but likely a combination of the two. When Virgil finally aims a piece to hit his face, he snaps, throwing little bits of the jigsaw back at the anxious trait.

“Wow, L, you’re really just throwing away all our progress like that? Tsk, tsk.”

“I will end you,” he lands one smack on Virgil’s nose, earning a hiss. The puzzle continues to be destroyed by their squabble. 

You don’t think you could stop yourself from beaming at them, even if you wanted to. Toothy, confident, amused- oh, how you’ve missed this.

How you’ve all missed this.

 It hits you with the swiftness of a bullet, right when you least expect it. You’re just sitting in the living room, idly sketching as you half-watch TV with Patton beside you on the couch. You offer a laugh when he pipes up with a pun based on whatever’s on screen, but your mind is far elsewhere.

You’ve got an idea. A really good one. 

You’ve filled up a page with mindless doodling while the thought was still forming, for fear of jumping on it too suddenly and losing the inspiration, but you find it solid as you continue to mentally examine it. Perhaps a bit overeager, you flip the page, scrawling excited concept sketches across the thick, rough paper. The details flow and evolve in your mind’s eye, and it becomes something of a struggle to hold back your creative aura from infecting the common area. 

That confident smile, one you’ve been wearing more and more often these past few weeks, graces your face once more. The semi-subconscious expression brings a memory from just nights ago: Logan told you that your face was built to wear such a grin (‘Speaking architecturally, of course,’ he cleared his throat awkwardly, ‘The form that you’ve chosen for yourself is suited to it. Objectively.’). 

You find your smiling widening, just as it had when he first told you. 

So caught up in your art, half-listening to Patton, and also vaguely following along with the show he’s watching- you don’t even glance up when Virgil rises up and seats himself at the arm of the couch. It’s the way he huffs a laugh at something Morality says that first catches your attention, and suddenly he’s got all of it. 

“Virgil!” 

He grimaces at the volume, tilting his head to look at you. 

“Something got you excited, Ro?” 

“I’ve got a story! That is to say, I’ve got a premise, but also characters! Look- it’s- come here, let me show you what I’m drawing, it’s easier than explaining,” you chatter happily, shuffling your way to Virgil’s perch. You hold your sketchbook out to him and jump into explanations.

The drawing is messy, and not nearly finished, but it’s you and it’s good and it’s new. It’s a scene- heavily annotated to explain some of the more abstract concepts in the image- depicting an ent-like creature towering over a young woman, who holds a flower crown up to him. You tell Virgil about the story based around the two, some of the major plot points already planting themselves in your brain. You inform him that it just came to you, and you’ve got so many different ideas for what these two will do, what will happen to them, and how they’ll get out of it all. When you look up from your rambling, all the excitement slips off your face. It’s replaced by awe. 

Virgil is grinning, showing a good deal more of his fangs than he usually likes to, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. You’ve never seen him emote that much ever, not for any purpose. You would be lying if you said that those huge chompers weren’t at least a little hot. 

“Okay, I totally wanna hear more, but pause for a sec. I gotta get Lo, ’kay?” And with that, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, pausing only to toss the sketchbook back to you. You twist around, eyes wide with shock, to find Patton smiling softly at you. 

“You saw that, too, right? Or have I gone mad?” you ask him, earning a chuckle.

“I think Virge is proud of you,” he shuts the TV off as he talks, moving to stand, “I am, too! It sounds really cute!”

“Thank you,” Patton arches up to stretch, tossing the remote down on the couch. “-Er, where are you off to?”

“I think I’ll let you three have the living room, to talk all about your story.” 

“I’d hardly mind if you wanted to hear about it!”

His eyes dart to the side, an awkward smile stretching across his face. His noticeably pink face.

“Oh, I- I was planning on spending some time with Jan today. I was about to take off, anyhow.”

“Aah,” you start sketching again, if only to spare Patton your wolfish grin, “Well, if you’ve already got plans.”

He gives you a tiny wave, sinking out immediately. Thus leaving you alone with your thoughts. Fuck. 

It crosses your mind that- now you have an idea to work on, an idea you’re proud of- your slump is over. The creative block has been cured. Logan and Virgil won’t need to coddle you anymore. 

Your hand ghosts over the paper, and for a second you consider tearing it up. Pretending you lost the spark, pretending you need more time and help and companionship. Guilt rises in you at even the thought of being so selfish, the doubts and worries overpowering your former giddiness completely. 

You can’t imagine anything worse than that brilliant smile Virgil gave you turning to disappointment, if you pretended to lose your inspiration. Or the disdain that would surely flash in Logan’s eyes at having his work interrupted for absolutely nothing. Plus, if you did so, what’s to stop them deeming you a lost cause and abandoning you anyway? 

If you’re being honest, you need approval more than anything. And dear God, it is so close. You have to tell them, and hold on to whatever scraps of praise it earns you before the three of you revert back to normal. You’ll fall back into seclusion, as that seems to be one of the few things you’re good at, and they can actually get back to their own existences. 

There’s a whoosh behind you. You spin around, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. 

“Well hello there!”

“I want to hear about your story,” Logan cuts straight to the point. You couldn’t care less about his bland bluntness because he is watching at you in a way so unbearably fond. They both are. You push your reservations down and present him with your sketches, diving into what you’ve come up with so far (plus a few extra points off the top of your head, which isn’t an uncommon method for how you develop plotlines). 

When you’ve finished, not quite as exuberantly as earlier, Logan continues with the theme of surprising the fuck out of you that this day has established. 

He settles a hand on your upper arm, but really he might as well have swept you up in a hug. You blanch, the touch fuzzing up your brain, just like it has been doing so often now and God you don’t want to lose this. 

“I told you so,” he sounds playful.

“What?” you question, vaguely dazed.

“I think that L’s saying we were right about you just needing a break. Seems like the rest cleared up your burnout pretty well,” Virgil loops around to your other side, patting your shoulder awkwardly. 

The euphoria from being touched is broken once you actually manage to process the words.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I'm- I'm so excited to get back to work!”

Logan removes his hand and you burn cold. 

“No, you aren't,” you hear his confusion, like he's trying to unravel why that could possibly be and wow you are not as good an actor as you’d hoped. “What's upsetting you?”

You try to say that it's nothing, but your voice pitches up embarrassingly. You clear your throat, but you can't make yourself maintain eye-contact anymore.

“Dude, you can tell us what's up. Are you just overwhelmed?” Anxiety is worried and caring in a way you didn't know he was capable of and it hurts worse because you don't know how to tell him that you're just selfish. But you knew this was coming- and you aren't going to make these two waste their concerns on you any longer. The problem has been solved, Roman, get that through your skull! 

“I- I suppose I'm just- I’m lamenting the end of this. It’s unimportant.”

“You are upset about the end of your writer's block?” Logan tips his head to the side and gives you a bemused look. Frustration stabs at your skin.

“No! That's a good thing, obviously it's a good thing- I'm saying that I'm going to miss… I mean, I'd gotten used to spending time with you. The both of you,” Virgil's eyebrows shoot up, Logan squints at you, so you backpedal like there's no damn tomorrow.

“See? It was stupid, I know I can't always have all the attention, any-”

“You're right, that is stupid,” Virgil cuts you off with a grumble. You must deflate visibly, though, because his voice softens, “That you think we aren't gonna hang out with you, I mean.”

You feel something. You think it’s hope. It almost feels foreign- unbelievable, even. 

“What?” a murmur, too small and doubting for you to associate with it, though it must be yours. Pathetic.

Logan leans forward, as though he's studying you. Good God, who let him be so tall?

“Were you under the impression that we were going to cease contact with you once you resumed productivity?”

“Wha- I mean- when you say it like that it sounds… bad.”

“It would be bad. It would also be incredibly manipulative; being kind to you only so as to get you back in working order, rather than being kind to you to provide genuine help.”

Virgil nods his agreement.

“Yeah, you aren't getting rid of us that easy, Romano.”

You recall the first Big Conversation you had with the two left-brained sides. They'd insisted to help you, despite your lack of understanding in the beginning why they'd do so. Similarly to that talk, this is filling you with an almost painful fondness, almost too much to bear.

“But, you already helped me, just like you said you would!”

“Why did we help you, Roman?” Logan inquires, in a way that makes you feel like you should know the answer. You do not. 

“Because you were worried about me?”

“Why would we be worried?”

“Because you… felt bad for me?”

He groans, tapping Virgil on the shoulder. The anxious facet rolls his eyes.

“You're our friend and we care about you, stupid.”

You clear your throat, attempting to say that you knew that (even if that isn’t entirely true), but Logan interrupts you. 

“In case it wasn’t clear why, allow us to explain: one, as I’ve stated before and will likely state again, we don’t value you for your ability to create alone.”

“Two,” Virgil cuts in, “You’re, like, fun to be around. Way less stiff than us, and honestly we probably need that.”

“Three, we were never opposed to being around you even before the- this. You claimed to like being alone. And I’ll admit I’m not the best with subtext.” 

Virgil looks ready to add a fourth. You don’t let him, waving your hands wildly. If you verbalized what you meant to convey, you’d definitely start sobbing, and that’s just embarrassing. Thankfully, Anxiety seems to pick up what you’re laying down, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You take a few breaths and try to pretend that you aren’t being watched like a hawk.

Aaaand you’re already crying. That’s probably the point of no return, isn’t it? 

“Ha, and I thought that you two weren’t the sentimental ones,” the effect of your teasing is ruined by how much your voice wavers, “You’re just big softies, aren’t you?”

Logan’s expression is caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

“You are quite literally sobbing? How are we-”

“Shut up,” you retort. The effect is once again ruined when he comfortingly pats your back and you absolutely fall against him. 

“Wow, again? You’re really set on making a habit out of this,” Virgil hovers uncomfortably apart from the set of you, eventually landing on wrapping an arm around you. And it’s so him, that you can’t help the little chuckle that breaks through your crying. You really have been doing this a lot more than you’d like lately. 

“I- I’m okay,” you stammer, “I’m good- this is- just- I’m relieved. Why am I crying? I’m happy!” 

“It’s alright, man.”

“Yes, take as long as you need.”

You tear yourself away from them, scrubbing at your eyes, but grinning all the same. Your skin burns, you’re shivering, but you’re sick of clinging to them and crying and the desperation that tugs at you. You feel so many things, but there’s one that’s overpowering, one thing that’s so familiar and has been so distant. It’s a blur, a mash, but it goes something like this:

The people you care about, that you work so hard for- they aren’t going anywhere. No conditions. Logan repeats it plenty, Virgil shows it to you quietly, but only now-

Now you believe them. You feel looked after. Cared for. If you’re being bold, you could even say loved. 

You feel secure. 

“Thank you,” for being there, staying there, helping you, everything. You can’t thank them enough for everything.

Virgil shrugs. 

“You’re worth it.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

We’re Just Human (part four)

TW: Emetophobia

———————

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Getting beheaded and watching someone get beheaded were two different traumas entirely, with the latter being just as bad as the former, which is probably why mirror girl is still blubbering fearfully in the bathroom even after half an hour of attempted persuasion to get her to calm down.

It’s the same thing every time: One of the queens tries to talk to her, she just says “no” over and over again, they try to open the door, she throws a chunk of glass at them. She was being completely uncooperative, not that anyone could blame her after she seemingly was reborn from an exploding mirror, but it still put the entire house on-edge. Katherine was getting overwhelmed by all the screaming; Parr was barely able to think straight over the commotion; Cleves had a terrible headache from it all; Maria was frightened, which in turn made Aragon uneasy and worried for her; Jane was grasping at nothing to try and help the poor girl; and Anne was pacing very anxiously. Seeing her bite her nails down to the quicks was a little strange for her to do, to say the least. Very out-of-character for her.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Anne suddenly exploded. “Jane, you gotta let me talk to her.”

“She’s going to freak out further.” Jane said.

“No offense, but you’re one of the reasons I got taken away from her. I think it’s a fair amount of panic that we will both induce, but at least she knows I’ll never hurt her.” Anne argued. “Please.” Tears are welling up in her eyes before she can even think to stop them. “I need to see her.”

“Let her, Jane.” Aragon said. She’s holding Maria close to her. “She deserves to see her again.”

Jane looked at the golden queen, then the emerald queen, and then nodded. She slowly cracked open the door and winced when another piece of glass smashes against it, but Anne doesn’t seem to be phased. She quickly slips inside and turns to her former lady in waiting, best friend, and younger sister figure.

Maggie, who looks to be around twenty, is huddled in the corner, making herself as small as possible. Her brown hair is in complete disarray and sparkling with tiny shards of glass that sprinkle her head like razor sharp snowflakes. Her moon blue eyes are so wide and glassy that Anne swore she could see her reflection in them. Blood is oozing from cuts scattered along her body from when the mirror broke and it’s causing her obvious discomfort, but she seems too wrapped up in her own terror to try and stem the bleeding. When Anne steps inside, that terror only gets worse and she spirals into a full blown panic attack.

“No!!” Maggie shrieked before Anne can even get a word out. “Get away! Get away from me!!”

Hurt flashes in Anne’s eyes. “Maggie...it’s me. It’s Annie.”

“I know who you are, spirit.” Maggie spat out, her voice loaded with venom. Despite the poison she coats her words with, her physical demeanor is nowhere near as powerful as her verbal one and she just curls further into her corner, hugging her knees tightly. There’s a shard of glass clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ve seen you before. You were there when I died and you’ve been taunting me since.”

Suddenly, it all made sense.

“Oh, Maggie...” Anne muttered. She wondered if her dear friend was seeing her headless and bloody right now. “Maggie, I’m real.”

“That’s what you always say.” Maggie hissed, but her voice becomes hollow halfway through the sentence. She loses her aggressive touch and falls back into her terrified state of mind. “And I- I believed you at first, but then you disappeared each time I tried to touch you. You kept leaving me, just like before.”

Anne feels her heart break at those words. She steps closer, which makes Maggie tense up.

“Maggie, you gotta believe me.” She tried again. “I’m real. I’m here with you again.”

Maggie sobbed and shook her head. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

“What do you want?” She whispered. “Is this revenge?” She struggles to breathe for a moment, choking on her own panic and causing Anne to dart down to her side. She stares fearfully at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I-I tried. I tried to talk to Henry, really! P-please believe me...”

“I do.” Anne said. “Of course I believe you. But it wasn’t your fault I died. It was my own.”

Maggie shook her head frantically. “No- no-! I could have done something. I-I could have—” She breaks off into sobs and buries her face in her knees.

Anne couldn’t bear to watch her best friend- her little sister break down like this. Without thinking, she extends a hand and sets it on Maggie’s shoulder.

The girl’s cries seize and she goes very still.

Slowly, Maggie raises her head. The tears on her cheeks glisten in the fluorescent lights. She stares in shock at the queen’s hand, then up at the queen herself.

“I’m here, Maggie.” Anne told her.

Maggie can’t reply, so Anne carefully takes her hand, unbuckles her choker, and guides it to her scar. Maggie’s fingers tremble against her tender neck.

“See?” Anne whispered, cupping Maggie’s cheek with her other hand. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

Maggie’s expression remains the same for several long seconds before her mouth contorts into a grimace and she whimpers. Another wave of tears stream down her cheeks. She throws herself into Anne’s arms and cries harder.

“Annie, Annie...!” She babbled tearfully. “A-Annie, y-you’re...!”

“Shh, shh,” Anne murmured to her former Lady. She began to gently rock Maggie, rubbing up and down her back. “You’re okay... Shhh, you’re okay... I’m right here.”

“I-I m-missed you so much, Annie...” Maggie choked out through gasps and wheezes.

“I missed you, too, my love,” Anne whispered to her sweetly. She pressed a kiss to the top of her head- it felt so good to do that again. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anymore. Never again.”

Maggie can’t even form words this time and just continues to cry steadily into Anne’s chest, who holds her protectively and whispers soothing things in her ears until she eventually calms down.

Okay, well, Maggie didn’t really “calm down” she just stopped crying and having a panic attack. However, she was still very scared and anxious, especially when she stepped out of the bathroom, clinging tightly to Anne’s arms to stay upright, and saw six other women standing there. She only recognizes three of them, so the other three introduce themselves. She doesn’t really process it much, far too dazed and disoriented to do just about anything except grasp onto her queen, so Anne takes her to her bedroom to rest and clean her cuts from the glass.

That night, as the rain starts to pick up again, Anne is awoken to squirming and whimpering beside her. She looks over to see Maggie writhing in her sleep, whining softly at some unseen horror. At this, Anne immediately leaps into action and gently presses on her dear friend’s shoulders to wake her up with jarring her too much.

“Maggie,” Anne said. “Come on, Mags, it’s okay. Wake up. You’re okay.”

Maggie whimpered again, shaking her head against the pillow before her eyes suddenly snap open. She springs upwards, breathing heavily and looking around wildly before she feels the hands on her shoulders.

“A-Annie?” She choked out.

“Yeah, it’s me, Mags.” Anne said softly. “It’s me. I’m right here.”

“Y-you were...you were dying...” Maggie whispered.

Anne’s heart broke at the lasting trauma that lingers on her former Lady. She carefully wrapped Maggie up in her arms and laid back down with her, cuddling her close to her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” Anne said. One hand began to stroke the girl’s hand. “I’m alive now. I’m here with you.”

Maggie sniffled and nodded.

“I-I know, I just...” She trailed off. “D-do we have to talk about this?”

“No, no of course not.” Anne said quickly. “You must be so tired. You are basically a newborn in this life.”

That got the tiniest of giggles out of Maggie. The sound makes Anne’s heart flutter.

“Goodnight, Mags.”

“Night, Annie...”

—

Maggie would go on to have two more nightmares that night. Both times Anne does not wake up, still fast asleep, and Maggie doesn’t bother her.

———

By morning, Maggie was absolutely exhausted. Her eyes felt dry when her heavy eyelids peeled open. She squinted in the morning light bleeding in through the window facing the bed (why would Anne place her bed there?! she’s probably blinded every morning!!) and rolled over with a sluggish moan. Her hands do a little grabby motion for Anne, wanting to cuddle for just a little longer, but she feels nothing but empty sheets.

Maggie bolts upwards.

Anne was gone.

Instantly, panic sets in and Maggie’s breathing starts to get faster. She tumbles out of the bed and down the short flight of stairs leading to the loft, looking frantically for her queen. Images of Anne’s decapitated head start to flash in her mind and she whimpers. Tears start to well up.

Anne was dead. She lost her again. She’s all alone. Anne was dead.

“Maggie?”

Maggie spun around and saw Anne standing in a doorway with her hair slightly dripping. She immediately ran to the queen and practically jumped into her arms, which causes Anne to laugh.

“Good morning to you, too.” Anne chuckled. “Sorry, I was taking a shower. I should have told you.”

“I-it’s okay.” Maggie stammered. “I-I was just...” She fidgets anxiously until Anne takes her hand and lets her feel her scar. Knowing that her best friend’s neck was still completely intact, she calmed slightly. “You, umm...you didn’t need help bathing?”

Anne blinked before laughing out loud. Maggie blinks, too. Why was she laughing? What was so funny? She tilts her head like a confused little puppy.

“Oh no, Maggie, no.” Anne wheezed out. “Honey, I can bathe on my own now.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked innocently and Anne titters again. She’s led into the bathroom, which is still very warm from how hot the shower had been. She watches as Anne pulls back the floral curtain to reveal a tub and a spigot near the ceiling.

“Parr said we’re all reincarnated with knowledge of the modern world.” Anne said while reaching for a faucet.

“I did,” Maggie said sheepishly. “I just don’t understand all of it.”

Anne nodded and then turned the faucet. Maggie leapt back behind her as water suddenly shot from the spigot. Anne laughs at her and her face flushes dark red.

“Stop laughing!” Maggie barked. She looked like a furious little ferret with frizzy fur.

“Sorry, sorry,” Anne said, turning off the faucet. “You are too cute.”

Maggie just huffs.

“However, you really gotta get into the swing of things.” Anne smirked widely. “It’s time for you to have lessons on the modern world!”

—

Maggie watches curiously from the couch as Anne put a rectangular device with red and blue sides into a holder of sorts on a stand. The large screen (which a voice in her head- probably the ‘modern world knowledge thing’- helpfully tells her is called a “television”) on top of the stand lights up and displays a large menu option, where dozens of colorful icons are displayed on a dark grey background. Anne walks over to her and sets the two red and blue pieces from the device (“Controllers,” The Knowledge Voice tells her) into her hands.

“This is a Switch.” Anne said.

Maggie stared down at the controllers. “Doesn’t look like a switch to me.”

Anne laughed. “No, it’s called a Switch, Mags. It’s a game console.”

After being told what exactly a game console was, Maggie nodded. Anne guides her fingers to move the joysticks and select the game with a funny little yellow creature on its icon.

“You’re gonna learn how to play Let’s Go Pikachu because you NEED to like Pokémon.” Anne stated. Maggie was only half listening, more transfixed on all the vibrant colors and that little creature bounding around the screen. Her eyes were wide and glistening in awe.

“It’s cute.” Maggie said.

“Isn’t it?” Anne said. “That’s a Pikachu.”

“Bless you.”

Anne blinked before laughing loudly. She gives Maggie a quick hug.

“Oh, I love you so much, Mags!” She kissed the top of her head before selecting English as the game’s language.

They both watched as the starting scene opens up and the Pikachu hops over to Professor Oak. Dialogue bubbles pop up and Maggie puts all her focus into reading them.

“My name is Oak,” Was one of the things said, to which Maggie replied with, “I’m Maggie.” Anne starts to laugh once again.

“He can’t hear you, sweetheart.” She said gently.

Maggie ignored her, too focused on reading. She gasped when the man on the screen suddenly produced a weird looking ball and some brown creature with a skull on its head seemed to come out of it.

“Woah!” Maggie exclaimed. Her eyes went even wider when Mr. Lab Coat and the funky little yellow thing started to walk to the side, revealing even more creatures. “They’re so cool! Annie, look!”

“I see ‘em, Mags.” Anne chuckled. “I knew you’d like this.”

“I study Pokémon as a profession,” Mr. Lab Coat’s dialogue says, so Maggie says, “That’s so cool! I was a lady in waiting!”

Anne bit her lip to keep from laughing. She quickly contained her struggle when the character creation popped up and she helped Maggie decide on what her character should look like. They eventually decide on the brown haired option, despite it lacking Maggie’s striking blue eyes.

“Now you have to name yourself.” Anne said.

“Since this obviously isn’t me, do I have to give her my name?” Maggie asked and Anne shakes her head.

“Nope! You can call her anything you want!”

“Okay,” Maggie said, and then proceeded to type in ‘Magpie’ for her character’s name. Anne snorts so hard she nose hurts.

On the screen, the yellow creature runs over to a boy with spiky hair. Maggie tilts her head at him.

“I can name him?” She asked Anne.

“Yup!”

“Woah.” Maggie’s eyes glisten with mischief. “I have so much power.”

She ends up naming the rival “Robin” to “stick with the bird theme.”

Maggie falls silent for a moment, watching the introduction close and the game open up completely. She’s absolutely enamored by the motions and movements on the screen, as well easily caught by all the pretty colors. She spends a good few moments just making her character run in circles, giggling the entire time, before finally continuing out of the house (after speaking to her rival, of course).

After going to the lab (which Anne has to guide her to), she makes her character run to some nearby grass, where she sees the professor man talking to some birds.

“That’s weird.” She commented. She perks up when that noise from earlier in the game plays from the speakers and, suddenly, the yellow creature is running at her character from the grass. “Oh! Annie, what’s going on?” She asked as the screen changes to a new setting with the creature sitting in the center of the screen.

“You’re gonna catch the Pikachu.” Anne explained. “When the ball icon pops up, click the button that says ‘Get Ready’ and then swing the controller in direction of the Pokémon.”

Maggie nodded. She did as she was told and promptly throws the controller across the room.

“No-!!” Anne cried. She jumped up and quickly went to retrieve the controller, which luckily wasn’t damaged.

“Sorry!” Maggie yelped. She hunches her shoulders in and looks down. “Sorry, Annie...”

Anne say back down beside her and nudged her gently.

“Hey, it’s okay! I did the same thing.” She said.

Maggie giggled softly that the thought of that. She tries again after Anne gave her the controller back and successfully manages to catch the Pikachu.

“Good job!” Anne praised.

Maggie is grinning brightly up until the PokéBall she caught the Pikachu in starts to move and then roll in the direction of the lab she went into earlier.

“How?” She said and Anne laughed.

“Keep playing!”

Maggie does and quickly gets to the scene where the Pikachu comes out of the PokéBall and presses its head into the character’s hand. The entire time Maggie’s eyes are wide and glimmering.

“That is so cute!!” She squealed. “Annie, I love it!”

Anne smirked proudly. “I knew you would.” She said. “Now you just gotta give it a name! Your Pikachu is a girl because of the heart shape on the tail, so-”

“French Toast.”

“What?”

“Her name is French Toast.”

—

When Friday rolled around, the house was filled with the scent of cinnamon. Maggie and Anne ventured downstairs and Maggie looks around curiously.

“What’s that smell?” Maggie asked.

Jane, who was doing something with buttered bread at the kitchen island, looked over at her with a sweet smile.

“Cinnamon.” She answered. “I’m making cinnamon toast.”

“That sounds really good.” Maggie said.

“It will be,” Anne said before guiding her to sit on the couch. The two of them converse before everyone else starts to wake up- first Cleves, then Parr, then Aragon and Maria, and finally Katherine. Anne had noticed cousin tottering slightly, looking a little disoriented, but she would let someone else handle her right now. All her attention was on Maggie, and it was going to remain that way for awhile. Her cousin could find comfort elsewhere.

Suddenly, the dark, fire-breathing sky explodes with a booming crash of thunder and lightning torches the sky. The lights flicker treacherously, like they were trying to decide whether to blow out or not, but ultimately stayed alive.

“I wonder who it’ll be this time.” Parr mused from where she was reading at the bar.

“What?” Aragon looked at her.

“Haven’t you noticed a pattern?” Part said. “Each time there’s that loud thunder and lightning, one of our old ladies in waiting appear. First there was Maria, then Maggie, now someone else.”

“That’s so cool,” Anne said. “But I’ve got all I need here.” She hugged Maggie, who snuggles into the embrace with a giggle.

“It would be nice to see my sister again,” Katherine murmured, thinking about that certain lady in waiting with a small smile on her pale lips.

“Well, Cath was right.” Cleves said, looking out the back door. “Someone’s here.”

They all go to look and see a girl sprawled in the lake that was their backyard. Thick blonde tendrils float around her head as she laid under the sheets of rain, not moving.

“Uhh... Is she even alive?” Anne said.

“Not sure.” Cleves said slowly.

“I’ll check,” Parr offered while pulling on a jacket and grabbing an umbrella. She steps outside and sloshes through the water pooling above the turf to get to the girl, who’s much younger up close. She appears to be barely older than Katherine at most.

“Hey,” Parr knelt down, shivering when cold water soaks into her pants. “Hey, are you okay?”

She gently presses on the girl’s shoulder, shaking her slightly. At first, it doesn’t do anything, but then the girl shudders and coughs. She wheezes softly as she rises up to her elbows, rocking slowly as her frail body struggles to hold its own weight, and then she coughs again before Parr can address her again. Dirt comes spewing from her mouth.

Parr is shocked as she watches the girl seemingly cough up and then fully throw up dirt, which starts to become mud when stomach acid and blood get mixed in. The water around them billows and turns red and brown and black. The girl swayed and then collapsed against Parr, struggling to breathe.

Parr snaps at out of her trace. She drops the umbrella, making a mental note to come back for it later, and gathered the girl up into her arms. It’s a lot easier to pick her up than she expected, but she could worry about that later. She quickly ran back inside, doing her best to not jostle the delicate cargo in her grasp.

“Woah-” Katherine had been saying when she burst inside, but Parr quickly cut her off.

“Something’s wrong.” She said. “She’s sick.”

“Sick?” Cleves echoed.

“Yes.” Parr swallowed thickly. She looked down at the girl’s ashen face. “She was throwing up...dirt.”

A swell of confused, curious, and shocked murmurs rose in the house. Among them, Parr noticed the disgruntled look on Jane’s face.

“I know her.” Jane said. She doesn’t seem alarmed by the news of the new girl’s illness. Perhaps she just didn’t care.

“Yeah...I think I do, too.” Anne agreed and Maggie nodded.

“Me too.” Katherine piped in.

Parr couldn’t believe how they were more transfixed on that than what she just told them. By the look on her godmother’s face, she knew she thought the same thing.

“Who is she?” Cleves asked.

“Joan Meutas.” Jane answered. “My lady in waiting.”

Katherine nodded in agreement.

“And my maid in waiting.” Anne said.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 3/?

Part 2

“We’ll get it out,” he says. Jon doesn’t doubt him, but he also doesn’t know exactly what to expect, and he definitely doesn’t want Melanie dead or- or worse.

“I need to get Basira,” is all Jon says before climbing to his feet and hurrying out the door.

III

Jon Knows the door to his office will open about a second before it does, but he still flinches a little when Gerry barges in and slams it closed behind him.

“I thought you’d left for the day,” Jon smiles a little as Gerry drops heavily on one of the chairs before his desk. “You’re in a mood huh?”

“I don’t like your Martin,” Gerry says, crossing his arms over his chest. The eyes on his elbows look at Jon as his face grows hot.

“Please don’t call him that,” Jon mumbles. Gerry’s real eyes are also fixed to his face, and Jon only grows more flustered at that. 

“Met him just now at the break room. He’s got a good bite- are you sure this is the guy that spent two weeks hiding from Prentiss?" 

"Very,” Jon says dryly. It’s still a sore spot for him; he should have known that wasn’t Martin, he should have-

“You could do better.” Gerry’s still frowning something awful, and Jon can’t help the tired chuckle that escapes his lips. “What?”

“I really couldn’t.”

“Oh come on!” Gerry shakes his head. “Of course you’d think that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon frowns, but Gerry only rolls his eyes and looks to the side, the chair’s front legs lifting off the floor as he leans back on it. After a few more minutes of silence, Jon resigns himself to spending an undetermined amount of time with a grown man sulking, and goes back to finishing his emails.

Jon’s not too used to being quiet around Gerry, probably because when Gerry seeks him up it’s because he needs Jon to feed. The silence feels odd, and Jon finds himself stealing glances across the desk from time to time.

Gerry looks like a statue, completely still except for the ring around his lower lip that periodically shifts against the flesh, glinting almost hypnotically under the cold lights of the office. 

“He used to- he was always looking after me, you know?” Jon doesn’t really know why he’s telling Gerry this, other than he needs him to understand that Martin is so much more than what the Lonely is making of him. Gerry’s teeth flash into view as they bite and pull the silver ring. “He went through the trouble of getting some of Prentiss’ ashes, so I’d feel… safe.”

“Hm.” The ring flips a little more aggressively, Gerry’s lip pushed pursed and pressed under a slightly chipped -from a mosh pit when Gerry was sixteen, the Eye informs helpfully- front tooth.

“And he was always making sure I had something to eat and that I took breaks even when-” his voice falters a little, and licks his bottom lip in a thoughtless mimicking of Gerry’s movements, “-even when I was acting like a tool and stalking them all because I was sure they were trying to kill- Gerry!” Jon stops abruptly, when an index and middle finger each lay on the sides of Gerry’s bottom lip and his tongue flicks between them in a very suggestive way.

Gerry’s only response is a loud bark of laughter, and if Jon’s face was warm before when talking about Martin, now it’s positively boiling.

“W- are you twelve years old?” Jon stutters out, feeling the keen burn of embarrassment in his stomach. Gerry, mouth is curled in a devilish smirk he remembers from when Tim used to joke around and tease him, and the corners of his eyes are crinkled in amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You were just so focused,” Gerry cackles, and the chair’s front legs land again with a heavy thud. “It’s ok. I still don’t like him, but I’m not going to try to convince you. I’ll just keep an eye on him.”

“…I’ve come to learn stalking people doesn’t bring great results, but suit yourself,” Jon grunts, focusing on his computer screen again with a dark frown. 

The chair creaks, and Gerry’s eyes peek over the edge of the laptop’s screen. Jon scowls, and Gerry pushes the laptop closed with a hand, his chin resting comfortably on the other. 

“It’s rude to ignore your presents, Jon. The Eye might start to think you didn’t even want me back.” Gerry’s still sporting that infuriating smirk, and Jon narrows his eyes.

“Personally, I’m starting to think you’re more of a punishment, Gerard.” It’s too hot in the office; it wasn’t so hot before. Jon stands up to make sure the radiator is turned on, and grabs the box of real statements from the shelf on his way back. “Now, I have work to do, unless you want to keep distracting me.”

Gerry lifts his hands in surrender, and Jon rolls his eyes. It’s still too hot in the office, but a statement should make him feel better. A tape recorder clicks on in one of his desk drawers.

“Alright then. Statement of Sergeant Terrence Simpson, regarding an outbreak of violence in the crofting community of Lancraig, Ross-shire…”

He does in fact feel better after reading it, at least in a physical sense. In all others thought, it's… an absolute downer.

“Slaughter is nasty,” Gerry offers, and Jon almost jumps on his seat. He was so focused on the statement he completely forgot Gerry was there. He’s made himself at home with his legs on the second chair and his arms behind his head. “Normally the Fears go one on one, but you get a single wielder into the mix and suddenly you have tens of dead or injured.”

“Yes… honestly I’m very surprised Melanie has kept it under control this time,” Jon nods. Gerry’s head whips towards him, and he gets his feet off the chair. Jon pays him no mind, following his train of thought instead, “with that bullet still in her leg, pumping her up with violence and- w- did I read that somewhere?" 

Gerry leans across the desk. Jon can hear the static now, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Gerry’s as the man gives him an encouraging nod.

"Ride it,” Gerry whispers, “let me hear it.”

“W- well yes. The- the bullet. From her trip to India.” It’s much easier to let the Knowledge out when he’s telling it to someone else. “It didn’t show in the scans, in any of them, but it’s still there. Just above the tibia and getting infected-”

Gerry nods. His entire demeanor has changed, Jon notices. His brow is furrowed, his shoulders tense. This is most definitely not the man that teased Jon into a flustering mess just an hour ago.

“We’ll get it out,” he says. Jon doesn’t doubt him, but he also doesn’t know exactly what to expect, and he definitely doesn’t want Melanie dead or- or worse.

“I need to get Basira,” is all Jon says before climbing to his feet and hurrying out the door.

—-

Melanie’s sleeping. Basira knows the cocktail she has every night is enough that she won’t hear them unless they’re deliberately loud, but she still worries. Melanie’s dangerous under the best circumstances, and Basira can’t tell she’s too keen on her waking up and finding Basira looming over her with Jon and Gerard Keay of all people.

“The guy said you’d need to hit the right nerve or it won’t work,” Basira hands over the syringe and takes a step back. “You know much about-”

“Here,” and he points to a spot on her leg that looks perfectly unremarkable to Basira.

She arches an eyebrow. “You sure?” she asks, then when he nods, “ok, go for it then.”

“Right,” Jon takes a deep breath, and leans over Melanie’s limp form. Basira cringes a little; Melanie’s her friend, but-

“Pray the injection doesn’t wake her-”

“Yes thank you, Basira-” Jon’s increasingly annoyed voice is cut off when Keay slaps a hand down over his mouth.

“If the injection doesn’t wake her up, you will. Just poke her,” the man says in a hoarse, tense whisper. Basira blinks in surprise when Jon lifts a hand to pull Keay’s hand from his mouth but doesn’t actually push it away.

“… Okay,” is all Jon says before he pushes the needle into Melanie’s leg in a single move that seems almost practiced in its certainty. Keay waits only as long as it takes for him to slip the needle out again to pull Jon back. “Now… now we wait.”

“You better be right about this,” Basira says as she sits down with her back against the wall. 

Jon looks at her with a pained grimace, like he wants to smile but knows she doesn’t want to see it. “I am.”

He and his shadow sit against the wall across Basira, and she takes the opportunity to watch them. Jon’s sitting partly turned towards Melanie, which leaves his back half exposed to Gerard Keay, and he doesn’t seem too worried about that. 

Basira somehow doubts Jon had an easy time being touched even before the multiple kidnappings and attempted murder, so this has probably got something to do with the Eye, making him feel like he’s safe in Keay’s presence so he grows even more distant from other humans.

She’s been… trying. She greets him back when he comes into the Archives, waves goodbye while trying to ignore the boiling jealousy that he gets to go home still. She wasn’t lying to Melanie; once upon a time, she liked Jon. 

But Basira still can’t forgive him for surviving when Daisy didn’t. 

Every time she sees him it feels like he’s stealing a breath Daisy should’ve had. Like some cosmic power placed them both on a balance and decided Jon was more important before it took Daisy away without leaving even a body for Basira to mourn over.

She knows she’s being unfair, and she doesn’t like it. She’s better than this, more objective. So she tries harder.

“I should’ve noticed before,” Basira offers tentatively, an olive branch that Jon jumps on much too quickly. Once upon a time it would have been endearing.

“No, of course not. You didn’t know Melanie before…” he makes a vague gesture pointing at his leg, “a- and she’s very uh- assertive. Even without the Slaughter, I think it would’ve translated into violence once you all started being in danger and there was no one else to… protect you.” He seems to catch on to what he’s saying, because he looks away almost immediately.

“Hm,” is all Basira says. She should’ve known this would bring her back to Daisy. Everything does. She can feel Keay’s eyes on her, and she focuses on not fidgeting. He doesn’t scare her.

“You… you’re living here too?” Jon asks after a moment, his voice dubious like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to continue the conversation after he ruined it once. 

“It’s not safe out there. I got a camp bed by the tunnels,” Basira shrugs. “I like to keep an eye on them.”

“I… see. And- and Martin?” Jon asks. Keay makes a sound like a groan behind him, and Basira arches an eyebrow. Jon however, seems much more interested in a loose thread in his sock.

“I think he’s still got his own place. Whatever he’s doing for Lukas seems to be enough to keep him safe.”

“That’s… not ideal,” Jon tells the floor in a voice so low Basira can barely register it.

“No. I guess it isn’t.”

Neither one of them is too interested in conversation after that, and when Jon finally looks up and says it’s time Basira hops up to her feet immediately. It’s been a long thirty minutes.

“The scissors, please,” Jon extends a hand to her.

“I thought you had the scalpel?” Basira scowls. Surely he’s not planning on cutting her leg op-

“For the trouser leg!” Jon snaps in an exasperated whisper.

“Oh- right,” she hands them over.

Jon snips at the fabric until the trouser leg falls away, and he takes a deep breath.

“God… look at that,” he mutters. Basira feels every hair on her body stand on end, as a familiar static begins crackling around them. Jon’s eyes are giving off a faint green glow as he looks down at Mel, before he turns to face Keay. “Can- do you see it?”

“I see the mark,” Keay shrugs. He looks normal enough, no eerie glow or sharp teeth or anything, but by now Basira knows not all the monsters are that obvious. 

“It’s a leg,” she says dryly. 

Jon shakes his head. “It’s all rotten inside.”

“See the bullet?” she asks. Jon nods, and she tilts her chin towards Mel. “Get it out then.”

“Easy to say… she’s probably not going to swing at you,” Jon tightens his grip on the scalpel.

Basira doesn’t try to contradict him because while she’s sure none of them will be safe if Melanie wakes up, she’s even more certain Jon is going to be the first target.

“Here we go…" 

And then Jon is sinking the knife into Melanie’s leg, and then his fingers, and Basira heaves a little when he pulls out a bright gold bullet dripping something black and slimy.

That’s when Melanie wakes up.

"GET OFF ME!” Melanie’s first lunge sends their makeshift operation tray crashing to the ground.

“Oh Jes- get her, she’s- she’s not supposed to be-!” Jon yells out, taking a hurried step back and crashing into Keay.

“Melanie, it’s alright!” Basira tries to reach her from the back- a chokehold won’t calm her down, but it’ll keep her still.

“Jon, get back-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” It must be the Slaughter’s residual effects, because there is no way Melanie’s slight frame has enough strength to shake Basira off this easily- “I’LL KILL YOU!”

Basira sees something silver glint in her hand as she lunges at Jon, and she screams. “She’s got the scalpel!”

Jon screams when Melanie stabs the knife into his shoulder. Then she’s pulling back, and Basira knows she’ll go for the throat this tim-

The dry slap of a punch against flesh cracks over them and Melanie backs down, dizzy enough that Basira can wrap her arms tightly around her torso and arms.

“Run!” Basira yells, but Keay’s already half carrying, half dragging Jon away towards the exit.

The bullet sizzles as it burns a hole straight into the floor of the Institute.

——-

If whatever Jon and his friends did at the Unknowing didn’t destroy it outright, the Anglerfish could take some notes from the Archivists, Gerry thinks. For a couple of avatars that gain absolutely nothing from having people devoted to them, they’re both especially adept at luring them in.

Gertrude knew perfectly well what to give people in order to ensnare them. Gerry never did fall for the dainty old lady image that she so carefully cultivated to make both avatars and assistants drop their guard, so she never tried it with him. 

It kept him from ending up like Michael Shelley, but of course that only made her come at him from another angle. 

He knows now she never cared for him. Not as a person; not enough to not mutilate his body and tie his soul to the book and then not even take it back with her. But at the time it was easy to let himself believe this woman could give him at least some of the things his mother refused. 

Sometimes during their trips, when they were just having supper at a small roadside restaurant or another, Gerry found himself stopping and marvelling at how normal it felt. 

“Decaf for my grandma please, she’s very delicate,” he’d tell the server of the day and smirk at the way Gertrude’s eyes gleamed dangerously from the other side of the table.

“My grandson’s paying,” she’d say at the end of the meal when the bill landed on the table, giving the server a sweet little smile like she hadn’t just poured a couple hundred pounds of concrete onto a woman with as many arms as she had fingers. “He’s always treating me, a real sweetheart,” and Gerry would have to burn some more of his emergency cash on a meal.

At some point he started believing ‘normal’ was 'real’, and when Gerry tasted acid on his tongue and smelt burnt hair before his body started seizing, the most reassuring thought in his mind was that Gertrude was there with him as he reached a hand to her. 

He doesn’t know if she took it.

Jon is a different story. It’s difficult not to notice when one spends every other night at his flat, but Jon is so alone that Gerry’s a little surprised to find none of the ten marks he bears belong to the Forsaken.

Jon flinches when Gerry touches him, and Gerry knows he should stop, that not everyone is ok with it, but Jon never really seems uncomfortable, just… surprised.

Jon smiles very rarely, but when he does he almost always looks down, like he doesn’t want you to see it. His smile is a bit lopsided, his teeth a little crooked  and there’s a worm scar right at the edge of his lip. It’s a good smile, in Gerry’s opinion.

Jon takes up an eternity to dress up every morning because his right hand only barely works, and Gerry can’t bring himself to offer to help because Jon always mutters little apologies for the delay and he thinks it would only make him feel worse.

Jon greets Melanie and Basira every morning and says goodbye every evening, even when Basira’s the only one that responds and even then only sometimes. Gerry can pinpoint the days she doesn’t because he comes out looking a little more deflated.

Getrude had her assistants, Decker, Leitner, Gerry himself and half of the avatars moving across a chess board only she could see. Jon has a man willingly feeding himself to the Lonely -allegedly- out of love, and a poor imbecile who apparently can’t resist people who are as broken as him.

“How’s your shoulder?” Gerry asks as though he can’t see the bright pink new skin through the loose neckhole of one of the oversized shirts Jon wears to 'sleep’. “Wounds from the Slaughter take a while to heal.”

“I’m- I think it’s doing fine,” Jon fidgets with his sleeve a little, before going to sit at the opposite end of the sofa. “Martin’s still avoiding me.”

Jon’s voice is perfectly calm and unaffected, and Gerry knows it’s full of bullshit. He reaches to lay a hand atop Jon’s head consolingly.

“Still not your Martin?” he asks, only the slightest bit teasing. It still manages to bring a pained little smile out of Jon. 

“Not anymore, in any case.” Jon sinks back against the sofa’s plush backrest, his head heavy against Gerry’s hand. “Basira told me his mother died while I was in the hospital. I didn’t even know.”

“If Lukas is keeping him isolated for some reason,” Gerry doesn’t say 'asides from sacrificing him to his patron’ because he’s not insensitive, thank you very much, “it makes sense he can’t just come into your office to talk feelings over a cup of tea.”

Jon sighs. “It’s not his fault. I- it’s selfish.”

“How is caring for him selfish?” Gerry arches an eyebrow. His hand in Jon’s hair moves the slightest bit, only enough to ruffle through it softly.

“Because I’m not caring for him. I’m caring about what he thinks of me. If I- I should respect his decision,” Jon finishes lamely, pulling his feet up onto the sofa to circle his knees with his arms.

“You are. It’s not a crime to miss someone you like.” Gerry never had a cat, but he imagines this is how it feels to pet one. Careful not to move too much or too abruptly lest he shatters the fragile trust he’s managed to build. “They- if they don’t want to save themselves, you can’t do it for them, Jon.”

Jon’s head tilts sideways so that he can aim his big dark eyes at Gerry. “We saved Melanie.”

“And look what it got you.”

“It doesn’t matter what happened to me. Melanie is… recovering. That’s all there is to it,” he says, and Gerry has no doubt Jon actually believes it. “Are you going out tonight?”

Gerry’s not stupid by any means, and he knows a diversion tactic -and a request for space- when he hears one.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Gerry says before climbing to his feet. Jon’s muttered 'be careful’ follows him through the door and prompts a small smile out of him. 

Jon is easy to grow fond of, or maybe Gerry just doesn’t learn from his mistakes.

—-

It’s almost midnight when Melanie wakes up from a fitful sleep. It was probably the nagging hunger, so she sets to digging around the fridge for something she can put together with minimal effort.

“That’s a good bruise right there,” says a familiar, amused voice. Melanie smiles. Helen doesn’t usually manifest her door outside the lower levels of the institute, but Melanie hasn’t gone back down yet, choosing instead to sleep on a sofa at the makeshift infirmary Basira set up for her in the break room. She must be worried.

“I think he almost dislocated my jaw,” she says as she turns on the sofa to face Helen’s distorted, ever-changing form. “Jon’s new boyfriend has a good hook.”

“In my defense, I was only trying to knock you out. Is that the Distortion?”

Both of them turn at that, and Helen’s long fingered hand wraps itself protectively around Melanie’s shoulder. Melanie’s pleasantly surprised to notice the touch doesn’t trigger the mix of irritation and rage it did just a few days before. Now she’s only grateful to have Helen by her side as she looks up at Gerard Keay.

“Michael knew you,” says Helen, tilting her head to the side a few degrees further than a human could reasonably go.

“Only a little,” Gerard shrugs. “Before he became you. Who are you now?”

“I am me. But Helen is also me.”

Gerard nods. “Sans Getrude in the mix, I’m guessing a sacrifice that outsmarted you somehow?”

Helen’s smile curls at the corners, her eyes swirling with delight when Melanie looks up to check on her. 

“Michael was getting distracted. Archivists have that effect, I’ve found.”

“And Helen doesn’t get distracted?” Gerard asks.

Helen’s smile keeps growing and curling into itself, but she doesn’t respond. Her hand tightens around Melanie’s shoulder.

“What do you want?” Melanie knows there’s a knife behind her. A blunt one, only good for spreading mayonnaise or butter, but it’s still a knife and she’s still aware of it. Her feeling for these things has diminished over the past two days, but she figures it’ll be a long time before it’s gone. If it ever is.

“To check on you, mostly. You didn’t go full avatar, but that bullet still did a number on you.”

Melanie’s fist clenches by her side. “Well, no need to worry now. I’m back to being inoffensive little old me.” The truth of it aches at her like a bad tooth. Logically, Melanie knows the bullet was bad, and that it made her terrible and feral. But she’d been… powerful. She’d driven out the Flesh’s creatures by herself, she’d saved everyone. And now the power is gone, and she can lie to Basira, but not herself.

She misses it.

“Yeah, right. I doubt that.” Gerard gives her a wary smile. “The Slaughter goes for tigers, not kittens. But without that thing inside you you should at least be thinking more clearly.”

“…I am,” Melanie responds after a moment’s hesitation. She’s not quite sure she buys that the Slaughter only powered up what was already inside her, but… this guy would know, wouldn’t he? “How- how is he?”

“Healing. A statement or two and he should be right as rain,” Gerard frowns a little when Helen chuckles behind Melanie. “Do you know something we don’t, Helen?”

“You know the answer to that question.” Helen’s smile looks angular now, like they’re looking at it in a fractured mirror. 

Gerard rolls his eyes and shakes his head, before turning to Melanie again.

“He’ll be happy to know you’re feeling more like yourself.”

“I still don’t like him,” Melanie crosses her arms over her chest, “don’t give him any ideas.”

“As if Jon would ever willingly believe anyone likes him,” he smirks, but it’s a soft, amused smirk Melanie’s seen before on people talking about Jon- seriously, what do people see in him?! 

Do Georgie and Martin and this guy just have some sort of… disaster human fetish? And that’s another problem because if Georgie does have it, that doesn’t say anything good about Melanie herself, one way or the other.

“How do you not… hate him?” Melanie asks. Whatever Gerard thinks about Jon, there ought to be some resentment in there. 

“Jon?”

“No, the bloke that keeps leaving used spoons next to the sink, of course I’m talking about Jon!” Melanie snaps. He’s got to be making fun of her, it’s the only explanation. “You died, you were dead and you wanted to be dead and now you’re back in this fucking mess!”

The man lifts a pierced eyebrow. “It wasn’t Jon who brought me back.”

“But it was because of him! We’re all trapped here because-”

“Because Elias is an asshole?”

“Elias isn’t here!” Melanie snarls. Helen’s hand tightens around her torso again, from shoulderblade to clavicle, and Melanie thinks if the bullet were still in her she’d be at Gerard’s throat already.

“If you’re going to blame Jon for all that’s happened to you, you might as well blame yourself for knowing Jon.” The absolute bastard has the gall to shrug at her. “That’s how much choice he had in the matter, or how much you did.”

“So what, you’re saying this was going to happen one way or another?” Her teeth grind as she tensed her jaw. “That we had no choice?”

“Oh no. There were definitely choices involved,” Gerard seems to sense she’s about to jump at him, because he readjusts his stance a little. “Jon chose to take on the promotion at work. You chose to come and give your statement. Your friend here chose to open the door-”

“Leave her out of this. She couldn’t have known what would happen if she opened it, I couldn’t have known coming here to tell a story would end with me being- being turned into some kind of monster!” By the time she’s finished, Melanie’s panting for breath. Hot, angry tears burn at her eyes that she won’t let spill.

“There you have it,” Gerard says simply. “I was born into this mess. You pushed a domino and ended up here. Not everyone is Martin Blackwood.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” At some other point she’d find this hilarious. Two men pining over an absolute mess of a monster. As it stands, the only thing she feels is the slightest wave of protectiveness towards Martin; because she’s known him the longest out of the two of them.

Gerard shrugs.

“Jon may trust him… but Martin knows what he’s doing. And I don’t trust anyone who chooses this willingly,” he says, averting his gaze. “I knew a woman who did.”

—

Martin doesn’t like to think of Elias at all, much less in positive terms. He has to admit though, that unlike Peter, he at least knew something about  running an institution. Peter disappears for days, sometimes weeks at a time, and when he does show up all he cares about is how Martin’s self isolation is going. 

He caught him talking to a tape recorder a few days ago, and Martin had to sit through another lecture on how this is for everyone’s good, including Jon, and he’s been doing a wonderful job but needs to work harder and… Martin had lost interest after that, the gist of it is the same every time. 

As long as Peter believes it’s working, he’ll leave Jon and the others alone.

Martin sits down before the two steaming mugs -he keeps brewing an extra one on reflex-, and pushes his glasses up to his forehead to rest his face on his hand. At least the Archives’ break room is free again, after Melanie recovered from whatever it was that happened to her leg.

There’s a very familiar click below the table, and Martin’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Hello there,” he greets the tape recorder when he bends down to retrieve it. He places it behind Jon’s cup of tea, and it does make him feel a little bit better. “Not doing anything really interesting right now, but you can stay if you want.”

The tape whirs away, and Martin nods at it.

“Yep. Just taking a break, Peter can get really exhausting, but you’ve heard him before, I’m sure you know.” It’s a fun little exercise, pretending the tapes talk back to him. It still makes him feel very lonely, but in a different way. One way or another, this is Jon here with him. “Not really, I mean if what he’s been saying about the Extinction is true then we do have a bigger problem in our hands but God, sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. He doesn’t even know his email password, you know? Has to change it every time he logs in, I think by now we’re up to Tundra22. One would think the head avatar for a supernatural entity would be a bit less incompetent.”

The tape recording gives two little clicks, and Martin chuckles. 

“Yes I know, but Jon could at least log in to his email, even if Sasha was always guessing his passwords. But you’re right, maybe it’s an avatar thing.” He takes a sip of his tea; this is the most at ease he’s felt in days. “How is he doing by the way? I guess it’s good he’s not alone, he makes… really poor decisions when he is. Or when he thinks he is- remember when he dug my Mum’s letter from the trash? What was he thinking? I wasn’t going to confess to a murder over a letter, much less throw it in the bin!”

Click.

“Yes, fear makes us do stupid things, I know.” He rolls his eyes, feeling a wave of fondness for the man. “I just… I wish I could talk to him. But thinking about it, I don’t even know what I’d say. 'Hey Jon, did you hear me when I read to you at the hospital? I missed you at the Institute, but at least it was very reassuring to know where you were instead of wondering if you’d been kidnapped again’? Not great conversation starters.”

Click. Whirr. Click. 

“I mean… I want to think so, of course. But I don’t know if you can really think when in a coma, much less miss someone. I- if he wanted to miss me of course!” Martin is such a mess, getting flustered at his own imagined conversations with an inanimate object. “I’m just- I’m going to get back to work, I’ve already spent too much time talking to you.”

A series of accusing clicks.

“Don’t give me that. I know you can just pop into my office whenever you want anyways,” he gives the tape recorder his best stern look. “Go back to him, come on. Before he decides to… I don’t know, go find another ritual to stop and almost gets himself killed again.”

The click this time sounds amused to Martin’s ears, and he chuckles as he climbs to his feet.

“Yeah, alright. You can- you can keep his tea. It’s not like I’m going to drink it anyways.”

He walks out of the room before he can convince himself to stay. He really does have things to do, and the last thing he wants is for Peter to come find him.

Inside the break room, a door opens that hadn’t been there before, and a long fingered hand snatches the tape recorder from the table.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Noona, You're So Pretty

SHINee + TVXQ! Lee Taemin x Actress!Reader Characters: Park Seo Joon, Choi Minho, Shim Changmin (MAX), Lee Taemin Summary: You were a big time Hallyu sweetheart. Having garnered the attention of the masses with your debut role as a high school student with the ability to talk to animals, everyone fell in love with your bubbly and quirky personality, including Shinee's maknae, Lee Taemin. And for the most part, Taemin thinks he can stand a chance with you, except--oh no, he thinks you *may* not like younger guys and your new co-star, Park Seo Joon, seems a little too taken with you. Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: Fluff, pining, typos etc.

A/N: i hope four years is okay w/u.

Two more questions.

It was my turn to chose. My co-actor, hair slicked back, snug in a cashmere top, nodded my way. The act was so simple, and yet I could practically hear the swoons of the ladies in the audience. Who could blame them, Park Seo-joon was a dashing and hardworking man.

There were flashes of light from the photographers. I tried not to squint and insyead smile softly in order to look flattering in the photos. I nodded at the man, who stood up and presented his question.

"You've done a handful of notable projects since your debut in 'Sounds of the Animals'. From then to now, what is your secret to being so graciously recieved by the public? And what can we expect in the future?"

I nod upon hearing this and break into a smile. It was so flattering that from all the questions we were asked about this drama at hand, people were interested in my career in particular.

I clear my throat and move closer to the mic, "Uh, firstly, thank you for being interested in me and for saying that I am graciously recieved by the public." 

I break into a chuckle, Seo-joon beside me cracks a smile too. 

"Although, I will admit I don't have a secret," I say in an unsure tone. "Hmmm, I believe I am just really blessed because I am able to do what I love and have people behind me help me and shape me into being the best I can be." I say and turn to the rest of the panel with my other co-stars, writers, and director.

"If anything, the secret is a good team. Having such great people behind us is what really makes a drama, or any project, successful and well-recieved."

I look around the reporters and watch them nod. I end my reply, "As for the future, I can't really say. I hope to keep working hard. But, er, right now, I am hoping and beckoning everyone to watch 'Replay'. We worked very hard on it and it was so much fun and such an honor to work with everyone here. Please watch it diligently and stay tuned til the end."

There was a bustle between the reporters. The flashing camera lights broke out again, and I allowed the man next to you to choose whomever he wanted.

Last question.

Seo-joon points, and the woman wastes no time, "you said a while ago that during the filming of this drama, you two got very close because you would go working out together. Besides this, what else do you two do together outside of work?"

No, there was nothing physical about my role in the drama. I just grew to like working out, and I had to because, well, I needed to keep my physique up, you know.

I turn to the man beside me and he turns to me as well. For a moment we stay quiet, as if doing so would make an answer come out of nowhere.

"Well," he starts looking at me as if the answer was on my cheeks. I hold back a laugh ad shrug, answering for him, "we eat a lot."

The room breaks into laughter.

"He treats the cast and crew to soju from time to time," another of our co-stars point out. "Seo-joon is good at keeping his alcohol."

Seo-joon sudenly remembers something, "Actually, sometimes Shinee's Choi Minho would work out with us." Minho and him were friends because they were in a drama called Hwarang before. (Legit they are, it's really good, you should watch it)

I raise my brows and nod. Seo-joon continues, mentioning my name, "TVXQ's Shim Changmin would sometimes he'd work out too." I was friends Changmin because we worked on a drama together. "And one time, she, myself, Minho, Changmin drank together--"

My eyes suddenly widen, realizing where this is going.

"--and she--" Seo-joon chuckles out.

I but in and punch his shoulder, "ya oppa!"

"--got drunk and started crying."

The room laughs and I feel my face burn. I groan and start hammering Seo-joon's shoulder, but he only bends his neck to the side, pulling away slightly, and laughs. He even continues on mimicking me, apparently.

"Ahoohoohoooo, I'm so happy to be friends with you guys. You are all so great. And so, so handsome."

I jump out of my seat and stand, "YA SHI--" I then clench my teeth and playfully place my hands the man's neck. I laugh, pull away, and sit back down. At this point, the entire room is awake with giggles. Truth be told, I wasn't really embarrassed. I just like making people laugh.

I blow are between my pouted lips and exaggeratedly whine, "Oppa, you are clearly the worst."

The man who was a year older than me basked in satisfaction, "Ye, but you still love me."

Later that day, you and Seo-joon attended a party celebrating the airing of Replay, hosted by the TV network the drama was being aired on. Many came up to you and congratulated you. Some shook your hand, others asked for a selfie. A smaller portion asked for an autograph, and your relationship status was Seo-joon.

You were in the midst of finishing a conversation with some producers when a hand came to your shoulder, followed by the greetigs of a tall man. He spoke ypur name fondly, and you broke into a pleased smile, "Changmin oppa!"

We share a quick hug and I can't help but flutter at his expression. "Congratulations on your show!" the man in a plaid, grey suit speaks with his hand on my shoulder. He pulls away and continues, "I heard the ratings are expected to go through the roof."

I chuckled and shook my head, "I can only hope so."

"Yaahhhh, you're Hallyu's sweetheart. Don't worry about."

I give a smile at his reassurance and decide to change the topic, "You here alone, oppa, or do you have a hot date?" I wiggle my brows.

Changmin shakes his head and rolls his eyes, "Well, I recall you drunkenly admitting Minho is handsome, so..."

"Ya!" I raise, "I'd admit Minho is handsome regardless of my sobriety."

Changmin snorts, "speaking of."

"Noona!"

"Minho-ya!" I coo and welcome the younger man's embrace. I chuckle and cling onto his green sweater when he squeezes tightly and pushes slightly forward. 

"Ya!" Changmin scolds his dongsaeng and I can't stop laughing. "It's as if you haven't seen her in years."

Minho has a mischevious glint in his eyes. "Noona, you're so pretty," he notes, making me chuckle and Changmin snort.

"Thay's the title of his debut song," Changmin mutters to me, making me nod,

"Actually," Minho cocks his head to the side, "its english title is Replay."

My lips form a please o-shape, "Ya, you should perform that for me then!"

"No way," Minho says, "but our maknae might." The man then moves to his side to reveal a lanky man in a loose button down. "Lee Taemin," Minho introduces. The said man chuckles sweetly with his cresent shaped eyes. "Annyeonghaseyo," he greets bowing his head.

I smile back and mimic his actions.

"I've been a big admirer of yours since Sounds of the Animals. I couldn't stop watching it because I just loved the idea of being able to talk to animals."

"Wah, thank you so much," I clap my hands together and bow my head at him.

"That, and I also think noona is super pretty," Taemin says in a gradual chuckle.

The four of us break into a laugh. Changmin and Minho embrace each other in amusement. Minho is losing his mind with his distinctive high-pitched laughter, and Changmin's nose is scrunched up in glee. "Ya, I think we're just gonna get a drink," Minho says, rasing a hand. Changmin pat's Taemin's shoulder and at this point it's so painfully obvious that this was all a setup.

Taemin and I turn to each other. He chuckles to me again, "Minho's really loud."

"I know. It makes working out with him really fun."

We shuffle from where we stand and Taemin moves a bit closer, "Honestly, I don't like working out, but I would if it was with you."

I can't help but laugh and cover my face at his blatant but smooth flirting. I shake my head and feel my face wrap in warmth.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't do it like them. I don't lift heavy weights or anything. I just do what they consider a warm-up you know. The treadmill runs, which I love because I get to listen to a lot of music, and then like stretching, push-ups, sit-ups, nothing that actually requires gym equipment to be honest."

He hums, "my work-out is dance."

"Oh, no, no, I know that. I may have watched a lot of your performances during my breaks."

Taemin's face lights up upon hearing this, "For real?"

"Yeah," I nod, "you are really good at dancing. Honestly good isn't even the word. I'm good at dancing, you're on a whole 'nother level."

He claps his hands, eye crinkling, "Well then noona has to show me her moves!"

"No way, you rascal!" I shake my head profusely.

"Nooo, come on dance with me!"

"And embarrass myself in yet another dance battle with an SM artist? No way! I already did that with Changmin oppa. Besides, I might break a hip! I'm too old to be your dance partner."

Taemin tilts his head to that, and takes the statement as a double meaning. Did you not like younger guys?

I hear someone call my name. I whip my head to the direction of the voice and see that it's Seo-joon, holding two flutes of champagne.

"Oppa," I smile when he comes over. He smiles as well and hands me one of the glasses, "I got you a drink."

I look at it and take it from him with a quick thank you. He smiles down at me and moves some stray strand of hair on the side of my face away. "Joon-hee PD-nim was looking for you a while ago."

"Really? Where is she? What'd she say?"

"You look really sexy in that dress," he says, turning from his glass to me. I snort and feel my cheels burn. "Ya, oppa!" I snarl and hit his shoulder repeatedly.

Seo-joon laughs and gives me an amused side eye.

As he and I share a laugh, and then I notice Taemin's awkward expression and remember he was begging me to dance with him. My laughter faded and I nudged the chuckling Seo-joon, "Ya oppa, this is Shinee's Lee Taemin."

"Ah," Seo-joon nods and turns to the shorter man, "you're the maknae right?"

Taemin turns to him and nods, chuckling, "Ye."

"Sorry, I didn't get you a drink. I didn't know you were here."

"Ah, no, it's okay."

"Do you want mine? I haven't drank from it."

Taemim raises his hands and shakes it, "no, no, no, I'm fine."

Seo-joon purses his lips, nods and turns to me, "I guess I'll drink it then." His lips connect with the rim, and his tongue darts out afterward. A moment passes and there is an awkward silence between us. Both Seo-joon and Taemin turn to me and open their my to speak up.

I look between then and they turn to each other.

Seo-joon motions, "Please, continue."

"No, it's aright you can go first."

"No, but you were talking to her first, before I came here, so you go."

Taemin agrees with his reasoning. "Noona," he calls, "Minho hyung told me that you really like cupcakes."

I hum and nod in agreement.

Taemin smiles brightly like a while ago again, "well I got you one." He chuckles and I knit my brows upon hearing that. I look at him and purse my lips, but when he stick his hand in his pocket and pulls something, I realize what he means.

My jaw drops into a pleased smile and he dangles a small cupcake key chain in front of me. I smile at the sight of it, "Wah, that's for me"

"Yes," he says simply and grabs my free hand suddenly, placing it on my palm. I smile and feel my neck heat up at his action.

Seo-joon takes a sip on hs  drink again and looks between us. He chuckles lowly and turns over his shoulder.

"Thank you so much, Taemin. You didn't have to get me anything though."

"No, I wanted to though, so please use it well."

Seo-joon speaks up, "Ye, well, I just wanted to say that we were invited to dinner next friday. Are you going to attend?"

"Ah," I nod, knowing it was a company gathering, "sure. Are you?"

Seo-joon nods simply. "Well," he gestures his head to the side, "there's someone calling me. I'll see you later."

I nod and Seo-joon places a hand on my shoulder. He then turns Taemin and gives him a polite smile and bow before going off.

Taemin purses his lips and sighs, "Seo-joon-ssi is nice."

I turn to Taemin and nod, "He is. He's a very good co-worker. Very hard working."

Taemin hums, "You seem to like him very much."

I feel the suggestiveness in his statement, but I ignore it and snort, "Well, he's pretty annoying sometimes, but you learn to love him."

"... he seems to very mucn like you too. Like... a woman."

My lips part at his words, and the next thing I know I'm at a loss for words. When I feel my face heat up, I chuckle and turn away, "Aye, it's not like that. We're just realy close because we worked together as lovers. He's really like my older brother though."

Taemin decides to believe it and breaks into a wide grin, "Really. What a relief."

My brows quirk up at that, "Why is that?"

"Because I really wanted to ask you out."

My lips part again, but this time I break into a big smile. I chuckle and take a sip on my drink for the first time. "I like how you're really confident."

Taemin's shoulders shake and she smile, "Does that mean you want to get cupcakes with me sometime?"

"Hmm," my eyes crinkle, "well, if you bought me such a cute keychain of one, then I suppose I wouldn't regret it."

Support me on ko-fi

[gaycrouton]

Pleeeeeaaaassssseeee!!!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 May we get a continuation of Bumpy Ride?

Ask and you shall recieve! If you missed it the first time around, here’s a link! Part I

———————————————————————

Mulder hadn’t been this worked up in a vehicle since he was in high school. He knew with the utmost certainty that he was going to embarrass himself and was already silently writing an apology novel to Scully in his head. He was affected by her on a normal day basis, catching a whiff of her perfume or getting a glimpse of her upper thigh when she crossed her legs. This was too much, overwhelming in the most literal sense of the word.

He’d been so self-absorbed in containing his own response that he wasn’t fully registering hers until…

…she…oh my god.

There was no doubt in his mind what was happening on his lap right now, every quiver and tremble sent a message loud and clear.

Scully was having an orgasm from the stimulation of sitting on him.

This didn’t feel real. There was no way this could even be possible. Yet, he could feel it and he could see the way she was trying to hide her face and the way she was clutching onto her legs, as if she could will it away with a white knuckle grip.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, drawing her back onto him. Then she went rigid in a completely different sense. The shaking had subsided, but he could practically feel the fear creep into her body.

He was just about to ask if she was alright when her trembling hands reached out and unbuckled them, sliding off his lap and out of the van without another word. “She okay?” Frohike asked while they watched her run into the warehouse.

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure she just had to go to the restroom,” he lied, trying to catch a glimpse of her retreating form.

“This is the first time I ever thought Scully was similar to Julius Caesar,” Langley remarked off hand.

“Why do you say that?” Frohike asked.

“Because I’m pretty sure she just spent this car ride getting stabbed in the back repeatedly,” Langley laughed pointing at Mulder’s still painful erection.

The front row laughed while Mulder tried to hunch over and hide himself, and Byers just shook his head. “Hey, the fact she didn’t have to sit in a puddle blows my mind,” Frohike teased.

“Okay, okay, okay. Cheap shots,” Mulder defended. He was pretty sure Langley had another lame joke coming when they heard Scully calling from a few meters away.

“Hey! There’s a body in here!” she yelled, pointing behind her.

Wow. That was just so, painstakingly and irritatingly, them. Something monumental happens in their relationship and they’re cock blocked by an actual dead body.

Aside from Scully taking a long look at the front of his pants, which seemed to be calming down at a painfully slow rate, she seemed completely comfortable in pretending like that never happened.

She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and she was clearly avoiding him.

Every single time he started to make his way over to her, she’d all the sudden need to talk to a policeman or help the medical examiner look at the body or just generally replace herself on the other side of the room.

He was distracted from his mission to get a moment alone with her when he had to answer a few questions about why they were there to being with and who the three squirrly guys were. By the time he was done, he looked around and couldn’t find her.

“Has anyone seen Agent Scully?” he called out.

He received a few shaking head before someone said, “She rode back to Georgetown with another officer.”

Of course she did.

He couldn’t blame her. If he’d have come on her, like he was just a minute away from doing in the van, he’d probably have never been able to face her again. But this was Scully - the same Scully who prided herself on professionalism. He couldn’t even imagine the horror she felt at the fact she was brought to orgasm on his lap.

On the ride back, he came to the decision that if she wanted to pretend it never happened then he’d respect her wishes. That night, however, as he laid on his couch in his apartment, his thoughts kept going back to her; how she felt when she was that close to him, how she felt when she was trembling, how much he’d give his arm to have it happen again. He just felt guilty knowing that everytime he thought back fondly, she was no doubt thinking back with abject horror.

He had to go talk to her. He couldn’t just let her suffer and beat herself up. Those were the thoughts that permeated his mind as he slipped on his pants and grabbed his shoes. He just had to-

*knock* *knock* *knock*

-answer the door right now. He dropped his shoes on the ground and raced to the front door, swinging it open and revealing a haggard Dana Scully.

“Hi,” he greeted breathlessly.

“Mulder, I just came to apologize for earlier,” she rushed, barely waiting for the word to leave his mouth.

He gaped for something to say before stepping back and opening the door more, inviting her in, which thankfully she accepted. “W-what are you apologizing for?” he asked, shutting the door and leading them to the couch.

She plopped down on the couch before she narrowed her eyes at him and he felt her analyzing him in that way he usually found hot, but right now intimidated the holy hell out of him. “W-why do you think I’m sorry?” she asked slowly.

Mulder realized she was taking this as a possible out, that if he didn’t know what happened that she could truly bury it into oblivion. Part of him considered giving her this out and just pretending that he hadn’t felt her rock his world earlier. But, he was a man who lived for the truth.

“Oh, um. Are you talking about when you had an-”

He didn’t have a chance to finish he sentence before she hid her face in her hands. “Oh my god. This is so embarrassing. I shouldn’t have come-here, that is. Oh my god.”

“No, no, no, Scully,” he murmured, taking a step towards her.

“What did you feel?” she asked, lowering her hands and revealing her glassy eyes.

“W-what did I feel?” he stammered. She nodded as a response and he gulped nervously. “I just felt you um-tremble. I swear that’s it.”

Her face was red, but she was actually looking at him now, small steps. “I was just over stimulated,” she stated plainly in defence of an accusation he’d never said. “It was my body’s physiological response to-”

“Scully, trust me. You felt my body reacting to the same thing,” he offered. She didn’t respond and he started to feel self-conscious. “I mean…you felt it. Right?”

She let out a little half-chuckle and affirmed, “Yes, Mulder. I felt it.”

“I understand why you might be embarrassed. I am too-”

“But you didn’t come Mulder,” she interrupted. “You were able to hold it in! I came all over you like a horny teenager!”

He felt his soft cock stiffen at her words and it was just an attestment to what he was about to say. “Scully, I’ve had plenty of practice over the last couple years. Trust me, it wasn’t easy,” he laughed.

He saw her ears perk up before he could even register his mistake. “Last couple years?” she repeated softly.

Fuck. If he hadn’t said that, she would have just guessed he meant in his youth. He exhaled nervously and ran his hand over his neck anxiously. “Well,” another nervous laugh, “you know,” he stated lamely.

She wasn’t letting up and fixed him with an intense stare. “No, I don’t.”

This was it. Scully was going to leave him. There was no getting out of this, so he may as well be honest and hope her moment of accidental perversion will be forgotten amid his entire life of it. “Scully, you’re a very beautiful woman,” he stated as if that was answer enough.

She blushed, but both her eyebrows raised in that way that asked ‘and’ without her mouth even having to open. “Sometimes, I just react to you.”

“React to me?” Apparently Scully’s newest method of interrogation was simply repeating your own words back to you and making you feel like you’re speaking a foreign language and need to try again.

“I’m very attracted to you, Scully,” he admitted, watching her mouth part in surprise as she digested his words. “Not just physically, but, god,” he exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Everything about you. I never planned on telling you this because I don’t want you to think for a second it’s your weird male co-worker lusting after you, which, maybe in part it is, but it’s more than that. Ugh,” he was rambling and admitting too much and she was just sitting there in shock, surely about to storm off and leave any given second.

“I have a feeling I’ve already put my foot far enough in my mouth, but if we’re being honest and if it’ll make you feel better about what happened earlier, here it is: I have gotten more erections from you over the years that I wouldn’t even be able to count. I couldn’t even count how many times I’ve gotten them this month.” He hoped she was so distracted that she didn’t realize it was only the sixth. “You don’t even have to be doing anything. I could just get so much as a whiff of your perfume and get hard. So yeah, I’ve had plenty of experience trying to reign myself in.”

Her entire face was red and he knew he was embarrassing her, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. “If you had been on top of me any longer, I promise you would have left with a wet spot on your back. It wasn’t just a sensory overload - it was a you overload.”

“I lied,” she whispered, biting her lip between her teeth and staring at him, surprisingly still on the couch and not halfway out of his apartment as expected.

“Lied about what?” He knew what a real female orgasm felt like and that was definitely it.

“It wasn’t just physiological,” she murmured, making his heart stop.

“What?” he asked slowly, not wanting to jump to conclusions out of hope.

“I…react to you similarly,” she admitted, quietly, fingering a frayed edge of his couch.

He felt a ringing in his ears, like all the blood had rushed to both the heads of his body and he felt dizzy. Surely she didn’t just admit what it sounded like. “W-what?”

“Mulder,” she whined in irritation.

“I’m sorry. I’m just-shocked,” he shrugged. He turned Scully on? He felt his crotch stirring at the mere thought of her thinking of him in that way.

“How?” she asked. “You’re a very attractive man, and we’re very close. It would only make sense that, um, we would be drawn to each other in that way,” she elaborated.

“I turn you on?” Mulder balked.

“Yes, Mulder. God. Do I have to spell it out for you? Yes. You arouse me. I came in the car because of you, not because of the situation,” she proclaimed, her face matching her hair.

And that was it. With those words his erection had turned from moderate to full-blown. It was painstakingly obvious and was tenting his pants painfully. He leaned in a bit in the hopes that it would slightly conceal it from him. “I feel like I’m dreaming,” he admitted shyly, laughing breathily.

She smiled at him sweetly before letting her gaze cast downwards. He gasped when she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him to lean against the back of the couch, letting his erection strain painfully for her to see in its full glory. “So,” she started, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s because of me?” she asked softly.

“Always,” he affirmed.

She looked at it unabashedly and then licked her lips, making his cock twitch noticeably, much to her apparent pleasure. He noticed her fidgeting a bit before she murmured something. “What was that?” he asked.

“Can I touch it?” she whispered, her eyes focusing on his to gauge his reaction.

She probably saw shock mixed with fervent desire. He wasn’t sure if he was alive or if she shot him earlier and he entered an alternate timeline, but, to be honest, he didn’t care. This was without a doubt one of the best moments of his life - just following “I’m Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you”, “the cancer’s in remission”, and “no, it didn’t.” His mouth felt incredibly dry, and he didn’t want to say anything that might fuck this up, so he just nodded.

He felt his breath hitch as she scooted closer to him, close enough that her knee was touching his leg. While she focused on the front of his pants, he focused on her face. He watched the way her eyelashes flitted against her cheeks and how her lip was raw from her teeth’s attention. She was beautiful, and the only thing that tore his gaze away from her was his eyes closing involuntarily when he felt her hand, ever so lightly graze across his lap.

He forced his eyes open and looked down to see her hand nervously resting on his upper thigh. Almost as if she was waiting for him to look, she slowly inched towards the bulge, extending her index finger out so she could slowly trace the outline of his penis inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, resisting the urge to buck up into her hand.

She licked her lips and extended her hand, palming him gently as she watched his face contort into pure ecstacy. “Oh my god.”

She kept doing that for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only two minutes, slowly stroking him with her thumb as her hand rubbed up and down his shaft. He was pulled back to reality by the sound of his pants unbuttoning as her fingers clasped his zipper. “M-may I?”

Another nod, followed by a gasp as she pivoted her body so that she was on her knees on the floor in between his legs, resting her elbows on his thighs. He couldn’t believe his eyes and if it wasn’t for his intense desire to see what she did next, he probably could have come from the sight alone. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear again before grabbing his belt and undoing it, using her full strength to whip it off and throw it to the side. The she resumed her position and went back to the zipper she’d grabbed before, only this time dragging it down slowly, the sound like a scream in the otherwise silent apartment.

She leaned a bit closer, close enough for her breasts to touch his thighs and he felt like he could faint from anticipation. She looked up at him and he hoped to god he didn’t look half as desperate as he felt in this moment. Luckily, whatever she saw must’ve been encouraging, because her dainty fingers hooked under the opening of his boxers and brought his erection out into the open air, right in front of her face.

She took him firmly in her hand, gauging how her fingers barely met around his girth as she rotated her wrist. She seemed fixated on how his foreskin shifted with each upward stroke and partially covered his head until it was tugged away by a down stroke. She continued playing with him like this until he was so erect, the foreskin was too taut to move.

Focusing on something new, she let her thumb collect some of the precum that had gathered at his tip and spread it around before bringing her fingers back to her lips and licking them clean. “Fuck, Scully,” he whimpered. That was, without a doubt, one of the hottest things he’d ever witnessed.

Her hand returned without pause, but she lifted herself higher on her knees, no longer sitting on her thighs just observing. She looked at him with dilated eyes as if to ask for permission again, then, without a doubt having received permission, she lowered her head, stuck her tongue out, and licked him from root to tip. He gasped and resisted the urge to let his head fall back. He had to see this.

Scully let her tongue circle around his tip before plunging his cock into her mouth without hesitation. He moaned loudly and his hips twitched. He felt her hum against him and he realized she was laughing at his eagerness. He didn’t know what she was doing, but fuck it felt good. The flat of her tongue was moving against him with every bob of her head as her hand cradled his scrotum.

This was Scully. Scully’s lips were wrapped around him right now. He was throat deep in his gorgeous, brilliant partner. He wanted to cry from happiness. She must’ve felt the telltale signs of his balls tightening, because she let her head up with an audible “pop” as she used her fingers to squeeze the base of his shaft, stopping his orgasm immediately.

Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes watery from giving the world’s best blowjob. She looked gorgeous. Instinctively, he grabbed her face and pulled her towards him as he leaned in, crashing their lips together in a passionate frenzy. He could taste himself on her as his tongue darted out to lap as her lip. He realized the ridiculousness of the fact she’d blown him before they’d even had their first, proper kiss, but they never did anything conventionally so why start now.

Her breathing was ragged against his cheek as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her closer to him, mashing her breasts against his chest as he kneaded her ass. “Mmpph, Mulder,” she moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss.

“Scully, you feel so good,” he groaned, nuzzling her cheek.

“Wait, let me take off my clothes,” she panted. Immediately he let go, not wanting to stop her from that specific task and quickly worked on discarding his own crumpled attire.

“Oh my god,” he groaned as her perky breasts bounced on her chest from the force of her whipping her bra off over her head instead of taking the time to unclasp it. She was just as excited as him.

He was naked in time to watch as she slid her underwear down her legs, leaving her completely nude in front of him. His eyes must’ve been bulging out of his head because she giggled sweetly. “Scully, you’re breathtaking.”

“You’re pretty beautiful yourself,” she murmured, hiking one leg over each of his thighs, making his heart start beating erratically.

“Wait, Scully. Did you want me to reciprocate before-?” he asked. Each answer was honestly a win win for him, he just wanted to make sure she was comfortable.

“Thank you, Mulder, but-” she took his hand from her hip and guided it to the apex of her thighs, parting her auburn-covered folds and letting him feel her velvety, smooth warmth.

She was absolutely fucking soaking wet.

“Do you feel that Mulder? That’s what I’ve been trying to hide. You do that to me so often. I’m tired of waiting,” she whispered.

He moved his hand, swirling around her hardened clit which made her whole body twitch in response as she sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “Please,” she cried out.

Not wanting to torture either of them any longer, he lined up his head with her opening and watched as she sank down on top of him. They stayed like that for a moment and just stared at each other. “Wow,” she whispered, laughing lightly.

“You feel incredible,” he moaned, rocking slightly despite his attempts to sit still.

“Fuck,” she groaned, rocking her hips in response and encouraging him to buck back into her.

Her skin was lit by the dim glow of his shitty lamp, but god she looked like heaven and felt even better. She kept a steady pace on top of him as he leaned forward and captured a pert nipple in his mouth, making her squirm and pick up the pace. “Oh, Mulder,” she whimpered. Hearing his name said in that intonation in her voice was like audible sex.

He felt something shift by the side of his face and he turned to see it was her hand reaching down to - fuck.

She was touching herself. While riding him.

He watched in rapture as her middle and ring finger curved to circle her clit in purposeful strokes, making an erratic pattern of speed and pressure. He looked back to her face and watched as her brow furrowed in pleasure, her mouth open as she took staggered breaths. “H-harder,” she stammered.

Her wish was his command, so he wrapped his arms around her and effortlessly moved them so she was on her back as he picked up the pace from his position on top of her. He lowered himself a little bit so that with every thrust, her hand became trapped between his pubic bone and hers, grinding her fingers even harder against herself. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes almost fluttering shut from the sensations, but she managed to keep them open. She wanted to see this as much as he did.

“Scully,” he praised, simply overcome with the pleasure of being inside her after years of dreaming about it. In response, she hiked her legs up so that her calves were resting against his sides, letting him plunge even deeper. “Fuck,” he groaned.

He picked up the pace and she gasped loudly, her brow furrowing once more as he felt her hand pick up the pace in between them. “That’s it, Mulder. Right there please don’t stop please don’tstop pleasedon’tstop” she demanded.

As if he could. He kept up, stroke for stroke, angling his hips to hit the spot that made her twitch against him. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, noticing how her dainty gold chain was intermingling with drops of sweat gathering at the hollow of her throat.

“OhmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodMULDER,” she cried as her entire body trembled and quaked, much like it had earlier. Except this time he allowed himself to follow suit, crying her name as he buried himself inside her and let go, expanding and releasing in a white hot blaze.

He kept rocking against her, pushing her hips into the couch cushion as they rode out their orgasms. As her shaking subsided into small twitches, he littered her face with kisses and words of affirmation. Eventually, she regained her senses and started smiling lethargically, puckering her lips against his skin in response to every sentiment.

“Hey Scully,” he prompted in a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I hope you never feel the need to apologize for coming again,” he teased