#so he kept staring at it like this is not a cup while externally choking out thank you so much big sister I love it

[happyk44]

Me for the longest while: Hera is super meticulous and organized and is the person gently tapping a portrait until it's perfectly aligned and/or gutting the entire wall to rebuild it because they've realized it's why the pictures keep getting off tilt by less than a degree. She very much is a perfectionist, and likes everything to be spotless and flawless, from her home to her children to the entirety of Olympus, and blessings on anyone who threatens her immaculate tranquility.

Me for the last couple years or so: Zeus is also super organized but in an orderly, autistic, "everything has its place and must be in that right place, and if it is not I will not handle it in a healthy way at all because I have been more or less catered to my entire life and therefore have terrible coping mechanisms" and "gets weird about the right names and uses for things, and will get even weirder, for example, if you use a mug for cold water because it's supposed to be for hot beverages" kind of way

Me:

Me: This is definitely an area they fight and have weird sex about.

[the-last-kenobi]

For BTHB "Halucinations" with Obi-wan on Zigoola?

@coalmine301 you do delight my whump-loving heart. Sorry this took so long!

tw for mental breakdown, ptsd, graphic injury, self harm, and torture.

Zigoola was not a place.

At least, it was not only a place. Not anymore.

The power of the Force, honed and used and washed over a place over time, eventually causes great change.

The Jedi Temple was not merely a building, after all, but a beacon of peace and light for all who could feel it. Its bones ran deep with power, layers upon layers of light.

It was the way of the Light to be fortitude, to be patience, to be serenity, forgiveness, humility.

It was the way of the Dark to be recklessness, to be rage, to be thrill, to be destruction, consumption, emotion.

And Zigoola was Dark.

Dark indeed.

And when Obi-Wan Kenobi left that hellish planet, secure in the worried arms of Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala...

Zigoola followed him home.

: : : : :

Anakin and Ahsoka returned from their most recent campaign flushed with triumph and eager to share the bragging stories all the men did, with bravado and cheer to help cover for the losses met and the sacrifices made.

They returned when most of Obi-Wan’s external injuries had been washed away by bacta.

“Hey, Master,” Anakin greeted him, stretching luxuriously as he swaggered into their quarters. He always called him Master when he was worried about him. “Heard you got roughed up on a mission. What happened?”

His eyes were overly keen. He had seen that Obi-Wan is (is?) fine, and now he wanted to know why secrets were being kept.

How dare they send his Master alone on some secret mission?

How dare they allow him to be harmed because Anakin wasn’t there beside him?

“We met with some turbulence,” Obi-Wan said calmly, carefully turning in his chair in a way that showed Anakin his face while casting the still-pink burn on one side hidden by shadow, in a way that didn’t put pressure on his bad leg. (Worse leg.) “I’m all right. Bacta still smells as unpleasant as I recall.”

Anakin chuckled. He came to sit on a nearby chair, kicking his booted feet in the air.

“Anakin,” sighed Obi-Wan. He shifted again. Just a little. Just to keep his face out of direct light. “Please, sit properly?”

“This is properly,” his former apprentice teased. He flipped around so that his feet were off the back of the chair and his head was on the floor. “A chair is for getting off your feet and being comfy. I’m off my feet. I’m comfy. So this is totally proper.”

Obi-Wan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “graceless ass.”

Anakin launched a cup coaster at him with the Force.

: : : : :

Obi-Wan woke suddenly in the dead of night.

It was pitch black in his room, but he could sense Anakin leaning over him as clearly as if he could see him.

“‘N’kin?” he mumbled.

Anakin shifted closer to the bed. “Yeah. Obi-Wan... what’s going on?”

“What?”

“You were screaming,” his friend said slowly. “In your sleep.”

Obi-Wan flushed, grateful that the darkness hid his face from view. “Oh. I’m sorry. You know how disturbed the Force is these days, especially here on Coruscant. I must have...”

“No,” Anakin cut across him. “It wasn’t like that. What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing, Anakin.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shifted in his bed, tugging the sheets up higher, shielding himself from the chill of the room. “It is, Anakin. I’m sorry I disturbed you, but—”

“It’s not nothing,” said Anakin in a low voice. “If it was nothing you wouldn’t have lived. Why did you live?”

Obi-Wan’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Why did you live?” demanded Anakin’s voice. The dark presence beside him seemed to suddenly swell, filling the entire room, sucking out all the air. “Why didn’t you die, Jedi?”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said hoarsely, starting to sit upright.

Two hands caught him forcefully and shoved him back down, pinning him on his back. The bedsheets suddenly felt suffocating; his limbs were tangled in them hopelessly as he began to kick and struggle.

No matter how hard he thrashed, the hands held him firmly.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth - to question, to beg, to scream - something - but more hands came out of the blackness and closed around his throat, cutting off his voice before he could do more than let out choked cry.

The darkness remained, but somehow, Anakin’s snarling face came into view, illuminated in red as if by fire.

“You should have died on Zigoola,” he sneered. “Die, Jedi.”

And he snapped Obi-Wan’s neck.

: : : : :

Anakin meandered up the hallway, chasing a feeling.

It happened sometimes. The Force just prodded and poked with no clarity whatsoever.

He spotted a familiar figure at the end of the hallway, standing next to a large window overlooking the western horizon of Coruscant. Anakin knew long before he got close that it was Obi-Wan.

“Hey.”

The man didn’t move.

“Obi-Wan, Ahsoka wants to grab lunch at Dex’s before she sets out for her solo. You coming?”

He had his robe on, but it was wrapped tightly around him, and the hood was raised.

Anakin frowned and stepped closer. “Hey. Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan pulled his cloak even tighter around him. His head turned slightly. “Go ahead and say what you want to say,” his former Master muttered. “I won’t talk to you.”

Anakin looked as if he’d been slapped; the hand he had raised to touch the older man’s shoulder fell back to his side. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Whatever makes you happy I guess.”

He turned on his heel and stalked off, brimming with hurt and anger.

He was long gone before the Jedi by the window turned his head slowly to look where he had gone, a look of confusion on his face. “...Anakin?”

: : : : :

Night fell again.

Obi-Wan climbed slowly into bed, shaking like a leaf in a tempest. It took five tries - five - just to hoist himself onto his mattress and lay flat, his hands and feet trembling so badly that even his vision was vibrating.

His head began to pound.

Die, Jedi.

Die, Jedi.

Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die-Jedi-Die-Jedi-Die-Jedi

DIE JEDI DIE—

Bail’s hands covering his. A flash of red. A flash of blue.

Obi-Wan clamped a palm over his mouth to contain the shriek of agony that exploded out of him.

His head - his leg—

Die Jedi

Bail was screaming—

Qui-Gon was reaching for him, then toppling backwards with a beam of red through his chest, his face frozen in a look of shock—

Die Jedi

Obi-Wan slammed his head against the headboard, screaming again into his hand.

“Obi-Wan!”

Anakin was standing over him again, and Obi-Wan curled away from him, clutching his wounded leg with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

Anakin towered over him, tall, washed in the light streaming from the common area of their quarters—

Wait.

Anakin dropped to his knees, his expression almost frightened. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, snap out of it!”

The older Jedi shuddered where he lay, digging his fingernails into his leg for a purchase on reality.

“Master,” Anakin begged. “Please talk to me!”

Obi-Wan reached further down his leg and shoved his fingertips into the open wound made by his own saber - but - but his fingers dug only into shallow scarring and the dull throbbing of still-healing tissue.

Zigoola.

Bail.

That injury.

It had all been... weeks ago. Weeks and weeks.

His former student knelt next to him, one hand clinging to the bedclothes, clearly wanting to comfort his Master but wary of frightening him further.

“...Anakin?” Obi-Wan whispered around his hand. His voice was small and cracked, a child’s voice after a night terror. “A-Anakin?”

The younger man exhaled shakily, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s me, Master. Listen. Obi-Wan, you have to let go of your leg... and your face... you’re hurting yourself, all right? Just let go.”

Obi-Wan stared at him.

Anakin stared back, half-stern, half-begging.

After a moment, Obi-Wan obeyed.

He released his leg gingerly, and felt only the residual pain of his slow-healing stab wound and the sharp imprints of his own fingernails.

Then he removed his hand from over his mouth.

His howl of anguish when a red blade pierced Anakin from behind tore through the room, and died into terrified dry sobbing when Anakin fell dead to the floor, his young face painted with shock.

: : : : :

“Master Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan ignored it.

Whoever it was would get his attention more forcefully, real or otherwise. He had no choice but to accept it, but delaying, delaying he could do.

“Master Kenobi! Obi-Wan Kenobi, have you lost your hearing?”

A middle-aged Twi’lek with bold blue skin shouldered her way in front of him; her expression was fierce, but her eyes and the hand she pressed against his chest to stop him were exceedingly gentle. “Obi-Wan?” she repeated.

“Master Che,” he answered dully. “Can I help you?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she returned, eyes narrowing with concern as she took in his wan visage. “Obi-Wan, your health is deteriorating. An apprentice Healer could tell that at a glance. Why didn’t you come to the Halls?”

“There’s no point,” he said. “It’s just lack of sleep. I’ll pull through.”

Her lekku twitched. “Lack of sleep, hm? That doesn’t explain the rapid weight loss, the new damage on your arms, or your eroding mental shielding...”

“I am fine, Vokara,” the youngest Councilor said sharply. “I won’t be forced into the Halls against my will. If something is really wrong, by all means, feel free to scrape me off the pavement.”

He walked away with his hands folded in his sleeves. His head was bowed.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the Healer murmured, and picked up her comm unit. “Skywalker. We need to have a conversation. Your Master’s last mission is classified on a need-to-know basis. And you need to know.”

: : : : :

Anakin entered their shared rooms cautiously this time.

The lights were off, save a few small illuminators scattered around the room, radiating soft warm light like candles. Obi-Wan’s robe was draped over the back of the chair, and his boots were set neatly on a mat against the wall, a contrast to Anakin’s, which could usually be found in odd places like on a chair or next to the refrigerator unit.

His former Master’s door was closed.

Hardly daring to breathe, Anakin gently pushed it open.

He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the deep darkness, and felt his breath hitch.

The bed was empty.

The sheets were tangled and strewn halfway across the floor, as if the occupant had been dragged away or had left in a panic.

Anakin sprang forward, his heart in his throat, as he noticed two things.

A black scorch mark in the floor, where a saber had struck it.

And Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lying discarded in the corner.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin yelled. “No... no—Obi-Wan!”

: : : : :

Obi-Wan ran.

His vision was flickering like an old holo, flashes of different things all layered together - was he running over damp grass with Qui-Gon - or the polished floors of the Jedi Temple - or the cracked stone of a Sith Temple with Bail - or a strange fiery planet with bursts of lava and Anakin just out of reach - or —

He didn’t know.

He kept running, constantly changing direction as he registered obstacles and turns at the last second.

There was a tree in front of him. He veered left and smacked into a stone wall carved with Sith Runes.

The graven words burned red and fire lanced out at him, biting into his clothing and taking hold, setting him aflame.

Obi-Wan gasped. He stumbled backwards, trying desperately to peel the burning clothing off of him, hearing maniacal laughter echoing from the black corridors all around him, hearing the screams of the dying, the dead.

Someone grabbed him by the arm and he wheeled around, the fire vanishing inexplicably as Cody, wearing bloodstained armor but without his helmet, stumbled into his arms, gasping for air.

Before Obi-Wan could speak, Cody spat out a mouthful of blood and fell to his knees. His hands dragged the Jedi down with him. But when they hit the floor, it was only Obi-Wan, on his hands and knees in some corridor of the Temple, shuddering and crying.

Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die

Die Jedi

DIE JEDI

Die

Jedi Die Jedi

Die

DIE JEDI DIE

Die

J

E

D

I

die

The voices in his head rose and coalesced.

Now the voices of the Sith and the voices of his past and the voices of the future and the voices of the dead were all in agreement—

DIE, JEDI

Obi-Wan reached out desperately for the Light.

There was only Darkness.

Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi

Qui-Gon, running ahead of him chasing a Sith across catwalks. Obi-Wan, desperately racing after him.

Qui-Gon turning at the last second, his verdant lightsaber running Obi-Wan through. The man smiled. Relieved. Pleased. “Die,” he said.

Anakin, ten years old, tentatively asking to spend the night in the same sleeping mat on a mission. Obi-Wan, gently pulling his apprentice into his arms. Waking up hours later with small hands wrapped around his throat and cutting off his air. The innocent face grinned. “Die.”

Ahsoka, dangling out the side of a crashing Y-wing, crying out in pain as her injured shoulder strained. Obi-Wan, diving to catch her hand before she could fall, lifting her back into the ship. Hugging her. And then she kicked him, hard, sending him flying out the door and to his death. She smiled after him. “Die.”

Where was the light?

Where?

...There.

A faint blur of light. A glow.

The feel of fresh air, defying the horrifying visions.

Obi-Wan fixed his eyes on the light, and jumped.

“...NO!”

Someone stopped him. Caught him violently around the waist and dragged him back, pulling him back into the shadows.

Obi-Wan wept, utterly spent.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice raged at him. “What were you doing? What were you even doing?!”

The Jedi only continued to weep silently, letting the strong arms haul him further away. He felt himself lowered to the ground, felt arms come around him in an embrace that felt restrictive.

“Talk to me! Dammit, Master, I need you to focus. Please! Come on, open your eyes properly. Look at me. Look at me.”

The voice became gentler as it went on. Warm and soothing, like the small fires they pitched in encampments, when it was safe to do things like that.

A gentle Force presence brushed against his mind.

It blew through the claws and thorns of Darkness like a hot wind - painful at first, and then calming.

Comforting.

Bright.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and found himself collapsed in Anakin’s arms, his friend looking down at him with a face twisted with fear and concern. They shifted a little into relief when he met Anakin’s blue eyes.

“...A-Ana...An’kin?” Obi-Wan asked, hardly daring to hope.

Anakin nodded fiercely. “Yeah. It’s me. Listen — we’re going to talk about this later. We’re going to fix this. I’m not going to leave you alone for a second, you hear me? We’ll stick together until this is over. But for now...”

He swallowed hard and looked up at the open balcony mere yards away, glowing innocently in the light of a Coruscant night, the only source of light in the long dark hallway.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Obi-Wan exhaled softly. “...All right.”

And then his eyes fluttered closed again, his head tilting to one side to rest against his Padawan’s shoulder. Anakin jolted slightly in alarm, but when he checked, he realized that his old Master was merely sleeping.

A proper sleep.

For the first time in Force knew how long.

Anakin sighed and stood up, carrying Obi-Wan in his arms. He was heavy, but still too light and too thin for Anakin’s liking.

The report from Master Che... Anakin bit the inside of his cheek hard to contain a curse, remembering the extensive list of injuries and repercussions the Healer had given him with her eyes full of uncharacteristic worry.

But it would be all right.

They’d handle it together.

They always had.

Always would.

Anakin paused at the end of the corridor and looked back. He held Obi-Wan a little tighter— remembering the moment he had come tearing up this same hall not five minutes before, just in time to see him - the man he had followed for twelve years, humorous and serene and kind and steady, his mentor, his best friend, almost his father, even closer to being a brother...

See him sobbing, stumbling blindly, preparing to leap over the edge of the balcony to his death.

Tormented and lured by the Dark Side.

Anakin forced himself to turn away once more and move his feet back home, holding the sleeping Obi-Wan with all his strength.

: : : : : : :

[oftenderweapons]

Steamy Waters — Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 7.6k ( mostly edited✌️)

Genre: smut, pwp, fluff, slightest angst, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+ (As usual, I know)

Hello baby bears! Welcome to Taehyung’s Steamy Waters. I must admit this episode is going to be a lot steamier than planned, but I cannot lament. Recently we celebrated Taehyung’s birthday, so I thought I could add a little extra as a late celebration.

There’s not much plot, honestly. Tae and Lace are bathing together in true Kim Taehyung fashion when the intrusive presence of mirrors on every bathroom wall makes it hard not to stare at each other. And when wandering hands — and wandering feet... and wandering mouths — start wandering too much the temperature in the room becomes too hot to handle. Chaos ensues. Especially when Taehyung is... at her service.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing. Wine drinking. Humping, bathtub sex, unprotected sex within an established relationship (don’t make me tell again that you and your partner(s) should be clean before going condomless); massage, slight footjob; oral fixation (not only in terms of oral sex, both male and female receiving btw) but also foot worship, breast worship, body shot, face riding (male receiving), cum eating; spanking, one (1) pussy spank; masturbation (female receiving), also anal fingering (external stimulation only); maid!Taehyung, switch!Taehyung, hard dom!Taehyung, big dick!Taehyung, soft domme!reader, very sub!reader; hair pulling/grabbing; choking kink, degradation kink, overstimulation, squirting, sensory blackout. Taehyung uses a safeword (yellow); did I mention that MIRRORS ARE BACK BUT THIS TIME IT’S WORSE? And if you didn’t guess VOYEURISM 24 out of 10. Also, the softest aftercare and mentions of sleeping pills to help reader relax after... ahem... all of those. Things. In the trigger warnings.

In case you need my masterlist, here it is :)

Enjoy! 💜✨

A jazz piece was playing on the modern gramophone in a corner of the bathroom, somewhere far from the tub, where you and Taehyung would most likely make a splash and quite surely ruin the device.

Taehyung was laying at the opposite side of the tub, head thrown back as your foot rubbed his thigh.

You were pretty chill yourself, arms pressed against the edge of the tub, keeping you from relaxing too much and going under.

“Baths are magic.” You murmured, your toes meeting his hip before sliding back down again.

He hummed in confirmation. “The only problem is with washing one’s hair. It’s so uncomfortable.” He caught your foot underwater, his thumbs digging in the few knots you felt there. If the bath was magic, his hands were miraculous.

You felt your whole body melt and slide half an inch lower, your self restraint too weak to stop you from moaning.

Taehyung smiled fondly and sensuously. “You like it there?” He asked, his fingers moving to the heel, pressing against all those spots he knew from his acupressure appointments.

Your whole leg went insensitive in a very pleasing way. “Yes, you like it, dove.” He said, grinning and moving to your calf, specifically to the spot where the muscle met the bone near your ankle.

“Don’t want your ankles to swell.” He said, pushing your foot into slow, articulate circles.

Your soul definitively abandoned your body.

“We’ll put ice packs on these bad girls as soon as you’re out of the tub.” He said.

“It’s not that bad.” You said, just as he drew two parallel lines with his thumbs digging into your muscle reaching the back of your knee.

You had to grip the rim of tub to keep yourself from end up with your head underwater.

“It is that bad.” He said, rubbing small circles and making sure that all the exertion was magically sucked out of you. “No need to lie to me.” He said, looking at you with his dark eyes, his hair all curled up due to the steam coming from the water and filling the air. His own foot ran down your inner thigh, the sole of his foot ghosting over your pelvis.

There were too many reflective surfaces all over the bathroom.

Angles of him appeared everywhere. Specifically when he lifted your leg and placed a kiss to the upper arch of your foot.

“Shall I move to the other leg?” He asked, lowering your calf back in the water.

You nodded, trying to scoot your hips forward, against his heel.

“Feeling needy?” He asked, as his fingers repeated the procedure he had performed before on your other leg.

“So much.” You replied, using your freshly rejuvenated foot to tease his erection. His massage had activated nerve endings that had probably never really been there before he touched you.

“Let’s finish this leg then,” he said, as he kept pushing your ankle in wide circles.

“Tae,” you called, just as he moaned, your toes tickling his belly while the ball of your foot, way fleshier, teased his head.

“I never thought I could like this.” He said with a small surprised smile before he threw his head back, the cords of his neck tensing, the veins throbbing so clearly under the complicated game of shadows originated by the soft lights in the bathroom.

You loved his bathroom. It was soothing, with all the dark hues and the orangey lights.

His hands stopped for a second. “You’re distracting me.” He said.

“I wanted to treat you nice. For your birthday.” You replied. “I still can’t believe we went vanilla on your birthday night.” You said, still teasing him, hoping you could have him speaking in that soft, deep, dreamy voice he has whenever you’re getting him in the mood.

“It was good vanilla though.” He commented, his hips jerking forward with a small grunt before he felt his spine turn into putty.

“Very good vanilla.” You said, removing his leg from between yours, deciding to be generous and focus on him.

“Still, I owe you birthday sex.” You said, noticing his slow chuckle as you made him part his legs wide.

“Come here.” He said, removing the drain stopper with his fingers and bringing his hand between his legs as you bent your legs underneath your torso and crawled to him, straddling him and grinding your pelvis against his. “This is way better.” He purred, one of his hands keeping him upright while the other one landed on your ass. “You’re so soft.” He said, pushing his crotch up and against you. “I could just...” Once the water was low enough that his cock emerged freely from the surface, he put the drain stopper back in place, taking in your lustful expression as you ground on him.

“I think you’re the one who wants birthday sex.” Taehyung said, grabbing your hips and squishing the skin there.

His touch was always something that set you on fire. Ever since the first time, since your very first touch, he had completely possessed your entire being. Whenever his body connected with yours it felt like your skin and his were ready to part and like the raw extremities of a wound, and heal together, his blood vessels becoming yours, or maybe yours becoming his, until there was no distinction anymore. It was the exact opposite of that kind of surgery performed to separate conjoined twins.

And no surgery, no cutting was necessary. It was just. Preternatural. And so, so natural at the same time.

“Do you need me to stretch you?” He asked, his thumb massaging your clit.

One more bridge between you and him.

“I can take you. I’m so turned on.” You said, bending to kiss his neck and drink the small droplets of water glistening there.

“Was it the massage?” He asked, rolling his head back, offering you even more skin to kiss.

“I don’t know,” you said, licking him. Meanwhile you started noticing it wasn’t water, but rather your own slick making you slide on him.

Water was too unreliable, it would leave you dry and make the whole experience traumatic; especially, considering his size, both in length and girth.

“We can act like it’s your birthday.” He said, kissing a soft spot under your jaw. “Have an early birthday for my Nymphette.” He said, this time nibbling against the sweet spot on your neck.

You chuckled and brought your hands down his chest, scratching his stomach gently and playfully pinching the soft flesh of his belly. You loved him being so lithe and at the same time a bit fluffy in such an adorable spot. It made you think of childhood games, like blowing raspberries of his sensitive tummy. It always makes him so happy that his eyes spark up with pure, innocent joy, his mop of hair immediately coming for your neck and bosom, where he nuzzles in to tickle you before rubbing his face against your breasts like a cuddle some cat.

Once your face parted from his neck and chest, he cupped your face, holding you still. “I love you.” He said, staring in your eyes. And it felt so simple: no big statements, no poetic words, no useless rethorics. “I love you.” He repeated.

You mirrored his hold on you, placing both hands on his cheeks and rubbing your thumb against his divine features. “I love you.”

It holds more meaning than you could ever explain. The obliterating need in both your eyes and his, the urgency and the fondness. You felt like a pot boiling and overflowing with ten thousand ingredients that were a specific mix of his taste and your taste and his smell and yours and all the tastes and smells you’ve experienced together.

The candle burning in his room the first time you made love. His aftershave. Strawberries. Your shampoo, which became his shortly after you moved in. Champagne and that bubbly feeling of having butterflies in your stomach. French macaroons. The first breakfast in bed. The tteokbokki you had eaten with his parents the day he introduced you to them. The light, talk scent of Yeontan’s fur after the first time you bathed him together.

Now you were horny and emotional.

Taehyung seemed to notice. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” He asked, dragging his thumb against your lower lip.

“I just realised how important you are to me.” You said, bending to his face and kissing him.

“Just now?” He asked, slightly surprised as he raised an eyebrow.

“No,” you replied, closing your eyes and touching your face with his, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek against yours, brushing your noses together, focusing on the intense sensation of his face against such a personal, private part of your own body. “Sometimes I just… get lost in the feeling. It feels like being overwhelmed by all the things we share, all that we have together. How many things remind me of you.” You murmured against the tender spot behind his ear.

“I know.” He said. His hands moved to your waist, fingers sinking in the flesh as he invited you to sit up.

You followed his direction. Once he could look at you, all of you, he took his length in his hand. “Inside?” He asked, checking in on you.

You nodded. “Please. Inside.”

He closed his eyes and smiled, pulling you close to his chest once more with one arm wrapped around your waist.

With the hand on his cock, he rubbed his tip up and down your slit, making you moan a couple times, whimpering when you felt his soft tip breach your walls.

“Tae...” You whined, his lips meeting yours and trying to suffocate your lament.

“Hush, Lace,” he said, touching your spine. “Is it wet enough?” He said, pressing his mouth to your temple. “Take your time, love.”

You inhaled and lifted your hips up before sliding down again, one inch at a time, your muscles constricting around him so hard that you had to stop.

“Too tight,” he said, trying to lift you up slightly. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” He said as he kept kissing your face. “Let me stretch you first, love.”

“No.” You whined, your hands stopping his as he tried to slide out of you. “I want it like this. I can take it, just… Easy.” You said, begging. “Please.”

“If it hurts, we stop. Immediately.” He replied, still unsure.

You nodded eagerly and let your hips lower some more. “Kiss me?”

His eyes turned into warm, happy crescents as he obliged, moving his lips against yours. His hips inadvertently jerked upwards, forcing one more inch into you, making you gasp and offering him the perfect chance to let his tongue slide into your mouth.

The kiss was the sweetest poison, with playful flicks and demanding swipes, the tip of his tongue licking the underside of your own as yours arched up toward his palate. In the erotic frenzy of it all, you completely lost control of your legs and before you could notice, he was completely sheathed inside you as he kept sucking on your wet appendage, bobbing his head slightly as your tongue, fully stretched out, methodically appeared and disappeared past his lips. It felt right, your tongue penetrating his mouth as his sex penetrated yours. It felt balanced.

It didn’t take long before your hips started moving, riding him, making him moan and lose the suction he had on your appendage.

Parting from him was a mess of spit, both your eyes and his opening and staring at the silvery string connecting your lips to his. “You’re so hot.” You murmured as his hands landed on your hips, helping you, just as your brought your own palms to your chest, pressing your breasts together, massaging them as they rolled with the way you were simply moving back and forth, not really focusing on bouncing but rather sliding.

Taehyung was immediately captured by the sight of your breasts caught in your palms, his hands staying on your hips to help you while his mouth landed on your left nipple. You quickened your pace as his thumb met your clit, making you whine. “How close?” You asked, brow furrowing as he tugged at your nipple while suctioning it inside his mouth. You moved even faster in reply, gyrating your hips too as he grew more and more eager on your skin, until his teeth had created an indentation on your areola and your nipple was too sensitive to stay inside his mouth, subjected to the ruthless whipping and flicking of his tongue.

“Oh my god, Tae, please, I’m—” You couldn’t put a finger on what was making you so desperately horny, maybe it was simply because you were just out of your period and you had been starving for him for almost a week, but unexpectedly you felt yourself near your edge.

“Lace for fuck’s sake, we’ve just started.” He grunted as he recognised your kegels pulsating around him faster and tighter. “Already?”

You nodded.

“Damn. So hot.” He huffed out before pressing his mouth to your other nipple, giving up on sucking it and deciding to simply loll out his tongue and press it flat against your chest. “Come on, nymph. Cum on my cock.” He swore as he felt you get impossibly tighter. “Fuck it, Lace. Ride it.” He said, removing one hand from your hip before you heard a loud smack, followed by a prickling, burning sensation on your left glute.

The muscles of your ass and legs quivered as you stopped for a second, his thumb restless at the apex of your labia. “Did you—” You shivered as he hit the perfect spot, “Did you just spank me?” You asked, all your muscles tense.

He froze. “… did it… I’m sorry…” He said, confused.

“No, I liked it.” You corrected him. “I was toying with you.” You said with a small smile.

He knew sometimes you weren’t in the mood for spanks and power play. Sometimes you just wanted to be equals and simply get lost in pure, extreme sensations.

He shook his head, incredulous. “Then keep going, nymph.” He said, before surprising you with another spank.

You gasped and chuckled before cupping his jaw and joining your mouths, your hips moving carelessly.

This time he grabbed your ass viciously before slapping it one more time, his tongue being twice as lively as usual as he licked your own tongue, revelling in the velvet paradise of your mouth. Once he felt your hips grow impatient, your movements irregular, he parted from you, throwing his head back, eyes opening, his long lashes fluttering dreamily as he let his mouth hang open before silencing a moan by catching his lower lip between his teeth.

Finally you felt pleasure taking over your body, Taehyung’s eyes opening and focusing up.

He gestured at the ceiling with a jerk of his chin. Following his tip, your gaze turned up. And met the mirror.

In that moment you realised how furiously you were moving on top of him, how eager and desperate and sexy you looked.

“Look at you. So messy for my cock. My little nymph.” He said, smacking your ass once more.

A short whimper exited your mouth as the hit took the air from your lungs.

Your high exploded while his thumb teased the underside of your clit, unprotected by the hood and painfully sensitive by now.

For a second, everything felt too intense, your hair wet and dripping down your back, the water grown cold by now, and his skin so hot, his nipples hard under your thumbs, his hands moving to your breasts once you didn’t need him on your clit anymore, his palms sliding on your half-dry skin and pressing your boobs together before he dove his head forward, dragging his whole face against the soft crevasse that your tits formed together. He started ramming his hips up, fucking into you as your movements slowed down.

He loved suffocating between your breasts, gasping hard as your heartbeat drowned his ears, your breathing like a feral, powerful creature beckoning him toward your dark lair of consuming bliss.

Biting his lip, frowning and groaning repeatedly, he slammed his hips hard against the back of your thighs, four, five, six times before he stilled and screamed in pleasure, the dark granite of the walls amplifying his animalistic sound before he bit into your breast, almost painfully.

Too bad you were still lost somewhere in pleasure, his body finally joining yours.

Maybe you would complain about the bite in the morning, when it would be red and sore and maybe swollen.

“____, fuck. Can we have monthly appointments like this?” He said, gyrating his hips tentatively while you gripped the tub, trying to find purchase as your body betrayed you and collapsed almost entirely.

“Monthly birthdays...” You mused, mouth brushing against the column of his throat.

“Do we really need an occasion to fuck like this?” He asked while his hand kneaded the soft folds of flesh around your torso. He found endless pleasure in feeling every aspect of you under his fingers.

And it never made you feel conscious. Rather, it made you feel appreciated, not like he was avoiding your absolutely average and healthy body fat, but more like his fingers were appreciating every detail of you, singing a hymn to your whole body completely devoid of flaws, praising it in the unwavering, glorious materiality of it.

You felt worshipped.

The shiver that ran down your spine rose him from his blissful slumber. “You’re cold?” He asked, pressing you closer to himself.

You nodded and mouthed at his neck. “You feel too good inside, though.”

He chuckled. “It feels good inside you too.” He replied fondly. Sometimes you wondered how this cockwarming thing never made sense to you before you met him.

“But you need to dry your hair, love.” He patted your ass a couple times. “Don’t want you to get sick.” He said, “Plus, we’re going to be uncomfortable here.” He tried to raise his torso from his slumping. You helped him by sitting up yourself, his dick pulsating inside you and making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He cackled. “Later.” He said his hands circling your waist and helping you up and off him.

As his cock slid out completely, landing on his belly, completely covered in your and his cum, you licked your lips.

“No.” He said, smirking, already placing his hands on your shoulders, keeping you from bending down and sucking him clean.

“Please, sir?” You whined, arching your brows and pouting.

He looked at your swollen, red lips, at your tongue lashing out to wet them seducingly.

He took his hands away. “Have your fun,” he conceded, his nails scraping your shoulders delicately as you bent forward, one of your hands catching your hair before it got messed up.

With your tongue you licked a thin stripe from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip before engulfing it in your mouth. You easily swallowed a good portion of him before pulling him out, nudging his shaft to the side with your nose and cleaning the messy marks on his belly and his pelvis where your mixed fluids on his flesh had imprinted the shape of his cock.

His moan was dark and sinful before he pleaded for a yellow.

You let him go without hesitation. “Are you okay, pup?” You asked, not even enjoying the mix of your and his taste in your mouth because of your sudden, urgent worry.

“Yeah. I just… I need a slowdown, please.” He said, touching your face weakly. “I’m getting cold.” He said, with soft eyes.

Your worry increased tenfold in your chest. First, you sat up and helped him up yourself. “Okay, Tae. Let me just rinse you, yes?” You called, removing the drain stopper and letting the water flow out before you cleaned up both you and him. The water from the tap ran warm — almost hot — a few seconds later and you managed to rinse him properly before he climbed out of the tub. You followed him and wrapped him up in a towel. “There you go, baby.” You said.

He smiled fondly. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to dry your hair?” He asked, his beautiful hands balled up in cute fists as he held the large towel around his shoulders.

“No, baby, thank you.” You replied kindly and warmly. “Let me just rinse myself before I dry my hair. I’ll join you in bed in twenty.” You said as you noticed him linger close to the door, showing himself a bit too impatient and excited to head out, possibly to bed, with you by his side. Or on top of him. Or below him. Probably below him, considering you had just ridden him.

Caught in your head, you went back to the tub, rinsing yourself quickly and briskly before stepping out and drying yourself up gingerly, leaving your body slightly damp so that your body lotion would dilute a little with the sparse droplets left on your skin, so that it would absorb better.

Once your body smelled like roses from your breasts down, you rinsed your hands, applied your favourite hair care oil and started the hairdryer. It didn’t take long, fifteen minutes at large, before a rapping at the door interrupted your hair ritual.

You frowned. Taehyung wasn’t one to knock. Just to make sure, you lowered the setting of the hairdryer, waiting in case he did it again and making sure that you had heard correctly.

The sound reappeared.

You switched off the device and placed it in its drawer. “Yes?” You replied.

The door opened.

First, Taehyung’s face appeared, his hair ruffled and dry, his expression sweet and innocent. Was he wearing makeup?

No. Impossible.

He hadn’t actually washed his face yet, but he was definitely without makeup earlier.

His lashes looked longer. His lips redder. And he most definitely had enhanced those beautiful eyes of his with dark eyeshadow lining his upper eyelid, making his stare even more intense.

And was that a heart drawn on his cheekbone?

Indeed.

“May I?” He asked, suspiciously formal and courteous.

“Yes, of course.” You said, with a confused smile.

Next, everything made sense.

God bless him. You thought, your heart skipping a bit and stumbling down approximately sixty flights of stairs.

There, with a fancy silver tray and a fancier glass of red wine on top, stood your amazing, extravagant, glorious, mind blowing, seductive, sultry, indecently sexy, wondrous boyfriend. In a maid dress.

Your body did a strange thing, your mouth hanging open basically already drooling.

Was this how he felt anytime he saw you in lingerie?

“I thought my lady deserves special treatment.” He said, coming closer, placing the tray over the small counter near the sink.

The vinyl playing on the gramophone chose precisely that moment to come to an end.

The mechanic arm lifted and moved away, the plate slowly coming to a stop after all the spinning.

Not that you noticed, you were too busy staring at your boyfriend, imagining what you could possibly do to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t assist you with your lotion, ma’am.” He said, standing, his hands joining before his stomach. “The uniform is a bit difficult.”

“Don’t worry, darling. All forgiven.” You said, your hand shaking as you reached out to touch his face. “You look incredible.” You said, completely dazzled. “Breathtaking.”

He blushed. “Thank you.” His eyes lowered coyly.

“Really, Taehyung. You look… I am speechless, darling.” You said with a big smile plastered on your face. “You’re unreal.” You said, drawing the shape of his lips, the pink lipgloss looking impossibly perfect on his face, emphasising the desirable curves of his mouth.

He stared in marvel too as you looked completely enraptured by his looks. “You like it?” He asked, insecure.

“Yes, of course I like it, love. You look too good, baby.” You reassured him, feeling a tad underdressed standing naked in front of him, while he had several layers of satin, ribbons, lace and of course, the classy apron. He even had puffy sleeves. And the corset tightened in a complicated lacing on the front. You took in every detail. “Do you feel good in it?” You asked, letting your index finger slide down his jaw, along the curve of his neck, to the small mole on his breastbone.

He nodded. “I’ve been tiptoeing around this for a while.” He said, his hand hesitant, his eyes asking for permission to place it atop of yours.

You agreed with a short nod.

“I didn’t know how you would react.” He said, his gaze guarded.

“I love it.” You said, tightening your hand around his fingers and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. “And I love you.” You reassured him, pulling your joined hands to your face and placing a small kiss on his ring finger, where someday his wedding ring would lay. “Although we could do a few adjustments,” you said, staring at him with the eyes of a trained lingerie maker. “It could fit so much better on you.” You said, walking around him, observing the few points where the fabric slouched and flopped, unfit for his lithe body. On the back you noticed a zipper. You would remember that for later.

“Here,” you said, pinching the loose fabric around his slim waist. “And here.” You said, fingering the ribbons over his chest. “With slight modifications, we can make it more comfortable for you. And make it look like an actual uniform.” You said, standing behind him as he stood in front of the mirror. You bent to place a kiss on the crook of his neck. “How beautiful.” You said, your hands wrapping around his waist, appreciating how small it was, how elegant and expensive he looked. “Would you like it if I added a small accessory,” you asked, moving your middle finger to trace the column of his throat. “I was thinking about a choker.” You said, “something frilly. Maybe with a small kitten bell. Plenty of soft ribbons and lace. Make this neck look even prettier.” You suggested, placing another kiss on the other side of his neck, this time letting your mouth open and suck just a little.

You weren’t allowed to mark him there with all the upcoming music shows.

He nodded. “I’d love to.” He said, looking in your eyes timidly in the mirror. “But first I’d like to make myself forgiven for being late for the lotion.” He said, bowing his head. “Please, miss.”

Your head rolled back as pleasure travelled from his mouth to your ears to your core.

“Of course, kitty. As long as this is the way you want things to go.” You stated clearly. “I need your consent, kitty.”

“I want it, miss.” He assured you.

“Then proceed, kitty.” You said, wrapping your hand around his throat and tightening it affectionately.

He turned around and looked at your lips. “May I kiss you, miss?” He asked, eyes still deflecting your stare.

“Yes, kitty. Of course, darling.” You replied with a gentle smile.

He bent down slightly and swallowed nervously before placing his lips on yours, the taste was immediately familiar.

“This is not lipgloss, am I right, kitty?” You asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Yes, miss. You’re right, miss.”

Damn him. It was lube. Specifically, watermelon-flavoured lube.

You thought how long it would take for this to become too much. For him to become too hot and melt you until all there was left of you was a bottle of sap stored in the fridge.

And your title.

Your ears basked in victory at his perfect speaking manners. You had educated him properly. He was by far your best exercise in domination so far, his manners impeccable at all times when his submissive persona came into play.

“Come on, kitty. Show me how you intend to gain forgiveness.” You spoke sweetly, caressing the hair at his nape.

Soft. So soft. Always so damn soft.

He knelt. Slowly. Very slowly.

Looking up at you with pure, angelic eyes, he poked with his index finger first at your left thigh, and then at his left shoulder.

You grinned.

“You want my leg on your shoulder, kitty?” You asked with an amused smile.  

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, miss. Please, miss.”

You smiled proudly. “That’s a very good kitty.”

Taehyung kept a fond expression, saving his intentions to himself.

Let her think she won, he thought just as his hand landed at your ankle, his fingertips running up the back of your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he applied gentle pressure, inviting you to lift your leg.

Your cunt was right in front of his face, his nose sniffing at your smell, slightly adulterated by your body lotion.

He nuzzled his nose against the tiny patch of hair you kept atop your labia. He loved it without even knowing why. It simply turned him insane. All the time. Especially when he went down on you.

Your hand gripped the hair on the crown of his head, massaging the scalp delicately, but also trying to protect him from potentially bumping it against the drawer under the sink.

“Does it smell good, kitty?” You asked, smiling at him, taking in the view of him.

“Yes, miss. Can I please lick you, miss?” He asked shyly, his voice slightly more high pitched than usual.

“Yes, darling love.” You practically cooed at him.

He didn’t waste a second, his tongue ready to lunge for your opening before he stopped himself with a small gasp. “Thank you, miss.”

You felt even prouder.

God, he really is perfect.

“You’re welcome, kitty.”

And at that, the tip of his tongue brushed the tight rim of muscles lining your entrance, collecting your taste before flattening the muscle and dragging it all the way along your slit, delivering a series of hard flicks as his hands travelled to your ass, helping you ride his face straight away.

You enthusiastically followed his instructions, especially once you felt two of his fingers run from your backside to the front, sliding inside your dripping hole.

“Kitty, that’s very nice.” You said, huffing out an enthusiastic chuckle before it transformed into a sinful deep moan. You started directing his head, his tongue stretched taut past his lips while you ground your crotch against it. “Kitty, this is a very good surprise.” You said, praising him, petting his hair, your eyes closing as he moaned in approval, watching you as you grew more and more lost. You took the glass in your hand, taking a sip of wine and feeling it bloom in your mouth instantly, your cheeks warming up, your veins throbbing with the wild beat of desire awakening your every limb.

Your head rolled back, your hand immediately placing down the glass as you felt your high approach, his fingers sinking all the way to your cervix, tapping against it.

His lips captured your clit, sucking it a couple times before releasing it, pressing it to his front teeth with his strong tongue.

“Tae,” you called, too fucked out to care about pet names and stuff. Your edge was there, waiting for you, all you needed was…

He pulled out his fingers, making you cry out before they returned to their place. Shortly after, his thumb landed on your skin. Wet. Slippery. Right against the oversensitive skin between your cunt and your anus.

All it took was two gentle rubs and your body crumbled, all your weight going to the hand on the sink while your legs shook wildly, your knees too wobbly to survive your high; your other hand too moved to the sink, too scared of hurting your lover. His hands gripped you tighter instead, pushing you harder against his face while his tongue lashed out, the hard muscle grinding against your clit as he moved his head furiously in a nodding motion.

You weren’t sure you called his name or screamed or simply held your breath and stayed silent, your ears were completely out of order.

If it weren’t because of being on your feet, you would have thought you had passed out. Taehyung’s arm stayed tight around your waist while you removed your leg from his shoulder, trembling as you placed it down. “Holy hell.” You said, still gripping the sink for support. You looked at Taehyung. His whole face was covered in wetness, the heart on his cheekbone completely smeared, the only lube left on his mouth being the wetness coming from yourself. “You look amazing, Tae.” You complimented him. “A damn masterpiece.” You said, proud to your very core.

He grinned.

Kitty out. Tiger in.

“May I have some wine now?” He asked, no honorifics, no submission.

You grinned and bit your lip, wiggling your eyebrows.

He wiggles his right back.

Holding the glass, you took a large sip in your mouth, leaving a scarce finger in. You took a step back, bending at your waist and placing your mouth near Taehyung’s. He opened his mouth invitingly and you let a small amount dribble past your lips and fall into his mouth.

He patted his lips wider before stretching up surrounding your lips with his, making sure that not a drop got to waste.

Once he was sated, he placed a finger under your chin, moving it to your throat and wrapping his hand there.

“Now you’re gonna stand up and bend over, Lace.” He ordered, no trace of pliability in his demeanour, and no sign of mercy either.

You obeyed immediately.

“Hands on the sink. Keep them there.” You heard the sound of a zipper. Looking up you noticed that he was naked.

And that he was hard.

You licked your lips nervously.

“Lower your head.” He said, spanking you out of the blue.

So he was in a spanking mood. Mentally, you agreed.

“I know you want me like this. Uh?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, inhaling deeply as his fingers drew the line of your spine.

His finger stopped at the middle of your back, pressing on your spine to make it arch until it became almost painful.

“Stay.” He said, grabbing the silver platter and balancing it on your ass. The cold made you hiss, but you focused on staying perfectly still. “Stay.” He repeated, “I need to wash my hands.” He said, before abandoning the platter on your behind and coming to your side, standing right beside you as he washed slowly poured some soap on his palm, opening the tap and wetting his hands rubbing them together as he closed the tap with his elbow.

“It is always a pleasure to look at you like this.” He said, taking all the time in the world.

All you could see was his legs, midthigh down.

“You look like you don’t have a dominant bone in your body.” He mused, making sure that the thin foam reached between his fingers too. “You say ‘yes, sir’ and you sound like the single, most obedient, pliant creature in the world. Like you were made to please me.” He continued, looking at the platter tremble slightly.

He decided he could rinse his hands and dry them.

In half a minute he was standing behind you once more.

With your head hanging low, you felt the weight on your backside diminish imperceptibly. The platter disappeared next, landing on the counter.

Taehyung’s left hand laced with the hair on your nape, moving your rebellious locks aside. Now he had the whole expanse of your back before him, naked and richly arched.

Considering the situation, he cocked an eyebrow, clicking his tongue.

Something cold, like a blade pressed to your lower back, your spine arching even further.

“Stay still.” He said, bending to your ear. “If you move I’m gonna whip you.” He said minaciously.

He didn’t expect a reply, so you didn’t offer any. Cold liquid slid down the crevasse between your shoulder blades, sliding down the dip connecting your neck to your ass. Then something hot and soft appeared at the saddle of your back, where it reached the lowest spot. You put two and two together.

He was doing body shots down your spine.

You were sure when something that must have been his tongue slid all the way up to your nape. “Delicious.” He said, his hand placing down the empty glass on the counter, his erection pressing against your ass. “Let’s see if you can take it.” He murmured, standing straight and tugging at your hair until you were perched on your elbows, his reflection and yours appearing in the mirror in front of you. Which reflected the mirror behind you. Which allowed you to see Taehyung’s handsome figure.

He licked his lip and tipped his head back, looking at you cockily before gripping his hard on, rubbing the soft, velvety head against your labia, spreading your wetness before he let the tip sink in.

You moaned desperately. “Oh god.” You called, closing your eyes and looking away.

He gave a sharp tug at your hair. “Look how good you take my cock.” He said, staying perfectly still until he saw your eyes open through the reflection in the mirror.

“Please.” You begged weakly.

“What?” He asked.

“Please, sir. I’d like you to wreck me, sir.” You whined, pleading for his harsh ministrations, looking at him through the mirror.

He grinned and sunk all the way in.

You screamed.

He spanked you.

You took it with a tiny hiccup.

“Does my cock feel that good?” He asked, backing out.

“Yes, sir.” You replied meekly.

He slammed in again. “This is how you like it?” He asked sadistically, beginning to drive his hips into yours with a punishing pattern.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

“You’re such a slut for this cock.” He said, gritting his teeth, the veins at his neck bulging as his tendons flexed.

“I’m your slut, sir.” You said, ready to cry for him, completely shameless.

He grinned evilly. “Just for my cock. Such a horny fuckdoll.” He teased, delivering one more spank and making you arch your back, the tip of his cock hitting the most perfect spot, “drooling for my cock. Spitting in my mouth. Riding my face.” He rammed in even more furiously, your brow furrowing as you stared at the view of his back muscles flexing as he railed you, his glutes flashing as he hammered into you recklessly. “You’re such a dirty slut. You love being spanked, don’t you?” He asked, landing a loud smack on your other asscheek.

“I do, sir. Please, sir, please please… pl— I’m— Oh, sir.”

He went even harder, his middle finger reaching your clit and rubbing it as fast as he could. “Is this what you want? To cum on this cock? You want my fingers, little fuckdoll?” He asked deviously. “You’re such a pretty nymph. Living to get fucked.”

As you tried to turn toward him and lock your eyes with his, looking for reassurance, you spotted the side mirror, offering you the whole scene as it appeared on the right side. You ended up hypnotised by the motion of his cock sliding in and out too fast for your unfocused eyes to actually capture the whole vision.

Your high crested before you even felt it grow. It overthrew you, your arms failing you, your knees bending and your thighs pressing together.

Taehyung had none of it. His hand forcefully parted your legs again before landing a hard spank on your labia.

“Stay still and take my cock.” He said, angrily keeping his hand on your clit and rubbing it faster while he made you stand straighter, your tits appearing in the mirror in front of you, bouncing as he rammed violently into you.

The high didn’t stop. It grew even more.

He felt you milk him harder and harder. “Cum again, nymph. Cum on my cock again. Make it rain and wet the fucking floor.” He said, growling at your ear. “Look at those tits. So fucking good.” He growled, just as you shook your head in complete helplessness. “I’m gonna suck them like a baby before I fall asleep.” He said, gently slapping one until his strokes became irregular and even more ruthless.

You pushed your own hips hard against him until you finally felt that uncomfortable sensation leave your womb, eyes closing, shoulders collapsing, knees shaking and wobbling until they completely gave out, Taehyung’s body following yours and saving you from the tap as your torso landed against the sink, your legs spasming and leaving the floor as you screamed Taehyung’s name, his hand strumming your clit until you went completely silent and he heard you sob and pant. “Tae.” You called, voice thin before every sensation stopped.

You awoke to Taehyung’s hand touching your face.

“Lace, darling.” He called, “____, love.” He murmured against your ear.

First you realised your legs hurt. Like you had done too much exercise. Next, you realised he wasn’t inside you still. Some part of you felt cold.

“Tae.” You said, confused.

“Oh, baby.” He said, smiling his biggest boxy smile, touching your cheek again, dragging your hair off your eyes. “Are you okay, dove?” He asked, simply looking at you.

You nodded, confused. “I think I blacked out?” You said, trying to stand straight.

He was immediately close to you holding your hand and offering you his body as your support. “You did, love.” He confirmed. “Are you okay?” He asked again, just as you felt your foot land on a wet patch on the floor.

“Did I… ?” You asked, looking at the small puddle there.

“Yeah… ” He smiled sheepishly. “I have your blanket if you’d like.” He said, hugging you to himself.

You shook your head. “Shower?” You asked.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

He opened the glass door and switched on the soft lights there, set them to the softest tone and helped you in, holding your hand as he used the other to open the tap and test the water for the right temperature. He grabbed your hair tie near the body wash and offered it to you.

“We’ll just rinse real quick, yeah?” He said, leading you under the spray and pouring a small amount of soap in his hands, foaming in up and rubbing it against your legs, before reaching your crotch. “I’ll go easy here,” he warned before his hand skimmed your skin, making sure that you weren’t dripping his seed anymore. Once he was done there, he rinsed his hands and poured some more body wash, repeating the procedure and removing any stain of wine from your back. Satisfied, he pulled you into his arms. “I love you so much, Lace.” He murmured in your ear. “You’re safe here, love.” He reassured you, protecting you. “You are beautiful and strong and sexy.” He said, healing any wound he had caused with his dirty talking, putting you together after pulling you apart. “You are worthy of affection, and respect and love.” He said, watching as you turned and tried to clean him up yourself, his messy eye makeup dribbling down his cheeks.

Once done with the shower, he wrapped you up in his bathrobe, a bit too big for you, making you feel hugged and extra-pampered.

He patted your head with one hand as he removed what was left of his mascara and eyeshadow. And then he placed an arm around you, back hugging you as you both brushed your teeth, his body clad in a towel before he swapped it for a pair of boxers and a sleeping shirt.

“Let’s put you into this.” He said, grabbing one of his robes from his sleeping clothes and wrapping you up in it, lacing your hands with his as you both reached the kitchen.

You stayed silent as he helped you sit on the counter, standing between your legs as he reached for a bottle of water and two glasses, stretching to reach your sleeping pills. He offered you a glass and got a pill ready, passing it to you once he managed to work it open. “There you go, love.”

You nodded and downed the pill, forcing yourself to finish the large cup of water, just as he downed his own, looking at you and making sure that you drank it all.

You placed the cup down and hugged him, waiting for him to finish.

He took your hand in his again, keeping you as close to him as possible as he brought the cups to the sink and led the two of you back to the bedroom.

You climbed the bed absentmindedly as he entered the closet, coming out with a rather large tiger plushie and a fluffy blanket with a polar bear print.

Crawling close to you, he waited for you to remove the robe and slide underneath the covers. Next he threw the blanket on top of your body, making sure that it stayed close to your face. After that, he placed the plushie in your arms, tucking the blanket tight. On his bedside table, he switched on the air purifier, the gentle scent of pine filling the room.

The lights went off.

His body came closer to yours and you cuddled in absentmindedly, his limbs tightening around your shape, warming you up immediately.

“I love you, Lace.” He said, again.

“I love you too,” you replied softly before a yawn.

“My pretty dove. Beautiful dove. My angel… My fairy… My joy… My peace...” And with a litany of sweet praises whispered in your ear, you fell asleep like a baby.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

April 14th, 1986

Emile was hugging his stomach and trying to cry as quietly as possible, but he wasn’t very successful at staying quiet. His mother looked at him in the rearview mirror of the car. “Emile, what’s wrong?” she asked.

Sniffling, Emile couldn’t even form a single sentence. He just managed to choke out a, “Jamie...” before dissolving into tears.

“Emile, you apologized for shoving him. That’s all you can do, sweetheart. Whether or not he chooses to forgive you, you’ve done all you can,” his mother said.

“M-my fault...!” he bawled.

“And you owned up to it, sweetheart. You have to let it go, now. It’s in the past.”

Emile whimpered and tried to stop the tears, but they just kept coming. He felt terrible for Jamie getting scraped up all because Emile had pushed him a little too hard in a game of tag. Jamie had a bloody nose from it, too, and he didn’t seem to want to forgive Emile much at all. He felt absolutely terrible, and never wanted this feeling again.

  May 4th, 2001

It had been a week since they had last seen Remy’s mother. A week since the police came to their apartment. A week since Emile had yelled at Remy. And Emile still felt like the scum of the earth for doing it. Remy was flinching at every sound around their apartment from the door of the refrigerator closing, to the sound of the chairs at the card table being moved across the floor. Emile had worked hard to try and build an environment where Remy could feel safe, and then Emile lost his temper and all of that work had instantly been undone.

He initially wanted to blame anyone but himself. After all, if Remy couldn’t handle anything but a very carefully balanced environment and still feel safe, that spoke more to him than Emile, didn’t it? But then Emile was reminded that it spoke to Remy’s past, and his trauma, and the fact that Emile was trying to blame Remy spoke billions more about Emile than it did about Remy.

When the coffee pot hissed, it dragged Emile out of his thoughts and caused Remy to jump, again. Emile observed Remy a second too long as shaking hands poured coffee into the waiting mug, and Remy growled, “What?”

“Do...” words were getting caught in his throat, but Emile knew he had to ask this question sooner rather than later. “Do we need to talk about what happened last week?”

Remy scowled as he sipped his coffee. “I don’t see much of a reason to.”

“You don’t see much of a reason to?” Emile repeated.

“That’s what I said, Emile, yeah,” Remy said.

Emile stared at Remy again. “So you don’t see flinching at every sudden noise as a problem? You don’t think that maybe you shouldn’t jump whenever the coffee pot hisses, or when the TV’s static happens? Do you genuinely think that’s something that most people do?”

“Of course not!” Remy snapped. He sipped more of the coffee. “I’m talking to Kim about it, though.”

“Why her and not me, Rem?” Emile asked. “I’m the one who made you feel that way—”

“—No. Don’t you dare, Emile.”

“But I am! I’m the one who made you—”

“Emile Zachary Thomas, don’t you dare!” Remy snapped. “You’re not the one who hurt me! My mother is the one responsible for that!”

“I’m the one who yelled at you loud enough to make you hide in your room!” Emile exclaimed, tears coming to his eyes. “I’m the one who did that!”

“Yeah, and you’ve yelled before, both over good and bad things, and I might flinch a little but I never run and hide! The only reason I did it then is because the events with my mother were still fresh in my mind, and I made a connection between the two events that wouldn’t have been made if my mother weren’t stalking me! This is not your fault!” Remy declared.

Emile wanted to argue, to say that he shouldn’t yell at any time, that he never wanted Remy to feel unsafe and he had at the very least contributed to that, but Remy didn’t appear to be open to a discussion on that topic, so he shoved a shaking fist against his mouth and tried to fight back the overwhelming feeling of nausea he was getting. “Is Kim helping?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Remy said. “The breathing and stuff helps a little. And we’re going to be talking about the reappearance of my mother and how I draw parallels to my past from it the next time we talk, because we ran out of time last session.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Emile said softly. “I really am sorry, Remy.”

“Emile...” Remy huffed. “You have nothing to apologize for. Because you yelled last week, and you apologized then. I told you it might take time for me to forgive you, and I have, given the time you provided me. It’s in the past, mio amore, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“But—”

“—No. There are no but’s in this situation,” Remy said firmly. “Stop trying to make yourself the bad guy, Emile, because you’re not.”

“I made a mistake!” Emile exclaimed.

Remy ran his hands through his hair. “Exactly! It was a mistake! Only a mistake! You didn’t do it with malicious intent! You didn’t do it to scare me into submission, you didn’t do it to traumatize me and make me hurt! You did it because you were angry and you didn’t think through your actions! Does that mean you shouldn’t be held responsible? Of course not, but you already held yourself responsible! You already apologized! It’s in the past! Saying your a terrible person over this? Is inching into guilt-trip territory. Believing that past infractions can’t be resolved with a simple apology is obsession!” Remy’s breath was heaving in his chest as he grit out, “Even I know an apology should be enough, Emile. You can’t obsess over every single mistake you make, because no one is perfect, and no one should be held to a perfect standard.”

“But I should be held to a higher standard! I’m training to be a therapist, I should know better!” Emile exclaimed.

“Key word: training! You’re going to make mistakes, Emile! You’ll have to accept it, learn from them, and move forward,” Remy said. “You can set that bar for yourself as high as you like, but set it too high and all that will happen is you’ll hurt yourself. I don’t want that any more than you do.”

“Maybe I’m a masochist, you don’t know,” Emile muttered.

“Worst masochist in the world, if you’re going to fixate on every imperfection you have while trying to build everyone else up,” Remy said. “Because I can’t imagine a pain heavier than that.”

Emile shook, trying to come up with a reason as to why he shouldn’t be forgiven yet. He certainly didn’t feel like he shouldn’t be forgiven, not by anyone, let alone Remy. “I can’t...I can’t let it go,” Emile said. “Because I hurt you, after trying so long to avoid that. Even when I teased you I would never let a shred of ill-intent slip in. But when your mother came around...I couldn’t understand why you couldn’t see things from my perspective. And I got angry, and I wanted...I wanted you to shut up. To see things from my perspective, and understand why I was that upset. And I should have calmly asked you to see things from my side, instead of shouting you down.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Remy allowed. “But you already apologized for this, Emile. It’s time to let it go.”

“But...I don’t...I can’t...I hurt you!” Emile exclaimed.

Remy sighed, putting down his coffee cup and holding Emile’s face with his hands so they were looking each other in the eye. “Emile. I’m not debating with you on this anymore. You’ve been forgiven. You can hold onto that guilt if you want, because I can’t exactly stop you just by telling you no, but I forgive you. There’s no reason to harbor that guilt.”

“No reason?” Emile repeated.

“No reason,” Remy confirmed, going back to his coffee.

Emile watched Remy mutely. He didn’t understand how Remy could just...say that. It felt like he was disregarding his own safety!

“I know what you’re thinking, Emile,” Remy said with an eye-roll. “And no, this is not me disregarding my own safety. I’ve taken a good, hard look at the situation. And the fact of the matter is that you’re not a threat to me. You’ve worked very hard to prove that to me. I believe you when you say that you didn’t mean to yell. I haven’t talked about it with you yet because I knew you were going to blame yourself for it, and I wasn’t prepared for you externalizing that thought. That would remind me painfully of my mother, so that’s why I’m not, you know, voluntarily poking that bear. I’m talking about this with Kim. We’re working our way through some of the bigger problems I faced with my family. It’s okay. I don’t blame you for any of this.”

Emile searched Remy’s face, and was somewhat surprised to find he was dead serious. “Okay,” Emile said. “So, if you’re sure about this—”

“—I am absolutely sure,” Remy said.

“—Then there’s a question that I wanted to ask you that my family has been pestering me about,” Emile said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Provided it’s not a proposal, I’ll consider it,” Remy said with a smirk. “I just think it’s a little too soon to get married.”

“Agreed,” Emile rushed to assure. “No, my parents were wanting to meet you. I talked about you over Thanksgiving and winter breaks, obviously, so they’ve grown curious about you.”

Remy blinked. “And...do you want me to meet them?”

“I mean, yeah,” Emile said. “I think that even if we only wind up being friends in the end, my parents would like you.”

“And you’ve already met my mother, not that she liked you very much,” Remy laughed. “When were they hoping to meet?”

“Uh...Memorial Day weekend, provided neither of us were working. Which, I put in my request to have off that weekend anyway, because the sales and rabid PTA moms are going to kill me,” Emile said.

“Oh, yeah, I applied for off time then too, just because...I knew you were trying to get it off and I was hoping we could spend at least one day together,” Remy mumbled.

“That’s gay,” Emile snickered.

“You better believe it!” Remy exclaimed, waving his coffee mug around. “Honestly, Emile, what do you expect from me?”

“True,” Emile laughed. “So are you in?”

“Yeah, sure, why not, provided I get the time off,” Remy said. “It could be fun, I guess. And your parents couldn’t possibly be worse than mine.”

Emile squawked in shock before clamping a hand over his mouth until his entire body quaked with his laughter. “They’re not neglectful or abusive, although that doesn’t mean they can’t suffocate me sometimes,” he managed to say. “But yes, I doubt they’re worse than yours.”

Remy was grinning at Emile’s reaction. “What are your parents even like?” he asked.

“Uh...my dad’s a sports nut. Not, like, with numbers and statistics on teams, although he’s good at that. He just loves playing any and every sport, especially badminton, for reasons that I can’t understand. My mom’s a terrible cook, my dad has banned her from the kitchen, but it’s all in good fun,” Emile said with a shrug. “They both know I’m bisexual, and they don’t care who I’m with so long as I’m happy.”

“Okay...?” Remy said. “Anything else?”

“Honestly, my parents are an experience unto themselves. You just kind of...strap yourself in and get to know them as you go. I don’t think I could prepare you in terms of how excited they’ll be to meet you, or how insistent they’ll be that they will be cooking and you are not allowed to join them, because you’re the guest,” Emile said.

“But I like cooking!” Remy protested.

Emile blinked. “Rem, you eat granola bars for breakfast and instant ramen for dinner every night we don’t go out to eat.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t cook or that I don’t want to!” Remy exclaimed. “We can’t exactly afford quality ingredients yet, but when we can, I’ll prove to you that I can cook. And I will fight your parents on the right to help with dinner.”

“That’ll go over great,” Emile laughed. “Good luck with it.”

Remy grinned. “Thanks, I’ll certainly try.”

“You know what sarcasm is, right?” Emile asked, arching an eyebrow with a smirk. They sometimes had this conversation, quoting back to their first real time out together, and every time, it made Emile smile.

“Oh, yeah,” Remy said, finishing off his coffee and flashing Emile a grin that had Emile’s stomach doing flips. “I just choose to ignore yours.”

[completelypeccable]

Unfortunately, I thought of a real plot

Can I Have This Dance? (new title)

          There’s drama in the Batfam, with a song about dancing somehow worked into each chapter.  Something is wrong again, and the family is falling apart.  Now, they have to put the pieces back together.  But the thing about puzzles is you can only figure out the full picture by coming together.

Chp. 2    We don’t have to dance

The phone was ringing.

Tim was awake, of course. The pale yellow dawn had begun to creep into the apartment, the cozy glow illuminating last night’s exploits. Twin controllers on the floor. Styrofoam takeout boxes that should be in the trash, not on his already messy table. And, his favorite part, his brothers snuggled together on his couch.

He had been perfectly happy to take the chair.

Tim looked at the caller ID. Bruce. His fingers found the power button, sending it to voicemail.

It was the first call since he carried Damian hyperventilating out of the gala seven hours earlier.

If he cares so much about where Damian is, Tim thought bitterly, let him figure it out. Use those big boy detective skills.

Tim turned back to his laptop screen, where he had been editing his report on the recent Teen Titan mission.  The past few weeks or so had been a blur. The team foiled a plot to blow up half of São Paulo, culminating in a chase by air which Tim, as a non-super, had probably no business participating in, but inserting himself where he had no business was pretty much his mode of operation. Then, with that finished and the criminals entering international custody, Tim had been planning on a night of video games and report writing when he got the call from Dick.

Tim glanced at the couch and realized he probably would never quite get used to this sight. He spent about an hour staring between the hours of 3 and 4 alone. Curse Dick and his bleeding heart, his was getting infected, too. It was just so cute.

Jason was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other hooked all the way around Damian’s little body. His eyebrows were knit together, so he looked concerned and vaguely grumpy- a sleep softened version of Red Hood’s ‘don’t even try it’ look. He was protecting precious cargo.

Damian had wiggled his face into the skin of Jason’s neck and chest, his mouth just open, face completely relaxed in the deep sleep of an exhausted child. An extended panic attack will do that to you, Tim thought. Jason’s hand rested on the skin of the pushed out belly peeking out of his t-shirt. The kid always seemed to gravitate towards skin-to-skin contact, as if he was finally going through the infant stages of emotional development. Which was entirely possible, considering they were the first people he was truly safe around. The thought twisted in Tim’s gut.  Convincing Damian the league’s actions were wrong was about as difficult as convincing him they would never be like them: slow going but definitely rewarding. Tim could barely believe there was a time he would have punted the kid out an open window if given the chance. He felt a bit guilty, but he knew they had both changed since then.

Damian was completely pressed up against Jason, but his feet barely reached his mid-thigh.  Even though Jason was a big guy, the size comparison was still nothing short of completely adorable, and Dick, Duke, and the girls had been sent multiple pictures already. The baby curls of his soft, short hair poofed up like they did every morning before he tried to gel them into spikes. One hand twisted into the front of Jason’s shirt.

The weighted Robin-themed blanket had fallen off the couch in the middle of the night, and Tim slipped it back up to his brothers’ shoulders gently on his way to the kitchen.

Coffee was the order of the morning. He’d make a pot: four cups for him, one for Jason. If he had to deal with Bruce, he wanted to do it with some semblance of control.

By the time he walked back into the room, Jason was awake, staring at the ceiling as he ran his hand up-down along Damian’s spine.

“Morning,” Tim whispered, sitting next to him in the chair.

“Nerd,” Jason scoffed, smirking.

He choked and spit out his coffee. “Dude!”

“What? You sound like an old man.”

“Why did I let you stay at my place, again?”

“It’s because you love me.”

“I’d love to hit you.”

Jason was entirely too satisfied. “Can’t hit me when I’m holding a baby.”

Tim scowled into his cup. He couldn’t argue, though. Last night, they realized they didn’t have any of Damian’s clothes at the apartment, so Jason gave him an old t-shirt and Tim got him a pair of boxers with ties around the waist. The t shirt alone went to his knees.

He was tiny.

The phone started buzzing again.

“Tell me it’s not-“

“I wish I could.” He declined the call.

Jason shifted up, swearing.

“Hey! Be-“

“He’s sound asleep,” he grumbled, arranging the kid so he was leaning against his chest, blanket curled around him. “Look at this sleepy burrito boy.”

They gazed softly as Damian sucked in a shaky breath, whined, and cuddled in further, gripping Jason’s shirt tighter.

The phone buzzed.

“Mother- Does he not get that we’re ignoring him?”

Tim hit decline call. “He will eventually.”

Damian’s feet twitched, and Jason held him just a bit tighter, one hand at the base of his neck, the other smoothing a circle into his back. His lips and brows ran in parallel lines across his worried face.

“I don’t think he’s going to wake up any time soon,” Tim said, noting the brood session.

Jason grumbled.

“I’m going to text the girls, tell them to postpone their plans.”

“Mm.”

“Let’s do the zoo trip tomorrow. It looks like Damian is wiped out.”

“Mm.”

“Take today to deal with Bruce.”

“Mm.”

“Give zombie boy here time to develop organized speech.”

“M- wait,” Jason broke out of his thousand yard stare. “What did you say you little crap stain?”

Tim cackled, but held the phone steady.

“Do not send that snap, Tim, I swear I’m gonna-“

“Can’t hit me when you’re holding the baby,” Tim sang, scooting backwards, already hitting the contacts for Steph and Cass.

Jason swore.

…

They laid around the apartment for a few more hours, Tim working on his laptop and Jason reading The Outsiders while Damian slept. Jason kept a shelf of old novels at Tim’s place; it wasn’t uncommon for one to spend the night at the other’s. They kept an eye on each other like that, knowing too much time alone tended to do more harm than good.

The silence itself wasn’t uncomfortable, but Tim could have used a distraction from his own thoughts.

This was a big deal. He and Jason were trying to downplay it, keep it together for the kid, but they knew.

They were essentially disowning their dad.

And it wasn’t like this was a sudden decision either, it had been something on the horizon for months, a serious topic of discussion among the older kids for three weeks now. These past few days may have forced their hand, but the hurt was still the same.

Bruce had never been the ideal parent. He was gruff, he usually didn’t have the words, and he literally had a t-shirt that said “Emotions are my enemy”. But he had loved them. At least, Tim hoped. He had made Bruce his life, let his business become his work, held his mission in his hands like a guiding light. He had been so lonely, left neglected in an old, empty house. Bruce got him out, introduced him to a world that never stopped expanding, and gave him access to the tools he needed to change it.

But lately, Bruce seemed… different. Tim thought when he brought him back, everything would be okay. Everything would be understandable and solid again. Tim had felt so sad and confused without his dad. His grief was overwhelming. But Bruce came back, and Tim was so glad, he was sure that would fix it.

Instead, he was even more confused. His dad was unrecognizable in and out of the cowl. Bruce yelled at him over everything, cut off communication and left. Batman… Batman hit him. Tim touched his jaw, trying to control his anxiety.

Dick had found something, videos deleted off the bat computer. He hadn’t recovered all of it, but what he found was evidence enough. Tim wasn’t the only one Batman was getting more violent with.

There were three videos. The Batman beating thugs within an inch of their life. Screaming at Robin. In one, right after throwing a man off the roof, Batman turned with his armed raised and Robin flinched so hard he fell over.

That was bad enough. But there was missing information, hours of footage gone. And that scared them even more. Tim couldn’t stop his mind from running through every single possibility. He could never shut it off.

A stomach growled, and Tim looked up to his brother trying to flip the page with his nose.

Finally, an external stimulus.

“If you’re hungry, Jason, I can get you something to eat.”

Jason scoffed, finding his nose a bit too large to be useful. “What do you have, pickles and mustard?”

“Ha, ha,” Tim closed his laptop. “You only get the mayonnaise now.”

“Good thing that wasn’t my stomach.”

Another gurgle, and Damian’s face scrunched up.

Tim paused on his way to the fridge and blinked for a minute, not sure if they should let him sleep or wake him up, but by the time he made a decision, the kid’s eyelashes fluttered apart on their own.

His green eyes crossed and uncrossed in narrow slits. When they focused, they found Jason’s chin, and he scrambled to sit up.

“Woah there, squirt,” Jason tugged him back down, going back to rubbing his back. Damian grumbled and frowned, but let his head fall back down.

“Just take a minute, remember where you are and all that fun stuff.”

Tim cleared some room to sit, moving aside paperwork on the table next to the couch.  

Damian’s face twisted for a beat before he pushed himself up again with a huff. Tim had to hand it to him for not immediately falling down.

“Alright, Todd. I remember now. Unhand me and I’ll return to Father’s soon.”

“Ha! Nope.” Jason sat up and yanked him onto his lap.

Damian scowled and threw his head back dramatically.

“Do not suffer me this injustice, Todd.”

Tim smirked. Damian was very clearly not yet awake, what with the slightly unfocused eyes and leaning into Jason’s chest. “Suffer”, he said.

“Sorry, baby bat. You’re not going back to the manor.”

That seemed to wake him up more. He jerked around to look at Jason’s nose, then his eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not going back to the manor.”

“Oh,” he said, a blank look on his face. “I am staying here today?”

“Mm.”

“Zombie boy.”

“Shut UP, Tim!”

Tim laughed. Damian still hadn’t gotten off Jason’s lap, hadn’t leaned away from the hand on his back.

“Is Father away again?” He asked instead, clearly confused. Tim would bet his last jar of peanut butter that Damian was still fuzzy on why exactly he woke up on Jason in this apartment.

“Something like that.”

“Father has left me home many times, Todd. Pennyworth is usually around, unless he is with Father.”

Jason didn’t react, but looked at Tim over the kid’s head.

“What do you mean by that?”

Damian fiddled with the blanket, pinching it up and poking it back down.

“It’s just that, he is busy. He’s home when he can be.”

Tim didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the sound of his voice, the hollow loneliness. He suddenly felt pissed.

“Damian,” Tim said evenly. “When was the last time you talked to Bruce.”

“Batman and I-“

Jason tapped his nose, and he crossed his eyes to follow it. “No, Damian. Just Bruce.”

Damian looked at one brother, then the other. They could see the way he was reaching back in his still foggy memory, trying to figure out the answer they wanted to hear.

“No bullshit, kid,” Jason warned.

Damian looked to the side, schooled his face into a blank expression, and looked Tim in the eyes.

“It has been a while. Father is often… upset with Robin.”

Jason rubbed his back again.

“Alright,” Tim said. He was going to kill Bruce. “You’re staying with me this week, anyways.”

“What?”

“You,” Tim shifted to poke Damian’s nose. His eyes crossed, and Jason grinned. “You are gonna stay with me.”

“For an entire week?”

“Yup.”

“And I am not going back to Father’s?”

“Nope.”

“I… do not have clothes.”

“I grabbed a bag when I visited yesterday.”

“You probably missed-“

“Alfred packed it.”

“Oh,” he blinked, glancing back and forth at them. “And Todd?”

“Does what he wants, thank you,” Jason tickled his side. Damian swatted at his face, falling off his lap. Tim caught him by the armpits and helped him back on the couch.

“Don’t make him hit his head.  I really don’t want to make an ER visit outside the mask.”

Jason rolled his eyes, then turned, trapping Damian with his legs.

“Get off me, you massive troll!”

“Just when I thought you loved me.”

“Careful, Jason, he’s hangry, remember?”

“I am not!” Damian’s stomach protested the statement, and he looked down betrayed.  

Laughing hard enough to rock forward, Tim hit his head on Jason’s knee.

“Now who needs an ER visit?”

“Ugh, you two are the worst.”

“We did not cause you to become an uncoordinated hyena.”

“Harsh words from a chipmunk.”

“Hey!”

“Children, please,” Jason smiled. “We have to feed the wildlife. It pisses off the government.”

Tim stared at Jason for a good long while.

“Okay, I’m not gonna… Who wants breakfast?”

Jason made to stand up, but fell back on Damian, who yelped before being squashed.

“Todd! What are you-“

“Damian,” he whined. “I am so hurt. You called this weirdo over here Timothy last night. Timothy!”

“What?!”

“And you only call me Todd.”

“Get off-“

“Not until you call me Jason!” He met Tim’s incredulous look and raised his eyebrows convincingly.

“Todd, I will stab your kidneys.”

“Will you call me Jason after?”

“Not likely.”

“Boo!”

Damian began to squirm, but Jason leaned more of his weight on him and he growled in frustration.

Tim sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Jason, it’s too early for-“

“Shush.”

“No,” Damian grunted. “Listen to Timothy!”

Jason leaned his face directly into his field of vision. “Bruh.”

“No.”

“Jason”

“No.”

“Jay?”

“No.”

“Big Jay?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Dames,” he whined. “I wanna be your favorite.”

“That’s Richard,” he smirked.

Jason grinned at Tim, who started to back away waving his hands.

“Oh, no. I don’t want any part in this, whatever this is.”

The wicked look in Jason’s eye grew worse. He flipped off the kid, just to jab his fingers into his armpit.

Damian immediately began to thrash.

“No!” He kicked the man’s stomach. “Stop!”

“Call me Jason!”

“No,” he choked, “never!”

“I can do this all day, kid!”

Damian fell off the couch, and Jason trapped him between his knees on the floor. He would have hit him again if his arms weren’t trying to protect himself from the attack.

“You have,” he gasped, “no-“ a squeal. “Mercy!”

Jason laughed then. “All you gotta do is say my name!”

“Todd!”

“Nope,” Jason moved on to his belly.

“No!” He giggled, “Stop, I!”

Jason made a goofy face and tickled harder.

“Jason!” He gasped, belly laughing.“ Jason, I yield!”

Jason opened his legs, and he shot out, scrambling onto the arm of the couch.

Jason whooped and held up his arms in victory.

Damian glared at Tim.

“Traitor,” he grumbled.

Tim laughed and held up three spoons and a jar of peanut butter.

“If you losers are done, I have peanut butter and pretzels for breakfast.”

“It’s nearly noon.”

“And we are breaking the fast. Ergo breakfast.”

“Fine,” Damian flopped onto the cushions, hiding his smile. “I will extract my vengeance at a later time for this injustice.”

“Oh, Timmy, the chipmunk just chirped at me!”

“Aw, Jay Jay, he’s so cute!”

“I can kill you eight different ways with that spoon.”

“Do you want us to feed you? With the choo choo train?”

Jason caught the pillow before it hit his face.

“I can and will use lethal force, Todd!”

“Jason.”

“Jason Todd.”

“Baby steps,” he chuckled.

Tim smiled as he scooped his own portion of peanut butter. The sirens in his head were easier to ignore. He watched Jason wiggle his fingers menacingly, then take a pillow to the face

He plopped the bag of pretzels on the table, inserting himself between the two. “Eat your shut up peanut butter.”

Jason stuck out his tongue, but grabbed a spoon.

“And after this, we’re cleaning my apartment.”

Jason looked horrified.

Tim felt no remorse. “If you guys are going to be staying here, we need to clean it. I’ve barely been here the last two months, and I do not trust my own cleanliness.”

Damian raised his eyebrow, “If the pizza under your bed has gained sentience again, I am not touching it.”

“Eat,” Tim glared, “your shut up pretzels, veggie boy.”

“Gladly.”

…

Damian stood and joined his hands together behind his back in a fair imitation of Alfred, if Alfred wore a Gotham Knight’s muumuu.

“I shall put on music, so that the arduous task of tidying this hovel is mildly less gruesome.”

“If you think,” Jason closed one eye and pointed his spoon, “that I’m gonna let you put on a classical music playlist, you are crazier than a bag full of cats.”

“A bag of cats sounds quite enjoyable, actually.”

“Metaphor, Dames.”

“I am aware.”

“And it means?”

“… I am very crazy?”

Jason held up his hand, and Damian returned the high five.

“Alright, ladies. Cleaning time.” Tim stood and took the spoons on his way to the kitchen.

Jason made a show of selecting his playlist titled ‘I Wanna Commit A Crime’ (we’re vigilantes Tim, it’s in our job description). Apparently, emo rock music was the ideal cleaning soundtrack.

Tim laughed at Damian’s concerned frown over Jason’s head banging as he washed the dishes.

He was just finishing up when Jason came in, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” he grinned.  

He turned around, planning on flicking water at him, but stopped at the serious look on Jason’s face.  

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Jason, don’t do this to me. I have anxiety.”

Jason shrugged, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“I just want to make sure you’re doing okay with all this.”

Tim really didn’t want to deal with this conversation yet.  He didn’t want to deal with any conversation.  

“I’m fine.”

Jason’s brows became a shelf again. He scuffed his foot.

“You keep doing the finger thing.”

“The finger thing.”

“You know,” Jason huffed.  “The thing you do when you twitch your fingers and start tapping out random- I don’t know how to use words, okay? English wasn’t my first language, you butt.  Just- You’re upset.”

Tim leaned against the sink.  “I mean, I think we all are.”

An ambulance passed by the window, and they watched the lights pass by several floors below.

“I’m glad you came by,” Tim finally said.  “You really helped Damian last night.”

Jason pushed off the wall and pulled him into a one armed hug.  “I came for you both, you know.”

Tim closed his eyes, leaning his head against his brother’s shoulder.  The buzz in his chest felt a little less overwhelming.

A car honked, and a thud came from the other room.  Muffled complaining followed. Jason laughed, ruffling Tim’s hair as he made his way to the door.  

No rest for the weary, Tim smiled and tied off the garbage. It was starting to really smell.

“Be right back!” He yelled as he stepped out the door, locking it behind him.

He did feel better, knowing that Jason was there. Once Dick came, they could really talk everything over, and Tim would relax then.  But he was content at the moment. He would just ignore it for now. He was content. It was fine. It was-

He sent the bag down the chute.

Actually, this whole situation was garbage.

Who did Bruce think he was? When did he ever become the type to hit his own kids? It was wrong, it was so wrong. Red Robin wanted to punch him in the face, especially when he heard him over the comms from countries away scolding Damian for things he told him to do.

And he didn’t care what was going to happen. He didn’t care if he got screamed at, or fired, or- or- he didn’t know! He didn’t care! Tim was not giving Damian back to anyone. Bruce didn’t deserve that kid. He was stubborn sometimes, and prickly, but he didn’t deserve to be treated like that.  He had been through more than any of them knew, and he needed someone that loved him unconditionally. Bruce wasn’t that. Bruce was acting like a huge jerk-

He slammed open the door to his floor to be confronted with a man’s back, hand raised to knock.

Speak of the damned devil.

“What do you want,” Tim spat.

Calm down.

He clenched his jaw, because as much as he wanted to fly off the handle, that would probably make things worse.

Bruce turned around slowly. He looked him up and down before putting his hands in his pockets. His smile was easy and so Brucie stupid.

Tim wanted to hit him back.

“You took Damian home last night.”

“Yep.”

“I came to take him home.”

“Yeah,” Tim glared. “No.”

Bruce quirked one brow. He let the silence hang for a beat.

His thumb tapped frantically against his fist. If he doesn’t leave, I am going to do something I’m gonna regret.

“You’re angry.”

“Great job, detective.”

“That’s… fair.”

Bruce shrugged, still smug and unaffected. Tim just glared. He didn’t want to do this.

“I’m-“

“You should go, Bruce.”

Surprise flashed briefly through his eyes before it was replaced by annoyance.

“Look, Tim, you know how Damian gets-“

“Kay.”

“I’m just here to-”

“Nope.”

An exhale.

“I’m just here to take him back home and talk to him.”

“Oh,” the cold in his tone hurt him as he spoke, but it was too late to stop. “Now you’re going to talk to your own kid?”

Bruce stared. Tim stepped forward, the picture of casual.

“Not last night. Not last week apparently. Maybe all month. You’ve been too busy to deal with your own kid, but you’re ready now.”

“Tim, I-“

“No, just shut up, actually. How long did it take you to realize he wasn’t even in the same building as you anymore? Did you even care?”

“Of course I-“

“Shut- Ugh! I’m not doing this for you, B. This wasn’t a babysitting job. I don’t care what you think. You’re not taking Damian back. Me and Dick and the rest of them talked it over. You don’t deserve that kid.”

The flip switched, and Bruce was angry.  His shirt pulled tight across his shoulders.

Tim widened his stance.

“And you do, of course.”

“I care about him more than you do.”

“I do care!”

“Could have fooled me!”

Bruce was tense from his shoulder to his fist.  Tim belatedly notice he had gotten in his face.

“You don’t-“

Tim threw up his hands and walked past. “Have to talk to you.”

“What? Listen-“

“I don’t have to talk to you. I’m keeping the kid, so-“

Bruce grabbed his shoulder hard, “Actually, Timothy, I have custody, so-“

Huh. Tim turned and smiled, cold and clinical. Just like Janet, they liked to say. Bruce looked unnerved for one satisfying moment and dropped his hand.

Tim stepped close, his nose inches from Bruce’s chin, devastatingly sharp.

“But you don’t, actually.”

“What the hell are you-”

“You supposedly died, remember?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Everyone thought so. Did you think we could just leave Damian in the custody of a dead man?”

“But I-“

“Came back, obviously. But we didn’t change the paperwork. Just in case.”

Bruce looked wonderfully, furiously constipated.

Tim turned his back on him and slowly pulled his keys from his pocket. “So, no, I don’t have to do this with you. You’ve changed, Bruce. And who you are now, you don’t belong raising a kid as emotionally fragile as Damian. I don’t have to pretend to be okay with it, and I don’t even have to like you. Because you have no right to be here.”

“I am his father, Tim.”

“And sometimes fathers are neglectful and abusive.”

The space behind him stayed silent.  Bruce didn’t even move. Tim flicked through the key ring.

“And as far as the state and the press is concerned, Damian is adopted. Showed up at age 10, clearly not white. You had adoption papers filed, Bruce.”

“Tim, you can’t be-“

“I am, and you should go.”

“Tim-“

“It’s been so nice to see you Bruce. Let’s not talk again soon.”

Bruce stood a moment longer before turning sharply and storming down the hall. The doors slammed shut, but Tim stood there gripping the keys and shaking. He wanted to scream.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, feeling the cool air travel into his nostrils, down his throat, past his vocal cords, trachea, bronchi, bronchioles, and down to his alveoli. Left lung, right lung, into the blood stream the oxygen diffuses. He thought of Jason tickling Damian, and the kid calling him Timothy as he held him against his chest. He breathed out the waste.

He looked down at his shaking hands, where his grip on the keys drew blood, and wiped them on his pants before turning the lock and opening the door to-

“Timothy!” Damian ran forward, “Timothy you love this song!”

Tim really looked at him, the way his hair stuck up in three different places, the dust streak on his cheek. His eyes danced just like they always did when he was trying so hard to make one of them happy. His hands were out to the side, and that grin. He really was Timothy now. Huh.

He was worth it.  This kid was worth it.

Jason danced out of the bathroom just as the chorus hit, singing loudly and mildly off key.

We don’t have to talk

We don’t have to dance

Damian grabbed his arm, dragging away from Jason.

We don’t have to smile

We don’t have to make friends

Jason chased them, sing-screaming along.

It’s so nice to meet you,

Let’s never meet again!

We don’t have to talk

We don’t have to dance!

We don’t have to dance

The song was at least an understandable statement, Tim thought. It was kind of a dance, or a stand off. He knew as soon as he took Dick’s side that he was cutting the last of the ties between him and the man who adopted him.

He was fatherless again.

He watched as Jason tried to get Damian to do the Macarena, only to get a towel to the butt.

He would make it through this.

Jason chased Damian around the kitchen, insisting he try the snorkel, the shopping cart, no the sprinkler!

Tim laughed, even knowing all that he did. That his nighttime gig would definitely change, that he would have to quit his day job.

It will be okay, he thought, when Damian rolled his eyes and tisked at Jason long enough for him to be swung over his shoulders as he jumped around the kitchen.

It might be better than okay, he thought as he opened up his laptop to hit send on one more application, which he had written as Damian slept.

Jason called for help, and Tim let the tension leave his body, exhaled it out in one breath, and joined them. He grabbed Damian from Jason’s arms and was spinning him around the living room by the next chorus.

[aivaehdaevis]

The More Things Change: Ch 15

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Master List External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter Fifteen

Fingertips trailed down my cheek, gentle as tears. Breathing made my throat ache. Swallowing felt like gulping down rocks.

I opened my eyes. I was on a bed, one with rough sheets and a blanket so thin it could’ve doubled as a third sheet. A man hovered above me, watching.

I jerked away, a frightened whine igniting a fire in my throat. He followed, shushing me as his hand kept hold of the lower half of my face like a mask of flesh.

“What?” I rasped through his fingers, wincing as soon as the word was free.

Then it came back to me. The accident. The car door torn aside. Being grabbed. Unable to breathe.

I sat up and scooted as far up the bed as I could manage, until my back hit the headboard. He kept after, leaning over me. Short brown hair, dark eyes, dimpled chin and a dopey smile. I didn’t recognize him from the show.

I tried to avoid his face by taking in the room. Beige walls and a brown carpet that looked as if it could’ve doubled as a welcome mat. Heavy cream drapes covered a window the span of the wall next the door. A small round table and a few chairs were arranged in front of it. Another bed beside the one I and Mr. Personal Space were using, covered in the same crappy bedspread. A nightstand with a small lamp stood between them. A television sat on top of a dresser. Another door stood across the room from the first.

One open room, two beds, simple furnishings, big window and little door, muted color palette—the whole thing screamed motel.

Mr. Personal Space was getting closer. Too close. His face loomed, his grin widening to the point where dolls had more natural smiles. I tried leaning further away, but I was running out of room.

The second door opened, and a cloud of steam billowed out. A man in a towel followed soon after. My heart picked up. Not because of his handsome face and muscular build, but because I was with two strange men in a motel room after a kidnapping. One of which wasn’t dressed. This was all going in a direction that had some of my worst fears running roughshod through my head.

But instead of joining Mister Personal Space, he saw the man leaning over me and frowned. “Jesus, Noah. Give the girl some space.”

“She looks like Katherine.”

My eyes flew to Noah’s face. He knew Katherine?

Great.

“Whatever,” towel boy replied, side-eyeing him before walking to the table and picking up a remote, powering on the television with a hiss and click. “Freak.”

Noah didn’t seem to care what towel boy thought. The longer he stared and petted my face, the more inclined I was to agree with towel boy.

If he thought I looked like Katherine, he already knew I wasn’t her. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The way my luck ran, probably the latter.

A few minutes later the door to the outside world opened and the first familiar face walked in, bucket of ice in one hand and a cooler in the other. She took in the room, sights stalling on me, and moved to set the bucket and cooler on the small table in front of the window.

Well. That answered the question of where the hell Anna’s been.

The dark-haired vampire grabbed Noah’s shoulder and pulled. He fell back with a frown. “Don’t get weird.”

“She looks like—”

“Katherine. I know.” Anna rolled her eyes before opening the cooler and pulling out two blood bags. She tossed the first to Noah and the second to towel boy. He must be the bar tender at the Grill who worked with her on the show. The one who’d trick Bonnie. “Noah has a thing for Katherine,” Anna explained, somewhat unnecessarily I thought, and dropped onto the second bed.

“He should go talk to her,” I said.

Her lips thinned into a smile that acknowledged my attempt to sass her, but said I’d missed my mark. “See, that’s the thing.” Gripping the edge of the bed, she leaned forward. “You idiots let out a vampire who wasn’t even in the tomb.”

Harsh laughter came from towel boy’s corner of the room.

“She was in the tomb.” I scanned the room, looking for any way out. With three vampires between me and the door, nope.

“No. She wasn’t.” Anna launched off the bed, agitation in every short step. “Not originally.”

Noah dropped into her spot on the bed, staring at my face.

He was creeping me out so thoroughly, it took a moment for Anna’s words to register. “Wait—what do you mean, not originally?”

“I mean she wasn’t sealed inside back in eighteen sixty-four, because I saw her in nineteen eighty-three.” Anna’s hand clenched into a fist. “She left the rest of them to rot while she roamed free.”

“But she was inside.”

“She must’ve found out the Salvatore brothers were unsealing it.” Anna shrugged. “No idea how. Or why she’d go to the trouble of sealing herself in. Or trust those two morons not to screw it up.” She stopped to stare down at me. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is opening it again.”

I realized I’d been talking to Anna as if I knew her. Which I did. Kind of. But she didn’t know that. “Who are you? Why do you want it open?”

“Anna,” she said. “And my mothers in there.”

“If you wanted to get your mother out, all you had to do was ask,” I said.

Anna’s eyes narrowed. “Unless your boyfriend already murdered her.”

“Stefan didn’t stake everyone inside.” Not the best defense.

Grabbing my arm, Anna hauled me off the bed. She wasn’t gentle. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out. “You better hope he didn’t kill my mother,” she said, dragging me across the room to the door opposite of the one that lead outside. As she opened it, I had a glimpse of plain white tiles, a sink with a mirror hanging above, and a tub. A draft of humid air wafted over me. “Or you’re dead.”

I nearly slipped on the damp tiles as Anna shoved me inside and slammed the door. I backed up to the edge of the tub, sitting on it.

At least I was away from Noah.

It was dark by the time Anna and the other two vampires came and got me. I shot up from my seat on the covered toilet, wondering if she’d come to kill me. My throat was still sore, though it no longer felt like I was swallowing glass. Which was good, as I choked back a shout as she grabbed my arm and jerked me up onto my feet.

“I can move on my own,” I told her as she hauled me along. “I’m not stupid enough to try to outrun any of you.”

Anna didn’t listen. She kept a bruising hold on my arm as she dragged me through the room and out into a car. She shoved me into the back. With Noah.

I scooted as close to the door as I could manage. Noah followed, grinning at me all the while.

It made for a fun ride, if endless anxiety and a creepy vampire breathing down your neck all the while is someone’s idea of fun. Someone twisted. I wasn’t there yet.

When Anna turned off onto a road leading into the forest, I couldn’t help but stiffen in my seat. My stomach flipped and sweat gathered at the nape of my neck. Why take someone you’d kidnapped to the middle of the woods? Not for any wholesome reason.

Weirdly, the sight of tombstones rising out of the ground calmed me somewhat. I realized where we were. Or Anna had her own special burial ground for her victims.

Had to admit, no one would blink if a body turned up buried out here. Or given how old the cemetery was, maybe they would.

We parked and Noah pulled me across the seat out of the car. He was handsy as he ‘escorted’ me through the graveyard and to the path to the church. I tried to worm out of his hold, but he was too quick to let me escape. I shuddered at the feel of his hand running down my arms, my spine. He cupped my neck in a gesture that was more threatening than intimate.

There was no flashlight, and the trees threw too many shadows to see by moonlight. I ended up tripping practically every other step. This gave Noah more chances to manhandle me.

I’d never been happier to see anything as I was to spot the church ruins.

That happiness drained away the further down the small spiral of stairs we went, until we reached the tomb’s entrance chamber. The stairs were pitch black, and I would have taken them at a tumble if I hadn’t ended up half-way carried by Noah. I couldn’t see any better in the chamber. I stepped on a raised portion of ground, some pile of dirt or debris, that rolled my ankle and sent me crashing painfully to my knees.

I felt the sting of cuts right away and I clenched my teeth, as if that might keep the vampires’ teeth shut, too. Standing as quick as I could, I brushed my hands of the small rocks and dirt that had embedded themselves in my palms and grimaced. The small hairs on the back of my neck rising told me someone was watching.

The click of a lighter ignited a small glow around Anna’s face before she put it to one of the leftover torches. She then picked it up, carrying it over to the others, touching the tips of each until the entire chamber glowed.

“What now?” I asked. They didn’t have the grimoire or the crystal. What did she expect to do?

“We wait,” Anna said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

Great.

At least Noah wasn’t rubbing his hands all over me. Disgusted, I sunk down to the dirt and rested my back against the wall. Ignoring the chill of the stone, I brought up my knees and hugged my legs. My palms stung and knees smarted, and I had an aching ankle to add to my bruised throat.

Time passed and sitting through it felt like watching paint dry. If the paint were made of blood. Anna kept pacing, which wasn’t helping my nerves. Neither was the obsessive staring of Noah and the occasional hungry glances of towel boy.

Finally, as an hour crept up on us, Anna’s head tilted. “Noah.”

Noah nodded and disappeared, and I took the first easy breath I’d had since waking up. Aware something was happening, but not certain what, I let my arms fall and, ignoring the protest of my ankles and knees, stood up.

The scraping crunching of footsteps on the stairs pulled my gaze to the opening that led up to the surface. Eventually, two sets of legs appeared. The first set led to a torso, then eventually revealed a familiar face pinched with worry. “Stefan!”

Stefan’s eyes roamed over me. There was no hint of a leer as he looked over my body, only concern. “Are you alright?”

I was bruised and scared but walking and talking. “More or less.”

He didn’t like that answer. His expression hardened as he turned to Anna. “Annabelle.”

“You remember me,” Anna said, letting her arms fall to the sides and moving away from the wall.

Stefan gave a single nod. “I thought you—”

“Was one of the vampires you staked in the tomb? No, Stefan. I’ve been out. Like Katherine.” Anna stalked towards him. “Mother wasn’t so lucky.”

“Like Katherine?” Stefan asked, skepticism bringing lowering his brows.

“Yes, Stefan. Like Katherine. My mother’s the one whose been rotting all these years.” Anna got up into his face and glared as she said, “You took the wrong woman out of the tomb.”

Stefan met her furious glare with a steady gaze. “Let Elena go. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Except as leverage for you and your brother.” Anna’s eyes narrowed. “But I guess with Katherine back, Damon’s got no use for her.”

Damon knew I was in trouble but had stayed behind? With Katherine? My throat tightened as if Anna were choking me again. I swallowed despite the bruising.

How stupid of me to think he’d care enough to come.

“What do you want, Annabelle?” Stefan’s question drew my focus back onto him and Anna.

“It’s Anna. And I want my mother out of the tomb.”

Stefan’s brow furrowed as he thought. “I can get you the spell to drop the seal, but the crystal is used up.”

Anna frowned. In an instant she was at my side, hand back around my throat. I choked, and despite knowing I was no match for her, I grabbed and scratched at her hand and arm anyway. “Then you’d better find another way of powering the spell.” She shook me and pain exploded from the bruising still fresh on my neck. “Or I swear, Salvatore, I’ll rip her pretty little head off.”

Stefan held up his hands, palms out. “Alright! I’ll find something else.” His gaze turned imploring, “But let her go.”

Anna pursed her lips as if thinking it over before shrugging with a smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Okay.”

She dragged me over to the tomb door and, right as I realized what she intended, shoved me through the opening. My arms shook as the ground slapped against my hands, disturbing the already raw scratches along my palm. The only light was a slender golden rectangle flowing in from the chamber. Beyond lie absolute blackness and the dead.

I turned to scurry out, only to find Anna glaring down at me, hand curled into a fist. I stilled like a rabbit under the deadly eye of a hunting hound.

“What are you doing?” Stefan demanded.

“Until mother is out, your little girlfriend is going to keep her company.”

Looking around Anna, I met Stefan’s worried stare.

I knew we should have shut the damn door.

A grunt from Noah drew everyone’s attention. The fist through his chest, heart in hand, kept it. We stared in shock as dark veins crawled up his graying neck, including Noah himself. When the hand disappeared back with a squelch, sending Noah’s body crumpling to the floor, Katherine appeared in his place.

Towel boy barely moved in her general direction, and she punched through his chest as easily.

As her second lackey died, Anna appeared behind Stefan, holding him in front of her. She forced him to sidestep along with her until they reached the tomb’s opening. Katherine’s high heels ground against the dirt floor as she slowly followed. “He won’t protect you.”

“But you won’t hurt him,” Anna said.

A single brow arched indolently. “Won’t I?” Katherine asked.

Anna considered. Apparently unwilling to risk it, she pulled Stefan back into the tomb with her, pushing me further back from the opening.

Katherine’s eyes narrowed as she stepped right up to the line of the spell. She looked down, examining the groove marks on the floor before her sights glided back up. “You got what you wanted,” she began, sounding bored with the whole ordeal. “Reunited with mommy.”

“Screw you, Katherine,” Anna said.

“Not my type.” Katherine’s head tilted to the side, sending her cascade of brown curls spilling over her shoulder. “But now that I think of it, this works out for me.”

“How is that?” Stefan asked.

“Because she,” Katherine indicated me with a graceful gesture of her hand, “can’t go and get herself in more trouble before Klaus arrives.” Her sights shifted to Stefan. “Don’t worry, Stefan. I’ll get you out.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “Once Klaus is finished with my doppelgänger.”

Stefan sped up to the opening but was held back by some invisible barrier. He bared his teeth in a growl, slamming at the air with his fists.

Katherine eyed the three of us, and apparently pleased with what she’d found, turned to the tomb’s door. Gripping the edges, her face finally contorted into an expression other than boredom as she struggled to push against the huge block of stone. With the slow grind of rock and dirt, the door began to close.

“Can she do that?” I wondered, voice heightened by a tense note of hysteria. “I thought it could only be shut with magic.”

“The magic must be in the barrier,” Stefan answered, his own voice deep and grim. “Not the door. And she’s obviously strong enough to move it.”

Katherine gave a little wink. Soon we had a mere crack of light. A second later, door shut.

It wasn’t just that it was dark. It was absence. It was as if the abyss had risen and swallowed us. If not for the stone beneath our feet, it would have been as if we were floating in a void. As it was, we merely stood in it.

I slid my foot across the darkness till I bumped into something nearby. Not as unyielding as rock, but not as giving as flesh. Firm and hard. A shoe? “Stefan?”

“No.” Anna snapped.

“Here.” A hand took mine. I gripped it tight and fought the urge to tuck into his side.

“What do we do?” I asked.

The scraping of footsteps disturbed the darkness. “I’m finding mother.” Anna’s steps paused. “You’d better hope you didn’t stake her, Stefan.”

“Katherine wants Elena alive.”

“I don’t really care what Katherine wants,” Anna said, harsh and defiant.

“You can see?” I asked Stefan.

“Not well enough to identify a body,” Stefan said. “We need to work together, Anna.”

A beleaguered sigh cut through the blackness. She was up ahead of us. Eight or so feet, I guessed. “To do what? The door is on the other side of the seal. We can’t dig our way out because the barrier extends around the whole tomb.”

“Let’s worry about getting some light, first.”

“For your pet human?” I could hear Anna’s sneer.

“You won’t find your mother if you can’t make out her face,” Stefan said. He made a good point.

Anna must have thought so too. “Fine.”

Light was going to be hard to come by. We hadn’t left a torch behind. I didn’t have my flashlight. I didn’t even have my keys. They were still in the SUV.

Then I remembered Anna lighting the torches. “She has a lighter.”

“It won’t burn indefinitely,” she said.

Stefan moved forward, keeping hold of my hand. I could either follow or stay by myself. I kept as close to him as I could without stepping on his heels.

Stefan and Anna must’ve seen well enough to navigate. We moved without bumping into any walls or doorways.

“Stop.”

Anna’s voice sounded from somewhere ahead. “Admiring your handiwork?”

“We need something to burn.” Stefan squeezed my hand before carefully extracting himself from my grip. “Stay here.”

As his footsteps led further away, I wrapped my arms around myself. I squinted, as if I’d magically be able to make Stefan out the further away he got from me, when I couldn’t see him even as he’d held my hand. There were shapes in the darkness, but I was fairly certain it was my own mind oh-so helpfully conjuring them.

I hoped so, anyway.

He stopped a short way ahead. “Let me see that lighter.”

There was a rustling of cloth and then the slap of something hard meeting skin.

“Thank you,” Stefan said. He walked back towards me, but instead of meeting back up with me, he stopped halfway. Another rustle of clothing sounded in the dark. And then, the grind and click of the lighter.

Stefan’s face leapt out of the darkness, floating in the small circle of firelight like a disembodied head. As he moved the lighter down, I could see he’d crouched down next to one of the dead-dead vampires he’d staked the last time we’d visited this damned place.

Twisting the lighter to the side, he touched it to the lace sleeve of the vampire’s dress, until it began to burn.

It started as a small flame, but as if the corpse had been doused in gasoline, the fire whooshed up her arm and spread over her whole body in moments. Still crouched, Stefan inched back to leave a careful distance between himself and the fire greedily lapping at the remains. Greasy black smoke rose into the air that smelt like burnt ham. Gorge rose in my throat.

I covered my mouth and nose as I looked at the body. “How long will she burn?”

“Not long,” he said, standing. “If we gather up clothes to burn, we should have some extra time.”

“Going to add arms and legs like firewood?” Anna stood at the light’s edge, arms crossed beneath her chest. “Toss in a head?”

“If you have a better idea,” Stefan arched a brow.

She walked over to another body and grabbed its arm. By the time I realized what she was doing, she’d pulled the limb off with the cracking pop of a dislocated joint. When she stuck her fingers beneath the skin to either side of the bone I managed to look away in time. I couldn’t turn as easily from the sounds of skin and muscle being shucked like peeling the husk off an ear of corn.

When I heard the louder tear of fabric, I looked over. Anna was ripping large swaths of fabric from the corpse’s dress, wrapping the strips around the end of the bone in her hand. When she came over to the burning body, flames already shrunk as they burned through the vampire’s dry flesh like paper, she held a makeshift torch. She touched the fabric wrapped end to the fire and waited until it caught.

As soon as the fire had spread around the whole of the wrapped end, she turned to Stefan. “I’m finding mother.”

If Stefan was at all put off by the grisly light, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t think he was holding back his revulsion. I, on the other hand, tried to ignore what the handle was made of. It wasn’t easy. “I’ll help.”

“I think you’ve done enough helping in here,” Anna shot back.

“You know all these vampires couldn’t be released back into the town.”

“Why?” Anna whirled about and strode across the chamber. Stefan stood and followed. I hurried after. Anna paused at each vampire in a dress, holding the firelight close enough to examine their faces. “Because they’d kill people?”

Stefan let his frown answer.

Anna scoffed. “You have serious issues, you know that?”

“Because he doesn’t want to see people murdered?” I demanded.

Anna spun about. Her eyes narrowed as she stared me down. “Do you have any idea who your boyfriend is?”

“We aren’t dating. And, yes. I know.”

“Really?” Anna looked to Stefan. “You told her about Monterey?”

“She knows,” Stefan said.

Anna gave a disbelieving laugh. “And you’re still holding his hand?” she asked me. She shook her head, going back to her search. “You both have issues.”

Stefan and I exchanged a glance.

She wasn’t wrong.

We followed quietly after Anna as she examined the rest of the dead-dead vampires. I knew we were nearing the remaining desiccated as the whispering began. When we reached the chamber where Stefan had been interrupted, red eyes opened.

Anna kept her distance as she examined these faces.

“What did you mean, earlier, when you said Katherine wasn’t originally in the tomb?” Stefan asked.

“Just what I said. She wasn’t in the tomb.”

“But Damon and I—”

“Look, I’ve been over this with her,” Anna nodded to me. “I don’t know why or how, but Katherine must have entered the tomb before you opened it.”

“Willingly trapping herself?” Stefan’s voice was thick with skepticism.

“I’m not the Katherine Whisperer, alright? I have no idea why the backstabbing bitch does what she does.” Anna waved the torch over the next female vampire. “All I can tell you is I saw her in Chicago in nineteen eighty-three, very much un-entombed and not desiccated.”

Stefan’s eyebrows dipped so low it was a wonder they didn’t cover his eyes.

When we entered the last chamber, something occurred to me. “Stefan. I think she’s right.” At Stefan’s glance, I said, “Think about it. Katherine’s dress didn’t have a speck of dust on it. She looked as if she were sleeping, not drained of life like,” I waved my hand around, “all the rest.”

Stefan’s eyes were hard as emeralds in the torchlight. “Another scheme,” he muttered.

“Mama!”

Anna knelt beside one of the vampires, hands on her shoulders, tears in her eyes.

To me, Pearl was unrecognizable. Her flesh was sunken and gray, the rest of her covered in so much dust even her black hair looked white. The only vaguely human part of her was the pained frown on her face. She was on the floor, propped up against the wall, as if she’d sat down one day and stopped moving all together.

Anna reached up and wiped at her eyes. My throat tightened at the sight, reigniting the aches of the day. But seeing Anna with her mother, I thought I could understand why she’d done it. She’d been desperate. What would I do to see my mother again? The thought made my own eyes burn with tears.

I blinked to clear my sights, but as I looked where Anna and Pearl had been, I discovered it was just Pearl instead. My arm was grabbed, and I was forced forward.

“Let her go!” Stefan demanded, anger sharpening his words as he stepped forward to confront her.

Anna met him with a shove that sent him crashing into the opposite wall.

“Stefan!”

“I’m centuries older than you,” Anna sneered. She turned to me. “And I decided a long time ago that Gilbert blood would bring mother back.”

Before I could protest, even so much as tell her I wasn’t actually a Gilbert, Anna brought my wrist to her mouth and bit.

A shock bolted down my arm and hit my nervous system, but it wasn’t pain. Not entirely. Warmth spread out from the fluttering in my stomach to the throbbing ache in my wrist. As soon as I realized I’d liked what she’d done, the fluttering turned acidic, and the warm tingles became unbearable. I tried to pull away, to hunch over myself, to hide, but Anna’s hold was unbreakable.

She roughly thrust my arm into Pearl’s dried mouth. It was like touching aged leather. The whispers of the other vampires became a cacophony in my mind. I could barely think over the dozen voices hissing at me.

And then Pearl’s teeth latched onto my wrist.

A feverish wave had me breaking out in shivers and brought me to my knees. I bit my lip and tried to concentrate on the cool touch of stone beneath me, the rough texture of the rock, instead of the tingling sparks that kept flooding my nerves as blood was pulled from my body. Something was seriously wrong with me. I dropped my head, wishing I could press my face to the floor to rid myself of the flush—whether I was red from the pleasure or the shame of it, I couldn’t say.

Either way, it was a relief when the steadily building weight of exhaustion pushed me to the ground.

“Stop! You’re killing her!”

Hands gripped my upper arms, wrenching me back. I made a noise of protest as the teeth tore further through my skin. I don’t know if it was from the pain or that the feeding had stopped.

I was pulled up against a warm and solid body. The smell of copper filled my nose before something hot and wet splashed against my tongue.

I swallowed reflexively. It was the weirdest thing I’d ever tasted. Like sucking on pennies.

It took a few more seconds before I realized I was drinking blood.

“Mmph!” I turned my head from the bleeding wrist at my mouth.

Stefan pulled his arm away. He angled my face up, hands brushing my hair aside as he studied my face. He let out a relieved breath. “I’m sorry, Elena. But she’d taken too much blood.” He looked up to glare at the two vampires sitting across from me.

Pearl was already more recognizably human in appearance. Her skin held a healthier, if still pale, color, and her eyes had settled back to a natural brown.

“Annabelle,” she whispered.

Anna gave a tearful laugh as she hugged the now sensate and more lively Pearl. Pearl laid her head against the top of Anna’s, closing her eyes as she breathed deeply.

A combination of mortification from being fed on, my reactions to it, and the sheer joy of the mother and daughter drove me to look away. I studied my wrist instead. It was completely healed. I touched my throat and, for the first time since waking, felt no pain as I swallowed or pressed with my fingers.

By the time I was done inspecting how quickly Stefan’s blood had healed me, Pearl’s eyes reopened.

“Stefan Salvatore.” Pearl’s gaze found me. Anger hardened her features. “Katherine,” she hissed, moving Anna aside and starting to stand.

“No, mama,” Anna said, arms still around Pearl’s neck, tears streaming down her face. “That’s not Katherine. It’s a human girl who looks like her. Elena Gilbert.”

Recognition sharpening her gaze, Pearl stared at me with new understanding. “A doppelgänger.” Before I could wonder that she knew of doppelgängers, she asked Anna, “How long?”

Anna’s face fell. “A hundred and forty-five years.”

Pearl’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened but she said nothing. I don’t think she knew what to say. I wouldn’t.

I sat up under my own power, and once I was sure I’d be steady on my feet, stood. I clenched and relaxed my hand, amazed at how much better I felt than I had minutes before. Rubbing my wrist, I looked around the chamber, at the red eyes gleaming in the low firelight.

We couldn’t wait for Katherine to come back. I couldn’t. There was too much I had to tell Klaus, had to arrange, before he killed me.

But there wasn’t another exit besides the door we’d used to come in. Just walls, the occasional desiccated vampire, the floor, and the ceiling. The magical barrier had to extend around more than just the door. The vampires hadn’t been able to dig their way out.

The vampires couldn’t.

Maybe a human could.

I stared up. “How far do you think it is from the ground to the top of the ceiling?”

With a few soft taps of his shoes, Stefan stepped beside me. “A few feet, maybe. Four or five at most.”

“The barrier surrounds the walls,” Pearl said, voice still raspy from disuse.

I looked down over my shoulder at her. “A barrier that keeps vampires in. Not humans.” Or whatever I was.

Her eyes widened, understanding gleaming within. She looked up. “If we collapse the ceiling…”

“I can dig the rest of the way out. Maybe.” I turned back around. “It’s worth a try.”

“If the room doesn’t fill with dirt,” Anna said.

“Then we’ll clear it.” Stefan nodded to me. “Build something Elena can stand on.” His gaze swept across all of us. “Unless you want to wait for Katherine to come back.”

No one liked that idea, except maybe Pearl. From the look on Pearl’s face, I didn’t think Katherine would be very happy to find her old friend waiting for her. Not if she liked her eyes un-gouged. “Katherine is still in Mystic Falls?”

“Yes, mama,” Anna said. “She just returned.”

“Hmm.” Pearl’s murderous expression eased into something more neutral. She stood up to look around the room. “We need to move the rest.” She glided to a vampire, picking her up and walking to the hall in a swish of silk skirts.

Anna immediately moved to do as her mother bid. Stefan frowned. “Stay here.” It was a gentle order, but an order nonetheless. He crossed and knelt down beside another vampire, picking him up.

There weren’t many left in the room. Half a dozen now that Pearl was awake. It took them two trips to clear them out to the chamber down the hall.

Once the others were moved, Pearl, Anna, and Stefan began studying the ceiling. Anna held the torch aloft while Pearl and Stefan walked the perimeter of the room. “We should be able to collapse the center,” Pearl said.

Stefan nodded his agreement. “But how to get past the spell?”

Lifting her skirts to mid-shin, two leather boots laced a few inches past her ankles appeared on Pearl’s feet. She crouched, undoing the laces with expert fingers before prying the heeled boots off. Pearl set them aside and stood. “Like this.” A thunderous crack echoed throughout the room. The floor beneath her foot was crushed as if the stone had been pulverized by a jackhammer. Pearl shifted through the larger pieces until she held a stone twice the size of her head. “Each of you take one. We’ll throw them at the same time.”

Stefan and Anna followed her directions, choosing their own considerable rocks and picking them up like they weighed no more than golf balls. “From three?” Stefan suggested.

Pearl nodded and turned to me. “Wait in the hall.”

I wasn’t about to argue with the lady who could crack a stone floor.

Once I was in the hall, Pearl started the countdown. When they got down past one, they moved too fast for my eye to track. The rocks were in their hands one moment, the next came thunderous booms. Detritus of dust and bits of rock fell from a few spots in the ceiling, but it held up.

“Again,” Pearl commanded.

This repeated quite a few times. Once a bigger piece of the ceiling fell, a chunk the size of my bag, but it wasn’t large enough to cave in the earth above. The compacted dirt stayed aloft above the hole.

It took six throws in all before the stone finally gave way in the center. A section as large as the hood of the SUV came down in a great crash soon swallowed by an avalanche of dirt collapsing down after it like an earthen waterfall. A cloud rose in its wake, billowing across the room. Even after the main bulk of earth had fallen, little rivulets of dirt streamed down, pattering on the floor.

The three vampires stood by me in the hall, untouched.

We studied the resulting pile of dirt.

“That’s not going to be high enough to reach the ceiling, let alone dig past it,” Anna observed.

“I’ll hold her up,” Stefan said.

We all trooped back into the chamber, mindful of the still crumbling hole. “Guess I dig with my hands?” I said, uncertain as I stared up at the darkness beyond the broken ceiling.

“Here.” Pearl punched into the floor, pulling part of a stone block free. While I blinked at that show of strength, she hit it again from the side, slicing it in half. She lifted the top, a piece about half an inch thick and a little wider than my hand, passing it to me.

I accepted it with a small thanks. Stefan and I walked to the mound of dirt. He tested it first, feet sinking as if stepping on sand, but stopping once his foot reached ankle-depth. He climbed half-way up before holding a hand out to me and pulling me up next to him. The soil felt like a mixture of sand and clay, which would be interesting to dig through.

Once we reached the top, some three feet high, Stefan secured his footing. He looked to me. “Ready?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

Stefan flashed a smile before gripping my waist. And then I was airborne, held aloft in a way I hadn’t been since I was a little kid.

“I’m going to put you on my shoulders.”

“Even after watching cheer practice?” I couldn’t help the nerves that leaked into my voice.

“Use the ceiling to balance,” he advised before lifting me straight up over his head.

Maneuvering was awkward since I didn’t want to kick him in the face, but I managed to get both feet on his shoulders. I could reach the edge of the ceiling, and like he suggested, used it to help me balance as I slowly and carefully stood up.

If only Caroline could see me now. Balancing on Stefan’s shoulders like a real cheerleader. Well, almost. I had a hand dug into the dirt for stability. I closed my eyes and angled my head down as my other hand used my makeshift shovel to shove into and scrape free the dirt.

The earth rained down on me like I was under a freaking shower. I kept scraping. Huge clumps would sometimes drop, occasionally with a rock or two buried within them. I didn’t stop. They couldn’t do this, and I wasn’t spending one moment longer in the tomb than I absolutely had to. If I wanted out, that meant digging.

My arm tired and I switched hands. My hair and shoulders were covered in so much dirt, I probably would be washing it out for days. But the higher I got, the more moisture I felt. “I think I’m getting close.”

“Taking you long enough,” Anna said.

“Hush, Annabelle,” Pearl scolded.

She wasn’t wrong, though. It was taking time. “You okay, Stefan?”

“Fine,” he said, hand squeezing my leg where he held it. “But let me know if you need a break.”

I didn’t want to spend any longer down here than I had to. Shaking my head, I said, “I can keep going.”

And I did. Switching arms again when my left began to tire.

But it was slow, frustrating, dirty work. And my right arm was beginning to grow sore. I was thinking about that break when something in the texture of dirt beneath my hands changed. It was stringy, and hard, against my fingertips. Digging it away, I brought it to my eyes and squinted in the dim firelight to see what it was.

Roots.

“I’m close!” Excitement renewed my strength and I redoubled my efforts. I had to extend my arm out all the way to scrape at the top of the hole I’d created. Finally, my makeshift shovel seemed to catch along something rougher. And touching it, I felt more roots. Dozens of them. I stabbed at them with the pointed end of the rock and felt them give just enough for my fingers to poke through.

On the other side were long, wet blades of grass.

“Higher, Stefan! I feel grass!”

Stefan shifted his hold, grabbing my thighs and lifting me up.

I stabbed the little hole my hand had made a bit wider and grabbed at the edges and pulled as hard as I dared. A side of the top came tumbling down. A single, thready beam of light pierced the shadows. A thin ray that shone a spot of yellow the floor.

“Careful,” Stefan warned as I began tearing at the edges of the hole to widen it. “You still have to crawl out.”

“Don’t need the ground giving way as soon as you get up,” Anna added.

“I’ll catch you if that happens,” Stefan promised.

I tried to compromise by making the hole only as wide as absolutely necessary for me to fit through. “Okay. Can you lift me any higher?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to toss you a little.”

I hand my hands gripping the grass of the outside. Almost there. “Do it.”

I felt his hands leave me for a terrifying moment, and then they were back, gripping my shins and pushing me up.

Heart racing, I squirmed between the walls of dirt. Some of it stayed solid while other portions gave way and fell. I wriggled up until my arms were all the way out and could feel the breeze of fresh air. I spread them, and let my head emerge.

Daylight.

I had no idea where I was, but I saw grass, and trees stretching towards a dim, overcast sky. The first dreary day in Mystic Falls I’d seen.

It was beautiful.

“I’m out!”

I could hear them speaking below but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Not with my body still stuck in the hole I’d dug.

Stefan’s hands moved once again, this time to my feet. He was pushing me upward. I used my arms to help him, glad Elena was strong enough to hold her own body weight. With a little grunting and shimmying, I was out to my waist when Stefan had to let go. Legs dangling, I grabbed onto the grass and pulled the rest of my body out, which was pretty simple once my hips were through.

Mindful that I was basically standing on a bunch of dirt over a huge cavernous hole, I crawled rather than stood up and walked. I shifted around on all fours, peering back down into the hole I created. Pearl and Anna had joined Stefan beneath the hole, and all three vampires stared up at me, faces lit by sunshine.

“I’ll get help,” I promised.

“You can’t go to Damon,” Stefan warned. “He won’t believe you about Katherine.”

“I know.” I took a breath. “I thought I might try Richmond.”

Stefan’s face blanked. “Is that really wise?”

“We need witches to break the barrier spell. Bonnie isn’t speaking to me, and wouldn’t know how, anyway. Elijah knows the Martins.” I sighed. “I’ll add another condition to the agreement.”

Stefan’s face was still smooth, but something of his unhappiness with the plan leaked into his eyes. “It’ll take time to contact Elijah.”

“A day. Maybe two.” I bit my lip before adding, “Lets hope it’s before Katherine gets word to Klaus.”

“You’re going to need a guide,” Stefan said. “Here.” Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tossed it up.

I didn’t grab it in time.

Anna caught it before it hit the floor and gave me a look. “Really?”

“I don’t have the best hand-eye coordination, okay,” I shot back.

She tossed it to Stefan, who had no problem catching it out of the air. He looked up. “You can do it.”

Anna moved in place to catch it again.

She needn’t have. I managed to fumble enough to clutch the phone to my chest. Holding it out, I looked down at it. Another old-fashioned model. To me, at least. “Who should I call?”

Stefan smiled, and when he told me the name of my would-be guide, I smiled too.

[authorellenmint]

“Kieran!”

My voice didn’t have a hope to rise above the cacophony of children bleeding into the orchard. An entire mass of them moved like locusts descending upon the feast, their parents long since left behind to trudge up the hill.

Only my son glanced back, the sea of taller children threatening to consume him. While I hoped he’d wait, the allure proved too much. In an instant, he turned on his heels and scampered towards a tree. Three other children flocked the branches, most taller than my boy. Kieran ducked down and scampered closer to the trunk, his hands scrabbling for the blushing apples hidden amongst the leaves.

“Your father is acquiring a bucket right now,” I sighed, glancing towards the twisting line of parents left to pay for the privilege of bringing in the farmer’s crop. A rather satisfying deal on their end.

A giggle of joy drew me from the manure-stench of the barn to gaze upon an unending field of apple trees. They fanned out like autumn’s army waiting for orders to march upon the winter forest. My boy’s hands cupped to his chest, a red apple bigger than both his palms cradled safely. The exuberant eyes of an ever distracted seven-year-old shattered expectations by honing upon the apple and refusing to lift. As Kieran laughed again, I accepted that the long drive, the trek out to some bird-woman’s farm, and the threat of tick embedding was worth it for his smile.

I let my eyes drift off Kieran, about to look for his father, when a hand whipped through the air and plunged greedy fingers to his apple. “Hey!” Kieran shouted, trying to protect his get while the larger boy puffed himself up.

“Gimme that! It’s mine.”

“Is not. I found it,” my son shouted, trying to tuck the apple in safer to his chest. Which was when the bully slapped at his hand. Still Kieran wouldn’t acquiesce, even with a pink handprint rising from where that monster struck my son. My gait elongated, thunderstorms trailing my steps towards the children.

“Give it now!” the cretin shrieked. Greedy fingers dug into both the flesh of the apple and my son’s. It proved too much as Kieran cried, the sound rattling my soul, and he released the apple into the bully’s hands.

“Ha!” the child crowed, holding aloft his prize as if he earned it. Piggish eyes narrowed upon my boy and the bully yanked his hand back to slap Kieran once more.

My fingers snaked around the child’s wrist, holding it tight above his head. He screamed as if my grip was lava. How I wished it were so, but aside from keeping the monster from doing as he wanted, I caused him no harm.

I stared into the black eyes of the child, chaos and cruelty already sewn into the makeup of someone not yet ten. “Do not hit my son or you shall suffer beyond imagination.” My tone must have punctured through even that Dunning-Krueger armor as the child nodded dumbly. “And return that which you stole.”

The bully glanced towards Kieran, who held both his hands out, but he flinched from doing the right thing. With a sigh, I plucked the apple free and held it far above the child’s head. “You should be punished for such atrocities,” I muttered, releasing the boy’s arm.

“Oi! Let go of ‘im!”

My eyes rolled at the voice ordering me to do that which I already did. Turning, I spotted a mass of a man stumbling towards me. He wore all his strength in his gut, as if he’d swallowed every ego-boosting lie, every assurance from society that he was important, and honestly believed them. His legs hustled up the hill as I folded my arms, the apple tucked safely in my palm. I shifted to hide Kieran from view as the creator of the child bully thundered towards us.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch my kid!” he shrieked.

“Perhaps you should try parenting your child, then the rest of us wouldn’t need to bother.”

Red splotches formed over his face like mold sporing upon a film of fat. He tried to puff his deflated chest out as if I’d be either impressed or scared. Knowing what was to come, I turned to Kieran and told him, “Go and pick some more apples.”

“Yes, Mummy,” he mumbled, shuffling away from both me and the man who should be shooting steam from his nose. I maintained my typical cool-exterior which was only enflaming him more.

“Hey! Hey, get him back here! Your snotty brat stole from my kid!”

The kid in that situation fell silent, no longer wishing to use either his words or fists. No, it was all on the father, the larger copy as it were, to attempt to browbeat me into giving him what he wanted.

“You mean this apple that my child in fact picked and your son then hit mine in order to thieve away?” I lofted the apple before the man’s face, his eyes bulging as I didn’t cower and plead for him to forgive me. Men of his ilk feasted upon women who shackled themselves to the cult of nice. Against me, he had no power. Not that he had any to begin with.

His lip curled, as if the man intended to rip my throat out with his teeth. “Bitch whore, dressed like a slut. You aren’t gonna tell me a fucking thing.”

“As it would be a waste of both our time,” I responded, eyeing up the man. Whether he caught the barb or was simply upset that I continued to have a voice it was difficult to discern. What was not was how his rage threatened to spew out of his ears.

“You!” He turned on his son, cuffing the boy by the arm and dragging him closer. “Is this yours?” He jabbed at the apple I kept in my hand. The boy mumbled, his eyes shifting over the trampled ground. “I said did this she-bitch steal it from you?”

“Mmyes,” the child fumbled, flinching at both the lie and the fear of retaliation if he told the truth.

“Fucking finally,” the man cursed, releasing his hold on the boy. He extended the no doubt sticky fingers flat and cocked his head. “Well…”

“Well what?” I asked.

“Shit you’re dumb. Give it over before I get the cops involved.”

I snickered at the threat, though he did look like a man who’d call the police if a trashcan fell over in his driveway all while never having to worry about the mountain of dirt hidden under his rugs. My body didn’t shift, the apple held tight in my fingers as I stared around the teeming orchard. A few of the other adults drifted closer at the screaming, but once they spotted a man harassing a woman they all vanished behind trees.

There were certainly enough apples to go around. No reason to fight over one when it was easy to give in to the whims of a bully. Which was precisely the wrong message to teach my son. I lifted the apple into the air, twisting it between my fingers. “It’s not yours, you cretin.”

“Bitch!” he lashed out, fingers clamping to my wrist. The grip suckered to my skin, a thousand times tighter than what I did to his son. I shifted, prepared to teach the man just how much damage a steel-tipped boot can do to external genitals, when I caught what made my son pick this apple in the first place.

As my leg lowered to the ground, the bully snatched away the coveted apple. He released my hand, red welts rising from his grip, but I only stared back. My cold eyes burned into both his meaty face and the fruit he stole from a child. With a laugh, he placed the apple to his teeth and took a massive bite.

Which was when a warm smile wormed up my lips. I paid no heed to the pain he caused to my arm, only grinned at the man who flinched against the abyss. “Come on,” he shoved at his son, scampering away from me. But, he made certain to take another bite of the stolen apple.

“Mummy!” Tiny hands overladen with fruit bumped into my back. Keiran’s exuberant eyes warmed my heart, his full arms cinched tight as I swiped back a lock of his fallen hair. “Look at all the apples I got!”

“I see. You did an excellent job.”

My son smiled at the praise, his chin rising higher until he spotted the two generations of bullies walking down the lane. The father stopped and seemed to be staring harder at what he bit into. “Is that my apple?”

“Yes.”

My little entomologist scrunched up his nose. “Does he know it’s got a worm in it?”

A retching noise broke through the idyllic farm, the bully bent over to try and no doubt vomit up half of an eaten caterpillar. “He does now,” I said with a chuckle. “Come on,” I shook away the monster who tried to ruin our day and rubbed Kieran’s shoulders, “let’s find you another caterpillar.”

As my son led me into the trees, my ears listened to the blustering blather of a man choking upon his own comeuppance.

[noikracs]

Summary: Part 2 of when Reiji is in the hospital, when Sugai and Tajima decide to read his file

After the whole thing went down and Reiji was checked on by one of the doctor’s, he fell back to sleep in Tajima’s arms while Sugai had his arms wrapped around the boy.

“The nurse said we should probably look at the file...” Tajima mumbled.

Sugai already tried, he just couldn’t do it anymore. But he didn’t want to tell Tajima he went on without him, so he simply nodded, grabbing the file.

Taking a deep breath, Sugai asked nervously, “Are— are you sure you want to do this?”

“We need to know what’s wrong so we can help him,” said Tajima, putting on the bravest face he could manage.

Sugai slowly nodded once again before opening it, and giving enough room for Tajima to read also.

Patient Information:

Name: Reiji Sunada

Age: 15 Years

Date of Birth: 21 April 2004

Abilities/Notable Factors: Tendrils come out of the back that can shock when wet

Alias: ‘Eel’

Reason for access to Med Bay: Deathly injuries

 

Tajima paused, pressed a kiss to Reiji’s forehead and took a third breath before delving into the actual part of the report which was most difficult to read.

 

List of Injuries and/or Health Conditions by Assumed Date of Occurrence:

Mild taser burns on sides of abdomen and neck

Lip split and bitten into

Bruising on right eye, left cheekbone, ribs, stomach and neck

Bullet wound – entry through back, lodged next to left shoulder blade and scarring from bullet extraction surgery

Additional bruising to right side of face, cheekbone and temple

Eighty cuts and lacerations increasing in depth and severity covering back and hips

Evidence of drowning and subsequent health complications including the following:

Water Inhalation – Pulmonary Edema – Hypoxia – Respiratory Failure – Patient was most likely held underwater without air for extended periods of time before unconsciousness occurred *

 

Sugai and Tajima both stared at the Asterix and followed to the next page over where there was another section of writing. They were suddenly very glad that the people they hired were thorough because someone had printed information and research on something called secondary drowning, which Reiji had apparently experienced.

 

* ‘Inhaled water leads to a condition given the name ‘secondary drowning,’ which is when water gets into the lungs where it can irritate the lungs’ lining and fluid can build up, causing a condition called Pulmonary Edema. Pulmonary Edema (Symptoms: Extreme shortness of breath or difficulty breathing (dyspnea) that worsens with activity or when lying down, a feeling of suffocating or drowning that worsens when lying down, wheezing or gasping for breath, cold or clammy skin, anxiety, restlessness or a sense of apprehension, a cough that produces frothy sputum that may be tinged with blood, blue-tinged lips, a rapid or irregular heartbeat (palpitations)) causes respiratory failure due to hypoxia  hypoxia is a deficiency in the amount of oxygen reaching the tissues (symptoms: change in skin colour, increased or decreased heart rate, rapid breathing, shortness of breath, sweating, wheezing).

Sugai flipped back to the other page, determined to push through and finish reading the list of injuries.

 

Open bone biopsy on hip, knee and shoulder – Patient not administered anaesthetics and was likely forced to walk immediately after surgery

Patient appears to have been kept in early stages of hypothermia for extended durations of time

Patient appears to have undergone some form of sensory attack and deprivation due to increased sensitivity to light and sound

Severe ankle breakage – likely caused through weight dropped onto limb and continuous disruption and aggravation to the broken bone after breakage

Severe Asphyxiation – likely caused by strangulation

Additional bruising to jaw and mouth area causing second split lip

Severe bruising across entire face

Three broken ribs, two fractures

Trauma to eye socket likely caused by multiple blows

Bloody nose due to assumed assault

Dislocated shoulder

Injuries consistent to those of beaten and/or assaulted patients

Thoracentesis surgery without anaesthetic – needle inserted into pleural space between lung and chest walls, likely to remove excess fluids (pleural effusion) from the pleural space to improve ability to breathe

Shattered hyoid bone and evidence of poorly-executed bone reconstruction surgery

Severe Epiglottitis – condition which occurs when tissue protecting windpipe becomes inflamed

Please note that the patient was administered a fibreoptic intubation procedure without anaesthetics or ventilator to assist breathing

Extreme fever caused by infections *

 

* ‘Infections in both lungs’ air sacs causing them to swell – Caused Pneumonia

Respiratory tract infection in upper and lower respiratory tracts

Pharyngitis – caused by severe swelling in pharynx and larynx

Severe Sepsis throughout body (condition arises when body’s response to infection causes injury to tissues and organs)

Multiple opportunistic infections (infections caused by patients weakened immune system and deteriorating physical health)’

 

Evidence of more water inhalation and an increase in the severity of multiple infections

Evidence that the patient underwent severe and final stages of hypothermia

All external wounds were re-opened for reasons unknown

Severe electrical burns on points of contact (both temples, toes, fingers) and contusions/abrasions from suspected metal clamps and plates used to administer high amount of electrical currents

Severe injures from restraints on ankles, wrists, all joints, chest, collarbone, hips, temples and neck

Severe electrocution

Severe hypovolemic shock caused by amount of blood loss

Major concussion

Throat inflammation caused by screaming

Multitude of severe contusions and abrasions

Evidence of multiple seizures and spasms

Extreme starvation

Extreme dehydration

Extreme sleep deprivation

 

Interesting/Unexplained Features:

Gasoline residue found on clothing and skin – inhalation of these subsequent fumes caused high risk carbon monoxide poisoning which is the likely cause of the seizures and heart arrhythmias

Surgery guidelines over skull and spine despite no evidence of any surgical procedures

Finger-shaped bruises in unusual places such as hips, thighs, lower back and shoulder blades

Wound on chest had been carved into the patient in order to cause emotional and psychological damage

Although no anaesthetics were administered to the patient, they suffered from (intentional) Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia * and extreme amounts of Varenicline * which were found in the patient’s system

 

* ‘Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia is a state of nociceptive sensitization caused by exposure to opioids. The rare condition is characterised by a paradoxical response in which a patient receiving medication (specifically opioids) for the treatment of pain actually becomes more sensitive to certain painful stimuli. In this patients’ case: (Reiji Sunada) the specific synthesis of drugs he was unwillingly supplied with were used to intentionally increase the amount of pain felt during and following most experiments and attacks.’

 

* ‘Varenicline goes by the brand name ‘Chantix’ and has been highly scrutinised for causing severe neuropsychiatric adverse events including abnormal dreams, nightmares, night terrors, aggression, anxiety, heavy fatigue, insomnia, irritability, somnolence (sleepwalking) and other various sleep disorders.’

Tajima choked back a sob. “Baby— my baby—” he buried his nose in Reiji’s hair, crying.

The slightly older man wiped a few tears. “I can’t— I can’t comprehend how he could’ve went through all that...”

“Dad’s?” a small voice called, Reiji looking worried.

Sugai gave the best smile he could manage. “Hey, love. How are you feeling?”

With a shrug, Reiji mumbled, “My back hurts a bit but I’m fine. Why are you crying? Are you reading my file?” he asked quietly.

“We’re sorry, sweetheart, we just needed to make sure y—”

“No, it’s f—fine. I understand.”

Tajima asked nervously, “Are you hungry now, bambino?” He was just worried Reiji would end up starving at his own will.

And not to his surprise, Reiji shook his head. “No. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sugai, his larger, calloused hands cupping the boy’s cheeks gently.

Reiji nodded. “Yeah. I can’t tell if it’s a habit or the fact I j—just am not used to eating really.”

Even though part of him was afraid to ask, Tajima did ask, “When could you eat, sweetheart?”

“Every four days,” he responded, trying to seem nonchalant about it, but he wanted to sob.

Sugai inhaled sharply. “What— what could you eat?”

The boy looked like he was thinking for a moment before mumbling, “Bread was the usual. Though sometimes I’d have oatmeal.” Again, he wanted to sob but he kept it in.

“B—baby, you know you can cry, right? It’s okay, you are safe,” reassured Tajima, rubbing small circles into his cheek.

Reiji sniffled. “I—I know, it’s just a habit, I—I guess.”

There was a pause before Sugai said lovingly, “Take your time, sweetheart. We c—can be patient.” Though his voice was quivering, Reiji nodded.

“Can I go back to sleep?” asked the boy quietly.

Tajima and Sugai instantly nodded as Reiji’s eyes slowly drifted shut.

Everything’s going to be okay.

[scepterofstardust]

two, four, six, eight.

It’s Day 5, comedy time. I guess at some point I should give you guys a break from the heart wrenching things I usually come out with. Honestly, these are so dumb but I laughed really hard writing them, and if you laugh too, then my work’s done. Here’s some moments from Sarumi’s first dates.

External: AO3

DATE TWO.

Their first few dates were, as Yata would describe it later, interesting.

Fushimi met him at a restaurant the second time (not too expensive that they couldn't afford it, but enough to mark the occasion). He was wearing a black t-shirt under a grey cardigan, with dark skinny jeans. It really did look amazing on him, if Yata felt like admitting it.

(He didn't.)

The usher sat them down at a row of tables and brought them water. Yata bit his lip, trying to tell himself there was no use in being nervous. Fushimi, as always, seemed unaffected, but something about the way he kept tapping the rim of his glass gave him away.

"So, this was a long time coming, huh?" Yata said, wanting a conversation to fill the awkward silence. Fushimi looked relieved at the opportunity.

"Yeah, I guess so." Fushimi was smirking a little, and Yata squinted at him.

"What are you smirking for, Saru?"

"Nothing, just-"

"Saru, I swear to God, if you're about to bring up another embarrassing story-"

"No, I would never." Yata continued to glare at him, unconvinced. "I just think it's funny how-"

"Stop."

"How when we were in middle school, you were embarrassed to so much as set eyes on a girl, and you had to practice kissing-"

"Oh, shut up."

"And now you're on a date with-"

"A nuisance?" Yata offered, putting a hand to his temple.

"A guy," Fushimi finished with a laugh. "All that for nothing, huh?"

"I...hate you."

"You keep saying that, but for some reason, I don't believe you."

"I will leave right now if you bring up the kissing thing one more time."

"Alright, I digress," Fushimi relented, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "We can talk about something else."

"Great. How was work today?" Fushimi looked at the ceiling, exasperated.

"That was weak. You're making it sound like I'm a forty year old father of two with a newspaper-"

"Yah, you're too dramatic," Yata protested. "I was just asking. Being that your job could put you in mortal danger, and all that."

"It was uneventful," Fushimi said with a shrug. "Mostly just paperwork today. The only interesting thing was the Captain nagging us to play Words With Friends."

Yata choked on his water. 

"You play Words With Friends?! Oh my God, I'm going to tease you about that forever-"

"I don't. Everyone else does. They've been bugging me to join the game for almost a year. I don't out of pity."

"Pity?"

"I've seen the screenshots. I'd have them all beaten in under 24 hours."

"Oh, you're too kind," Yata snorted. 

"I know." Fushimi answered. A moment later, he trailed off, eyes on something off to their right. Yata followed his gaze to the couple sitting a table away, an older man in a suit and a woman in red who were clearly wealthy.

"What are you looking at?"

"That man has been staring at us since we sat down." 

"Has he really? What's his damage?" 

"Don't know," Fushimi replied, turning back to face him. "But I don't like it. Two can play at that game."

As their date progressed, Fushimi managed the feat of being fully present and also evaluating the man beside them. After almost two hours of that, he finally twisted around, expression blank.

"Excuse me, sir?" The man looked up, giving Fushimi a once over that made Yata straighten up.

"What?"

"Pardon me, I just wanted to ask why you've been spending half your time with that lovely date of yours staring at me and my friend." Fushimi managed to look completely calm and disinterested, and Yata fought the urge to giggle. Oh, he was so good at harassing people.

"What are you talking about?" The stranger had the good sense to pretend he didn't know what he meant. Fushimi raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, let's not play games. Why are you staring at us? I want to know." The man's date looked at him nervously, but he ignored her.

"Don't get all defensive. I was just being curious."

"Curious enough to spend two hours checking us out? Explain that to me." Fushimi's eyes were challenging, boring a hole right into him. The man shifted in his seat, brow furrowing. 

"You two are quite the strange sight, is all." Yata's mouth dropped open. Fushimi went deathly still.

"So, you don't approve."

"Why are you asking me that? Are you gonna get all mad at me? Can't you take a little criticism-"

"So, that would be a no," Fushimi interrupted flatly. 

"Yeah, so what?" The man fired back, combative. His date tried to shush him. Fushimi smirked at him, holding his ground.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to be the cause of your discomfort. If your allergy to homosexuals is fatal, I suggest you move elsewhere or seek medical assistance." Yata started laughing but turned it into a bout of loud coughing. The man went positively red.

"Who do you think you are, kid? Do you even know who I am-"

"No, and I don't want to," Fushimi chuckled. "Sit down, little man. Eat your dinner." With that, he turned back to their table, taking a drink of water. The stranger was left fuming, and Yata couldn't resist grinning at Fushimi.

"I love it when you blast someone who isn't me."

"You'd better find it attractive," Fushimi said, picking up his fork. "It's one of my best attributes." 

"I sure do," Yata muttered into his water glass.

They returned to their conversation, and ate all their food. They'd just called for the bill when they heard the man scoffing, and when Yata turned to look, he was pointing right at them. Saruhiko clenched his jaw and threw his napkin on the table.

"Oh, that's it. This asshole is not gonna point at us."

"Uh, Saru? What are you doing?"

"Nothing, Misaki," Fushimi bit out, yanking at his sweater sleeve.

"That isn't your 'nothing' face. That's your 'I'm about to commit murder' face."

"You know me too well," he replied. A second later, Yata saw him flick his wrist. He barely caught a flash of metal, and a beat later, there was a crash. The table a few yards over gave way, two of the legs falling down, and it tilted all the way to one side. All the food and wine flew off it, and directly onto the offending stranger. He swore loudly and stood up, stains all over his (probably expensive) suit. Yata gaped at Fushimi, who was gazing at the scene, eyebrows raised in feigned surprise.

"How unfortunate," Fushimi commented as if the man couldn't hear him. "These tables must not be as sturdy as they appear. We'd better leave before that happens to us, Misaki." With that, he stood up and casually started towards the exit. Yata followed after him quickly, hiding his smile behind his hand. Once they passed through the doors, Yata cackled, bending over halfway. Fushimi's shoulders shook as tried to hold in his laughter. 

"Oh my God," Yata crowed breathlessly. "I can't believe you brought a weapon to our date. Was that a fucking knife?"

"Yes. Better safe than sorry, right?" Fushimi seemed infinitely amused as he twirled his keys around his fingers. Yata wiped at his eyes and shook his head.

"Oh, man. I should've known something like this would happen with us."

"Of course. Wouldn't be us if there wasn't violence involved," Fushimi pointed out. "I had four more, just in case."

"How the hell-"

DATE FOUR.

Their second date was notably lacking in violence, but the urges to strangle did appear every so often.

They were sitting on a park bench eating ice cream. Fushimi looked more relaxed this time, even smiling once in a while. It made Yata a little too excited

"Hey, let me tell a joke," he suggested. Fushimi's expression grew dubious, but he didn't object. Yata finished licking his spoon off and sat forward, trying not to giggle.

"What do you call it when someone kills their friend?" Fushimi narrowed his eyes.

"Is this foreshadowing?"

"What? Of course not. What do you think the answer is?" Fushimi scraped his spoon around the bottom of his cup and raised an eyebrow.

"First degree manslaughter?"

"Geez, you're no fun. Try again." Fushimi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm going to regret this, but, I'm going to say I don't know." Yata opened his mouth to say the answer, but he started laughing too hard. 

"It's..." He covered his mouth with his hand, looking at Fushimi with childish anticipation. 

"Just say it," Fushimi insisted, leaning back in his seat. "I can tell it's going to be terrible."

"It's homiecide." Fushimi's eyes went wide in horror, and Yata burst out laughing again. 

"You're the worst," Fushimi got out, stunned.

"That's hilarious and you know it," Yata wheezed, clutching his stomach.

"Remind me why I'm dating you again?" Fushimi quipped, throwing his cup in the trash can with a scowl.

"Because you love me," Yata proclaimed dramatically, "and you wouldn't trade me for anything in the world-"

"No, I don't think that's it," Fushimi deadpanned, tapping his chin in mock thought. 

"Saru!" Yata smacked him on the arm.

"Tell another joke and I'll stab you," Fushimi threatened, pointing at him.

"Violence is never the answer," Yata intoned seriously.

"Says the one who owns a baseball bat to hit people with," the other boy hissed.

"You brought a KNIFE to our date! Multiple knives!" 

"I don't trust the general population!"

DATE SIX. A few weeks later, they went out to see a movie. It finished pretty late in the night, so naturally he offered for Fushimi to just come home with him instead of driving him back and then turning around to go to the dorms.

He didn't realize what he was in for.

Saru was so cute.

Yata had made up the couch for him with extra pillows and a thin blanket (he didn't tell him, but it was actually from their old apartment; it was the specific kind that Fushimi liked since he got too hot while he slept and anything else was just an annoyance. Yata had kept it, for whatever reason. Definitely not because he hoped he'd need it again.) They both said their good-nights and Yata went to bed. He woke up in the middle of the night and went out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. On the way, he stopped in his tracks, speechless. 

Fushimi was curled up like a cat, knees tucked in. The blanket was up to his shoulders, and his chest rose and fell with even breaths. His arms were curled instinctively around the pillow, hugging it close. Without his glasses, he looked so much more innocent, dark lashes brushing his cheeks and lips parted. He looked so peaceful, none of that defensive harshness in his face. Yata thought his heart was melting. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of it. He tried reminding himself that Fushimi was prickly, that he'd once stabbed Yata in the shoulder and made him bleed, anything. But he wouldn't stop lying there, being adorable. Yata couldn't resist a picture, whether it was to tease him with later or just to prove that a peaceful Fushimi actually existed.

He really should have remembered that he had his flash on.

One heart attack (and a few bruises) later, the pictures on Yata's phone were not pleasant. Instead of the serene image he'd been trying to achieve, he had a demonic, blurry nightmare. Fushimi's eyes were wide in rage, the flash making his pupils show up red. His hair was sticking up all over the place, and he was snarling at the camera.

Yet another beautiful memory.

DATE EIGHT.

Neither Yata or Fushimi liked to think of themselves of needing to be useful. It was true, for them both, of course. Yata loved being HOMRA's vanguard, loved the undeniable purpose of it, loved the rush when he was able to help his family. Fushimi liked to have a problem to solve, liked to be able to do what no one else could, liked when the Captain only came to him. But he would never admit that. He couldn't help himself, though.

It started out innocently enough, when Yata asked him to reach a dish high up in the cupboard. Fushimi mocked him by moving it down shelf by shelf. 

"Can you reach it now? How about here? But it looks like you should be able to-"

"Shut the fuck up," Yata growled, swatting at his arm. "You want dinner, don't you? Then give me the damn plate." Fushimi smiled angelically and did so. His boyfriend scowled and took it, turning away to stir the pot. Fushimi looked away from him and observed the different shelves in the cabinet. His gaze fell on the one that Yata couldn't quite reach, and he grinned.

"Is the dishwasher done?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Should I put stuff back since we're about to make more dishes?" Yata turned around incredulously.

"You...what?"

"I'm serious."

"Okay, weirdo that's done nothing but complain about chores in the over a decade that I've known him," Yata retorted. "Go for it."

"I have to keep our relationship exciting somehow, don't I?" 

"Hey, Saru," Yata called from the kitchen the next day.

"Yeah?" Fushimi answered absentmindedly, focused on his report.

"C'mere for a sec." With a sigh, his boyfriend trudged into the kitchen. 

"What is it?"

"Can you get that stack of plates? I must've put them up there by accident." 

Fushimi glanced nonchalantly at the dishware and tried not to laugh. He'd moved the plates out of his reach yesterday, just to see what would happen. He picked them up and set them on the counter.

"Here you go, damsel in distress," he teased. Yata whacked him as he walked by, making him chuckle.

Fushimi kept it up over the following weeks, moving something subtle but that would eventually have to be used farther back into cabinets and onto the next shelf up. Partly, it was because it was funny that Yata didn't notice. Partly, because it meant Yata had to call for him. As much as he hated to say it, he liked being needed. So even if he was in the middle of work, he'd get up to fetch the dishes.

Eventually, of course, he was found out. Yata caught him moving an entire stack of bowls one night and scolded him, but when Fushimi sheepishly told him why, he softened up and just told him not to do it again. 

Every once in a while, though, he still asked Fushimi to get things down, even if it wasn't necessary. It was the least he could do.

Besides, Yata thought it was cute.

[kadtherine]

Rip could almost see his breath freeze in front of him as he tinkered with the ship’s internal system, flashlight stuck into his mouth and fingers trembling over wires. Unsurprisingly, the Waverider hadn’t been left unscattered after its trip to the Sun – internally and externally. While Jax and Ray went around the ship, fixing as much damage as they could, within their abilities, Rip busied himself with more important matters. Such as making sure their shields would stay up when they would left shore and wouldn’t freeze to death doing so. Gideon - Thank God for Gideon – had somehow remained active during the entire ordeal.

Letting a groan of annoyance, Rip clenched and unclenched his hand, trying to get rid of the numb feeling in his fingers. Leaning back on his heels, he rubbed his hands over his legs and shrugged off his leather jacket, the garment stopping from moving his arms, as he wanted to do. Trying to ignore the sudden cold that hit his bare arms, he let out a breath and focused back on the tangled wires exposed in front of him. Carefully, he began to slowly unwrap them and tilted his head to the side, the light following the meticulous movements of his fingers. He noticed the exposed wire only when it sent an electric shock throughout his entire body. Jumping back with a yelp, Rip ignored the flashlight crashing onto the ground as he brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on it to soothe the burning pain.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, scowling at the opened panel.

“Maybe you should wear gloves,” Rip swerved around at the sudden intervention, his gaze falling onto a concerned Kendra, bundled up in clothes and carrying two large cups fuming of something, “it’d be safer.”

For a second, Rip found himself surprised by her mother-like tone, talking to him as if she was scolding a misbehaving child that had ignored all warning and touched the burning oven door, too eager to taste the baking goods in it. He took him a second to remember that she had been a mother. A mother that had lost a child she had barely even met. Because of Savage. Because of him.

Clearing his throat, Rip tore his gaze from her to gather his thoughts and took his finger out of his mouth, grimacing at its redness. Looking back at Kendra, he tried a smile.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “I can’t do anything with gloves, I like to feel the pieces of machinery beneath my fingers,” he shrugged, his arms crossed, “is there something I can do for you, Miss Saunders?”

Kendra blinked back at him, slightly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, before looking down at the two drinks she had been carrying. Lifting back up her head, she shot Rip a small smile and made her way to him.

“Actually, there is something I can do for you,” she let out a chuckle at Rip’s confused tilt of head, “Jax and Ray decided to take a little break and we thought that our dear Captain should too,” she explained, holding out a cup to him, “you’re useless to us, exhausted and ill.“

He let out a bark of laughter and half-heartedly accepted the drink, bringing it to his nose and taking a cautious sniff, much to Kendra’s amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I have no doubt Miss Lance and Mr Rory would use the opportunity to turn my ship against me.”

“Please,” Kendra snorted, leaning against a wall as she took a sip of her drink, “Gideon would scatter us throughout the worst periods of History if we, as much thought of mutiny.”

“Indeed I would,” came the A.I’s light, monotone response, “Immediately and without an hesitation.”

With a smirk, Rip raised his cup to the ceiling in a silent toast.

“Loyal to a fault, Gideon,” he declared, “loyal to a fault.”

“I aim to please, Captain.”

With a fond shake of head, he wrapped his fingers around the warm mug and, not bothering to blow on it or wait for it to cool, took a long sip of the drink. Rip let out a surprised, yet pleased, hum as the hot chocolate liquid flowed down his throat, leaving a peppery taste and instantly warming his entire body. There was no way that had came out of a can or the ship’s fabricator – was the fabricator still working? He would have to check on it later.

Noticing his stunned expression, Kendra’s mouth broke into a wide, pleased grin as she hugged her mug closer to her chest.

“It’s good, right?” Still bemused, Rip could only give a nod in response. She returned the nod, giddy, “Mick made it,” she added nonchalantly.

And Rip almost choked on the second sip he took out, his stomach churning at the mention of the pyro, and looked up at Kendra, his eyes wide-opened and ready to spit the liquid out of his mouth. First confused at the Captain’s horrified reaction, her own eyes widened in realization. Face palming, Kendra let out a chuckle, which did nothing to reassure him.

“No, no, no, it’s all good,” she quickly assured, taking a sip of her own drink to prove her point, “See? There’s nothing bad in it. Well,” she tilted her head to the side, wincing a bit at the taste, “except for the unhealthy amount of rum Mick poured into it.”

Weary, Rip swallowed the chocolate with a loud gulp, letting out a painful cough when it went down the wrong way. Or maybe it was the rum. Or maybe it was the undetectable poison Mick had only poured in his cup, slowly making its way to his heart. Shaking himself out of his paranoid frenzy, Rip held out a hand when Kendra went to walk to him, probably to pat him on the back.

“I’m fine,” he croaked out before he cleared his throat, wiping the corner  of his mouth, “Yeah, there’s definitely rum in there. And not the cheap stuff, that’s for sure,” he added, muttering under his breath.

Sighing, Rip put down the cup by his tools and, after warming his hands, crouched back down in front of the opened panel, finding the previously discarded flashlight a few steps away from him. As he examined the system for further damage with a frown, Kendra didn’t move. He heard her let out a sigh, jumping from foot to foot as if to keep herself warm. With another sigh, he heard her put down her cup and, from the corner of his eye, watched as she dropped in a sitting position, her legs folded under her.

Putting his flashlight down, Rip stiffened a groan and turned to face her, lifting an eyebrow in question. Kendra responded with a smile and shrug.

“I thought you could use the company. Or an assistant, seeing as Jax is busy with Ray,” she explained, pointing to his tray of tools.

As hard as he tried, Rip couldn’t help the twitch of his lips at the genuine tone of the younger’s woman voice. After a moment of deliberation, he handed her the flashlight, huffing a laugh when she grabbed it out of his grasp with a grin on her face. Shaking his head, he turned back to the wires, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Are you alright?” Kendra asked, after a few moments spent in silence.

Frowning, he didn’t look up from his work but tilted his head to the side and hummed, indicating that he had heard her and was paying attention to her.

“I’m fine, it just went down the wrong pipe. Nothing to worry about, Miss Saunders,” he retorted, grimacing at the state of some cables.

“No, that’s not what I meant-“ her hesitance made him look up, his frown deepening at the look of her face. Kendra cleared her throat, “What I meant is… Are you alright? With everything that went one with Savage and everything…”

His jaw clenched, Rip leaned back on his heels so he could really face her. Kendra was staring at him, her eyes squinted and her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. He wasn’t sure if her fingers trembling were because of the cold or because of her nerves. Seeing as she was wearing, he guessed it was the latter. Letting a breath though his nose, he ran his fingers through his hair and shot her a small smile.

“Well, we’ve completed our mission, didn’t we,” he retorted, “Savage is dead, the word is no longer ending and we’ve got you and Carter back. I count it as a success.”

If you were ignore the fact that one of his crew had been brainwashed by the institution that had raised him, that they had ended this expedition with one less member and that he hadn’t been able to stop his wife and child from being killed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of his pessimism, and looked back to Kendra, the latter didn’t look convinced.

“Did we really, though?” she insisted, her tone cautious, “I thought your purpose had been to save your family-”

“It was!” Rip snapped, throwing his pincer to the side. To her credit, Kendra didn’t flinch. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, “It was. I don’t think if you’ve noticed during those months you’ve spent on this ship, but I didn’t really know what I was doing when I recruited all of you. While killing Savage – and saving them – has always been the ultimate goal; it turned into something bigger when you all came in. Maybe their deaths were a mean to an end,” he bowed his head to avoid Kendra’s gaze, muttering the last few words.

It had been a mean to a better end, Rip reminded himself. All of it had been thought beforehand. He had spent years wondering if it had been meant to be, deliberately calculating each of his moves only to find himself holding Miranda’s and Jonas’ lifeless corpses for the umpteenth time. He had been spend years wondering if he was supposed to live in an endless loop of misery, wondering how he could break it only to find out that it had been pre-written for him. No matter what he did, whatever choice he made, he wouldn’t be able to change anything. Because in some messed up, tragic way: it was meant to be.

“You don’t really think that,” Kendra whispered, breaking him out of his reverie. Not even letting him the time to reply, she fixed him with a stare and kept talking, “If you really believe that their deaths were a mean to an end, it means that Aldus’ death was meaningless. Just a ploy in their games,” she spat, her stare holding a familiar fire. While he knew that her anger was directed at him, he couldn’t but lean a bit further from her, “and that’s not something I’m about to accept. Neither should you.”

Rip found himself gaping at her, his mouth dry and his throat tightening, Kendra breathing heavily, a hand on her chest as she leaned back, her eyes wide-opened in realization.

“Sorry, I didn’t-“ she stammered out, brushing her hair out of her face.

“You needn’t apologize, Kendra,” he interrupted her, lifting a hand, “It’s just… It turned out that every choice that I have ever made was been premade for me. I’ve been taught to trust and have blind faith in a group of people that would, in the future, turn against me. Sorry, I don’t really know what to think lately. he added with a shrug, running his hands over his face.

Her face softened into a small smile as she grabbed her mug back, holding it to her chest.

“You needn’t apologize, Captain,” Kendra repeated, doing her best impression of Rip’s British accent, much to the latter’s bemusement, “You know, I found out that every choice in my life had been already made for me, not that long ago. An older version of myself even told me that I was doomed if I were to live another life that the one people decided for me. Still, it doesn’t stop me from trying to live this life as if I didn’t already have thousand of years of existence.”

Kendra couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the absurdity of her situation, earning a snort from Rip. Smiling down at him, she kicked his leg with her foot.

“Blowing the Oculus was the first step. The second is to take back control of your life,” she lifted a shoulder, as if it was the easiest thing to do.

It probably was, Rip found himself thinking. He had meant it when he said that nobody controlled him. Now that all strings had been cut, he found himself with a blank blackboard in front of him and the ability to wrote his own future. His lips pursed, he shot Kendra a tight-lipped smile and gave her a nod.

“Wise words, Miss Saunders,” his smile turned into a smirk at her second eye roll, “I supposed that picking you lot wasn’t so bad.”

“Right,” Kendra snorted, “We’re probably the worst crew ever known to man. You, however, are a pretty good Captain, Mr Rip Hunter. And a good man, overall.

Rip was the one who snorted, this time, an eyebrow cocked in incredulity. Clearing his throat, he grabbed his pincer back and turned to the opened panel. Kendra took it as her cue to take back the flashlight and shined it into it.

“Not sure about being a good man,” he muttered – Kendra didn’t know if he was talking to himself and responding to her, “But I can try to be a good Captain by repairing this and saving this entire crew from freezing to death. Kendra, if you would?” he added louder, pointing to the tangled mess of cables.

With a frown, she directed the light to the wires and watched as he carefully took of the plastic off of it, knotting the end of it as he went to look for another wire, repeating the same process he did on the previous one. Wrapping the two together, he grabbed the hot soldering iron from its holster and proceeded to melt both ends together, under Kendra’s curious gaze. Letting out a breath, he put the tool back into its place and got to his feet, quickly imitated by the woman by his side. Kendra turned the flashlight, holding her breath as he closed down the panel and threw her a look. The corner of his mouth tugging upward, Rip nodded to the lever next to her.

“Shall we?”

With a grin, she lifted up the lever, her smile widening when she heard the soft whirs of the machinery start up and felt the hot coming through the vents. Kendra let out an incredulous laugh and took off her scarf and gloves, turning back to Rip. The latter stood in front of her, seemingly satisfied.

“Gideon?” Rip inquired, looking at the ceiling.

“The Waverider’s heating systems have been restored to 100 pour cent, Captain,” Gideon answered.

He couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips, Kendra’s bright grin reflecting his own joy. Suddenly appearing at his side, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, breaking the hug before he could even have the chance to react. Beaming, she kept her hands on his arms; her palms pleasantly warm on his skin.

“You did it!” Kendra squealed, squeezing his arms.

“Did you think I would not? Ye of little faith, Miss Saunders,” Rip frowned, faking offense, “Beside,” he added as he picked up his jacket from the floor, quickly shrugging it on, “I had a great assistant. I’m serious, ” he insisted at her eye roll, “manning the flashlight is the most important work of all.”

This time, Kendra snorted, her newly discarded coat hanging from her arm.

“Hey, Rip!”

Rip looked up at the call of his name, frowning as he saw Ray standing on the other end of the hall. It wasn’t his sudden appearance that made him frown, though, but rather the fact that he was wearing one gauntlet of the A.T.O.M suit on one hand while carrying a tablet with the other. Noticing Kendra standing by his side, Ray stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t know you were here,” he grinned sheepishly at her, waving in greeting. She returned the gesture, amused.

“Is there something I can help you with, Dr Palmer?” Rip intervened, knowing that if he didn’t, the other man would probably forget what he came here for and began a conversation with his former fiancée.

“Yes, actually. If you’re done with rerouting the heating system, I could use your help in the cargo bay,” he asked, his gloved fingers drumming against the screen of his tablet.

“I thought Mr Jackson was the one supposed to help you,” Rip asked, his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Suspicion that was, apparently, well founded if the nervous titter that left Ray’s lips was anything to go by. Rubbing the back of his neck with his bare hand, he ducked his head to avoid his Captain’s expectant stare, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, at loss for words. Clearing his throat, Ray lifted his head and shot Rip a small smile, quickly sobering when he responded with a cocked eyebrow.

“Um, Jax had too much of Nana Rory’s Special Chocolate Brew and,” Ray took a step back, squinting his eyes at Rip in anticipation, “he might or might not be drunk…?”

Kendra choked down a laugh, her lips pursed and a smile too-innocent-to-be-genuine plastered on her face when Rip turned to glare at her. Her shoulders shaking with supressed laughter, she covered her mouth with a hand and shook her head at him. Rip groaned, running his hands over his face.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, letting his hands fall to his sides, “Lead the way, Dr Palmer,” he sighed.

Though confused, Ray gave him a slow nod before turning around, slowly walking away. Letting a chuckle escape her lips, Kendra wrapped her arms around herself and cocked her head to the side, both of her eyebrows up.

“What was that about picking us up not being that bad?” Kendra asked, frowning in fake confusion, only to received a blank look from Rip.

“Famous last words, Miss Saunders. Words,” he pointed a finger at her, “that won’t be spoken again any time soon.

Kendra gave him a solemn nod and mimed zipping her lips, earing a snort from Rip. Shaking his head at her, he let out a long-suffering sigh and went to follow Ray, his back to the younger woman.

“I knew this whole chocolate mess would come back to bite in the arse, one way or another,” he muttered.

Kendra’s laugh echoed through the Waverider’s halls, following him as he made his way toward the cargo bay. A smile tugging at his lips, Rip found out that was a sound he could get used to.

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