#the most frustrating thing is that she was always skinny since she first wandered up to the door

[jessiesjaded]

...

[kyuuppi]

vegetable stew

Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)

Contents: hurt/comfort; angst and fluff; body dysmorphia; eating disorder (negative thoughts, fat shaming, insecurity, mentions of starvation)

Word Count: 2.1k

Kenma has always been observant.

It was a large part of his success as a setter and even now his keen observational skills contribute to his career as a professional gamer. He tends to notice things others don’t and lately that means noticing how you’ve changed.

The more he thinks about it the more difficult it is to pinpoint the exact starting point of your behavior. Haven’t you always preferred baggy clothing?

He remembers the pretty blue sweater you used to treasure back in high school, wearing it every chance you got as soon as the weather report hinted at anything lower than 10°C. He loved that sweater too—not just because of the cute sweater paws it gave you or how it almost completely covered the shorts you wore beneath, offering an unobstructed view of your shapely thighs—but instead he relished in the way it seemed to make you feel. The confidence and joy in your expression was clear as day when you wore your favorite outfits and early on in your relationship he had quickly learned that somehow your happiness was synonymous to his own.

Hence Kenma’s current frustrations in seeing that spark of joy and self-confidence gradually diminishing in the past several weeks.

Although that particular sweater had long since left your wardrobe within the first few years of university, as well-loved and worn out as it was, the more recent favorites of yours have also seemed to have gone lately. It had been a while since you had worn the short yellow polka dot dress you had been so eager to show Kenma the first day you got back from the mall with your roommates. Every pair of shorts and colorful tennis skirts had also left your weekly rotation, leaving behind only dull sweatshirts with childhood cartoon characters and baggy joggers.

Objectively, Kenma hardly cared about what you wore. If fastening a potato sack around your form made you happy, Kenma wouldn’t bat an eye—the problem stemmed from the fact these clothes didn’t make you happy. Moreover, the bland clothing brought with them their own slew of behavioral changes.

You no longer wished to go out and you avoided taking pictures of yourself, your social media suffering from an obvious lack of cheeky selfies or “outfit of the day” posts as of late. However, the most concerning change of all was your refusal to eat.

Kenma had a habit of forgetting to eat himself. He rarely felt the mild twinges of hunger, his attention generally hyper-focused on something else whether it was a game, a video needing editing, or a class project he had pushed off for far too long. It was only when his own stomach growling would startle him or the hunger pains got unbearable that he would acknowledge the human requirement of sustenance (not that the instant ramen in his cabinets provided much nutrients anyhow).

You were much more in tune with your body and, unlike him, you looked forward to eating; scheduled your days around it, even.

Your mornings began with a balanced breakfast—a meal Kenma was rarely even awake in time for—followed by a generous lunch break in which you would intentionally put everything on pause. Regardless of how much work you had to do you always made time to put everything down and have a decent lunch. It was good for your soul, you would say. A time to live in the moment and relieve yourself of stress.

For dinner you often made it a point to eat with others, whether it was going to a rowdy Korean BBQ with some friends or a dinner date at home with just him, you enjoyed sharing a meal surrounded by the people you love. On top of it all, you frequently had snacks: small bags of crackers, slices of fruit, or a few cookies you made yourself.

You loved cooking almost as much as you loved eating; most of the times he invited you over you brought a large bag with you filled to the brim with ingredients he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with. You would chastise him about his awful eating habits, grimacing at the ramen and chip wrappers overflowing in the kitchen trash can before you diligently prepare a meal for you both, healthy and flavorful, full of the vegetables he hadn’t had since the last time he went home to visit his mom.

You made him look forward to meal times too, if only to see the way you light up when he compliments your cooking or the pure bliss when you take the first bite of your favorite side dish. Eating with you became one of his favorite parts of the day.

And so that last time you made him dinner—a steaming plate of curry with shrimp tempura—the normally delicious food suddenly turned sour on his tongue when he realized you had only made him dinner.

“I’m just not very hungry today,” you had assured him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Foolishly, he hadn’t said anything at the time.

Maybe you had a large lunch, maybe you had a stomach ache, maybe you just didn’t want curry today—at that point in time he had no reason to think there was something seriously wrong. He had no reason to think you were starving yourself.

It wasn’t until weeks later when all the evidence stacked up, the many different signs piecing themselves together like a puzzle until it was impossible not to see the picture, even if a few were still missing.

Your baggy clothing, your refusal to eat anything, your off-handed comments about how the female characters in whatever fighting game he was playing had such nice figures—it became crystal clear what you were doing and it made him feel sick.

Kenma doesn’t generally care about others’ looks; he tends to worry more on how he is perceived than how he perceives others but he is confident that he rather likes your body as it is. He would rather die than admit how often he finds his gaze wandering when your legs are bare or how his eyes naturally trace the curve of your waist down to the width of your hips his fingers twitch to touch—he has had many thoughts about your body, none of which have ever been negative.

Even so, he doesn’t mind if you want to change yourself. He isn’t foolish enough to think he has the right to dictate how you decide to present yourself to this world, but he refuses to allow the reason for your change to be one that stems from low self-esteem or insecurity.

When you step into Kenma’s apartment, weary from a long day of classes and the extra hours spent at the gym, the last thing you expect is to be greeted by the scent of some type of stew, warm and hearty. Your stomach clenches longingly but you quickly reprimand yourself—you already reached your tiny caloric limit for the day.

You have hardly made it into the living room when Kenma comes out from the kitchen, dyed hair tied in a low bun but messy, several strands poking out and sticking across his sweaty forehead. A dark blue apron is tied around his waist and his right hand holds a ladle, the perfect image of a frazzled housewife. If you weren’t so shocked by the scene you would have laughed.

“Welcome back,” he greets softly.

“Are you...cooking something?”

Kenma looks slightly embarrassed by your incredulous tone but not offended. In all the years you have known Kenma you have never seen him in the kitchen for longer than the three minutes required to heat up a bowl of noodles. Him slaving away in front of the stove for a bowl of homemade soup is nearly unfathomable to you.

“Vegetable stew...it’s my mom’s recipe,” your boyfriend explains sheepishly.

The mental image of Kenma shyly FaceTiming his mother as she patiently walks him through chopping up carrots and mixing spices makes your lips twitch upwards and you make your way past him to curiously survey his work.

“You didn’t have to go through the effort, I could have cooked you something, y’know,” you comment as you lean over the large pot on the stove.

The contents are a rich brown color with hints of potatoes, carrots, and onions peaking out. You’re gifted another pang of hunger and you quickly step back as if it would prevent you from falling into temptation.

Kenma quietly slips into the kitchen directly behind you, his chest nearly brushing your arm as he speaks.

“It's okay, I wanted to cook for us this time.”

You freeze.

Immediately, you break into a cold sweat, the prospect of eating sending you into a state of anxiety. You can’t eat—you don’t deserve to eat. Not when your arms are so flabby, your waist so undefined, your inner thighs so close to each other—

“I appreciate it,” you start.

Your voice sounds unnaturally high even to your own ears.

“But I’m not hungry—I had a really big lunch.”

Turning, you try to offer him an apologetic smile but his face looks off. His lips are pulled into a slight frown and his eyes seem to be looking through you, as if he knows you’re lying.

“Y/n...I don’t like what you’re doing.”

You attempt to laugh but it comes out hollow.

“I’m not doing anything bad, just dieting a bit.”

“I think you’re being a little extreme.”

You huff, starting to feel defensive. You don’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever.

“Kenma, I’m totally fine, I promise.”

“I’m worried about you,” he insists.

“I’m telling you there’s nothing to worry about, I’m being safe.”

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“Kenma, being this fat isn’t healthy!”

The words escape before you can think to stop them and you can already feel the shame pricking at your eyes as you turn away. You don’t want to see your boyfriend’s look of disgust once he realizes you’re right, once he realizes how fat and unattractive his girlfriend is. Kenma is skinny, he deserves a petite girlfriend who is just as tiny, a girl with slender legs that look cute in shorts and a stomach that lays flat regardless of the time of day. He deserves the sexy girls in his video games, in shape from years of training and perfected suited for tight leather bikini tops.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until Kenma wraps his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into the side of your neck. He lets out a shuttered sigh and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s crying as well.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, “and I don’t like seeing you hurting yourself. If you want to lose weight, I’ll help you. We can make healthy foods together and eat them together and exercise together—just please stop skipping meals.”

Your throat feels like it's stuffed with cotton so you can only nod in agreement, raising one hand to weakly wipe at the hot tears staining your cheeks.

The two of you stand like that, huddled in the middle of the kitchen, for several long minutes until the last of your tears have gone before Kenma gently pushes you to sit down at the coffee table. He prepares two steaming bowls full of vegetable stew for you both and you silently eat as Kenma tells you how low calorie the broth is and how many nutrients his mom said were in the vegetables he used. He tells you about a new fitness game on the Nintendo Switch that you two can play together. By the time you finish your meals, Kenma has already promised to wake up early to go jogging around the neighborhood together even though you know he absolutely hates waking up early and exercising when he doesn’t have to.

Your chest aches with how much he loves you, how far he’s willing to go just if he thinks it will help you and make you happy.

A small part of your mind begs you not to listen. It insists you’ll be fat forever if you don’t starve yourself; no pain, no gain. But the more rational part of you gazes into those soft golden eyes, filled with concern and love as he rambles on about the best sources of protein—all stuff he had learned from his professional volleyball player friend Hinata—and you know your answer.

Kenma loves you, he would do anything to see you happy and healthy and you would do anything to please him.

You love him more than you hate yourself.

[highstwildflower]

Less is more darling

Warnings: Mature, Smut

The heat had been unbearable in LA for the last few days. The outside felt like a sauna and being inside felt like a crime. Moaning you moved through the house looking for Ashton. When you found him he was busy with his phone, while talking to the person on the other end a smile spread on his beautiful features. You tried to ignore how beautiful he looked, distracting yourself you drank a large glass of water. Few minutes later Ashtons happy laughs filled your house "Guess what y/n. We are going to a pool party at Sierra and Luke's! Go get ready baby!" His voice was thick with excitement as you gulped down the water. Ashton lifted a brow at you, he had expected you to be bouncing off the walls or at least to match his own excitement. Before he had a chance to say anything you gave him a quick kiss before making your way to your closet.

Arriving at the party you clutched Ashtons hand in your own. Before you made it inside he was pulled away from you, as always. Normally you wouldn't mind, but lately you had needed him whenever you were in social situations. You hadn't voiced it to him or anyone for that matter, but your anxiety had hid new levels and it was affecting you in numerous ways. Only a few moments late you found yourself talking to the girls. Sierra was a close friend of yours and the next best security blanket, when Ashton was busy. The other girls who were speaking with you and Sierra was beautiful, absolutely goddesses. It was like that in LA, looks meant everything and sometimes that was the most hurtful thing to think about. You couldn't help your eyes from wandering down to the chests of the girls around you. You had always been on the lean side, and your boobs were nearly invisible, most of the time you didn't mind but right now you felt like crawling into a hole and hide forever. The feeling of being less of a woman, even less of a human began to creep into your body. Trying your best to shake the feeling you searched for Ashton, but your heart dropped when you saw him deeply engaged in conversation with a beautiful busty woman. You trusted Ashton, he was surrounded by beautiful humans all the time and life would be very tough if you did not trust him. But right now you couldn't help the burning pit at the bottom of your stomach, tears began to pool at your inner corners. Quickly you excused yourself and found a corner to lick your wounds in. You tried to calm yourself as your breath was uneven but it felt hopeless, the people behind you were having the time of their life while you silently were falling apart, even Ashton were unaware of your current state of mind.

But across the pool Ashton had noticed how you were covering yourself with you sundress even though everybody else were left in their bathing suites only. He also noticed how his beautiful bubbly girl was standing quite unfocused on the conversation she was a part of. As she turned her back to the rest of the party and her body only allowed shallow breaths Ashton was fast to leave the conversation he himself was engaged in. Crossing the distance with big steps he wrapped his arms around you from behind, relief filled your body as you turned in his grasp. Burring you face in his neck you allowed the sobs to escape your body, the loud music drowned the sounds at the moment was only shared between you and Ashton. Ashton stood silently just rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down, when you finally felt yourself calming down you took a step back "Can we please go home?" your voice was small and almost pathetic but Ashton understood the panic in your voice "'course darling" his large thumb dried your tears away before he pulled you into his side.

As soon as you arrived at home you hurried inside desperate to cover your flat chest. Ashton knew you, and he respected that you weren't  as communicative a person as he himself was. However, he was a bit frustrated when hours had rolled by and you stilled hadn't offered an explanation for the sudden breakdown. "Baby" his voice rang through the house, and though you had been hiding in the sunroom you knew you had to offer him something "yeah I'm in here Ash" you voice were tired as you prepared yourself for the confrontation. His large frame entered the room and as if he was dealing with a wild beast he slowly approached you before he spoke calmly "Are you ready to tell me what that was all about?" he nudged your knee with his own as he took a seat next to you. Playing with the pages of your book you looked up at him "not really" it was clearly written across his face that he wasn't satisfied with you answer. Before he had a change to say anything you spoke again "I know I owe you an explanation, but I can't give you one right now, I'm just not ready. Please don't push me with this one." You were never really one to set boundaries so while Ashton was incredible proud of you he was also frustrated. Tucking lightly at his hair, he slowly turned to look at you a gentle smile spread across his lips before he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your forehead. He stood up and left you alone again.

Hours passed, those turned into days and still you and Ashton wasn't really talking, neither of you were mad at the other but you both got lost in your heads. Ashton went around thinking about you falling apart in his arms before you sheltered yourself from him, he felt like a terrible partner who had missed the cues. You, on the other hand, went around with a crippling self-esteem, you wanted to open up to him but you couldn't. It would just bring more attention to the fact that you were less of a woman, that he deserved someone who had a larger breast area. Along those days the temperature had risen and you had struggled with finding clothes to wear, everything showcased you flat chest. Loos closing were your only friend.

"Honey, I'm home" his voice brought you from your thoughts, wearing his loos sweater you walked to the center of the house where he just had announced his return. "Hi ashy" he smiled as his nickname left your lips, it felt like an eternity ago since you last greeted him like this. His arms open up for you to snuggle against him and you happily agreed. His lips found yours and for the first time in days you felt as if you might had a change to make it through this. "Whats going on in that pretty head of yours?" his question was intrusive and you took a small step away not ready to open up yet. "Y/n, baby please" he was desperate, knowing you brought this pain on to him brought tears to your eyes "No no, don't cry. I promise what ever it is we will figure it out. Together, you remember?" his arms were still around you as he played with the hem of your baggy shirt "Why are you wearing this baggy clothes lately love?" his voice was more careful this time but you still winched as he rubbed salt in your open wound. Getting the memo he grabbed your hand before dragging you behind him "what are you doing?" he didn't answer you as he continued to move towards your bedroom. He turned towards the big mirror in the corner of the room, without hurting you he sternly brought you in front of him so that you were facing the mirror. You avoided looking at yourself as you made eye contact with Ashton. "Look at yourself darling" his voice was soft yet decisive. You took a quick glance before meeting his eyes again. He gripped the hem of your sweater and brought the fabric over your head. Quickly you clasped your hands across your chest, protecting your nude form from both his and your stare. His large hands rubbed your arms as he gently worked your arms down to your side again "Look at how beautiful you are baby" his chest was warm against you back, offering a small comfort as you began to fall apart in front of him. "You can't say that. Im more flat that a skinny teenage boy"you spitted at him, your words made him furrow his brows as he let out a sigh "Thats not true baby, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon" his ran his large hands from you shoulder across your collarbone "You are so dainty" he smiled as his hands continued exploring your skin, "Your breast sits as two perfect cherries, so perfect" his hand came down to massage your breasts. "I love how firm your boobs feels in my hands" he gave them a squeeze, a smile still tucking at his lips and it was beginning to rub off on you "I love how you look so damn elegant in anything you wear" "I love how you can ditch the bra, so I can look at your nipples all day" As the words left his mouth he tugged at your nipples, your head rolled back onto his shoulder as a soft moan left your lips.

Ashton kept your firmly against his chest as he told you how amazing your smaller boobs were to him. You felt him hardening against your back and you felt yourself grow wetter with each words that left his lips "Darling, do me a favor and get rid of your pants and underwear?" he gave you a questioning look in the mirror, checking if you were still okay with the situation. You undressed yourself as he did the same. His hard cock was released from its confine space and you couldn't help but moan at the sight, his eyes meet yours as you made your way towards him. Just as you reached for his cock his stopped your hand "It is all about you today baby" you mind was clouded and before you noticed he had you back in front of his chest as you faced the mirror. "look at yourself while please you baby"  his voice was warm and husky against your spine, sending a shudder through your body. You fixed your eyes upon your own body, following his hands as they followed every curve of your body. He finally reached your slit and his fingers lazily played with your lips, you whined as he once again pulled a finger through your wet folders without caressing your clit. "Patiences baby" he chuckled into your ear. You began to grind onto Ashtons hand, as you grew more and more desperate for a relief "no, no, no baby, you gotta wait" the mischievousness was obvious in his voice as he enjoyed teasing you while being able to watch your whole body in the mirror. After teasing you for multiple minutes Ashton decided that he had had enough of teasing you "pleas baby" you wimped and just like that he burrowed one of his long fingers inside of you "fuck Ash" your moan was loud but your whine was even louder when he stopped moving his finger "Keep your eyes open baby, I want you to watch yourself or else I'm gonna stop" you struggled to keep your eyes open but you wanted him to continue. He added another finger as he pumped viciously inside of you, his lips worked on your neck and in-between kisses he whispered sweet nothings about how hot he found you. "Please Ashy, I want your cock" that was enough for Ashton to rip his fingers from you slit, he spread your juices on his cock as he pumped it a few times. Position himself behind you he pushed into you, the air was filled with both of your moans and skin slapping against each other. "such as good girl, taking my cock while looking so beautiful"  he words made you clench around him and moan out loud, without you noticing you had been playing with your left boob for a long period of time. Ashton felt proud as he saw you enjoying your body "Fuck y/n, you looks to good playing with you tits as I'm fucking you in front of a mirror" you gasped as he snapped his hips into yours "I I'm gonna cum fuuck. " He helped you chasing you high by brining a thump to your ball of nerves and just like that you felt firework blossom at the pit of your stomach, he kept you against his chest at his chased his own high. "Fuck y/n" he moaned into your ear as he came into you. Ashton kept your close for a moment as you both came down, he slowly dragged out and pulled you into the bathroom with him. He turned on the shower and turned to you, his large hand caught your cheek and he caressed while looking into your eyes "I love you so muck baby, you are really so so beautiful " you smiled at him "I love you baby, thank you" a sweet kiss was shared between the two of you. The shower was filled with sweet touched and a comfortable silence.

The next night as you laid in bed Ashton looked at you for a second "what?" you laughed at him as he moved to hold you closer "I was just thinking... I love you, and I think your body is amazing. I would never want you to change, I prefer you just the way you are. But if the size of you chest is such a big problem for you, you could change it? please don't hear this as me wanting you to change love" You smiled knowingly at him "Its ok ash. I thought about it but you made me realize that I should embrace myself as I am" He smiled bigly at you "Is that so love?" He moved to hoover over you "You know, words are just words till you bring the to life" you laughed at him "one direction really?" he laughed back at you before attacking your side with his long fingers, tickling you until you were gasping for air. The room was filled with loud laughed from the both of you, Ashton kissed your lips before drawing back slightly "and another time love, I will always be here to lift you up, so please involve me?" You nodded be pulling him back in, feeling grateful for the loving goofball who was trapping your body against the mattress.

[cloveroctobers]

ANNA-JULIA “AJ” (JONES) JARLETT

IG bio/info: @/annajj9x_ | 20.1k followers| Athlete | hey peeps can you stop asking me to throw it back cuz the answer will always be no! K thx take it easy 🏳️‍🌈🌻🏒🐶

21 years old

From bath, England

Hockey player as her profession for the past three years

Her position is defense

Their team name is “rowdy alphas”...yeah some team names just didn’t make sense or they’re cringe for no reason at all

Was raised by her mom,(her mom was a teen mom & had her at 17) maternal grandmother, and her paternal aunt (dad’s younger sister, who’s more like a big sister to her at 28)

They’ve made her into the person she is, literally

Her grandmother has a bed and breakfast that they all live in

the house is Victorian style—almost as if they walked right out of charmed! Instead of a big pink house, think yellow AND purple. It was hideous but homey and charming on the inside

growing up in a house with multiple temporary strangers wasn’t odd to aj at all, in fact it felt like the norm. There was always someone around to socialize with so that was quite nice

Her father was a pro baseball player & passed away due to a automobile accident

she has his smile & freckles

aj was also involved in the accident at the age of 6 & miraculously survived with intense injuries

Has scars as a reminder

used to have night terrors because of the accident...it took awhile—years!!! for them to subside

they’re all vague memories now (but the pain is something she’ll always remember) but she preferred it that way

she’s named “Anna” after her mother’s old best friend/roommate and was supposed to be aj’s god mother but she went missing during their uni years

the name“Julia” came from her paternal grandmother who she gets her wide doe eyes from

her athleticism definitely came from her dad

Her mother luckily liked to document things so there’s a bunch of home videos of her dad in them & pictures/scrapbooks that her mom has for safe keeping

She’s more of a klutz, tiny, and wears huge prescription glasses

extremely close to the three most important ladies in her life, so she’s always been able to be open with them about anything!

when she first expressed her interest in liking both genders around 17-18 her paternal aunt was all smirks, “i knew Britney Spears was so your type, yeah?”

more like shakira but Brit was just as pretty

her mother was a “cry baby” so ofc she burst out into tears squeezing aj’s limbs and peppering her face with kisses. She didn’t view her child as anything different... as she shouldn’t & was glad that her daughter trusted them with this significant moment in her life and wanted to be as supportive as she could

got books, watched Ted talks and everything but knew she could come to the source even tho aj was still figuring it out herself

her grandma dipped her head at the new info sitting at the round kitchen table, “been there. had a few broads in my life after and during my marriage with your no good grandad. Thank goodness the bastard died before you even got to meet ‘em.” “Mum!”

what felt like the biggest weight on her chest was lifted. She knew they’d understand but a part of her had a little bit of doubt, she’s heard so many horror stories where those like her didn’t have the support she has and that made her extremely sad to think about

i see her as a person that has/had many friends in secondary. She’s always open to chat and her being on a few sports teams helped her out in her case

very competitive in anything that she does & will guarantee that she’ll beat you. (“ You wanna race to the car from here?”wins. “Who ever cleans the most dishes the fastest gets the last slice of pie.”) majority of the time she’s right but if she loses?? oh don’t let her lose to you, it’s a pity party for the rest of the time ur in her space. Such a sore loser omg

stays active, always working out + has a gym membership and makes sure she goes at least five times a week

she’s very strong, loves leg day & working on her core

she’s about 5’10

loves wearing “gf jeans” since they’re super comfy but doesn’t mind skinny Jeans with rips in the knees every now and then

trainers and chucks are her go-to sneakers

has no issue shopping in the men’s section ‘cause who’s gonna stop her? Nobody that’s who

owner of over a 100 graphic tees + vertical stripped shirts are also her favs, SWEATPANTS/joggers?! How many does she have? A lot. Snapbacks? Plenty. Will she wear them backwards? Obviously.

Physical touch is her love language. She’s comes from a family that has no issue showing their affection by touch. There is NO such thing as personal space and that still stands with aj when it comes to relationships, she sees no other way

It’s what she shows and what she wants in return, if you’re not touching her in some sort of way, then automatically she thinks there’s something wrong or that she did something

Is the jealous type. It has shown in relationships and ruined a relationship or two

Has cheated on a significant other out of pure jealousy & is not proud to admit that

Does have a wandering eye but feels now that she truly understands herself when it comes to relationships, she’ll never act on it again

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, I get libra tendencies from her so that’s what I’m sticking with. She likes to keep the peace (unless she’s jealous) , idealistic — always looking on the bright side of things, outgoing, romantic, and professional— especially when it comes to her team; her true leadership comes out, yet she can be indecisive, hates confrontation, self pitying — if things don’t go perfectly how she imagined/planned it to, the world is ending and everyone is out to get her, and can be unreliable—never on time

September libra to be exact

if she’s really in love/taken a interest in you then she gets nervous: blushing, sweaty palms, cracking her knuckles, tongue tied—the whole 9

she’s already defined as a puppy by her coach but when she’s in love? She’s a lovesick puppy!

her fav holiday is Valentine’s Day

thought she was going to be a pro skateboarder growing up but it took one bad fall where she thought she was paralyzed for her to choose something else

she likes her weed on occasion

Obsessed with all types of cheese except cottage, “can I put cheese on this?”

more of a jumpsuit kinda girl or dressy top with jeans & hoops on a night out

has a solid group of mates outside of the hockey team, they’ve all met and hung out a couple of times, as they should since aj feels they’re going to be stuck with her for awhile so why not?

They’re a riot when they all go out, let’s just say that there’s never a dull moment

fav color is periwinkle

enjoys ASMR, mostly in the mornings when she’s waking up. You know how people love podcasts? (Sorry seb & Nicky, she still wants to be on the show soon!) ASMR is her thing

loves tangerines, you can count on it that she’ll have one on her, “where did you pull that from?” “I’ll never share my master plan.” “You’re such a tit.”

Definitely prefers “fresh squeezed” orange juice & will make her own, she has the tools & the strength 😏

Very rare for her to get sick ;) & if she does she’s a complete baby about it

Will fight that she’s sick before she admits it, trying all sorts of horrid remedies & vitamins

loves summer & all things that come with it, the number one thing is leaving bath for however long she can for a new place to enjoy

when she arrived to love island, she was thrilled for the weather. Yes she was looking for love but most importantly a nice get away & that it was (depending on your route that is lol)

closest with seb, vieve, elladine, and tai but don’t tell the others that! (She doesn’t care if you tell Yasmin, honestly)

just because her & seb “dated” and it didn’t work out doesn’t mean they can’t be friends right? It was almost automatic for them to be platonic after it was determined there would be no romance between them, almost like sibs! like those celebs like to say—except this time these two won’t turn around and actually find romance

vieve came with seb so...but no shade aj did like vieve. She gave great advice (while seb sometimes didn’t say the right things unintentionally or what aj needed to hear) when needed, especially from a medical view and is very sweet

elladine was the one who had all the tea & ideas to match, she’s quite organized and always down for DIY’s and could suggest almost anything. If you needed someone to help you get things tidy or match/find your Aesthetic, she’s the friend you call to help

tai was the one she could be a “bro” with, sure elladine has her competive side (or controlling, depends on how you view it) but tai was the one you can run to for much needed “bro hugs”, partying, going to the pubs, playing sports with or against, checking out/flirting with babes, etc...

it was not long after the villa that aj had a revelation with her sexuality & fully owned and labeled herself as a lesbian

She was happy being in relationship with someone else or with herself, life was short and she was young so there wasn’t time to dwell and stress over things so what the hell?! Live your truth the best way you know how ya know?

probably smells like sweet citrus, almond flower, and sea salt

on chest days, she’s a sweets snacker. Loves gummy bears (also with vodka) , swedish fish, sour patch kids, etc...basically shit that sticks to ur teeth

put all her chips into hockey, while it was advised by her Counselors & mum not to do so, aj went about it anyway. She thought about the pros and cons but knew there was nothing else for her. So there were more pros than cons. She was meant to play sports, its what felt right in her soul

Made her feel connected to her father, when she’s on the field she feels that he is with her

 scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated or confused about something

Doesn’t always grasp concepts right away, she’s a soft dummy but most of us are and that’s okay! We’re all smart in our own ways

Feels like sunflowers are always around her especially if she sees them wherever she is. They must symbolize SOMETHING, therefore she loves them

spf queen. All about it, get with it or let the sunrays ruin ur skin that’s on u

loves a good filet mignon medium-well & is probably the only good thing she knows how to make alongside a salad, baked potatoes, & her oj

sucker for romantic-comedies...it’s basically her life duh!

If she has a dog, it’s a Dalmatian or Great Dane. She needs a companion that’ll keep up with her

loves kissing, it’s her favorite form of intimacy

Quarantine life included the push up challenge for her. Gaining a few pounds in muscle and fat, bothering seb via ft, viewing old letters she wrote to her dad, spending time with her fav ladies since they were now restricted from having guests in their home, and letting boredom consume her + she hated the whole lockdown that came with it, she hated being indoors for long periods of time but she knew that’s what partly needed to be done

Posts a lot of beach, park, outings with her friends & team, moments with her fav ladies, workout videos, and guests at the b&b with their permission and if only she befriends them along the way. She’s just as active on the socials as she is in rl but she’s not obsessed with it, she knows how to live in the now. She’s all about balance!

I also feel like she never keeps her phone charged and it’s always dying on her! She had a car charger but...that’s a jungle. She needs to invest in a portable charger stat

crushing on/finds attractive: Jared Padalecki, Keanu Reeves, Barrett Doss, Camilla Luddington, Sandra Bullock, Adrian Kempe, Harry Kirton, Anya Taylor-Joy, Haley Lu Richardson, Naomi Osaka, Ming & Aoki Lee Simmons

who does she listen to? Shakira lol!! Bea Miller, Dua Lipa, Daya, XYLØ, Elley Duhé, Stela Cole, Aloe Blacc, Maroon 5, Lewis capaldi, Charlie Puth, girl in red, Hayley kiyoko, king princess, dodie, & tessa violet

Anthem: Icona Pop — we got the world

[brimmingwithautism]

Nail Painting for Idiot Sorcerers and Tired Lesbians

Archive Link Here

Fushiguro threw himself against the window for the third time, forcing his skinny shoulders under the frame so he could push the old hinges as high as they could go. Nobara sighed from her position on the floor, a bottle of dark green nail polish already open and fumigating the broom closet the school had given her as a room.

“Itadori will be here in a minute, he can brute force his way through,” she said as her teammate once again slumped over in defeat. It’s not even that she minded the smell of acetone so much, but she doubted Fushiguro would stick around if they couldn’t get any amount of fresh air in. Well, she thought with a vicious little smirk, he might if Itadori asked him to. 

As if sensing her thoughts, Fushiguro twisted his neck around to glare at her. “I still don’t understand why we aren’t training.” He had his uniform on even though it was the weekend, shoes laced tight and muscles tensed. As far as Nobara could figure, her teammate never relaxed, something that had only gotten worse after Itadori died, then came back, then nearly died again in the exchange event with Kyoto. 

But Nobara had also picked up on the fact that Fushiguro had been involved in the world of sorcery and curses for years, maybe most of his life. It was her solemn duty to teach him how to chillax once in a goddamn while, regardless of how grumpy he got. And he could get pretty grumpy, a fun fact she was learning day by day. 

She didn’t say any of that, though, because she didn’t just go around spilling her feelings like that to teenage boys who couldn’t even understand their own moods. She stuck her tongue out instead and started the first careful pull of the brush over her pinkie finger. Her hands were rough, of course, and getting rougher every day in Tokyo. She knew this. She allowed this.

But she also wanted them to be beautiful. Nobara was getting better at the balancing act since coming to Tokyo: making the decisions she could and dealing with the ones she couldn’t. She had a black eye given to her from Panda yesterday that she couldn’t control but the hammer she had swung at his wrist in retaliation was something she could give back in return.

Plusses and minuses. Choices and sacrifices. Pretty nails and a stinky room - Nobara was learning. 

The window opened with a deafening screech by the time she had started on her middle finger. Fushiguro gave a pleased grunt. She put down the bottle in her unpainted hand long enough to give off a couple victory snaps that were only half-sarcastic. It was impressive he got it open at all considering Gojou-sensei had told her that he himself glued the windows down years ago as a prank on another student.

“Can I get back to training now?” he asked even as he sat down on the floor next to her. Nobara didn’t want to sit on the floor, but she knew it would be easier than trying to convince her teammates to get on the bed with her - and she couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling that once they did get on the bed Gojou-sensei would pop through the window to accuse them of youthful troublemaking. She just assumed he really had nothing better to do.

For Gojou-sensei it would be a coat of white polish, she thinks, or maybe bright blue with a sparkling silver accent nail. She knew she wouldn’t find a color to match his eyes, though, something that would frustrate her. 

Fushiguro was an easy choice: black. It’s the only thing she could even get near his hands without him scuttling away and it went well with his whole “I’ve been in my goth phase for years now” look. Even still, pushing the bottle of jet black polish towards him only garnered a huff and a set of shifty eyes. It didn’t matter - she still had a secret weapon.

For a while they sat in silence, the only sound the wind as she went down her left hand and started on her right. Nobara had never really had male friends before, honestly didn’t think they were worth more than the time it took to bully them off the swings at recess, but she liked Fushiguro.

He was quiet, which was always nice, but he wasn’t scared of noise, which was practical. He took Itadori’s brash personality and Nobara’s absolutely charming personality in stride, content to let them fill the space around him. He was quiet with his kindness as well, but it was there in the way he made the meatballs Itadori taught him, the way he saved her life in that cursed domain all those weeks ago.

Nobara wasn’t nice like that, she knew. But she could paint nails.

When Itadori eventually did bother to show up it was through her now-open window, thirty minutes late. He practically leapt through, landing hard on her floor before rapidly crawling under her bed. His sudden entrance surprised her enough that her brush went wide and painted her cuticles more than her fingernail. Fushiguro dragged himself so he could poke his head up enough to see through the window while Itadori seemed to be trying to claw Nobara’s duvet off her bed for another layer of protection. 

She nailed him in the eye with her comb, prompting the most dignified yelp she’d heard in her life, but the sound of Fushiguro hitting the desk was enough to make her turn. Eyes wide, he only had to whisper one word to send her diving along with Itadori under the bed: Panda.

If he saw them, it didn’t matter how many days they had already trained this week  —  they were training again. Ears straining, eyes wide, Nobara shook her hands as frantically and silently as possible in case she ended up needing to fight with only the base layer on. It wasn’t fair, they were barely even dried yet!

There was a shadow cast on the floor through the open window as a lumbering form wandered past the building, calling out Itadori’s name. Fushiguro became one with the floor as he silently slid under the bed as well; he was smart enough to drag the nail polish with him. 

The shadow grew ever larger until Nobara could see the white head of Panda peering through the window, sniffing experimentally. “Inumaki, it looks like they finally managed to get the window open!” 

Another tuft of white hair poked its way through the window with a muttered “Salmon,” before withdrawing once again. Panda left a few seconds later, swiping at his nose and complaining about the smell of nail polish.

Nobara, now unfortunately squeezed in the narrow space under her bed with both her teammates and a duvet, gave the quietest sigh of relief that she could before trying to maneuver her body down and out. It was slow going given her unwillingness to touch anything with her hands and mostly left her wriggling around like a worm on a hot sidewalk as Itadori giggled into his scarf. 

“Shut up!” she hissed, hitting him with her wrist. 

“Oh, that’s a pretty color!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand. “Did you do it to match Maki-san’s hair?” 

The headlock she put him into was a purely instinctual response and therefore NOT her fault, even if it did manage to get the wet polish on her right hand all over Itadori’s cheek. It ended with Fushiguro divebombing them with the duvet to muffle the choking sounds, leading to an uncomfortable tangle of limbs that ended with both boys blushing and Nobara lamenting her ruined paint job. 

Getting out from under the bed was an exercise in frustration and more worm-like movements that Nobara would take to her grave. Fushiguro took lookout once more, but after a thumbs up all three of them managed to wrangle themselves to a circle on the floor with the nail polish once again.

“So!” Nobara started, because it was her idea, “Fushiguro is getting black nails and Itadori can have pink. It should match with your dye job.” The bottle she held up to his head wasn’t perfect, but she thought it was pretty enough. Itadori confirmed this when he snatched it from her hands with a wide grin.

Her other teammate pouted but took the bottle of black polish as well, falling to a combination of Nobara’s fearless leadership and Itadori’s enthusiasm. 

The way they were so obviously crushing on each other made Nobara feel better about her choice in polish - Maki-san wouldn’t think it was creepy, right? It was just a nice color, really, and it didn’t have to be any deeper than that. 

She methodically wiped away any mess off her hands and began once again to paint her nails, paying close attention to making them neat. Itadori didn’t seem to mind the mess he made on his hands, and Nobara was glad she had plenty of remover on hand. Her other teammate managed to paint his nails perfectly on the first try, but Nobara was resolved to not even look at him so she wouldn’t get angry about it. She mostly succeeded.

“But Kugisaki, won’t we all mess up our nails tomorrow in training anyway?” Itadori asked after about five minutes of blissful silence. 

Nobara gave another paranoid peek out the window as she considered the question. “We can put on a top coat to protect it some, but it’ll probably get dirty, yeah.” She inspected her left hand in the light, tilting it from side to side before blowing on her fingers lightly. It looked better than it did before.

Fushiguro, fed up with the disaster next to him, grabbed the pink polish and started painting Itadori’s right hand, entirely oblivious to the violent blush that stained Itadori’s face. “Then why,” he asked, moving his canvas into a better position, “Are we bothering to put in on in the first place?’

“Because I like it when my nails look good.” And you need a break. And Itadori needs to be around people again. And we need to do something other than train and fight for a day. “And you guys desperately need my fashion advice.”

Right hand finished, she thought with satisfaction. Time to dry and then put on another layer. She was debating about trying to do additional details or designs but she knew Fushiguro was right - they would be destroyed in training tomorrow.

And she would do it again. And again. She made the decision, she painted the nails, she fucked them up later trying to avoid Maki-san’s endless arsenal of weaponry. 

Itadori bounced his knees up and down as he sat criss-cross waiting for his hand back. He always had energy with whatever he did. Nobara had never seen him still, not really; she was still lying unconscious in the car when they picked his body up and she had never gone to see him in the morgue. It didn’t feel right considering that they had barely known each other. Considering Nobara hadn’t been able to help him at all.

His finger on her nose pulled her from her thoughts. “Hey, Kugisaki, is liking Fushiguro’s cousin breaking the bro code or not?” 

“I am not your bro!” she shouted with enough presence of mind to lash out with her feet instead of her hands. Her kick to his abdomen did nothing, unfortunately, his stupid abs absorbing the blow without even having the hand that was being painted shake.

Fushiguro huffed. “Can we not talk about your crush on Maki while I”m still here?”

“Would you rather talk about your crush?” she retorted. Again, both her teammates turned beet red, and again, both her teammates were completely oblivious. The only reason she hadn’t gone right out and said anything was because their entire situation was too funny to cut short prematurely. 

She picked up her bottle of polish with a grin and began the second coat. Itadori started to furiously blow on his fingers in the background, though Nobara thought that the heat still coming off his face was enough to dry his hands in seconds. 

“Are you doing a second layer?” she asked Fushiguro as he sat still, not moving to leave but not moving to continue painting either. 

“Kugisaki-san,” he mumbled, looking off to the side. It was uncharacteristic for him to look embarrassed like that considering Nobara had seen him say the stupidest things with the straightest face, so she didn’t interrupt. “Maki doesn’t paint her nails.”

Oh, she thought.

He really is kind.

Pinky finger done, then the ring finger. “Whether or not I have a crush on Maki-”

“But you do,” Itadori sang gleefully.

“Shut up! Whether or not I have a crush on Maki-san is immaterial - I’m painting my nails because I want to.” She grinned at her teammates before deflating again. “The color is just a coincidence.”

Itadori made another little crow of victory at her admission. “You’re really cool, Kugisaki!” 

“Watch your nails!”

The next half hour or so managed to actually be some measure of peaceful as Fushiguro and Nobara traded off painting their own nails and Itadori’s. Panda never came around again, and if she thought she saw a flash of white hair pass by the window, she didn’t say anything. And neither did Inumaki-san. 

Itadori complained enough about not being able to use the nail polish himself so she let him apply the clear topcoat to her fingers, confident enough that he couldn’t stain her work with that. When he grabbed her hands, twisting her wrist to look at the callouses on her palms, she didn’t stop him, just raised her eyebrows. 

She knew he wasn’t hitting on her, a comfort she didn’t take for granted. As much as she denied her crush on Maki-san (It was just because her senior was cool!), it was still surprising every time she heard her teammates joke about it in a kind manner. 

“Kugisaki,” he eventually said after about five seconds of solemn reflection, “When did you learn to fight curses?”

Nobara opened her mouth automatically before closing it again, letting herself think about the answer. Fushiguro was also looking at her, head tilted in the way that meant he was absorbing every single word to an uncomfortable degree. 

“I was young,” she eventually said. She drew her story together in her head as Itadori resumed painting her nails, trying to decide what would matter to her teammates and what wouldn’t.

“There was a curse on the swingset of my school, one that only I could see. I wasn’t scared, really, mostly annoyed that it was interrupting recess.” She blinked and could almost see the shape of it crawling on her dresser: a long spindly mess of mulch-brown legs and protruding eyes. It carried itself over all the equipment, tripping or pushing children along the way. “The teachers didn’t believe me but my dad did. My aunt lived with us and she was a sorcerer, B-Grade, but she was on a job at the time so he told me to just read inside during recess so I could avoid it.”

Itadori laughed at that. “You tried to beat it up, didn’t you?”

“Of course! My aunt used throwing knives in a technique almost like mine - I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was my dad worked as a carpenter and he had a mallet in his toolshed that was light enough to swing around.

“I carried it in my backpack the next day and after school, I went to the playground and beat that ugly little curse’s face in. It was beyond weak, thankfully, but at the time I felt like I was a superhero. When my aunt came home the next day I told her everything and demanded she start training me, so she did.”

She freed her hands from Itadori and gave them to Fushiguro to clean up all the excess topcoat that was hanging around her cuticles. “She painted her nails before and after every mission and she let me pick the colors.”

She stopped there. She had answered the question in full, told Itadori and Fushiguro more about herself than she knew about them, but she still wanted to go on.

Her aunt was gone a lot, traveling around all the country towns exorcising the curses that no one else noticed. But she raised Nobara when she could, not a mom but a mentor. An idol, almost, with the way Nobara used to look at her. She had always been so cool: short hair, leather jackets, heavy work boots that matched her father’s construction shoes perfectly. And her nails were always bright and colorful and fun.

Her aunt wanted to be an exorcist so she was. She didn’t want to get married so she stayed single. And on a job that should have been routine, she made the choice to save a family and then she didn’t come home. 

Nobara, who was barely able to land her nails with precision at the time, had been too numb to cry when her father had told her. Saori had already gone by then, a wound Nobara had been stubbornly ignoring, but this was an absence that was too wide to even think about.

What made up a life? What made up Nobara when everyone was gone, leaving her in a town that drove away anyone it didn’t understand? Her aunt had never minded, had been too strong to mind the sneers that followed her when she stuck around between jobs, but Nobara wasn’t strong like that yet.

Nobara was eleven.

Or, she was. 

But now she was older and her attacks always landed and she made her own choices exactly like her aunt did. 

Nobara didn’t need to say this though. She needed to finish painting Itadori’s nails so they could sneak out to dinner in order to avoid more evening training with the second years.

Fushiguro finished applying the topcoat to his own nails with a bemused look, like he still couldn’t believe he bothered painting them at all. 

“Hey Itadori,” she whispered as loudly as possible, “Fushiguro kinda looks like one of his dogs right now.”

Itadori did a perfect imitation head tilt in response that had both of them rolling on the floor and Fushiguro did his best to seem grumpy. The fact that he was still hanging out with them ruined the effect a bit. Her plan to make them calm down was going perfectly! Next was a nice dinner out (that she would make them pay for) and maybe some retail thera-

“Oi!” came a call from out the window. 

Itadori fell completely flat on the floor out of instinct and Fushiguro wasn’t moving, so it was up to Nobara to make her way over. In the four steps it took to reach the window she mourned her dreams of Tokyo sushi and late-night shopping: Maki-san was standing three feet away and staring directly at her.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey,” she said, poking her head out and leaning on the windowsill. Maki-san wasn’t wearing her jersey, at least, but the glint in her eye told Nobara that Maki-san knew she had been hiding. It wasn’t fair how put together she still looked after what was probably a full day of training: Maki-san really was the worst kind of jock.

“Let me see your nails,” Maki-san said with a snap, causing Nobara to reel backward in surprise and almost trip over her duvet which the boys had left on the floor. She saved herself though - letting her senior see her fall over like that after all the training they had already gone through would be a nightmare. 

Maki-san laughed, tilting her head back (in a way that was completely unfair!). “If you first-years are going to skip training so you can all paint your nails together, I at least want to see if you did a good job.”

Nobara blushed, or maybe she had been blushing the entire time, but dutifully stuck her hands out for Maki-san to see. She was seriously regretting the color choice now, but she had to be brave! It was her decision to use the color so it was her decision to be completely embarrassed in front of the coolest girl Nobara had ever met.

Cool hands grabbed her own, pulling her forward so Maki-san could get a better look at all three of them’s combined efforts. Nobara turned away so she wouldn't have to look at Maki-san’s only to find her room empty, Fushiguro and Itadori apparently having fled like the traitors they are. All that was left was a small note on the ground with the phrase “Good luck!” and a grinning Itadori with a thumbs up. For a second she let herself be impressed with how quickly he drew the picture. 

She still made the choice to kill her teammates the next time she saw them.

“Ah, Maki-san, well, Fushiguto and Itadori needed the break, you know? And they were too dumb to know it so I had to take charge. And it was team bonding, which is actually a kind of training!” Nobara was very much not noticing that Maki-san was still holding her hand. In fact, Nobara was noticing everything else in the world. Was this what Gojou-sensei felt like?

“I like the color,” Maki-san said, after an excruciating fifteen seconds of study. “Do you have more?”

…

(She could never make fun of Fushiguro and Itadori again.)

“YES!” she screamed and then stopped. “Yes,” she repeated at a normal human volume. “Would you like me to paint your nails?”

Maki-san stepped forward, closer and closer until Nobara had to back up as once again someone came through her window, though Maki-san did it with much more grace than Itadori.

Nobara, with the UTMOST grace and poise, did her best to discreetly kick her fallen duvet over the note and Maki-san was too kind to say anything about it. 

Instead she grinned, mouth sharp and eyes bright, a cocky set to her hips and shoulders that Nobara couldn’t help but admire. “If you’re offering, sure, but I’m thinking of a different color.”

Maki-san sat on the bed, confident to the last, so Nobara picked up all her polish bottles from the floor and followed. “If you want black I should warn you that you’re going to match Fushiguro.” 

Maki-san patted the seat next to her and laughed. “Nah,” she said, holding up her own calloused hands to the light, “I was wondering if maybe you had an orange. Something that matches your hair.”

[nyctolovian]

Oh my goodness! My first Good Omens fic!! I finally did it! So yeah uhhhh enjoy this weird thing

Summary: A pair of wedding rings had somehow come into Crowley’s possession (it was purchased) and she decides she might as well do a marriage proposal while she’s at it.

It was an entirely human concept—marriage, that is. If anything, this was an attempt at blending in. They were already so often mistaken as a married couple. They might as well play the part. So yep, the pair of rings Crowley bought was a front. All to fool any onlookers and play the role they have already been assigned to by the humans.

Surely, Aziraphale would understand.

Or at least, that’s what Crowley told herself as she sat in her Bentley, practically bouncing in her seat with nervous energy. It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, many months after the Not-pocalypse.

No angel nor demon had ever bothered them since and the two have settled back into their previous lives before being so rudely interrupted by plans for war. Perhaps “settled back ” was the wrong term because it had felt more like coming home for the first time, shucking off a stiff coat they’ve been wearing all this while and flinging it onto the coat hanger at the end of a terribly long day.

They were finally able to simply be without worrying about how they should take their next breath. No need to think or overthink.

So it was no surprise that between spotting a lovely pair of rings, and envisioning slipping them on (one on a spindly, nail-bitten finger and the other on a plump, manicured finger), Crowley found herself outside the angel’s bookshop with the pair in her pocket. Completely without proper thought, on autodrive, drunk on serendipity.

After all, it was a well-known fact that while Crowley was brilliant at coming up with ideas, she was godawful at thinking them through.

Gingerly, Crowley fished the pair of rings out of her pocket. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for her impulsiveness. They really were quite gorgeous. Perfect for them even.

Crowley collapsed further into the driver’s seat with an aggravated sigh. Oh, who was she trying to kid? This was most definitely a selfish romantic gesture that bordered on possessiveness. Unbecoming of a demon, really. Or perhaps rather appropriate given that greed was a sin. Not that anyone was keeping track of her demonic work anymore.

But what would Aziraphale say?

Somewhere between the not-pocalypse and present day, they had silently settled into a romantic relationship. The Day After The End, something—some sort of clear dividing line between the two of them—dissolved. And somewhere between then and now, they had settled into a romantic relationship. The tipping point was not clear but where they’ve landed was immensely so. A result of literal thousands of years dancing around each other in overly complex rituals and choreography for fear of being caught red-handed. It was difficult shaking off certain habits, and the two still found safety in playing out their usual game of implications and knowing glances so it simply continued past the need for it.

These rings however… Quite frankly, it would utterly shatter their defensive veil of pretense and dance. The nature of the relationship would be out in the open, and that wasn’t even getting to the fact that the rings were a direct request for something more; greedy demon that Crowley was.

With a noise between a groan and a growl, Crowley grabbed the box of cheesecake in her passenger seat, threw the car door open and sauntered to the bookshop with conviction.

“Hiya, Angel!” she said as the door to the bookshop swung open at the snap of her fingers.

A rather exasperated Aziraphale was attending to a red-faced young lady, who clutched an ancient-looking book in her hands. The corners of his eyes, however, wrinkled with delight at Crowley’s voice and he spun around, hands clutched together in front of his belly. “Oh, Crowley! I didn’t know you were coming!” he said. “I love it when you tie your hair up like that. It’s very lovely.”

“You say that no matter what I do to my hair,” Crowley muttered. She felt a blush grow on her cheeks nonetheless.

“That’s because it’s always true,” he replied. Primly, he turned back to the agitated lady and said, “I’m afraid we will have to close shop this instant. Seeing that we cannot come to an agreement, I’m afraid I cannot sell you this book.” He slid the book right out of her hands and pushed it into the bookshelf.

“But—” The lady’s face got even redder. Crowley wondered how much blood this woman had in her to turn this shade. “Just tell me what price you’re willing to sell this for!” she yelled.

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Aziraphale said, “As I’ve said, you decide what price you’re willing to pay and I’ll decide if that’s the price I'm—”

Throwing her hands up, the lady let out a screech of frustration. “This is impossible!” she screamed as she marched towards the door, shoving past Crowley with a scowl.

“Do come back another day if you wish to re-negotiate,” Aziraphale called.

“I’m never setting foot into this bloody shop ever again!” she yelled back from the door. “Go to fucking hell!”

“I already have,” Aziraphale, the cheeky bastard, looking much too pleased with himself, replied as the lady slammed the door shut.

As he flipped the door signage to “Close”, Crowley stuck a hand in her pocket nervously. After clearing her throat lightly, she said, “Arrived at a convenient time, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” he said, “you have no idea. That lady has been badgering me for the past hour. I admire the tenacity but I’d appreciate it if she didn’t use it for acquiring my books.” With a small pout, he looked at Crowley. “Can you imagine parting with a First Edition Oscar Wilde?”

Crowley let out a grunting hum that conveyed a simultaneous sort of non-understanding and sympathy. She raised the box of cake and said, “Got several gifts.”

“Ah!” the angel said, clapping his hands together, his frown disappearing altogether. He peered into the bag before heading towards the kitchen. “Do take a seat, my dear. I have just the right tea to go with that lovely cheesecake.”

Crowley nodded stiffly and crumpled into her armchair. She shifted in her seat anxiously, unable to find a comfortable position. Where were legs supposed to go again? Surely her skinny jeans were never actually this tight. And perhaps wearing her hair in a loose bun like this was a terrible idea, too much fringe and curtains.

Before the snake demon could sort herself out, Aziraphale returned with a tray of plates and tea and slid it onto the table. With nimble fingers, he opened the box and cut out two neat slices of the cake. As soon as Crowley took his plate of cake, Aziraphale wasted no time and gently used his fork carve out a bit of the cheesecake. Crowley watched intently as he popped it between his lips and moaned around the mouthful, his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. He slid the fork out of his mouth and his pink tongue ducked out to lick off some of the cream coating his lips. How on earth the angel could make eating practically pornographic was beyond Crowley’s comprehension, but she absorbed the view like a dehydrated sponge.

Aziraphale noticed her gaze. “This is absolutely scrumptious,” he said after swallowing.

A smile slid onto her face with ease. “Hm. ’s that so?”

Crowley proceeded to devour her slice, and then spent the rest of the hour watching Aziraphale slowly work his way through the rest of the cake.

Despite the lovely distraction, however, Crowley found her mind wandering back towards the tiny ring box in her pocket. She squirmed as the thoughts invaded her mind again, like locusts upon a field. It wasn’t too late to just let the day go by and never mention the rings. This was far too impulsive anyway. Aziraphale might not even appreciate it. Maybe Crowley would be going too fast for him again.

But, her mind also supplied, Aziraphale was the one who gave Crowley the keys to his flat above the bookshop. Not that Crowley needed it—she could always miracle her way into his flat if she needed to—but it was about the symbolism and implication. An invitation. An invitation that she took because ever since, she had only entered her flat at Mayfair to collect her belongings and settle scores with the plants.

Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. Maybe he’d be delighted. Maybe the keys to his flat were the hints. Maybe he was waiting.

But what if she was reading it all wrong? She never was good at reading, snake eyes and all. He could very well be—

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, startling her. The plate clinked lightly as he placed it on the table. “Is there something wrong?”

“Hnk! Nothin’. Nothing’s wrong. ’s all fine. Why d'you ask?”

“Your sunglasses…”

Crowley made a punched out noise and writhed a little in her chair. “Angel, I—” Her voice snagged on her throat and her lips flapped open and close silently.

It was now or never. And never was a dreadfully long time for an immortal being.

She raised her ass off the seat so she could reach into her jean pocket and yank out the tiny box. Aziraphale’s bottom lip jutted in confusion. With a deep breath (which Crowley’s corporation frankly didn’t need), she slid off the couch, ripped off her sunglasses and dropped to her knee before opening the box.

There, neatly sat a pair of rings with identical feathered-wing designs at their open ends. Aziraphale’s name was neatly engraved on the inner curve of the silver ring and Crowley’s on the black one.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Crowley,” he breathed. “You don’t mean—” Cheeks tinted pink with surprise, he leaned forward.

Crowley swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. Her arm gradually lowered as she muttered, “If… it’s too much—”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale said quickly. “This–” He cleared his throat. “This is a… um… proposal, yes?”

Crowley nodded.

“Fancy that. Getting married,” Aziraphale mused, fondness dripping from his voice. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

Crowley let out a huff of relief and she fought against the soppy smile tugging upon her lips. She fumbled with the box and her trembling fingers were barely capable of holding the black ring. Gently, she cupped the angel’s hand. Those soft hands curled lightly over her fingers and she swore she must have been blessed or something because a shock ran down her spine.

This must be a dream, she thought giddily as she slid the ring onto his fourth finger. She glanced up to see Aziraphale’s radiant glee, a grin that wrinkled his cheeks and the corners of his eyes and spread into his temples.

No dream could match the ethereal blessing of that smile, Crowley knew. This is absolutely real.

“Humans and their little inventions, y'know?” she whispered in reverence.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale replied. “I do quite enjoy it when they do that. It can all be rather, well, exciting.”

Crowley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “S'pose that’s one way to put it,” she mumbled.

He leaned down to pick up the ring box. The cool ticklish sensation as he slipped the silver ring onto Crowley’s finger drew the most delicious shade of rose out of her.  “Do you suppose we should have a wedding?” the angel asked.

The demon faltered, pulling back with a slight frown. She twisted in her spot, struggling for a coherent thought, before she mumbled, “Anything’s fine, honestly. As long as there are no churches involved.”

Aziraphale burst into the most pleasing belly laugh as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “Of course, my dear.”

[illneverrecover]

is that so? (M) | jwy

➛pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader ➛genre: non idol!AU, established relationship, fluff, smut ➛word count: 5,094 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: oral sex (female receiving), food play if you squint?, marking, biting, slight roughness, praise, anal play (female receiving), butt plugs, unprotected sex, wooyoung being a loud sweet man. ➛summary: You’ve had a rough few days - hell, weeks - at work, and your new boyfriend Wooyoung knows just how to show you how much you’re appreciated.  ➛notes: EEEE, My first Ateez fic! I’ve been following Ateez since debut and fell completely in love with them, so I was excited when one of my fave clowns ladies, @thiccasswonhoruinedmylife​ commissioned me to write a Wooyoung piece. She requested something with Wooyoung cooking for an anniversary present with smut and fluff, which fits him perfectly tbh. Love you Bri, I hope you enjoy! 🖤 ➛song: Try/Effortless - DVSN  & Say My Name - Ateez 

Fuck, you’re tired. 

You’re always tired.

You can’t remember the last time you didn’t feel exhausted, where you felt well rested by the time your alarm went off at the crack of 5 am. Work was draining you to the dregs, long hours with even longer meetings (that could have been EASILY summed up in an email) and copious hours spent hand holding grown men on how to do their jobs (but getting paid infinitely less than them.) They take their toll, and now you dread going - hell, even looking at the building could kill your mood.

The only saving grace was your amazing boyfriend.

You hadn’t been dating too long, about two months, but it was one of those things where you had an instant connection, the click of two puzzle pieces fitting just right. It had been at one of your friends house parties (the ones you normally skip due to wanting to catch up on sleep) but this time she had insisted you come, adamant that you met her boyfriend’s friend who had recently moved back into town. You had brushed her off; knowing her for as long as you had, there was a solid chance that whomever her and her long time beau, Seonghwa, were trying to set you up with was either not your type, a fuckboy, or a combination of both. 

However, she had badgered you enough that you agreed to go, if only to get her off your back for the next few soirees (and to get her to lay off the dramatic gifs she had been spamming you with). Running late from work, you showed up in your business casual a few hours after it had started, the place eerily quiet as you could see silhouettes of guests mingling on the back porch. Taking advantage of not being noticed quite yet, you had decided to make yourself a strong glass of liquid courage before facing her and whatever fuckery was afoot for the evening.

You had just reached into the back of the fridge for the bottle of strawberry soju you knew was waiting for you when a voice had you jumping. 

“Anything good in there?”

Whirring around, you had found a blonde man eyeing you, hair swept off his forehead to show off his glistening skin. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, his plush coral lips curved up into a sly smirk as he leaned his forearms down against the counter. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” you swallowed, raising a brow at the stranger. “I know Red always keeps a bottle of strawberry soju in her fridge for little old me, hidden in the back so Seonghwa doesn’t steal it.” You had popped open the lid, choosing to chug straight from the bottle instead of fussing with a glass. “I promise I’m not just rummaging through there.”

He had laughed then, his voice pitching higher than you had expected, and it had made you smile. 

. He held his hands up in a surrender, palms out, a toothy grin on his face. “Hey, no judgment. I was about to do the same - but for food. Seongie is out there trying to grill but he’s such a perfectionist it’s taking forever, even Red is threatening to call for take out.” 

Chuckling, you shook  your head. “Sounds about right. I’m Y/N, by the way,” 

Holding out a hand, you had waited until he placed his palm in your own, giving it a firm nod.

“I’m Wooyoung, Seongie’s friend. I just moved back into town.” 

Ah, so he was the mysterious unofficial blind date.

You had eyed him then, fully taking him in from head to toe, assessing him as if you’d be able to tell his character from undressing him in your mind. He had been wearing some kind of dark button down, the top buttons open to bare some of his tanned chest, a jean jacket thrown over top to keep it casual. A few black chokers circled his neck, emphasizing the muscles there, matching the wash of his inky skinny jeans that were so tight you weren’t totally convinced that they hadn’t been painted on. 

His eyes had widened at your appraisal, but he hadn’t spoken a word, instead giving you another smirk while waiting for you to comment.

“It’s nice to meet you, Wooyoung.”

And it really was. From that point on, you two had been inseparable, even once rejoining the official party. Staying hip to hip, you talked about anything and everything, from the most mundane to the downright unexpected (you don’t think you have ever seen a grown man discuss Harry Potter with such wonder in his eyes), and you found yourself not wanting to go home, even as everyone else cleared out.  It was only natural to accept his invitation to continue your evening, to  be squeezed into a 24 hour diner booth discussing movies until the bleary hours of early morning over a plate of french fries. You just didn’t want the moment to be over, for the night to end, for the spell to dissipate. 

Luckily, you had both been on the same page.

Fate had taken its course from there, and there wasn’t a day that passed that you and Wooyoung didn’t see each other, even if it was just over FaceTime as you warmed up leftovers after work. He was so attentive, so sweet, so funny, bringing back a spark into your life that you hadn’t even been aware of that was missing. 

Maybe you had moved a little fast in the perception of others, but to you, it had just felt instinctive to exchange love declarations after the third week, to swap apartment keys sometime during the fifth. 

Unfortunately, your work schedule has been relentless, your days still painfully long and showing no signs of stopping. Wooyoung is understanding, always offering to run your errands for you and asking how he can help make your life easier. Even when he can’t help, when the load gets too heavy to bear - he holds you, lets you rage cry out your frustration, rubs soothing circles into your back until you feel a weight lifted once more. “I’d do anything to see your smile, Jagiya,” he’d tell you with a wide grin, light in his eyes.

And he went out of his way to make that promise come true as often as possible, from little notes left on your door when you come home at night, to silly dance moves in your kitchen as a Britney Spears song blares from your Bluetooth speaker. He even made sure to make your one month anniversary special by having  your favorite flowers waiting for you when you got home, your bedroom turned into the vision of comfort with blankets and pillows and a large bowl of popcorn, perfect for a movie marathon.

He was truly the perfect man, the reason you got out of bed in the morning, the inspiration to fight through the longest of shifts - and  you were so thankful to have him, always hoping he could feel how much his love meant to you.

So it wasn’t a surprise when you came home to him cooking inside your apartment one Friday night after work. 

You had actually gotten off work at a decent time for once, feet crossing the threshold just as the clock showed it was a quarter after 5, and you had sighed heavily with relief when the smell of sauteed garlic hit your nose. Kicking off your heels, you wandered towards the kitchen, your heart skipping a beat when you saw your boyfriend standing at the stove. 

He has a bright red apron tied around his neck, a flash of words on the front though you couldn’t quite read them. Instead, you were too focused on the ingredients piled onto the counter, the slight flush in his cheeks from working over a hot stove. Candles were placed everywhere, setting the room into a soft glow, and there was a bottle of wine aerating next to twin glasses on the table, plates waiting to be filled. 

He spins when he hears you, grinning at the soft look on your face. “Hey, Jagi. How was work?”

You click your tongue. “Don’t ‘how was work’ me, what’s all this for? Are you trying to spoil me?”

He moves towards you then, giving you an eyeful of his “May I suggest the sausage?” apron, complete with an arrow pointing down to his crotch, making you snort. 

“First of all, how dare you. I’m always trying to spoil you.” Sliding his arms around your waist, you rest your face on his shoulder, melting into his touch. “Second of all,” he murmurs, lips pressed to your crown, “it’s our two month anniversary, so I thought I’d surprise you.”

“You are too good to me, Woo.”

Humming, Wooyoung sways, keeping you trapped in his arms for a beat longer before moving to plant a peck on your cheek. “No such thing as too good for you. Now, go sit down, rest, let me finish up. I’m just about finished.”

You do as ordered - moving to sit at the table, deciding to wait until after dinner to change, not wanting to take your eyes off of him. Instead you poured yourself a glass of wine, sipping it slowly as you watched him cook. It was endearing; seeing him work around the kitchen, brow furrowed in concentration when he would double check the recipe on his phone screen, tongue poking out the side of his mouth when he measured out a spice. He seemed to be taking it so seriously, making sure each step was perfect before moving to the next, which in comparison to the mess he was leaving in his wake, is amusing.

For what he lacked in skill, he makes up in confidence, wielding the knife with ease as he made the final slices to the meat, tossing them in a pan to saute. With a final stir, he adds them to the pot, gathering the sides with oven mit clad hands before sitting it down on the table.

A quick glance told you it was some kind of ramen, noodles and vegetables simmering in an aromatic liquid, steak lined on the top with some hard boiled eggs nestled next to it. Moving to the fridge, he grabs a few more bowls and side plates wrapped in plastic, bringing them to join the other dishes.

“I thought we could have my world famous ramen for dinner tonight,” he explains, tearing the plastic off to reveal the side entrees. “It’s a bit of a mashup of Korean kimchi ramen, but I also wanted you to have options on what to add to yours.” 

He seems nervous, vibrating with untapped energy. Smiling, you reach out and squeeze his hand. “It’s perfect, seriously. Thank you, Wooyoung.” 

Like a true gentleman, he fixes your initial bowl, walking you through all the side entree options and flavors, giving suggestions based on your preferences. Only once you are settled does he prepare his, grinning like a madman when he finally takes a seat. 

Instead of tearing into the food like you expected, he stares at you, eyes dancing with mischief. Your hand hovers over the bowl, spoon suspended half way between your food and your mouth, and you raise a brow at him. “What?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing.” he leans back, placing both hands behind his head. “I just want to see the look on your face when you taste it, is all.”

“And why is that? Is there secretly an entire ball of wasabi in here or something?”

He giggles, head shaking. “No!” he protests, voice echoing off the walls. “No, I would never! How dare you!” you join his laughter, despite your spoon still being frozen, waiting for him to continue. “I just want to see your face when you taste the excellence and decadence that is Jung Wooyoung’s cooking.”

“Is that so?” you purr, cheeks starting to hurt from all the smiling you were doing. You couldn’t help it, he was just so cute. 

Nodding, he slides his hands under his chin, propping his face up to look at you. “Yes, it is. Some would even liken it to a religious experience. Please,” he gestures a hand out, waving it. “Humor me.”

Without dropping his eyeline, you bring the spoon to your mouth, pursing your lips to blow a puff of air onto it before it reaches your tongue. It was the perfect blend of flavor and kick, the kimchi adding a satisfying crunch. 

“So?” he prompts, practically bouncing in his seat. “What do you think?”

“I think this might be the best thing I’ve ever put into my mouth,” you sigh, already scooping your next bite. 

He shouts victoriously, throwing his arms in the air. “Yes! I knew you would love it! You aren’t just saying that, are you?”

Swallowing the warm liquid, you lean forward then, grabbing his arm to leverage yourself as you plant a wet kiss to his cheek. “I’m not just saying it, Woo. It’s delicious, thank you so  much for making it for me.”

His eyes crease as a wide grin takes over his face, adoration shining and mirrored within your own gaze. “Of course, Y/N. I’m glad you like it.”

The rest of the meal is shared over tales of your days, you filling him in on all the craziness of the office, while he tells you about the appointments he had and how his dance class went. It was always relieving, to come home at the end of the day and have someone to lament to, to share your life with, especially when they were so willing to do the same, and there isn’t a moment of silence as you and your boyfriend finish your dinner together.

You move to stand and clear the table, reaching for his bowl when he smacks your hand. “Absolutely not, Jagi. I am here to spoil you, and that includes cooking AND the cleaning. Sit back down.”

Giving him your best glare, you try to protest, but he isn’t having it, swift hands pushing you back into your seat as he grabs your bowl and heads to the sink. “Plus, who said the meal was over yet?” he calls over his shoulder, placing the bowls down.

“Oh yeah?” you chuckle, crossing your arms. “What else do you got for me?”

His expression changes then; previous playfulness melting away and leaving an edge to his smirk, a darkness to eyes. “Well, dessert, of course.” 

You continue to eye him as he moves to the fridge, pulling out a domed container before walking it back to the table. Placing it in front of you, he removes the top with a flourish, kneeling down to your seated height. “I made your favorite,” he husks, voice low. “Peanut Butter Chocolate cheesecake.”

The cheesecake itself was beautiful; he had attempted to decorate it with some chocolate syrup and crushed Reeses, and the evident effort softens you once more. “It looks amazing!” you gush, looking to meet his gaze. “You really have gone all out, haven’t you?”

Instead of answering, he serves you a piece on a small plate, handing you a fresh fork. Grinning, you immediately cut into it, shoving a bite into your mouth inelegantly. Closing your eyes, you let out a groan at the richness of the flavor, chewing slowly to savor it. It really was delectable - the cheesecake a perfect dense yet fluffy texture, peanut butter swirling with the chocolate in harmony.

You were so lost in thought you didn’t pay attention to where Wooyoung had gone; why the room had fallen so silent as you revered your treat. You move to cut another slice off your serving, placing the fork between your teeth when you feel a palm slide up your thigh.

“W-Woo?” snapping your eyes open, you look to the side, expecting your boyfriend to still be kneeling there, but coming up empty.

Peering down, you instead see him crouched between your legs, wicked devilry glittering in his gaze. He slides both hands up your bare thighs, fingers tracing patterns right above the seam of your skirt. 

Before you can say a word, he grips your legs and bows them out, making more room for his body, his mouth dipping to press a wet kiss to the flesh above your knee. 

“You had such a long day. You work so hard, you’re always working so hard, Y/N. I thought it would be a nice little treat if while you enjoyed your dessert, I could also enjoy mine?” his voice was honeyed with molten lust, but it was still a question - still seeking your comfort. 

Groaning, you lick your lips, breath hitching at his touch. “Of course you can,” you rasp, eyes closing once more when you feel his fingers caressing closer and closer to your core.

Dropping your fork, the cheesecake is all but forgotten when Wooyoung continues to trail his lips up your inner thighs, digits reaching for the now dewy panties at the apex, sliding them off your legs. Hand fumbling, you move to work at the side zipper of your skirt, wanting to give him more access, when thick fingers circle your wrist.

“No, Jagi. I want you to leave it on,” he murmurs, hands now moving to bunch your skirt up around your waist. “Like this, you’re so perfect like this.”

Whining, you rake your fingers through his blonde hair, tugging gently at the roots in a silent plea to have him move closer. Chuckling, he acquiesces, pupils wide as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt. 

He hovers for a moment, hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh, and just before you could beg he drops his mouth to your center. Tongue flicking out, he swirls it around your already engorged clit, tracing the lines of your labia down and back at an unhurried pace, tasting you. Repeating the movements, he groans against you, lips sliding to suckle at your bundle of nerves until your thighs were shaking against him.

He coos praise at you in between long licks against your core, his finger dipping into your wetness briefly before being pressed inside of you. “You taste so sweet, feel so good, Jagi,”

 Crying out at the sensation, your hand pulls at his hair once more, wanting the friction, wanting him deeper.  He gives in for a moment, tongue rolling against your clit, pulling it between his lips and suckling harshly. You feel your high building rapidly, tension rolling from your bones to deep in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment.

Instead of hurtling you over the edge, he pulls back with a moan, resting his head against the cushion of your thigh. He watches his finger disappear inside you one last time before pulling it out, immediately popping it into his mouth.

Wooyoung looks up at you then, lips shiny with your arousal and eyes blackened with need. “I thought I’d have the patience to finish you off like this, but I don’t. I want to be inside you, now.”

Before you can even finish nodding your head in agreement, you're pulling him to you, cupping his face and pressing your mouth onto his. The kiss is hungry, desperate, dripping in passion, his tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you feel like you’re drowning in him.

He pulls away enough to trail small kisses down your jaw line, your pulse, until he laves the tender skin at the base of your throat, making you whine. As he sucks and bites his claim onto your neck, you feel his arms grab your legs, guiding you to lock them around his waist before he’s shifting you up into his hold.

The low growls he makes while working over your throat have you distracted, arms coming to brace yourself around his neck as he carries you towards the bedroom. You’re gasping into his mouth when he spins to push you against the wall, pinning you in place under the lithe lines of his body. Throwing your head back, your fingers come to tangle in the hair at the base of his skull, hips grinding against him.

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” you pant as he alters his attack to the other side of your clavicle, insistent on leaving twin marks to claim you. His anguished desire excites you, has you clenching around nothing when he returns to peck at your lips. 

He ruts up against you, and for a moment you think he’ll take you right here against your bedroom wall - not that you would mind - but then he slows his hips, releasing his tight grip on your legs as he pulls you towards the bed. 

It's there that he undresses you completely, kissing each inch of bare skin as it’s revealed to him, murmuring words of love  until you are naked and flushing before him. Sitting up on his knees, he quickly joins you - pulling his shirt off and throwing it haphazardly, kicking off his jeans and boxer briefs. 

He stares at you reverently, eyes and hands always roaming the lines of your form. “I have another surprise for you tonight, if you’re up to it,” he husks, lips quirking into a grin.

“Is that so?” you repeat your words from earlier, unable to stop yourself. He chuckles lowly, leaning over you to open the drawer on the bedside table where typically you house your small collection of sex toys. You follow the movement, curious to see what would grab, but your eyes widen when you see him holding something you weren’t familiar with.

It was stainless steel, bulbed at one end before tapering out and flaring into a large circle at the base. The base had a beautiful violet jewel in it that twinkled when the light hit; a small bottle of lubricant nestled beside it in his large palm.

He had bought you a butt plug.

Seeing your expression, Wooyoung chuckles nervously, dropping the items onto the bed in order to hover over you. “I know we’ve discussed trying this in the past, and just thought that after the time we used my fingers, that this might be a good next step…” he trails off, eyes imploring yours. “However, if you don’t want to or don’t feel comfortable, that’s perfectly fine, Jagi. I don’t want to pressure you at all.”

Excitement tore through your nerves, your body lighting up at the idea of doing this with him. He was so thoughtful, so sweet, and you knew in that moment that you trusted him explicitly. 

“I want to,” you purr, leaning up to bite at his collarbone. “I want to try this, with you…”

His face illuminates with a smile as he moves to sit up on his knees once more, grabbing the plug. “I want to try this with you too.”

Ignoring the lube for now, he closes the plug in his fist as he moves to lay down between your legs. For a while, he just kisses you everywhere, lets his fingers drag through the slick of your slit, gently rubbing at your nub until you are panting and relaxing against his touch. When your eyes start to close, he grabs for the bottle of lubricant, squeezing a generous amount onto the plug before doing the same against your tight ring of muscles.

Jumping at the sensation of cool gel against heated skin, you take a deep breath, letting yourself get lost in the sensations he was providing you. A thumb was still rolling your clit, while another finger was gently massaging the puckered skin of your ass. Your body felt like wildfire, molten and burning too hot, and yet all you wanted was more. 

“I-I think I’m ready, Woo, please,” you whine, hands fisting in the sheets. “Please put it in.”

He groans, fingers stuttering at the wanton sound of your cries. He wanted to drag this out, to tease you until you were blubbering and begging, but between his throbbing cock and your sinful noises, he didn’t think he could wait any more. 

Slowly, he starts to push the bulbous end of the plug against you, thumb of his free hand still working against your bundle of nerves. You tense when you feel some pressure, but Wooyoung is there to talk you through it, guiding you to breathe and relax as he takes care of you, edging the plug in. 

You sense when it’s pushed in to the hilt, the jeweled edge nestled against your rim, and you sigh in relief at the pleasant buzz of the stretch.

Wooyoung slides to sit up on his knees, a hand coming to smooth circles on the flesh of your inner thigh, while the other palms at his hardened length. 

“How does it feel, Jagi? You feel okay?” he breathes, slotting himself between your legs and closer to your center. 

You nod, reaching out to grasp at his hips. “I feel so good, baby,” you praise, guiding him until his cock was dragging against your dripping cunt. “Now I just need you inside of me too, please,”

He hisses at your words, pressing the thick head of his length until it was slipping inside the welcoming heat of your walls, slowly moving to bury himself deep inside of you.

The fullness was overwhelming, delicious, his pelvis resting flush against your own. His brow was furrowed, mouth agape in a silent moan as he started to swivel his hips.

“F-Fuck,” you groan, nails dragging down the skin at his sides as he began to pump in and out of you, slowly at first, as if he wanted to make sure you were feeling every inch of him against your engorged walls. The plug was the perfect size to enhance each movement, the dual sensations making you mewl. 

“Does it feel good?” he husks, voice impossibly deep as his thrusts increase. “Does Jagi like being so full of me? Likes having that little plug in her ass?”

Whining at his words, you chew at your lip, hands reaching out to tug him closer to your mouth. “Yes, I do, Wooyoung. Just for you, all for you.”

He growls then, hips moving at a punishing pace, basking in your sweet cries of his name, wanting to make sure you were fully wrecked and falling apart for him. He could feel you squeezing against him, so impossibly tight, and knew you were close to unraveling. 

Dropping his lips to yours, he licked into your mouth, swallowing your moans as he slid a hand between your bodies to rub at your apex once more.

You broke the kiss to sob, head thrown back against the mattress. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby,” your orgasm so close you felt your cunt pulsating, your vision going white. After a few more pumps of his cock and probing circles of your clit, you finally come undone, walls constricting as electricity shoots through your veins, gasps tearing from your throat.

Wooyoung doesn’t last much longer, burying his face in your neck as he finally releases deep inside you with staccato thrusts, only stopping when he was sure every drop was nestled into your tender core.

Catching your breath, you lay for a few soundless moments, fingers tracing patterns on his back while he steadily came down from his high. When he finally moves to get cleaned up, he insists you stay put - instead bringing a wet washcloth and removing the plug for you, wiping you clean.

“Happy Anniversary,” he quips, slapping playfully at your ass, and you can’t help but laugh along, rolling your eyes at him.

After a quick trip to the bathroom you’re back in bed - and his arms - snuggled against his chest, eyes closed in contentment. Wooyoung is so tender, asking every few moments how you felt, if you needed anything. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were luckier than you ever thought was possible, and you told him so.

“What do you mean, Y/N? I’m the lucky one here. You are so beautiful and smart and successful, and you let me be in your life, let me support you. It’s all I could ever want.” he murmurs, eyes intense as he presses a kiss to your nose. “Plus, you laugh at all my jokes, eat my cooking, and are willing to try new things in the bedroom. You’re basically my dream girl.”

You laugh then, slapping at his arm. “Well, that’s good to know, and right back atcha.”

“What? I’m your dream girl?”

Giggling, you snuggle closer to his chest once more. “Yes. You’re my dream girl and I’m so glad I get to be in your life.” Leaning up, you meet his eyes. “I love you, Wooyoung.” 

The responding smile is so bright you think it may blind you, but his joy was infectious as he whoops loudly. “I love you too, Y/N. So much.”

For a moment, there was nothing but peaceful calm, twin hearts beating rapidly as you let him lead you in a chaste kiss, pulling away to rest your forehead against his own.

“Even if your dirty talk could use some work, I love you and I’m still glad to be here-”

“HEY!” he yells, pushing back to look at you, face incredulous. “What do you mean my dirty talk could use some work?! My dirty talk is perfect!”

You shrug, a sly smirk on your face. “Is that so?”

Scoffing, he tries to slide out of your grasp, pout heavy on his lips. “Yes, that is so! What, was I supposed to call you ‘my greedy little ass slut’ right out of the gate? I mean, I knew you were a freak, Jagi, but I was trying to be a gentleman.”

Choking back your laughter, you lock your arms around him, bringing him back against you until you are spooning him tightly, cooing apologies in his ear. It took several minutes of cuddles and reassurance before he would turn to look at you again, his gaze still hard.

Grinning, you cup his face, your finger resting against the plush fullness of his lower lip. “Oh yeah? And what if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?” 

“Then I guess we’ll have to go for round two.” he growls, before claiming your lips once more.

[off-in-the-moors]

TRC rewrite: Main characters

Why? Because The Raven Cycle is a mess. From the setting, through characters and to the plot, everything is a mess on a foundations of good ideas. It feels like Margaret took three to four different drafts, stitched them together and switched around events, e.g. things that should be in book 1 are in book 3, etc.

So, here is my attempted to rewrite the Gangsey.

Blue

curly, damaged, black hair kept short; brown eyes and light brown skin

short and stocky, with a big eyes; untamed, arched eyebrows; and round nose

1/4 black, 3/4 white (Maura is 1/2 black, and Artemus is welsh)

her father, Artemus, was a history professor, focusing on British Isle (especially Wales)

when she was 14, her father's ghost appeared on Saint Mark's Eve, he suddenly died few months, leaving Blue devastated

was very close with her dad, didn't forgive her mother for not trying to save Artemus

straightens and clips down her hair to make it resemble hers dad's

owns a pink switch blade, which was once red, she stole from her father's stuff, uses it mostly to cut plants

knows a lot about plants, helps cultivated and collect them for the family business

interested in and actively looks for paranormal (magic, cryptids, you name it), interest seeded by her parents

went to public school, but after middle school was pulled out for homeschooling

works two part-time jobs, as a waitress at Nino's and a dog-walker, to have her own money

a psychic but her power makes it impossible to work as one

makes and remakes her own clothes, isn't good at it but she loves it

loves knitting sweaters for her friends and family

wears colorful, often clashing outfits with a lots of accessories

loves color blue, always has something blue in her outfit, even if only as an accent color

vegetarian

knows Adam from middle school, keeps warm relations with him (introduced her to his friends)

spends her Sundays with her family (e.g. hitch-hiking with her mother, helping with Calla, making sweater and clothes with Persephone, painting nails with Orla)

know few phrases in Estonian, thanks to Persephone

opinioned, independent and bold

environmentalist

Gansey

tousled, always preciously styled, brown hair; dark brown eyes, light skin

average but quite square built (looks stiff), straight nose, shadows and bags under eyes, often has pieces of mint leaves stuck it teeth

the shortest guy of the Gangsey

born with a silver spoon in his mouth

at ten, almost died from wasp stinks but survived thanks to "Glendower", obsessed with finding him ever since

insomniac, his grands and health suffers from it

was in the rowing team, until he slept through training and hit team-mate with a oar

has the power to commend people, but it's weak

loves mint-flavor things, borders on obsession

owns five different types of mint plants (Ronan named them)

makes mistakes in his research and normal day to day actions from lack of sleep, needs help of others

his mom buys him clothes

doesn't understand the value of money, mostly throws it around and leads people with no need to return it

needs glasses but often losses them (even worse with contacts), in the beginning of the story he's on his seventh pair

doesn't have friends outside the "Gangsey"

awkward about feelings and crushes, can't deal with them

has slit ADHD, needs to do something with his hands

perfectionist, fixes mistakes of others, brushes problems off

good at social interactions but horrible at maintaining relationships

after his grands suffered too much and his search for Glendower effected his school life, his parents cut him off from finances as a punishment

with Adam's help, found a job as a cashier at a grocery store, actually loves it

needs time to remember people's names

Ronan

curly, dark brown (almost black) hair, always shaven; blue eyes, pale skin (burns easily)

tall (tallest of the Gangsey) and quite muscular, angular face, narrow eyes, multiple scars on arms and few on face (oddly proud of them)

he's a copy of his own father, Niall Lynch (looks like a younger version of him)

shaved his head and got tattoos, after he discovered he's a copy, to resemble Niall as little as possible

dresses in what his father would never wear

has only one real tattoo, a Celtic cross on the back of his neck base, the rest of his back is dreamt up

the dream tattoo always changes, reflecting Ronan's mental/emotional state, but always has motifs of wings/feathers and branches twisting into Celtic knots

tried to stop dreaming up stuff multiple times, but it caused him headache and nausea, eventually ending in physical harm, went the dream "gets out"

confused about who or what he is

self-destructive, has no regards for his own safety

has a very strain relationship with Declan, envies his "realness"

vegan, loves animals and hates people who harm them

loves speed and racing, oddly proud of his speeding-tickets

believes for a long time, only Kavinsky understands him, but their "friendship" is complicated

doesn't allow anyone to touch Chainsaw (dream creatures are very personal to a dreamer)

tries to figure out what HE likes, and find his OWN path (even if it means craving it out)

touched starved

loves nature, can spend hours outside just sitting and thinking

acts and speaks before thinking, got himself in trouble for that many times (gets physical quiet often)

helps in the family "dream trade" business, doesn't want any of his creations near him, Chainsaw is the only exception

feels drawn to Cabeswaters, but he preferably would just burn it

knows Irish, speaks it when frustrated

before Niall's death, trained tennis and played on bagpipes (uilleann pipes), but stopped after his father's murder hates boxing

Adam

short, self-cut, light red-ish brown hair; grey eyes, tan skin with a lot of moles and freckles

skinny, deep-set eyes and a downturned lips

has only a backpack of his own stuff and a bike

deals with Gansey's antics only for a chance to escape his father and his living situation

lives with Gansey, Ronan and Noah in Monmouth

prioritises his education over his friendship with "Gangsey"

very frugal, keeps a "change jar"

mostly wears his wash-out Coca-Cola t-shirt, he bought with his first pay

the most sceptical about magic, still very cautious of it

hates loud sounds and physical contact

hates taking money from people and having money spend on him, but he knows he needs it

has three part-time jobs, including his favourite at the garage

loves cars, dreams about buying his own one day

afraid of heights and flying, childhood trauma

opportunist

highly values his independence

never refuses food

sacrificed his "hands and eyes" to Cabeswater, not only to wake the Ley Lines but also to escape his former life for good, seeing it as the only way (partly tricked by the forest)

deaf on the left ear but hears Cabeswater whispering to him through it

actively "fights" with Cabeswater for control (his way or the high way)

owns a old Nokia phone, only bought it to stay in contact with Gansey knows how to sew and dress a wound

Noah

messy, pale blond hair; light blue eyes, pale skin with a dark spot on the left side of his face

faded and lean; small, lively eye; bright, wide smile

kept him pretty much the same, but also add

sarcastic with a dry (and sometimes dark) sense of humor

"I'm the oldest one, so you should listen to me sometimes."

his Aglionby uniform always looks crinkled and dirty

doesn't remember most of his "living life"

gets his memories back from seeing/visiting people/places he knew

his emotional state effects his corporal form, e.g. strong negative emoticons make him less visible

music helps him stay visible

still loves Blink-182 (Ronan pirated him all their albums, including those he missed)

misses skateboarding, swimming, spending time with his old friends and family, and filling the weather

doesn't remember his death, only the pain

likes to wander around Henrietta

likes anything glitter, reminds him of his sisters

gave Adam permission to take his old Mustang, "If you can bring it to live, Parrish."

his disappearance is still a talked subject in Aglionby

sometimes mumbles or swears something no one understand, took Gangsey time to figured out it was polish

+ Bonus

Chainsaw

Ronan's first dream creature (or at the time Ronan believes so)

quite small for a raven

senses Ronan's emotions, always tries to comfort him by burying into his neck or "grooming" him

can speak single works but they sound very corrupted, e.g. "kerah" is a corrupted version of "cara" (irish for "friend")

at the beginning called Ronan Greywaren, but with time it change to "creātor" (creator), "somniator" (dreamer) and finally "cara" (friend), reflecting Ronan's own view of himself

likes to collect and bring Ronan small things, e.g. pen caps, leaves or pieces of newspapers

gets close only to people Ronan likes and/or trusts

If you have any questions or opinions to share, please send me an ask.

Thank you, for your attention :)

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 15: Friends to Lovers

The First Thanksgiving | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: General Word Count: 1184 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Mary Winchester,John Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel (Supernatural),Traditions,Established Castiel/Dean Winchester,Thanksgiving,Thanksgiving Dinner,Minor Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester,Minor John Winchester/Mary Winchester Summary: Mary has a Thanksgiving tradition she’s carried on for years, but this year’s is particularly special.

For Better or Worse | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1497 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Parental Physical Abuse, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst Summary: When they first meet, Cas saves Dean from school bullies. Over the years, their friendship only grows stronger.

Quarantine Roomies | @cloverhighfive

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2038 Main Tags/Warnings: domestic fluff, idiots in love, first kiss, college AU Summary: Cas and Dean roomie together while they have to go in quarantine to wait out the pandemic outbreak. They're friends. But maybe Dean misread Cas.

Sex Ed | @Destielshipper4Cas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2324 Main Tags/Warnings: Roommates, Virgin Castiel, Loss of Virginity, First Time, Alpha Dean, Omega Castiel, Barebacking Summary: Cas grew up in a religious family who have kept him sheltered all his life. When he finally gets out of there, his knowledge about sex is seriously lacking. Luckily, his alpha roommate Dean knows all about sex and can teach him a thing or two. It would be so much easier if feelings weren’t involved…

Stay a While | @nickelkeep

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2755 Main Tags/Warnings: AU - Roommates, Friends to Lovers, Moving in Together, Love Confessions Summary: With his brother expecting, Cas needs a place to live. With Sam moving out, Dean needs a roommate. After not living together for several years, can Cas and Dean make things work?

The Archaeologist and the Disco Ball | @saltnhalo

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2761 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - High School, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Fluff, Love Confessions Summary: When Dean had agreed to take Castiel shopping for a costume to wear to Meg’s Halloween party this Friday, he had not expected the actual expedition to be so… difficult.

Pulling Shivers | @suckerfordeansfreckles

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3200 Main Tags/Warnings: childhood best friends, friends to lovers, skinny dipping, getting together, mutual pining, love confessions Summary: “You ever been skinny dipping?” Dean asks, out of absolutely nowhere. He’s looking up at Cas, upside-down from where he’s hanging off of Cas’ bed, a black controler clasped loosely in his hands. They’ve been hanging out and playing video games in Cas’ childhood bedroom all day, trying to use the days they have left before they inevitably have to start the three-hour drive back to college together. They are roommates now, and still best friends, just like when they were seven years old and missing a few teeth. Cas is also, unfortunately, still as head over heels in love with Dean now, at the age of 23, as he was when Dean was still too small to sit in the Impala without a booster seat, still only sitting and watching as his uncle Bobby tinkered on cars, still loud and laughing unabashedly, still void of worries. Cas stumbles a little over the question. “Um — I. No, never. You?”

Out Of Bed | @saltnhalo

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4145 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Wizard Castiel (Supernatural), Wizard Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hufflepuff Dean Winchester, Gryffindor Castiel (Supernatural) Summary: On his way back from the Quidditch Pitch late one night, Dean Winchester finds himself adventuring the deserted corridors of Hogwarts with the Head Boy.

feathers and lightbulbs | @procasdeanating

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4371 Main Tags/Warnings: witch!Cas, incubus!Dean, sharing a bed, mutual pining Summary: A spell gone wrong forces Dean and Cas to keep in physical contact. Easier said than done, when one of them is a succubus and madly and secretly in love with his best friend.

The Fault of Flying | @thebloggerbloggerfun

Rating: General Word Count: 4478 Main Tags/Warnings: Reverse!Verse, Insomniac!Castiel, Angel!Dean Summary: Insomnia can make trying to fall asleep an incredibly frustrating endeavor, and for the human Castiel, it is. Luckily for him, his best friend is an angel with the ability to take him anywhere in the world when the nights get rough, and it makes everything more interesting! And more confusing.

Never Ever | @suckerfordeansfreckles

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4494 Main Tags/Warnings: best friends to lovers, drinking games, alcohol, confessions Summary: Every other week, Charlie and Gilda and Row, Jo, Garth and Kevin, Benny, Chuck, Sam, Dean and Cas get together to get drunk — or, depending on preferences, high. They meet and get drunk and talk about life, most of the time. Sometimes, though, like today, they play drinking games. Today, it’s Never Have I Ever. It’s only a quarter past midnight, all of them are way past tipsy already, when Charlie giggles to herself and slurs: “Never ’ve I ever — ever slapped my partner’s ass durin’ sex.” A mixture of laughter and snorts wanders through their rows, and everyone raises their glasses. Everyone, even Garth — everyone except Cas. Everyone drinks, except Cas, and Dean just stares. He can feel the vodka dribbling down his chin while he drinks, and oggles his best friend some more. As soon as he swallowed and coughed his way through the burning liquor, he blurts: “Dude, seriously, never?” And that's how it begins.

Scent-Bonded | @destielshipper4cas

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4742 Main Tags/Warnings: Friends to Lovers, Best Friends, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics Summary: When the alpha Cas is scent-bonded to leaves him, it’s on Dean to pick up the pieces. Since they’re scent-compatible, letting Cas scent him helps the omega feel less despaired. An easy solution—if only Dean wasn’t in love with and scent-bonded to Cas.

Be quiet | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4748 Main Tags/Warnings: 5+1 Things, Semi-Public Sex Summary: 5 Times where Castiel needs Dean to be quiet and one time, where he really wants to hear what Dean has to say.

Pen Pal | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: General Word Count: 5246 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Pen Pals, Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Summary: Hey, Cas, you wanna be my pen pal?” + (Dean is twelve years old when he asks Castiel to be his pen pal, not knowing that it will change his life completely.)

Not good enough? | @notfunnydean

Rating: General Word Count: 6099 Main Tags/Warnings: hurt!Dean, crying!Dean Summary: When Dean finds a list in Cas’ room, where Cas has written down everything he hates about him, Dean tries to become a brand new person. But Castiel seems to hate that as well.

making the most of the night | @pomegranatedaffodil

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6819 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Birthdays, Fluff and Smut Summary: Dean isn't exactly looking forward to his thirtieth birthday, but at least the party he has planned to mark its passing will be pretty great. Or so he thinks, until a massive snowstorm causes a power outage on the afternoon of the party. One by one, the guests make their excuses for not being able to attend-- all except for Cas, who Dean can't seem to get a hold of. And then there's a knock on his door.

Cuddle Buddies | @Destielshipper4Cas

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10056 Main Tags/Warnings: Roommates, Mutual Pining, Couch Cuddles, Idiots in Love, Alpha Dean, Omega Castiel, Massage, Barebacking Summary: Cas just wants some alpha cuddles, but alphas generally aren’t all that interested in cuddling. Luckily, he has an awesome roommate who steps up to the plate.

Kilig | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 10397 Main Tags/Warnings: friends to lovers, 5+1 things, secret admirer Summary: Five times Castiel didn't know his secret admirer and the one time he did.

Took Me Long Enough | @confusedcasishere

Rating: Mature Word Count: 15579 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Openly Gay Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Top Castiel, High School AU, Eventual Smut, Dean Winchester Has A Crush on Castiel Summary: Alright, so you know how in movies the friendzoned BFF always gets the girl in the end? Well what if the girl is a dude and you’re also a dude? Do the same rules apply? Or will this clusterfuck end with me losing my best friend?

Unexpectedly You | @verobatto-angelxhunter

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 30239 Main Tags/Warnings: Destiel, season 8 canon divergent, mutual pining, winged Castiel, Sammy knows, explicit sexual content, Aruiel (OC) Sam/Aruiel (OC), first kiss, love confession. Summary: Cas is back in the bunker after being absent for a couple of weeks, although for Dean were like centuries. So this time he will train Castiel as a hunter, not because he missed him a lot and he wanted him to stay with him at all. Just because they are good friends. But something will ruin his plans, a new danger and an old enemy of Castiel will resurge. Ancient enochian spells and a big secret will be revealed while the hunter will try to figure out his feelings for the angel. Helped by Sammy's insightful mind and a new angel ally, our friends will have to save the world one more time.

Lucky Winner | @natmoose

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 31719 Main Tags/Warnings: General Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Professor Castiel, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Roommates, Friends to Lovers Warnings: Anxiety Attacks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Non-Penetrative Sex Summary: Dean wins a trip to Paris. In and of itself, that’s an amazing thing, but the problem is: he isn’t in a relationship with Lisa anymore, and the trip requires a romantic partner. The obvious choice is Cas, his roommate and best friend of 3 years, but coming with that are some very very complicated feelings and things Dean absolutely doesn’t want to deal with. But Dean isn’t selfish and also really wants to give his overworked best friend a well deserved holiday, so the only and best solution is to take Cas to Paris, romantic theme be damned. What Dean doesn’t know is that their whole trip will be documented by a photographer from the company - so to avoid their vacation being cut short, Dean and Cas will have to convincingly play a couple.

Because This Moment Simply Is | @ilovelucey

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 32045 Main Tags/Warnings: Highschool/College AU; Neighbor AU; Best friends to lovers; Bottom!Dean/Top!Cas Summary: Dean and Cas have been next-door neighbors and best friends since they were both four years old. They've been through everything together. Cas was there for Dean when his mother died, and his father started going off the rails. Dean was there for Cas while he came to terms with his sexuality and came out to his religious family. Now they’re both eighteen and Cas is secretly, hopelessly in love with Dean. After years of ignoring his burgeoning feelings, Cas finds the courage to come clean just before he moves across the country to attend college in California. Determined, Cas pours his feelings out into a letter and leaves it for Dean to find. It isn't until eight years later that Dean finally receives the letter, and that single sheet of yellowed notebook paper turns his entire world upside down.

Where the Road Leads? (WIP) | lightmyway (AO3)

Rating: Mature Word Count: 141598 Main Tags/Warnings: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/comfort, angst, Photojournalist Cas, Legal Guardian Dean Summary: Castiel took off on his motorcycle at eighteen, ready to let the road take him where it wanted. That plan changed when he met Mary Winchester at a protest rally and shell learned the power of the camera around his neck. He never expected he would move in with her two boys and step back from his up and coming career. Dean never expected to be a parent at the age of eighteen. He also never expected that Cas would dedicate himself to being there for both Winchester boys. Dean, also, never expected that Cas would return to the career he left behind and fly off to some of the most dangerous places in the world. He certainly never thought it would be because of something he let happen. Will he be able to bring Cas home?

[ravenbrenna09]

When Isak is Also Even

This story is partially based on this post and here’s AO3 Link

...

Since wtfock season 3 has ended, I dived further into the lore and mythos of the Skam universe. Skam was a fandom that I always followed (when it was trending) but it was really Robbe and his season that fully brought me into it. Now, I’m in the midst of watching through Skam NL—I’m at the very beginning of episode 5—and I’m planning on watching España later on because I just love all that I’ve seen with the girl squad. 

But, Lucas always surprised me as a character—but especially as an Isak because he always seemed to have Even-like traits. From what I’ve seen, he’s primarily headcanoned to go on and study art. Because of this, I decided to play around with the idea that he has equal traits of the two. 

Because of this, I wanted to explore the idea that our “Isak” is given the storyline that Even normally represents especially given that Lucas’s own mother is bipolar as well. But, I did write Lucas as closeted as the other Isaks typically are at the beginning of their season—maybe more so?—so that is something to note. Now, of course, this is all fun and it’s just something that I wanted to explore—especially in a one shot. 

but, this is also my birthday gift for @peaceoutofthepieces (who is currently still sleeping rn) and it’s basically midnight for me SO THAT MEANS IT’S OFFICIALLY YOUR BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY NATALIE AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY.

It’s really short (about a length of a clip of Jij Verliest) but I wish it was so much longer but I couldn’t manage it. I hope you enjoy it <3

…

The second that an Even sees their Isak is when their story starts changing, for the better, and life goes on to form something more precious than it was before.

But, this story is different.

Lucas van der Heijden is an Isak—technically, in someone else’s story—but he moved to Antwerp to get away from his father who tried to control his life and breathe down his neck about his medication. His mother had encouraged him to do so—to try new things—and with the Academy sending him an acceptance letter, it seemed so perfect, to go live in his cousin’s spare bedroom and get away from his father. So, because of this, Lucas van der Heijden is also an Even—technically.

One day, in the midst of it all, Lucas spots someone who instantly has his attention. Because Lucas is technically an Even—as much as he is an Isak, the person in his sight is his Isak, in every sense of the word. But, his “Isak” also happens to be another’s “Jonas.”

...

Lucas van der Heijden

Standing in front of the classroom, his photography teacher, Mr. Maes, a recent graduate from the Academy who returned to teach, lectured on and on about the various lighting techniques and what they tell the viewer. Mr. Maes had his brown hair meticulously styled. Today, he decided to wear a long-sleeve black shirt that clung a little too tightly to his biceps and a pair of jeans that clung tightly to his hips. Despite Lucas’s interest in the class—photography was his favorite medium and this class was his favorite of the semester—his brain kept fading in and out of the lecture. 

For whatever reason, his eyes kept returning to the curves of his muscles with a frustrating intensity. It was ridiculous that Lucas was getting distracted by something that didn’t interest him at all—outside of an artistic standpoint, of course—and he kept trying to force himself into the lecture. But, his brain also seemed to remind him of the text messages on his phones, the ones his father sent him as a botched attempt to bring him home despite his upcoming exam.

Dad: Come on Lucas. Your mother doesn’t understand.

Lucas: Really? She seemed fine when I called her. I have an art history exam next week that I have to study for. But I guess I don’t understand.

Dad: Lucas, that wasn’t what I meant.

Lucas: I know exactly what you meant.

Shoving away the thoughts of his father’s texts, Lucas’s eyes drifted back to Mr. Maes. Lucas was talking about lighter settings now, but his voice was growing increasingly muffled as the seconds stretched on. Lucas could feel his mind working, mentally sketching the scene in front of him—Mr. Maes enthusiastically talking about the various types of lighting. Normally, Lucas was always attentive during this class—as mentioned previously, it was his favorite class—but his mind continuing to wander was frustrating, to say the least. 

His dad had to message him before his class, didn’t he?

There was a tap on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Glancing around the room, Lucas realized that their class had been dismissed and Mr. Maes was conversing with several students who lingered. Lucas felt his cheeks flush, his thoughts returning to his head, as he tried to shove them away. 

Eager for a distraction, Lucas turned to the person who broke him from his trance. His classmate, and friend of about a month, was standing beside him with his leather jacket thrown over his shoulder. Sander Driesen was shorter than Lucas with short brown hair that was growing out. He always wore some sort of graphic t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans and Doc Martens. His Instagram was covered with pictures of him with bleach-blond hair—something that Sander insisted was returning as soon as his hair grew out again.

While they had bonded in the classroom, Lucas had met Sander two weeks before the semester starting… at their therapist’s office. Once they found out that they went to the same college—and found out they shared a class, they had become close. Sander was taking the class as an elective, but they still collaborated when given the chance. Sander knew about Lucas’s father and the spiral that ended with his diagnosis and his grief over leaving his mother. Lucas knew about Sander’s fascination for spray painting and his diagnosis at the age of sixteen and his artistic muse—his boyfriend who had hair that curled when it was too long.

A week ago, Lucas learned from his new roommate, Zoë, that Robbe, Sander’s boyfriend, had his room last autumn—but Lucas still hadn’t gotten the chance to physically meet him. Even though Sander had shown him every picture that he had of Robbe. 

Sander stepped out of his way to let Lucas out and they slipped past their professor, who didn’t seem to notice Lucas’s absent mind. But, Sander did, asking as they headed out of the college, “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Lucas said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just my dad being an ass, trying to get me to come home because my mom doesn’t ‘understand’ or whatever.” Sander scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I called her and told her that it was because of my Art History test next Wednesday.” 

“Yeah, those Art History tests can be brutal,” Sander admitted. 

“Thanks for the support.”

“You’re welcome.” 

As they stepped outside of the building, the sunlight shined down upon them. On most days, the sun was energizing and bright. But, today, it felt daunting and tiring to Lucas. It might’ve been his text messages with his father, but the fact he got little sleep wasn’t helping matters. His cousin was… loud and Lucas didn’t have noise-canceling headphones like Zoë had acquired. Before Sander stepped away, Lucas asked, “What are your plans for the day?”

“Robbe and I are going out to dinner with some of his friends,” Sander said. “What about you? Did you want to come?” 

“No, thank you though. I can’t today. I’m going to buy noise-canceling headphones and study some more for that brutal Art History test,” Lucas said. 

“Milan?” Sander asked, grimacing. Lucas fervently nodded his head and Sander chuckled. “Maybe, one of these days, you can get him back someday.” 

“I doubt it,” Lucas said. There was a flash of movement over Sander’s shoulder and Lucas’s eyes found it immediately. A person was running in their direction—or more specifically at them—with curly brown hair and a face that Lucas knew intimately for someone he never physically met. Before Lucas could even form a warning to Sander, Robbe was jumping onto his friend’s back. The force had nearly knocked Sander over and Lucas moved to help

Sander quickly found his balance, gripping onto Robbe’s thighs like a lifeline to keep him stable. The leather jacket that Sander held in his hand had hit the pavement and Lucas bent down to pick it up. His boyfriend’s legs were wrapped tightly around his waist and his arms bound around his shoulders. As Robbe pressed kisses against his boyfriend’s cheek, Sander exhaled, relaxing, “For fuck’s sake, baby, don’t do that.” 

“Sorry,” Robbe said, giggling with a wide grin on his face. Sander reached out his hand to Lucas, making a grabbing motion for the leather jacket, and he handed it over without hesitation. As if noticing Lucas for the first time, Robbe glanced over at Lucas. “Oh, you must be Lucas, right? I’m Robbe.”

Lucas chuckled, glancing at Sander. “Yeah, I know who you are.” 

“What do you mean?” Robbe asked. “I’ve never met—” There was a look of realization on his face and his cheeks flushed instant. Immediately, Robbe turned shy, burying his face in the crook of Sander’s neck. Lucas was barely able to hear a muffled, “That’s so embarrassing.” 

Sander chuckled. “Don’t worry, I only showed him the PG sketches.”

Robbe pulled himself from Sander’s neck to say. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?!” 

“Woah,” Lucas said. He waved his arms as though he could somehow block out the newfound information tainting his mind. He covered his ears and took a step back away from the couple. “That’s too much information.” Still holding Robbe on his back, Sander nearly doubled over in laughter and Robbe gripped onto him tighter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sander. If I can even look you in the eye anymore.”

“You’ll understand one day,” Sander said, moving in the way Robbe had come. He lifted Robbe a little higher on his back as they walked away. “Goodbye, Lucas! I hope your dad stops being an ass and you study for your test!” 

“Thanks,” Lucas said. “I’ll do my best. Nice to officially meet you, Robbe!” 

“You too!”

Sander turned away, taking Robbe with him. Lucas watched the happy couple moved away from the school intertwined and holding onto each other. Robbe was still high on Sander’s back, clinging to him like a koala, and his face buried into Sander’s neck. The two of them looked so happy and proud, intertwined with one another so easily and simply. Lucas felt a sense of longing flash briefly in his chest as he watched their retreating forms.

Lucas moved in the opposite direction. His mind was already marking the path to the video store to buy a pair of the best noise-canceling headphones. As he pivoted to leave, his eyes caught sight of Sander and Robbe with someone else and—for whatever reason—Lucas halted to a stop without having gone too far away from his original destination. 

There was a tall guy was walking up to Sander and Robbe. Behind him, two guys were chatting loudly but Lucas couldn’t hear him—and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the guy in the center. The guy in question was taller than all of his friends, but his shoulders were slumped a little. Even though he had a maroon hoodie over his head, Lucas could tell that his hair was a jet black. Lucas could see his sharp jaw and the upturn of his lips as he teased Sander and Robbe.

He was beau—

Lucas cut off his thoughts, abruptly turning around. 

Lucas’s brain was screaming at him to turn around, to make up some excuse as to why he can join, simply to find out the name of the beau—no, the man there. But, Lucas knew that he couldn’t. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to change his mind now. Forcing one foot to move in front of the other, forcing himself away from the guy that had captured his attention, Lucas swallowed deeply as he tried to keep his thoughts even. 

Lucas had never been like that before. 

It wouldn’t make sense for him to be like that now. 

But, as he turned the corner, Lucas snuck a glance back to him—just to see the guy smile dazzlingly at Robbe and Sander.

...

Note: There was supposed to be a second part of this from Jens’ POV a few weeks later where Jens would actually meet him, but I wasn’t able to get it on time. I hope you enjoy this section and maybe I’ll do Jens’ POV after Jij Verliest ends?

[mimosaeyes]

Jon still gets nightmares.

Set in a post-canon ‘verse where they save the world, build a life together, and adopt a cat. It’s a series now! This fic (2.7k) works standalone, but is best read after the others, especially I Was Found (13.2k of softness). Everything below the cut will spoil you for the end of that fic.

Beta-ed by @emberidzae. Thank you for telling me it’s probably fine.

There is a special kind of quiet that occupies a room near two in the morning. The refrigerator hums, the water pipes whine, sirens go off in the distance — this is London, after all. But beneath that lies stillness, elusive like the space between breaths.

Jon sits on the sofa, rocking ever so slightly and waiting for... he doesn’t even know what. For peace to slip into his lungs. Be carried along in his blood, spread throughout his brain. Every time he blinks, he thinks he sees horrific afterimages on the backs of his eyelids. Tonight, his dreams have been full of bodies: burning, running, festering, falling, twisting, crying, choking. Closing in on all sides of him, until his sight was completely obscured.

Out of that apparent void, a single, all-encompassing eye mired in spiderwebs had opened, and looked directly at him. Under its scrutiny, it was as if he and Martin had never fixed the world he’d broken. Never torn themselves out of the Mother of Puppets’ plots, or away from the Ceaseless Watcher.

He exhales slowly, burying his face in his hands. Surely he should be used to nightmares by now. He’s had a long history with them, between statement givers and his own encounters with entities and avatars. The dreams were always vivid and hallucinatory, clinging to him as he struggled toward consciousness and woke gasping, often clutching the arms of the office chair he’d dozed off in. Later, after he ended the world, he’d stopped sleeping entirely. Slumber no longer carried the promise of rest.

No one remembers clearly what happened to them in the domains during the apocalypse. That collective, polyphonic torment now lives on only in Jon’s mind. He may not be affiliated with the Beholding anymore, but some part of him will always be the Archive.

The frustrating thing is that over the last year and a bit, the nightmares have been happening less and less frequently. He’d actually thought they were going away, but all week now, Jon’s been waking up screaming or sobbing, tangled in the sheets, his pyjamas soaked through with cold sweat. Martin hasn’t gotten through a night undisturbed, either. They’re both exhausted; that’s probably why he managed to slip out of bed without alerting him initially.

Just then, a slight sound makes him look to his left. What he sees is so incongruous to his mood that he begins huffing in silent laughter.

Boo, the smaller of their two cats, is using one front paw to bat at his ear, on which a large dust bunny appears to be stuck. It’s a slightly lighter grey than his fur, else Jon may not have even seen it. 

Jon knows the exact moment Boo notices him looking, because he stiffens for a second. He’s been with them for a little over a month now, and while their efforts to make him feel at ease in their home have paid off somewhat, he remains jumpy.

Jon holds perfectly still. After a few seconds, Boo returns to his scratching, but to no avail. The dust bunny somehow ends up entangled in his whiskers, stretching between them and the tip of his ear. Boo shakes his head once, twice. Then he sneezes — and arches his back, his fur standing on end. 

He had actually startled himself with his own sneeze. Jon can’t help cracking a smile, endeared and grateful for the distraction, inadvertent though it may be. 

Clearing his throat quietly, he asks, “Would you like some help with that?”

Boo ignores him, which is ideal. It takes a certain amount of trust on this cat’s part to be considered beneath notice — meaning, not a threat. When Jon gets off the sofa and tries to approach, though, Boo freezes and watches him warily. So he sits down on the floor instead, thinking.

After a while, he begins softly singing the alphabet.

Immediately, Boo’s look changes from alert to curious. Whenever Jon has had the opportunity to do so, he’s been reading aloud to get Boo used to hearing his voice. Assembly instructions for a new shelf, dubious job listings he finds online, the weekly shopping list. At first, this strategy had been very successful. Boo learned to stop diving for cover every time Jon or Martin called for each other from another room. Then came the day Jon paused midway through washing up after dinner, to find Boo sitting not two metres away from his feet. It had been a crowning moment of triumph until Martin said, “You hum songs when you do the dishes, did you know? I think he likes it.”

Jon had somehow not been aware of this habit. He was instantly embarrassed.

Not that he’s stopped since it was pointed out to him. He’s actually been experimenting. Boo may have a certain fondness for ‘90s power ballads.

Which he is hardly going to attempt at this time of night. Instead, Jon cycles through the rainbow song and that one about the teapot, making no move as Boo cautiously approaches, blue eyes huge and unblinking. When he’s within an arm’s length, Jon stops singing and offers his hand for Boo to sniff at.

Purring now, Boo lets himself be pet. Jon seizes his chance and gently pulls off the dust bunny. “Now where did you even get this?” he wonders aloud. They’re generally diligent about household chores, especially keeping the place clean. Martin has allergies, and Jon likes the routine.

Boo nudges up into his fingers and leaves a smudge of fine dust on them.

A sneaking suspicion enters Jon’s mind. He narrows his eyes at the cat. “You’ve been in the study all day,” he says. “I saw you go in. And the desk has that jammed drawer, doesn’t it?” 

They’ve been meaning to fix that. The drawer is stuck just wide open enough for dust to collect on the inside. And apparently, for a skinny, timid cat to make his hiding place.

“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Jon muses, continuing to pet Boo despite the dirt. “Filthy boy,” he says affectionately. “Scruffy. Crumpet will refuse to cuddle with you.”

Mrow, Boo protests in his low, bullfrog-like way. He’s much less vocal than his calico counterpart, so Jon doesn’t get to hear this often.

“I suppose you’re right. She’ll probably just try to clean all this off you. She dotes on you, doesn’t she?”

He falls silent for a while, until Boo indicates with a flick of his tail that he’s had enough. Jon lets him wander some distance off and begin grooming.

In the lull of activity, the memory of his nightmare comes back with a vengeance, screaming in his brain and making him suck a breath in through his teeth. He had known their names as they struggled in their personal hells at the end of the world, had drunk his fill of their suffering and felt sated in that most inhuman side of himself. 

It’s since been ripped away, of course, taking with it the voyeuristic detachment that had, in a perverse way, protected him from the distress his nightmares now cause him. Yet it scares Jon that that had ever been a part of him. Ever found suitable soil and taken root.

He’s fine, though. Or so he keeps telling himself. These aren’t the worst dreams, after all. No, those are the ones where he loses Martin. In the Panopticon. In the house on Hill Top Road. To the call of the Lonely. To the slip of a knife in the Hunt. There were so many ways one or both of them could have not survived. Not gotten to have everything they now have together.

Jon swallows and massages his temples. “Boo,” he says, “you’re afraid of everything. Any tips?”

Boo looks at him for a long moment, then yawns.

“I see,” Jon starts to say, just as a strangled cry comes from the street below. One of London’s many foxes, probably. Jon has learned to tune out this sort of thing, but the sound sends Boo scrambling for shelter.

And he runs to Jon.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Jon murmurs. “Just a fox. It’s over now. It’s okay.” After hesitating a moment, he picks Boo up and deposits him on his lap, then encircles the cat loosely with his arms. He doesn’t squish him — it’s Crumpet who likes to be bundled up and snuggled. He just sort of surrounds Boo, letting him mash his face into the crook of Jon’s elbow.

It takes a long time for Boo’s fur to settle back down. Jon starts stroking him after a minute, keeping his movements soothingly slow. “You’re safe here,” he tells him. 

Then he sighs and repeats quietly, to himself, “You’re safe. You’re here. It’s over.”

Boo leaps off his lap, rumbles at him, then darts back into the study. Jon watches him go, shaking his head. A problem for tomorrow.

He sighs, then pauses and deliberately takes a deep breath. He holds it for a count of five before releasing the air. He imagines tension bleeding away as he does.

Martin had taught him this technique back in the safehouse in Scotland — far from the first time Jon had had nightmares, but certainly the first time anyone had been there to comfort him when he woke up. Progressive muscle relaxation, Martin said it was called. He’d used it himself during his stay in the Archives, whenever those thirteen days he spent trapped in his flat by Jane Prentiss came back to haunt him. 

“Breathe in, tense? Okay, now hold,” he murmured, sitting up in bed next to Jon, his silhouette familiar and comforting against the yellow glow cast by the bedside light. It had been on by the time Jon surfaced into consciousness, still panting and crying.

“One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three, four, five,” Martin counted for him. “Release, breathe out.” His hands ran over Jon’s shoulders, warm and soothing. “Better?”

Jon nodded. “A bit,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. He must have yelled in his sleep before Martin managed to rouse him. “Listen, you... you don’t have to do this. I can go sleep on the couch.”

Martin went silent for a moment. “The other day, when I dreamt I was back in the Lonely. Did it cross your mind to kick me out, even for a second?”

“No,” Jon said at once, shocked. “Of course not.”

“Then that’s settled,” Martin said firmly. “You’re not okay, and I can help. That’s all there is to it. On to your arms next, ready? Breathe in, tense...”

Alone in their living room, but following Martin’s instructions from before, Jon works his way through various muscle groups until he gets to his hands, at which point he clenches his fists and presses his knuckles down against the floor on either side of his thighs. That probably isn’t recommended. He hasn’t done it hard enough to hurt, though, and he needs the sensation, he thinks, to ground himself in reality. To remind himself that he’s here in their tiny apartment, and if he goes to peer out the window, the sky will not look back at him. 

He’s here and it’s long past midnight, but if he texts Daisy, she will grouse good-naturedly, then call him to ramble about how the new podcast she’s started listening to is pretty good, but could never measure up to The Archers. If he goes back to the bedroom and tells his husband he needs him, Martin will rub his eyes and get up to make Jon some tea. He’ll put in milk and sugar, which always seems too indulgent for Jon to do himself, and they’ll cuddle up with a book, or in front of the telly with the volume turned way down.

The people he loves, who love him in return, are within reach. Even when they’re not there next to him. Jon knows this in a way that has nothing to do with the Beholding. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.

He exhales one final time, and that’s when Martin appears in the doorway to their bedroom.

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking soft and rumpled in his pyjamas. His voice is rough with sleep, low with concern. “I woke up and you weren’t there. Is this a bad night?”

Another one, you mean? Jon wants to say bitterly. He bites it back; it’s only the sleep deprivation talking. “I just needed a moment to clear my head,” he says, clambering to his feet. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He honestly feels a lot better, and he thinks he’s done a decent job of sounding normal. He must still look like a mess, though, because Martin frowns and stops him from squeezing past. “Wait. Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon’s already shaking his head. “No. It was just... more of the same.” The first few times, Martin had stayed up with him while Jon stammered out the things he’d seen in his dreams. He listened and tried to reassure him, and it had helped to an extent. But the more Jon spoke, the harder Martin’s lips pressed together in that way that meant he was horrified and trying to hide it. Jon had grown all too familiar with that expression during their walk through the domains.

He clears his throat. “Really, Martin. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why’d you come out here by yourself? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Well, I thought one of us should get some sleep,” Jon says drily, only he’s tired, so it comes out rather snappy.

Martin cants his head at him, his brows pinching together. Jon can practically hear the gears whirring in his mind. He shifts uncomfortably.

“I know it’s been a bad week,” Martin says at last, softly, “but please don’t shut me out.”

As soon as he says it, Jon knows that that’s what he’d been trying to do tonight. Keep his nightmares and guilt to himself, protect Martin from the horrors he knows about anyway. At least, that was his excuse. It’s not that Jon didn’t want his help; he did. It had simply felt too selfish to ask for it.

Jon watches him for a long moment. He thinks about fear, and love, and self-isolation. He thinks about Martin waking up in the safehouse smelling like sea spray; about telling him to Breathe, just breathe. You’re not alone. Not anymore. He thinks about a little grey scaredy-cat who feels safe with Jon, of all people.

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

Martin gives him a small smile. “Okay. How can I help?”

Jon bites his lip. “Would you... would you just hold me, please?”

“Oh, Jon.” Weary though he is, Martin’s look is full of sympathy. “Of course.”

Jon follows him back to bed. As he lifts his side of the covers, Martin says, “Ah, careful. I think Crumpet’s settled in the warm spot you left.”

He peers in the darkness. Indeed she has. “Your Royal Highness,” he greets her, bowing slightly. That’s the appropriate form of address for a princess. It doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily, but Martin groans and rolls his eyes whenever Jon says it, so he keeps doing the bit.

He can never bear to move either of their cats if they look comfy, so he gets into bed gingerly and ends up pressed close to Martin, who loops an arm over him. They’re face to face, with mere inches separating them.

“Hi,” Jon says, somewhere between shy and pleased.

“Hi,” Martin says back at him, his smile colouring the word. Jon thinks they could be seventy years old and still greet each other like that, bashful and sweet as teenagers with a crush.

Jon tucks his face against Martin’s shoulder, humming in contentment at the warmth and solidity of him. After a while, he mumbles, “By the way. Boo needs a bath.”

Martin laughs. “That’ll be an adventure. Why?”

His voice is light, but betrays how tired he is. Jon shifts and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Tell you in the morning. Go to sleep.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Jon says slowly. “I think I will be.”

[my TMA fic on AO3]

[vagrantblvrd]

I’m like. @miss-ingno had the gall to plant an idea in my head regarding the androids in ~space AU, and then this? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Jeremy’s this promising soldier from one of the outer colony worlds, right? Got caught up in the fighting when it came to his home planet and when it moved on he went with it. (It’s how things work, when you sign on with the military.)

Left his family and friends behind – those that survived the years of fighting – and did his best not to look back.

His unit got sent into a fight they didn’t stand a chance of winning and he’s one of the few who made it out (mostly) alive.

Was going to be out of things for a while thanks to his injuries, necessary physical rehab if he hoped to regain his mobility and such and was brought to a facility.

Big shiny thing smack dab in the middle of nowhere, edge of an asteroid field or something like that. Minerals and such in the floating hunks of rock out there that played merry hell with sensor readings and the whole damn thing spread out across several hubs.

Weird that it looked like you could isolate entire sections, maybe jettison them from the main assembly if there was a safety issue/breach, you know?

But it’s an old science research hub that’s been repurposed under new management, so no need to worry about that

Really.

That said, they bring him and a handful of people in similar situations there because there’s a researcher there, you see, a Doctor.

Only one, they’re told. Everything else is used as a forward base/medical facility these days since it’s so far out. (Hand on heart.)

Can work miracles and paranoid about her work and too valuable not to humor, or so they’re told. She’s come up with incredible new techniques and therapies and whatever else that might get them back on their feet faster and since the military’s put so much money into Jeremy and his fellow soldiers as it is, makes sense to try to salvage what they can if possible.

He and the others signed a contract, you see, and several years left to it and a whole lot of money down the drain if they can’t fight for them anymore, so.

It checks out as far as Jeremy’s concerned, worried about being able to send money home to his family to help them rebuild what they’ve lost until their planet recovers financially. (Won’t be like it was, but better than it is and worst case scenario enough to move somewhere better, last resort and all.)

Some nights Jeremy gets restless, wanders the facility as far as his security clearance allows him. Recreational floors and viewing stations where he gets to stare out at the asteroid field, watch the cargo shuttles and ferries and whatnot beetle about between the hubs.

Workers out on maintenance checks and minor repairs, flitting here and there. Scuttling across the surface of the hubs and connecting access ways/tubes.

Goes down to the gym and trains with one of the generic robot frames. No personality to them, just core programs and protocols and impersonal as hell.

Great for the times you know what you’re doing and just need a sparring partner or spotter or whatever, and Jeremy jokes about having a favorite, right? This older model, scratched up paint job that looks like it might have been around since the place was commissioned. (Or maybe the facility was built around it, whichever.)

Anyway, one of those nights he runs across this guy, right?

Skinny fuck running around like he knows he shouldn’t be where he is and all that, and Jeremy is like !!! because he knows there are a lot of people out there unhappy with the situation with this war(s) and the military and all that. That this used to be a top sekrit, hush hush facility where Questionable Things took place.

But then the company behind it got a new CEO and so forth and so on – there was a whole Thing about it over the news and such – and they’ve moved in a new direction since then. Been transparent about things best they can and totally on the up and up now, cross their hearts and hope to die and all that.

Still a lot of suspicious people out there, though, you know?

Lot of cargo transports and all that in and out of the facility that one of those suspicious people might be lucky enough to sneak in on. Either pretend to be someone they aren’t or manage to stow away, however the hell they want to approach things.

(Shit happens, Jeremy should know.)

So he follows this guy for a while, just in case.

Ready to call on security if he proves to be a problem but from the way the guy’s acting he doesn’t think he will be?

Just.

Sort of wandering, keeps rubbing at his neck every once in a while, but he’s wearing layers and has this hooded sweatshirt on and Jeremy figures it’s a nervous habit of some kind. Self-soothing and all.

Realizes that for all the wandering the guy’s doing he knows the facility, might be support staff or something with a guilty conscience and a bout of insomnia. (Doesn’t go near restricted areas and such. Just the lounges set aside for staff and patients and so on.)

Jeremy’s about to give it up, go back to his rooms and call it a night (whatever), but that’s when the guy notices him?

Clearly startled by the yelp and way they almost fall on their ass. (Weird gesture as he flings his hand out in warding gesture before falling on his ass, coughing and choking and hissing? but whatever. Reflexes can be weird, weird things in moments like this.)

Jeremy just stares at the guy who has this annoyed look on their face and Jeremy tries not to laugh but the whole situation is ridiculous, right?

Still, he helps the guy up and introduces himself after he apologizes for startling him.

And Gavin – because of course it’s Gavin – introduces himself right back.

Kind of annoyed still, but amusement’s slowly creeping in and they laugh about it and kind of wander around a bit. Chat about nothing because it’s like being a kid again before the war hit his home planet and he used to sneak out with his friends to run around just for the fun of it.

Gavin proves he does indeed know the facility because he lets Jeremy in on a few secrets, little ones.

Conference room where they forget to clear out the pastries and whatever other baked goods are brought in for the duration because they always think someone else will get it and then just...forget because projects and vidcalls and all sorts of things.

How to get into That One lounge with the best view of space around them without setting off alarms or anything troubling like that. The one not cluttered up with asteroids where you can see forever. (Or as far as your eyesight will let you.)

Have to detour through this one maintenance hallway to do it, though, but it’s not a security breach because the area outside this part is monitored as hell and the only way to get there undetected is from the inside, which lucky they already are and don’t worry about it, security will get ‘round to fixing that blind spot one day. (They’ve been saying that for years though, always something more pressing to see to first.)

Other little things like that that baffle Jeremy because kind of a big security risk???

Gavin shrugs, odd little smile because he’s not wrong, Jeremy, but people here are more concerned about trouble coming from the outside rather than the other way around. (Something about the way he says that, twist of bitterness to it Jeremy doesn’t really get? But it’s there and gone before he can say anything and not his business anyway, so. Yeah.)

Eventually they have to part ways – Gavin looking a little !!! about it before he runs off like he’s got a curfew or something, and Jeremy more huh about it because weird?

Doesn’t think much of it for a while.

Runs into Gavin from time to time on the nights he can’t sleep, amused at the fact Gavin’s the only one in the facility he’s met that he actually looks forward to seeing, in a weird way?

Like.

The people in charge of his rehab are nice enough, but they’re careful to keep things professional and he does the same because otherwise awkward?

The other soldiers are caught up in their own stuff and some are friendlier than others sure, they’re just not friends.

Gavin, though.

Different.

More and more so as time goes on and Jeremy notices little things about him. Frustration and this bitterness/anger simmering under his skin that he’s so, so careful to hide most of the time?

But some nights he’s too...tired to hide it.

Looks pale and drawn, tired, and the handful of times Jeremy tries to ask him about it, be a shoulder to lean on the way Gavin’s been for him Gavin deflects. (Sometimes more skillfully than others, but he always deflects.)

Will, though.

Ask random questions. Weird as hell all of them, some troubling. (Usually just bizarre though.)

And then!

Something happens.

An accident, something, and one of those hubs that can be jettisoned?

Is.

Just.

Atmosphere vented and bulkheads sealing it off and Jeremy and some of his fellow soldiers get to watch it burn/implode/explode whatever on viewing screens or through the view-port in one of the lounges.

Alarms and klaxons and voices on the speakers directing everyone to remain calm and head to designated safe areas while the staff get everything on lock-down until the emergency passes.

One of the hubs where the seriously injured soldiers are taken to recover. Quieter and all that, not as much activity to agitate them while they heal. (No visitors allowed, because reasons and Jeremy and the others are weirdly, guiltily relieved about that for reasons they can’t quite admit to themselves.)

Except Jeremy, okay.

Something is weird, he fucking knows it.

Slips past his fellow soldiers doing as they’re told and runs to that one lounge Gavin showed him how to get to that first night, right? Perfect view of what’s going on and with everyone in crisis mode they won’t notice if anyone’s down there.

Gets to see it all and realizes something is...off.

Couldn’t say what, but it’s there in the back of his head as he heads back to where he’s supposed to be afterward. Gets strange looks from the others who noticed him running off, but again, whatever.

He goes wandering later that night. Back to the lounge he’s not supposed to be able to get into and Gavin’s there.

Staring out the view port, hand at his throat and this distant look on his face. Isn’t startled to see Jeremy there when he clears his throat in an effort not to startle him too badly, but it’s obvious Gavin knows he’s there.

Gives him this little smile – wrong – and asks if Jeremy saw, earlier. (Did he?)

Flashes of light that didn’t match up from what he knows of the kind of accidents like that. (Accidents, ships under fire, one and the same from a different point of view in war sometimes.)

Other things that got snagged on the way out of being dismissed at seeing just another tragedy out in the black, cost of going where they don’t belong because humanity as a whole is so goddamned stupid about that, aren’t they?

See something like the vast endlessness of space and think, challenge accepted, and watch us, and never give up because they’re so fucking curious and wild and reckless with it.

Gavin sighs when Jeremy doesn’t give him the answers he’s looking for – doesn’t know what those would be, but Jeremy’s still working through what he saw himself.

Gavin shrugs and changes the subject and it’s awkward and strange and something shifts that night Jeremy doesn’t realize at first.

He doesn’t see Gavin too much after that, and times he does Gavin’s always tired.

Out of it, and sometimes there are bruises, burns. Bandages. Gavin waves it off, tells Jeremy it’s just.

It’s the way things are – work, maybe? - and Jeremy’s too wary of annoying the only one here worth talking to into shutting him out to push too hard.

And then, and then.

Gavin stops showing up altogether.

Leaves this little hidden message for Jeremy he finds a few weeks too late.

Gavin telling him he’s being transferred or something, got a job to do and it was great to meet you. Take care of yourself and watch your back when they send you out to fight again because Jeremy’s improved in leaps and bounds, hasn’t he?

Good as new, or nearly there and ready to go back out and fight a war he doesn’t believe in any more than he did when he signed up but back then it was to protect his home, his loved ones, and now -

Well.

Now.

Jeremy stashes Gavin’s message away in his belongings and makes sure to bring it with him when he gets shipped out not too long afterwards.

Fights in battles across God knows how many planets for a while there, scrapes through somehow and barely notices when the fighting hollows him out bit by bit. Pares him down to the soldier they’ve made him into, killing machine and look at him go, would you?

Gun in his hands and armor on his back and indistinguishable from the men and women fighting at his side, on and on, look at them go.

But then there’s another unwinnable fight for him, land mine or mortar and on his back in the mud and muck, blood on the outside where it has no business being. (Doesn’t even hurt anymore, and God it’s so quiet. Cold.)

Stares up at stars he doesn’t recognize and waits to die, but no, no, not today. Rescue squad plucking him out of the line of fire and to a field hospital, and from there back to a facility somewhere.

(Swears, swears, he sees flames before they lift him out of that war zone. Strange, odd. Cold as anything and purple as they wash across the battlefield, aimed at the enemy refusing to give ground even now, but he’s lost so much blood by that point no chance any of it was real.)

Middle of nowhere in a system he doesn’t know the name of. (Lost track a few back, to be honest, but that’s fine because it’s not his business knowing as long as he knows which end of his gun to point at their enemies, pull the trigger, and repeat as necessary.)

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Gavin says, wry little smile and tired.

Probably here when he shouldn’t be, but there’s something in his eyes that says that’s a problem for later as he watches Jeremy.

Too tired, hurt, to be much of a conversational partner but Gavin doesn’t seem to be looking for that at the moment.

Just sits there, thinking and thinking and thinking.

Things he wants to say but never gets the chance to because this woman, the Doctor from that facility where the two of them met comes into Jeremy’s room.

(He saw her once, back then. No-nonsense. Brilliant, to be sure, for all things she’d done to help Jeremy and those like him, but. Cold.)

Studies him for a moment before she looks at Gavin who sighs, gets to his feet and follows her out without looking back. (No goodbye this time.)

Jeremy gets doctors in and out after that.

Headed for a full recovery, but he’ll be out the rest of his contract.

And then?

And then.

That Doctor comes back to see him.

Looks at him like he’s not what she was hoping for and has to make do, and offers him a...it’s not even a choice, just.

Something.

A program, and chance to be on his feet faster than conventional medicine might allow, think on it. (Clock’s running, tick, tick, tick.)

Jeremy thinks on it, pain from his injuries and rehab in his future. Another facility somewhere else, grueling rehab therapy sessions and no combat pay to any of it. (Scraps to send home instead of the scraps and a little more he was able to before.)

When she comes back a few days later he says yes, and doesn’t think about what he’s signing away when she brings in all these documents for him to sign, Gavin at her shoulder and eyes shuttered.

Gets loaded on the same transport they take back to that facility from way back when. Passed through security areas he was never allowed in before. (Missing section where that one hub was and Gavin’s eyes flicking towards it as they pass, steps faltering for just a moment.)

They put him in a room, nice and simple.

Plain.

Guard on the door – precautions, they tell him, but don’t tell him for what – but he’s still too tired to question it.

Days out of surgery and sleeps more often than not. Can’t do much with the program he’s signed up for until he’s healed enough to stay awake on his own longer than a few hours.

Gavin pops in once or twice, never long though. (Stolen moments, favors wheedled out of the guard on Jeremy’s door and things Jeremy can only guess at for the scant time they see one another.)

He sleeps through most of Gavin’s visits, guilty about it, but Gavin just smiles, laughs when he tries to apologize. Calls him ridiculous, and God’s sake, Jeremy, worry about yourself.

Eventually the Doctor comes to see him again, still displeased but she explains what he’s signed for, just a bit.

All this alien tech just laying about here and there all over the galaxy, you know? (Because of course.)

No knowing what happened to the aliens who created it, but goodness, there’s just so much.

All these applications if they can be reverse engineered – clumsy, stupid humans and that curiosity of theirs, wild and reckless – and sometimes they can.

Sometimes.

There are a few such things here in this modest little facility in the middle of nowhere, and Jeremy?

He’s their newest guinea pig.

He’ll need new augments and implants – small ones, nowhere near as invasive as the ones they gave him when he signed up to fight a war – to interact with them, though. (That’ll come later, once he’s medically cleared for the surgery to receive them.)

And then!

And then he gets to learn how to use them, figure out how they work.

Training rooms properly fitted to take the abuse, and she shows him this video, you see.

Gavin in one of them and these combat training frames. Big, bulky things with heavy armor, shiny factory finishes scorched and burned. Melted in places, and the Gavin on the screen holds his hand out in the same way he did that night they met.

Only this time a gout of flame shoots out of his palm.

Purple flames, so guess Jeremy wasn’t imagining it back there in his delirium as the dropship took off in the middle of a battle.

Back of Gavin’s palm lit up like circuity, glowing violent purple like his flames, and when he closes his hand in a fist the flames die down. Show the combat training frames twisted hunks of metal, floor around them alight with purple fire that slowly flicker and go out.

“What - “

See?

No worries about how reinforced the training facilities are here if they can handle that.

Jeremy doesn’t sleep well that night because what and how and what the actual fuck did he get himself into now?

The medical doctors give the all-clear for his augment/implant surgery a few weeks later and Jeremy swears he sees Gavin’s face before they put him under.

When he wakes up everything is different.

Well, probably not, but it feels like it.

The augments/implants they gave him are...different.

Majorly, massively different.

Like they’ve carved out this space in his head, cavernous like those places he saw in holovids where Things Lurked and they warned you to stay away from.

To allow him to interface with the Things he’ll be working with, and it’s.

Unnerving. Unsettling.

His hand itches, muscle and tendons and ligaments moving around the implants there – more, of course – because the Doctor and her people have made advancements since the early days of the program.

Back when test subjects didn’t directly interface with them, had to go about like primitive apes using sticks to poke at things.

He’s told he’ll be able to call up/project what they call abilities through it the way he saw Gavin do.

No telling what it will be because different people have different affinities, so that’s a bit terrifying, not knowing what to expect. (To be honest, all of this is terrifying, but too late now.)

He heals. Goes through rehab to get him to “healthy enough to undergo the rigors of the initial interface” and barely sees Gavin in that time period.

Sent out to handle conflicts and other problems that crop up that require his abilities or training, and no time to slip away to see Jeremy even for a moment.

And then, and then.

He gets discharged from medical, given a private set of rooms.

Bit more luxurious than the ones he had here before, but only just.

No guard on his door, but all this security around the place he’d wonder at if he didn’t know how borderline legal some of this is. He’s dumb, not stupid. (Maybe it’s the other way around?)

Either way.

They bring him to a lab, show him this gadget.

Looks like a little chip, card he might have slid into his old implants but...more. (Shinier, maybe.)

Click it into place and wait and welcome to hell new test subject, congratulations on that one.

Because all that? It goes just fine, doesn’t it.

So much so they toss him into one of those specially reinforced training rooms. Go down a long corridor and through airlocks and other such fun things, and did they mention? That can be jettisoned too, if things get ugly in there, have fun!

Jeremy looks down at his hands, one with the shiny ship, the other with the shiny implants and in for a penny in for a pound or some bullshit.

Quiet before the storm (ironic, that thought of his) before he clicks it into place.

Feels the implants and everything else they buried under skin and tissue warm up – imagination or something more – sees it light up.

Feels something eeling through his mind, an Intelligence to it, foreign and alien and curious. Confused. Alive, because the Doctor and her people didn’t so much reverse-engineer as butcher.

Took what was found and cut and shaved and carved until it fit (more or less) the shape they wanted it to be, became something they thought they understood. (Smarter than them, though. Hid itself and let them hack away until they were satisfied and learned to show them what they wanted to see.)

Quiet little voice in the back of his mind, whispering to him in a language he has no hope of understanding. (Yet.)

And curious, frustrated, it pokes and prods and finds those implants in Jeremy’s hand. Recognizes them, like you do things in a dream sometimes.

Jeremy lifts his arm, opens his hand and lightning shoots out of it and that’s the beginning of the end.

They have him in that training room day after day for hours.

Learning to use his new abilities, that he can fucking fly as well as shoot lightning from his hand and where this is supposed to take him next he’s afraid to think about. (That day on the battlefield and purple flames headed towards the enemy and what, he doesn’t think, what will they do with more people like them out there? What happens to them when the war comes to an end?)

Eventually Gavin comes back from where they sent him, and of course, of course, the Doctor and her people think it would be smart to pit them against one another.

Simple training exercise and Gavin’s expression twists at that, but he steps into the training room all the same.

Meets Jeremy’s gaze, eyebrows raised and Jeremy thinks about that voice in the back of his head, how that alien language sounds more and more familiar with each passing day, closer to English. (Or maybe not. He doesn’t know.)

Wonders if Gavin has a voice in the back of his head too, but then he doesn’t have time to think because there’s a gout of fire coming at him and Jeremy reacts instinctively.

They fight (spar) until the Doctor is satisfied and calls a halt to things.

Gavin and Jeremy both exhausted and pushed past their limits and no clear winner. (He’s sure Gavin was holding back, and God knows he was because – Because.)

Gavin gets brought in to help him train, and admits to Jeremy he sometimes has trouble controlling his abilities. Fire and its nature and maybe other factors but he shrugs uncomfortably and Jeremy knows, knows Gavin has something whispering to him too.

Neither of them mention it though. (To each other or the Doctor and her people.)

They get downtime in between too, and Jeremy.

He learns that Gavin’s parents were scientists too. Worked for this company, you see. Stumbled on these ruins, once upon a time. Found this.

Lab?

Something like it, and these devices and it’s a long story, but Gavin was a kid at the time. Went with them when they were stationed on the planet to learn what they could and this.

He calls it an incident, laughs this odd little laugh as he looks down at his hand, strange scar on his palm with a matching one on the back of his hand like something went straight through.

Idiot kid poking about where he shouldn’t have and alien tech and it’s a long story, Jeremy, you can probably guess at what happened though, yeah?

Because Gavin and the Doctor and this facility. The purple flames. Everything.

No mention of what happened with his parents, and Jeremy doesn’t ask. (...No.)

Anyway, anyway.

They train and train and train, and then send the two of them out to deal with a particularly troublesome conflict somewhere.

Jungle planet and rebels and resistance and enemy forces dug in and they’re supposed to uproot them.

And they do, because what choice do they have?

Get dropped behind enemy lines and it’s horrifically one-sided what happens out there, Gavin blank-faced through it all and Jeremy realizing why over and over again as they get sent here and there and everywhere.

After a few months of that they’re brought back to the facility just as Jeremy’s on the cusp of understanding the voice in the back of his head.

Military officials and executives and a presentation. (Mission briefing.)

Pair of rogue androids and this cover story that doesn’t add up, no matter how hard they try to make it.

Accounts in the files they’re given that don’t match the story they’re being told but it’s not theirs to question, is it?

Hunt them down, they’re told, or else.

(Because, because, because. Jeremy’s family and loved ones, and Gavin’s – Jeremy doesn’t know what they’re holding over his head, just that it’s enough for Gavin to go along with it.)

And anyway, he thinks, anyway.

They’re just androids.

Takes them almost a month to catch so much of a whisper of where the androids ran to after the bloody scuffle on some backwater planet/colony.

(Strange, you know. All that blood and enough bodies to account for it, but more leading to the hangar where there was a ship hidden away and all of their people accounted for, so where did that blood come from?)

Catch the combat android by surprise, and while its first reaction seems to be to engage them, it doesn’t.

Just.

Cuts and runs, drops the packages and parcels its holding and darts into the crowd in the marketplace they found it in.

Fast as hell and agile, but it’s an android.

Stands out no matter how well it passes, and they track it easily enough, run it to some dirty little alley because they had access to all this intel on the place and memorized routes and the whatnot.

It clearly couldn’t get access to an updated map of the area and took shortcuts and the whatnot that simply don’t exist anymore. (Construction and growth and all that.)

There’s...a fight.

Fast and brutal and Jeremy gags as Gavin heats his flames, the time the android gets Jeremy on the ground, metal fist under synthetic flesh aimed for his head and Gavin yelling Jeremy’s name in fear, and the android makes this noise that sounds like pain as Gavin hits it in the side,

Controlled burst, meant to knock it back, off Jeremy and dangerously close, but they heal fast these days, don’t they?

The android snarls and for a moment Jeremy thinks Gavin’s attack wasn’t enough, but it turns and runs when faced with both of them, and Gavin -

He checks on Jeremy instead of pursuing.

Brings him back to their ship to do what he can for him.

They lose the androids, get a dressing down when they report back about the incident.

And then they go hunting, again and again and again, and all these close calls and encounters that keeps them chasing after the androids.

Jeremy doesn’t ask Gavin why he pulls his hits, and Gavin doesn’t ask Jeremy the same.

Voices in their heads, Jeremy thinks, and all the things he’s being told because, because, these things they’ve got in their heads are old. Have seen so much and know corruption when they see it. Know evil deeds.

And did Jeremy know, did he, he’s not the first test subject to be given this particular device?

(There was one, not too long ago. Incompatible, or maybe just too scared about the voice in his head and an accident that wasn’t, entire hub filled with lightning and thunder and jettisoned and the crews that went in after. Cleaned the mess up and picked up this twisted lump of metal to extract a chip that sat in a lab until they found someone else to give it a try?)

Eventually, though, eventually Jeremy and Gavin talk.

Because only so long they can chase these androids running towards something without talking about why they’re not really trying to catch them, you know?

And Gavin.

He’s been with the program and the Doctor and her people for a long time. (Since he was a kid, the Incident.)

Raised in one lab or another (watching his parents work and then an object of study himself after the incident and the Doctor) and this voice in his head for years.

Friend, partner, whatever.

Helping him with his abilities but there’s only so much it can do because Gavin’s a special case, you know? None of this tampering the Doctor and her people did, no. He’s got the original in his head, under his skin and emotions play a major part in how he uses them.

He’s learned how to control it (mostly) but he slips, here and there.

Wasn’t much of a problem, but then he met this little idiot, you see.

Convalescing soldier he met one night, gave him a right fright and lucky Gavin didn’t hit him with a blast of flame from his hand or they might not be having this talk, so think on that, would you Jeremy?

And, see.

The Doctor is a bit ruthless in the pursuit of science, because science.

Knew she was losing her grip on Gavin, that he was getting ideas and all these abilities that would have made it easy for him to finally, finally escape, but then this little idiot in Jeremy.

Easy, Jeremy hears in his head. Listen.

So he does, because he owes Gavin that much, doesn’t he?

About Gavin and this little idiot he met, befriended. (Living, breathing weakness where Gavin hadn’t had one before, too perfect not to be exploited. And it was.)

Gavin sent to handle matter when the military ran into a situation it couldn’t handle without major loss of life on their side, but someone like Gavin?

Well.

Easy enough to send him in, isn’t it?

Over and over again and always that little idiot to think about.

And then Jeremy went back to war himself, none the wiser.

Gavin still got sent out to fight someone else's war, and it could have gone on like that forever until a certain planet and a certain battle and Jeremy bleeding out in the mud and muck.

An opportunity, for the Doctor and hers, and maybe, maybe, way to get back at Gavin for thinking he could escape so easily.

“Christ.”

Gavin’s bitter laugh, because yes.

And then, and then.

Jeremy and his device and the training and now this matter with the androids, and did Jeremy know, did he know?

Gavin hears his share of gossip, you know.

The Doctor’s people who think he doesn’t care about things like that but they get bored, restless, and they talk. The soldiers he’s surrounded by who don’t give him the time of day but talk to their fellow soldiers.

All those little secrets Gavin showed Jeremy about the facility and a lifetime in places like that. (His own life and the lies that go with it.)

Of course he wouldn’t trust blindly they were being told the truth about these androids, and Jeremy please, don’t tell Gavin you bought into it?

Because something is going on, and these androids are part of it and, oh, Jeremy, this is the chance of a lifetime.

Jeremy thinks about his family and loved ones, thinks about the Doctor and her people. The military officials and company executives and this horribly complicated mess and the goddamned androids they’re chasing after. (Voice in his head he’s learning to trust despite all logic because it hasn’t steered him wrong yet.)

“I. Need to do a thing first.”

Warn his family, loved ones and hope that’s enough, because Gavin’s right.

Too much going on to ignore it, when he knows about the program they’re caught in, that the Doctor and her people hope to expand things. Pull more people into it, mass produce the device they handed Jeremy somehow, and what then?

What then?

So.

He sends a message home, and they put in a good show of chasing the androids until he gets a message back.

Laughs, because this could go so badly wrong on him and he’d lose so much, but Gavin’s right, isn’t he?

They can’t pretend they don’t know, can’t do that anymore.

Chase after the androids, but now, now it’s for a different reason.

Fight and fight and fight because the androids are desperate and running scared, but eventually, they get the chance to talk.

A whole lot of a lack of trust, but that’s to be expected and they have to work to earn it, but at least they get that chance, you know?

Michael and Ryan paranoid and wary and Jeremy and Gavin accepting it as their due, and then Matt and the idiots he’s working with (for?) and it’s.

The chance he and Gavin were looking for, and maybe something good for all of them.

[dewitty1]

I could be wrong, I could be ready

harryromper @harryromper

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Bill Weasley, Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Andromeda Black Tonks, Teddy Lupin, Rose Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Portrait Fleamont Potter Additional Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, POV Alternating, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Romance, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, wizarding houses, House magic, Magic, Families of Choice, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), Magical Theory, Brooklyn, Roller Coasters, Socks, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Professor Neville Longbottom, Curse Breaker Bill Weasley, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Godric’s Hollow, Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, H/D Erised 2018, Community: hd_erised, Lovers to Friends, Don’t copy to another site Summary:

At first Harry wonders if they’ve managed to destroy his vaults and are trying to tell him in the most oblique way possible. But when he turns the page he realises they’ve found a vault. A vault in the name of Lily and James Potter.

The parchment trembles a little in Harry’s hand. He takes another gulp of wine.

Harry Potter left Britain after the war and didn’t look back. Ten years later, when Gringotts discovers a vault containing his parents’ belongings—including their badly spell-damaged wedding rings—he’s forced to face up to friends and family who’ve grown in ways he could never imagine, a wizarding London rebuilt beyond his expectations, and the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s the entirely unforeseen problem of Draco Malfoy.

Featuring pureblood wizarding traditions, ancestral magic, open mic nights, marriage equality, a diner in Brooklyn, and the return of Fleamont Potter.

Excerpt:

“I ran into Malfoy again, yesterday. Like, physically. Ran into him full-tilt coming back from a jog outside the Leaky. Bowled him right over.”

Hermione giggles, as Harry kneels beside her on the quilt. “On purpose?”

Harry laughs. “No, of course not.”

She pushes a plate of muffins towards him, and he breaks off a chunk of one.

“Who did he marry?” Harry asks, thinking about Parkinson. The way Draco’s hands, brushing himself off yesterday, were unadorned by rings.

“He’s not married,” Hermione answers, letting Hugo clutch at her finger, dragging it towards his mouth.

“Really? He always seemed the type to be married to some prim little witch who knows how to entertain properly. You know, the sort who’s really good at parties and small talk and never forgets anyone’s name.” Harry can just picture them both at society functions, glasses of champagne in hand. Malfoy looking down his aristocratic nose at everyone.

“That’s funny,” Hermione snorts, clearly delighted by something he’s said.

“What is?”

She gives him a strange look. “Harry, Draco is as gay as a maypole.”

Harry manages to inhale a crumb the wrong way and immediately sets to choking. It causes Hermione to laugh even harder. “You really didn’t know?” she asks, patting his back ineffectually. ”He dated Dean Thomas for over a year!”

And that is really not an image Harry needs in his head, all of Malfoy’s long limbs wrapped around… He shakes his head vigorously.

“No. How would I have known? I heard him talking about picking a kid up from school and I just assumed—”

Hermione’s laughter dies suddenly and the happiness slides from her face. “Teddy, Harry. He would have been talking about Teddy.”

“Why would Malfoy be picking Teddy up from school?” He tries not to make it sound scathing, but it doesn’t really make any sense. The two of them are related, sure, but in the “burnt off the family tree” kind of way. He can’t imagine even a post-war Malfoy being that interested in a Metamorphmagus from the wrong side of the Blacks.

Hermione sighs and gently tugs her finger back from Hugo, picking the baby up as he starts to fuss. She frowns at Harry, a sign he’s coming to recognise means he’s freshly disappointed her in some way.

“Draco looks after Teddy two days a week. He has done for years. Draco’s basically the father figure in Teddy’s life.”

If she doesn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, Harry thinks, she’s fallen pretty short of the mark. Hugo starts to cry, and Harry decides to take the excuse.

“Time for Hugo’s nap—I’ll leave you to it.”

“You should go catch up with him, Harry. You’ve changed a lot and so has he. It’s Wednesday, he’ll be at the Bent Wand tonight.”

Harry waves absently at her as he leaves. He doesn’t have any intention of catching up with Malfoy.

Except that her suggestion keeps gnawing at him as he heads back to the Leaky, and it won’t leave him alone as he eats a bowl of bland soup at the bar. He asks Kim, the waitress, about the Bent Wand and she gives him directions to a new street opened up after the war. He has no interest at all in seeing what Malfoy’s up to, but the idea that British wizards have caught up with the modern world enough to have gay bars out in the open is sort of intriguing. He could just go have a drink there. It doesn’t mean he has to talk to Malfoy. In fact the thought of not talking to Malfoy and finding an attractive wizard to work out the week’s frustrations with is sort of appealing. And so before he can reconsider he’s wandering past a new Wheezes branch and round the corner into a charming little street he’s never seen before called Equal Alley.

The Bent Wand looks like more of a pub than a bar, and there’s a foreboding-looking bouncer standing at the door. “Tap your wand,” he says, indicating a brick in the wall. Harry does so, and a blue plastic wristband appears on his arm.

“All Ages night tonight,” the bouncer says, by way of explanation, and steps to one side to let Harry in.

The pub is warm and busy, with groups of people clustered around tables and around the bar. The crowd is younger than Harry was expecting. Two boys who look like they’re still Hogwarts-age walk past him holding hands. The taller one is wearing a t-shirt that reads I Like Wizards / It’s None of Your Business. Harry waits behind them at the bar.

“Where’s the sign up sheet?” one of them asks.

The bartender points over their shoulders. “Draco has it over by the stage.”

Harry turns to catch a glimpse of Malfoy’s blond hair, surrounded by young people over by a large amp sitting on a low stage.

Harry orders a pint, and while the bartender is pulling it, he asks, “Sign up sheet?”

“Shout Out. It’s an open mic night for youth. Happens here every Wednesday.”

Harry is reluctantly impressed. It’s more or less the last thing he expected when Hermione mentioned it. He assumed the Wand would be some snooty wine bar with an overpriced cocktail menu and Malfoy holding court in a booth being rude to people who weren’t as attractive or wealthy as him.

“Some of these kids look like they’re still in school,” Harry says, anxious to derail that train of thought as quickly as possible.

The bartender nods. “Hogwarts lets them Floo down for the evening. It’s an approved extracurricular. Draco over there takes responsibility for getting them back afterwards.”

Harry tries to imagine anything like this being possible during his school days and can’t. It took him leaving the country to even understand that the confused knot of feelings he had about his own attraction to wizards was fine and normal and nothing he needed to hide. It certainly wasn’t something they ever discussed in school. Though to be fair to Hogwarts, he supposes, they had quite a lot else on their minds at the time.

He takes his drink and perches on a stool at the corner of the bar with a view of the stage. When Malfoy stands up, clipboard in hand, Harry’s forced to admit to himself that he looks really good. Which is a preposterous sort of thought, because Malfoy’s only wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. But there’s something about the way the dark skinnies hug his legs, the form-fitting tee, even the faded grey lines of his Dark Mark. Harry finds that he can’t look away.

Malfoy greets everyone there like old friends and invites a blue-haired witch in her twenties up on stage as the evening’s emcee, before taking a seat at one of the front tables. The talent on display is mixed at best, but the enthusiasm is contagious. Passable cover songs delivered on guitar, overwrought poetry, a slightly ill-considered rap. Harry finds himself clapping wildly, beaming at the thought of these young people having the space to express themselves. He’s ordering another pint when Malfoy pulls up the stool next to him as if they’re old friends. He hadn’t even seen him come over.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Draco sounds curious, rather than mean. Harry realises his hair is cut much shorter than it had been in school. It suits him.

“What, you thought you were the only queer wizard in our year?”

Malfoy laughs, reaching for a drink the bartender has made for him without asking. It looks like a gin and tonic. “Please. That cat’s long out of the bag. Ever since the Weasley wedding guests flapped their traps and the Prophet dedicated a full week of issues to The Boy Who Lived a Lie.”

Harry folds in on himself a little at that. It’s not that he hadn’t known it made the press here at the time, of course; he just hadn’t seen any of it. He’s pretty sure it was ugly. Andromeda always made a face when the subject came up.

As if he can read the dark turn Harry’s thoughts have taken, Malfoy leans in conspiratorially and says, “I may or may not have kept a few newspaper clippings for my personal collection. Some of the photos were very inspirational.”

It startles a laugh out of Harry, and Malfoy gives him a pleased smile. His ears pink up a little and Harry finds himself fixated on the smooth skin over his clavicle. Harry straightens up. Clearly, the pints are going to his head and he should leave. Flirting with Draco Malfoy is an objectively terrible idea. Draco’s tall and lithe and gives the impression of being all coiled power. Like a snake, but probably twice as dangerous. Harry can easily find far less menacing opportunities to pull, with a lot less emotional baggage.

“What brings you to London? Other than knocking people over in the street and lurking around queer youth nights in bars?”

Harry snaps his gaze back up to meet Malfoy’s. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Harry’s inner turmoil, or if he has, he isn’t letting on. “Gringotts found some things belonging to my parents so I needed to sort that out. I’m only here for another day or two.” He doesn’t say any more. Harry knows Malfoy’s father was sentenced to be Kissed. Talking about their parents or the past in general seems like a no-go. In fact, just the two of them sitting side by side in a bar having a conversation seems like something that should bend the universe in on itself and cause it to implode.

“This is impressive,” he manages, taking a deep breath and reaching for a change of subject, gesturing around at the pub night. “Creating an environment like this.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy nods. “Times have changed a lot since we were their age, but not so much that it’s not important to give them all the support we can.” He knocks his drink back in several swallows that leave Harry staring at the long, pale column of his throat. Harry desperately wants to mark it up.

“Go easy,” he manages, aiming for teasing. “You’ll be on the floor at that rate.”

“It’s soda, Potter,” Malfoy smirks. “Someone has to get the children back to Hogwarts in one piece.”

Harry is just wrestling with why that idea seems disappointing when Malfoy gives him a long, considering look. It’s as if he’s weighing every aspect of Harry, and it’s ridiculous, but Harry suddenly doesn’t want to be found wanting.

 Draco seems to reach some sort of decision as he stands and leans right into Harry’s personal space, his lips warm against Harry’s ear. “Though if you want me on the floor, I don’t have to get the students back to school for an hour or so.” Just the words alone have Harry letting out a small groan and adjusting himself in his jeans. Malfoy pulls back, grinning wickedly at him. This whole moment is absurd. 

Unthinkable. 

Harry can’t possibly go through with it. But Draco is the brightest spot in the room and he can’t look away.

“Where?” he breathes, thinking about just tugging Malfoy to him and Apparating them right back to his room at the Leaky, although that seems a bit obvious. 

And really who can wait that long, there’s got to be a perfectly good toilet somewhere in this pub. 

But Malfoy just smirks and walks away, toward a door at the back of the bar marked Emergency Exit. Harry hastens after him.

He finds himself in a service lane behind the building, immediately pressed against a brick wall. If Malfoy’s jeans looked tight from across the bar, now he’s close enough for Harry to feel it. 

“Someone will see,” Harry bites out, as Malfoy makes quick work of his belt buckle.

Malfoy laughs. “You think gay wizards built Equal Alley and didn’t disillusion the hell out of every dark corner?” And then Malfoy sinks to his knees and Harry can’t find himself able to care anymore.

[fallout4treasures]

What’s Worth Fighting For - Ch 1

“Then why are you going?” Ellie asked, standing and following me as I headed towards the door.

“I need his help. And he’s not doing anyone any good gone.”

“You must be pretty desperate. It’s not often Nick can’t save himself.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

Wayfaring Stranger - Johnny Cash

You’re looking for a man. He can help you. But he ain’t gonna be the man you expect. I’m ashamed to say my fear and rage was leading me back then. Giving an old lady chems seemed so small compared to what I was looking for. Her visions were all I had to go on, and nothing was more important than finding Shaun. I’ve tried to make myself regret it, to let the guilt weigh on me, but I can’t. It led me to the truth. More importantly, it led me to Nick.

I always thought this story started in the Vault. With the death of my old self, and everything I knew. Watching my world, along with the people in it, disappear in a blink of an eye had sparked enough vengeance in me to fuel a war. It should have been enough to be the main plot. Not that it was small, but I guess I’m a sucker for a nice guy with a broken soul. Either way, it turns out this story actually starts at the ballpark. But you should know before you start, in case you hadn't picked up on it already, this was never supposed to be a love story.

The crash of glass filled my ears, pulling me from my deep sleep and sending me sitting straight up. I grabbed my gun from the nightstand and had it readied on the door, taking short and shallow breaths as my brain caught up to my actions. My heart thumped in my ears, with sweat already building at my brow. The shatter was followed by boisterous yelling coated in accents too thick and angry for me to decipher through the wall, but from what I could tell it was only the innkeeper brothers quarrelling.

The air I was holding in my lungs released as did the tension in myself. I let the firearm lay in my lap as I held my face in my hands, counting the seconds as my breathing brought my pulse back down to a regular rate.

I was still grateful the shock woke me. The images from my nightmares were quickly blurring together to the point that they were unrecognizable. If I had to experience them while I slept, at least I couldn’t remember them when I woke up.

My shoulders refused to relax as I rolled out of bed. In fact, my whole body ached from my journey the night before. I should have taken the nearly day’s walk from Sanctuary to Boston more seriously. But it wasn’t the first time I did something stupidly impulsive for the sake of the mission. Certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Ready to leave the musty smell of my rented room behind me, I hoisted my leather armor over my shoulders and fumbled with the buckles as my sweaty fingers continued to tremble. It must have taken me five full minutes to get everything strapped on. And once it was I started to sweat even more, the leather feeling as if it was constricting around me.

Everything about this world, and the anxieties it stirred in me, felt so foreign. It had only been a handful of days since I had unfroze, yet it felt like I had lived weeks in this wasteland already. Time had its own mind here, with every moment full of either danger or needed rest. There was no telling how it would move next.

My days used to start so slow and sweet. Usually with Nate’s warm voice telling me that Shaun was crying. He’d bring him in from the nursery and we’d snuggle around him in bed. Just staring as our son babbled and cooed at us. Listening to the radio, sipping at the coffee on the nightstand. The sun would start to rise and we’d get up with it.

I wish I had wanted it more then. I wish we had begged the sun to stay low just a bit longer. To keep the moment stretched on, and our son beside us. Even if just for a little while. Safe, warm, perfect.

The bittersweet memories stung my chest, causing tears to well up. I quickly pushed them out of my head, but was still left a tired, jittery mess. Unfortunately, this was my morning routine. Battling the visions mixed from the past, present, and my nightmares. At this point, it seemed only one thing could calm my nerves.

“Ah, Viv! Our newest patron. You finally woke up.” The bartender bellowed out with a laugh the moment he saw me dragging myself from the hall of rooms to the bar.

“Good morning, Vadim.” I offered him half a smile as my arms fell to the counter.

“I am sorry about the fighting. My brother and I don’t always see eye to eye… Eh, are you okay? You're as white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine.” I waved him off before pressing my eyes into my palms. “Just looking for something strong.”

“No problem, what’s your drink?”

“Bourbon.” With a stiff nod he grabbed the shot glass from underneath the bar and the liquor with it. The quiet splash of brown liquid made crave the drink even more. I snatched it from its surface and threw it back without bothering to taste it. My face twisted as it burned the whole way down, but the warmth quickly took over and calmed my nerves. “Thanks.” I pulled out the small bunch of caps I had in my front pocket and counted out the payment, plus a couple extra for him.

“Will you be back tonight?” Vadim asked, pocketing the caps.

“Depends on how my day goes.” I gave him a short wave before leaving the grimey, makeshift inn.

The Diamond City I was walking through that morning was much different than the night before. It reminded me of the last ball game we went to. It was right before Shaun was born and Nate surprised me with tickets right behind home plate. Not too far from where I was standing actually, just two hundred years earlier. Who knew a baseball field was big enough for a whole city? If you could call it a city. Smashing a few dozen or so metal shacks inside a ballpark wouldn’t have fit my qualifications before we went under. But so far this was the closest thing I had seen that felt like home. The houses and businesses formed a bull’s eye around the stadium with the Power Noodles bar dotting the center. The Dugout Inn where I was staying was tucked away in an alley towards the city gates and to start exploring I ventured back toward where I had started last night.

“Read all about it! Institute replaces people with machines! Are you next?” A young girl with short, wriley, dark hair announced from her podium. “Hey lady!" Her short arms wildly waved me over, her long skirt flouncing a bit around her pants as she bounced. "You're new, right? All newcomers get their first issue free." She extended the flyer out to me.

"How could you tell?"

"My sister told me to look out for a doe eyed misfit.”

“I am not doe eyed.” I huffed, taking the flyer. I made a face at the girl as she smirked at me. “I’m guessing you’re Piper’s little sister?”

“Most people call me Nat.”

"Most people call me Viv…” I let my eyes fall to the paper, wandering the article aimlessly. It started to catch my attention when a name stuck out to me. “What's the Institute?” I asked her.

“You don’t know about the Institute? Oh, man... ” She rolled her eyes at me. I narrowed mine in return at her. “They snatch people up and replace you with robots." She sighed.

“Do people disappear a lot?”

“How would I know? They look just like us.” She retorted with an eyeroll. I let out a breath, trying to keep my patience.

“You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you know someone who does know.” She pondered this for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.

“I guess, you’d have to ask the detective, Mr. Valentine. He’s the only one to go to if someone’s gone missing."

“Oh yeah? Where’s he at?”

“Probably his office. It’s down that alley. There’s a sign at the end that shows the way.”

“Hey, thanks kid.”

“Remember what I said about the Institute! You can’t trust anyone.” She called after me as I walked. I waved goodbye and heard Nat muttering under her breath as I walked away. “Give her ten days… max.” I couldn’t help but laugh at this. She gave me three more days than I had given myself.

I followed her directions to the agency, quickly finding the glowing detective sign pointing me to the covered alleyway. Even in the daylight the pink neon ‘Valentine Detective Agency’ sign seemed like it was the only thing lighting the way. A heart shot by an arrow glowed behind the lettering with another arrow pointing towards the dark and narrow corridor leading towards the entrance. Passing the light, I couldn’t help but hear the fortune teller’s words in my mind.

You find that heart that's gonna lead you to your boy. Oh, it's... it's bright. So bright against the dark alleys it walks.  Maybe feeding that crazy old lady drugs was worth it after all. I should have written everything she said down, I thought to myself.

The metal door creaked open, and I was sure I would have alerted anyone inside. It was a simple box-y metal and concrete office, but was filled completely with files, papers, and other miscellaneous items that I could only guess were clues to cases. Off to the right, behind me, was a short hall that led to what I assumed were living quarters. Despite the cold look it gave, the agency felt warm and inviting. Across the room young lady in a flowy dress and dark jacket was rifling through files, completely oblivious to me intruding.

“The bills… Oh, forget the bills.” She sighed, mournfully muttering to herself. I decided to make my presence known, and finished walking inside, closing the door with a light slam. I figured I would have startled her but she kept her back towards me, continuing away with her work.

“Hello?” I finally spoke up.

“We're closed.” She told me over her shoulder. My eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

"I don't want to be rude but is Mr. Valentine here? It’s important."

"I’m sorry, the detective's gone." My heart felt like it missed a beat. I couldn’t have gone all this way to be led to a dead end.

"Gone? Gone where?" I asked. She turned to face me, her dress flouncing around her legs. "He was working a case. Skinny Malone's gang kidnapped a young woman and he tracked them down to an old subway station. I told him that it didn't feel right. But he just smiled and walked out like he always does… always did.” As sad as she sounded I couldn’t help but let out a silent sigh of relief. As long as he was alive he could help me find Shaun. It was just a matter of getting to him.

“Couldn’t he still come back?”

“He’s gotten himself into trouble before, but he’s never been gone this long. I never thought the day would actually come where he didn’t come back.”

“No one’s tried to get him?” I asked.

“Who do you send to find the man who finds everyone else?” She walked over to the desk in front of me and sat down in the armchair. Her face was fallen with defeat. I let out a long sigh, realizing I was about to make another stupid, and possibly fatal, decision.

“What’s your name?” I asked her, pulling the bag off my back. I dug around, counting my ammo boxes. After a quick stop at the gun stand in the market I would be set.

“Ellie.” She dried her tears, quickly composing herself.

“Where did you say he went, Ellie?”

“Park Street Station, it’s an old pre-war ruin. Skinny and his gang took it over.”

“Okay, great. I actually remember where that is.” I flung the bag back on my shoulder.

“You’re not actually going after him.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No, you just... you don’t strike me as the fighting type.”

“I’m not really.”

“Then why are you going?” Ellie asked, standing and following me as I headed towards the door.

“I need his help. And he’s not doing anyone any good gone.”

“You must be pretty desperate. It’s not often Nick can’t save himself.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

--

My legs were on fire by the time I had reached the Boston common. I had been able to get away with only running across some ghouls and a few rogue raiders before reaching this point, but I was still high on my guard.

Plywood signs along the metal fencing warned me not to wander inside the common’s park. Lucky for me, the hub was just on the edge and no where near the center. The buzz of anxiety kept me on my toes as I made one last mad dash for the station’s doors. The pops and cracks of battle echoed in the distance before they were muted by the heavy metal door shutting behind me. I would usually find this comforting, but there was plenty of danger waiting for me deeper underground.

The temperature fell as I descended down the broken escalator. I could hear talking coming from the next room. I hid behind the doorway, listening in and trying to get an idea of what I was dealing with.

“He’s weak, I’m tellin’ ya. That detective comes snooping around, and what does he do? Just keeps him locked up. He don’t even got the balls to ice some nobody.”

“Keep that shit to yourself. His new girl hears ya and she’ll start swinging that bat of hers until we don’t have no face left.” I could hear them walking and talking through the nearly empty lobby. A few more were lingering around. I didn’t think I would be able to shoot it out. I figured  it was time to improvise.

I pulled my pack around to rifle through the junk I had collected until I found a ragged stuffed bunny that I had found in Concord. It was hardly big enough, but it would work. I pulled the seam that ran down its back apart and tossed the stuffing onto the aged tile until it’s torso was hollow. The empty cavity ended up being the perfect bed for a grenade. There was barely enough room to cover the explosive with some of the fluff to seal it in with only the pin being visible. I gave myself a nod of satisfaction. It would do.

I grabbed a couple of caps from my pocket and took a short peak around the corner to get a look. Most of the men were dressed in sharp suits, and some even completed the ensemble with a worn fedora. Most of them carried guns longer than my arm, and probably a lot more experience than I did.  

The first cap was grasped in my hand, ready to fly. The metal clanged against the tile. I patiently listened as footsteps approached it. Another toss and the other cap rattle nearby the other.

“H-hey, check this out! Caps keep falling from the ceiling.” One of them called to the others. I was relieved to hear the other footsteps lumber over to the commotion.

“What the hell are you talking about?” My heart raced as they babbled on. My fingers sweated over the circle pin, waiting for the right moment to pull.

“They keep dropping down! Two of them! Look!”

“You’re hitting the chems too hard, bud.” A different voice chimed in.

“I haven’t even had that much! I’m serious!” The grenade clicked after losing its pin. One last good toss and I heard the soft thud of the toy. I covered my ears and braced myself behind the wall.

“What the-” BOOM!

It felt like minutes before I moved. I waited and waited for some sort of response or movement but nothing came. Slowly I stood and entered the now destroyed terminal. The air was heavy with the smell of blood and explosives. Like some sort of crude firework. There wasn’t much that could be recognized, other than the occasional burned cap. I figured it would still spend as I went around collecting them. I came upon the blue scrap of the bunny’s ear, left charred and frayed as I finished up.

“Thanks for your sacrifice, little buddy.” I gave it a small solute before moving deeper into the station.

I wasn’t nearly as lucky down by the tracks. I had to carefully sidestep a few mines as I made my way down. I stopped once the open area became visible. There were around a dozen or so triggermen. I had to be fast, precise, and alert. All things I did not feel confident in. My desperation had led me this far, though. Who’s to say it would fail me now?

I pulled out my pistol, checking the ammo before aiming directly at the back of their head. My finger trembled over the trigger, unable to let go of the fact that this would be the first gunfight that was initiated by me. I gave myself a moment to focus, taking slow breaths to balance my hand. Finally, I pulled the trigger. The first man flopped to the floor with the bang of my gun. Before someone had time to react I quickly aimed at the next one. My arm cuff was grazed as the other mobsters started to react. I ducked my head down as a swarm of bullets flew towards me. A break in the assault let me grab another glimpse of the tracks, and another head shot. It went on like that for awhile until the room finally fell quiet. The air held an unsettling feeling, keeping me frozen in my spot. I shut my eyes and waited for a noise. After several seconds there was a soft shuffle and footsteps. Just one set, but I could hear him closing in on me. He was creeping closer to the wall that protected me. I counted to three, held my breath, and popped up from behind the barrier. Before he could lift up his own gun my bullet flew through his chest.

I tried not to count the bodies as I passed them. I wasn’t close to ready to start processing the amount of damage I had caused. I followed the tracks, and was pleasantly surprised with the lack of security. I was able to stroll through the tunnels, their echoing silence bringing me some peace. Until I reached the last stop anyhow. I could see the tunnels had collapsed on the other side of the room. I slowed my pace and peaked around the tunnel opening. The coast seemed clear enough so I decided to continue on. I thought I was moving silently as I tried to sneak onto the platform.

“Hey! There’s someone here!” I heard a man call out from behind a pillar.

“Shit.” I muttered to myself.

“She’s here for the detective! Don’t let her-” With the pop of my gun I silenced the first goon, and the other dropped shortly after as he stumbled after him.

After a couple more skirmishes I found myself in an unfinished part of the station. Dirt and rock made up the floors, walls, and ceilings. The room was cluttered with boxes and construction equipment. As I ventured in a vault entrance came into view, sitting high on the wall with metal stairs leading up to it.

“A vault. Of course, he ended up in a vault.” Grumbling to myself I hooked my pip boy up to the panel, and pushed the button to open the door. The yellow lights circled as the vault hissed and groaned. The large gear shaped door sunk deeper into the earth before rolling off to the side. The metal bridge stretched out to meet the platform I was on. The familiar hollow step of my boot against the steel echoed as made my first steps in. It opened up to a small room, filled with storage containers. Off to the left was a small hallway, leading deeper inside the vault.

“Who the hell keeps opening the damn vault? Can’t hear myself think.” Someone called from the hall. “Skinny? Darla? S’that you?” The moment he came into view I fired. He cried out and with a limp arm he still attempted to aim his gun at me. Another shot and he was on the ground.

“Are you all this stupid?” I asked his body as I stepped over it.

The further I went into the vault the more the rooms started to blur together. I lost track of how many levels I had gone down, and of how many triggerman I had to put down. I was already desperate to get out of that stupid maze.

The last door opened to the second floor of the atrium. Below tables were sprawled out like a cafeteria. On the other side of the room, on the third level, a balcony overlooked the hall with a large circle window showing the office behind it. Yet another gangster stood in front of it, looking and talking to someone through the glass.

“How ya doin’, Valentine? Ya hungry, wanna snack?” He teased his prisoner. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I found him. At least I could say I got this far. I could hardly hear the murmur behind the glass, but the words became more clear as I lurked closer to the stairs leading to the upper floor.

“...gives Malone more time to figure out how he’s going to bump you off.” The detective’s voice finally became clear as I reached the stairs, taking each step slowly enough to keep my boots from rattling against the metal.

“Don’t give me that crap. You don’t know nothing.”

“Oh really? I saw him write your name in that black book of his. Mumbling something about a ‘no-good, lousy, card shark’. Then he struck it off three times.”

“Three times? That’s not funny.” The guard itched around where he stood, obviously troubled by what the other man was saying. Once on the higher platform I hid before the doorway leading to the balcony.

“Gotta guilty conscious, Dino?”

“Shit… I gotta fix this, fast!” Dino was in such a rush that he blew right passed me squatting in the corner without noticing me. Another shot rang out through the atrium, as did the thud of his body.

“What was that? Who’s there?” The detective called out once the echo finished. I followed the voice to the window, only seeing a shadowy figure inside the office. “It’s not going to take long for them to realize he’s not coming back. Get that door open.” He gestured towards the terminal at the end of the balcony. It all seemed to happen so fast then, so meaningless. Even with Mama Murphy’s visions I had no idea I would be walking into a moment that had been written into fate a long time before then.

The door opened and I strolled inside the dark office, ready to grab him and bolt. The glow of his yellow eyes pierced through my thoughts, leaving all of my previous thoughts behind.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario.” He commented. With a flick of his metal wrist he fired up a match to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. The flame that was brought to his face gave the first glimpse of the exposed framing beneath his cheek. “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?” His voice struck a chord in me, somewhere that I thought was dead.

“Would you rather stay here?” I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me. Taking a drag of his cigarette he stepped forward into the light, giving me a better look at him. His synthetic grey skin had definitely been through plenty through his years in the Commonwealth. Despite his experience even his subtle smile felt warm to me.  

“No, but you’ll have to forgive me if I’m wary of walking into another trap.” He retorted. I conceited with a nod.

“I need your help. But, I’m a lot better at explaining when I’m not in an old vault surrounded by blood-lusted mobsters.”

“Fair enough.” He pulled his pistol from his holster and readied it. “Well, what’s your name?”

“Viv.”

“Just Viv?”

“Vivian-...” I hesitated, suddenly unsure if surnames were even used anymore. Judging by his inquisitive stare he was waiting to hear mine. “Becker.”

“Great, I’m Nick… Valentine.” His lips curled into a cheeky smile behind his cigarette. “I’m actually able to say I’m pleased to meet you. Although, I probably would have been pleased with anyone who rescued me from this place.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. Not many people would have been able to get to me. I’ve been stuck

down here for weeks. Turns out the kidnapped girl I was trying to rescue wasn’t kidnapped at all. She’s Skinny’s new flame, and she’s got a mean streak.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

I let him lead us back out into the atrium. He seemed to know his way, and I was done figuring this maze out. I was happy to mindlessly follow after days of strategically planned movements.

I never imagined how much easier getting through a small army of mobsters would be with a partner. We blew through rooms as if we had trained together before. I could almost let my guard down. Even so, the vault went on for ages. We would think we were close, only to find another staircase leading up closer to the surface. Finally, after what felt like dozens of goons and staircases we finally made it to the final locked door.

“Do you think he’s in there?” I asked him as he went to work the terminal that held the door shut. “He could have run off.”

“No, he’s there. I can hear his fat footsteps from here” Nick murmured as he typed away. I was fascinated with the way his fingers moved, specifically the exposed metal ones, moved. Fluidly, and with intention, despite the fact that they were controlled by a computer themselves. “I’m not really sure where Skinny’s temper is these days. Stay alert in there.” He broke me from my thoughts. My heart thunked in my chest so loud I could feel the ripple in my entire body, the beat hammering in my ears. It was moments like these that I completely forgot why I was there. I wasn’t a soldier, that was my husband’s job.

“Ready?” He asked, cocking his gun.

“Ready.” I lied.

The door opened with a hiss. The next room’s light only illuminated Nick’s captors and what was left of their crew.

“Nicky, what do you think you’re doing?” A portly man in a sharp, black tuxedo called from inside the room.“You just come in to my home and start killing my guys? How could you do this to me?” Next to him a tiny porcelain doll of a woman with a shimmering, cool colored, dress wielded a baseball bat. They both watched with a smirk as the remaining triggerman aimed their weapons at us when we approached.

“You should tell that dame of yours to write home more often. I wouldn’t be here if her parents weren’t looking for her.” Nick said. I could see the detective nervously eyeing the room after he spoke. We were surrounded, and I was suddenly very aware of the large amount of sweat I was producing.

“What’s the matter, Valentine? Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? That why you needed your lady friend to come save you?” The woman cackled, her bright red lips stretching across her face. Her nearly flawless features should have stunned me, but I couldn’t get over the crazed look in her eyes. Even when she wasn’t looking at me I could feel her stare. “I told you, we should have just killed him! Now he’s sent this one to rub us all out.” She hissed. “Darla, I’m handling this!” Skinny scolded. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tucking the bat into the crook of her elbow.

“Sure, you’re handling it. Look how that turned out. You got all sentimental. All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’.”

“Darla, please!”

There’s… an echo. I found Mama Murphy’s words rolling around in my head again. I tried to push them away, staying on alert, but they forced their way in. Something in the past that can help you. When you meet the fat man and the angry woman… It finally clicked with me. I couldn’t believe that drug addicted, old, broad really wasn’t crazy.

“W-wait!” I was only half-expecting anyone to hear me, but as I spoke everyone’s eyes turned to me at once. My heart kicked into a new level of overdrive that I didn’t even think was possible. “Skinny… remember- remember the Quarry, a-and Lilly June on the rocks.” I couldn’t even hear myself speak. Everyone, including Nick, just stared in silence. Did I screw it up? Did I even say anything? Was I already dead?

“What?” The mob boss finally spoke, dumbfounded as his arms, and his weapon, dropped to his side.

“Um… remember the-”

“Shut up, I heard you.” He stopped me with a wave of his fat hand. His brow furrowed in thought, scratching at his face as the two brain cells he had bickered back and forth inside his head. Nick shot a look at me, silently asking what the hell I was thinking. I gave him a short shrug, not letting my eyes leave Skinny’s hands. The second they even twitch towards his gun and I would be ready. “Alright. Alright, fine. I’m going to give you ‘til the count of ten. After that then the old days are dead, and I see your faces again then you will be too.”

“Skinny, what are you doing? Kill them!” Darla shrilled, stomping her feet around like a spoiled child.

“No, Darla. Skinny Malone is putting his foot down. They get one chance to leave.” Darla’s face twisted with disgust. Her wooden bat clamored on the tile as she tossed it aside.

“My mother was right. You mobsters are all talk.” Without missing a beat, she turned on her heel and started walking into the shadows behind them.

“Babe, where you goin’?”

“Home. I don’t need you and your fat ass weighing me down anymore.” She called behind her shoulder as she sauntered out the back. The boss watched with his jaw left open, his head following her until she disappeared. He whipped around to face us, his eyes wide with pain and frustration.

“ONE.” Skinny growled through clenched teeth. His sausage fingers gripping his gun as he aimed it at us.

“Time to go.” Nick grabbed my hand and pulled me passed the small crowd to the back.

“TWO.” Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see how the far side of the room was cluttered with totes and boxes. It led to a wide hallway that led us further away from the scene but you could still hear the mobster’s voice booming behind us.

“THREE… FOUR… FIVE.” I could tell the boss was getting impatient as he sped up the countdown. “SIX.”

“This way, there’s a tunnel. It’s how I got in.” Sure enough, almost tucked away in the corner, was a ladder heading straight for the surface.

“SEVEN.” The stomps of boots started to approach as we clamored up the metal rods. At the top was a stone sewer cap. I struggled to push it open, hooking my leg around the ladder for balance as I used my whole upper body to shove the thing open.

“EIGHT.” Fresh air cascaded from above as the cap moved aside. I crawled out from the sewer hole and simply rolled aside so the detective could follow.

‘NINE.” I heard the last of Skinny Malone’s voice as Nick sealed the cap once again.

“Jeez, you’d think an old-school mobster who just got his heart stomped on would be more forgiving.” I chortled, staring up at the night’s sky. Nick gave a surprised chuckle. I could feel his eyes on me but it was easy to tune it out this time. Laying on the asphalt I let the crisp breeze relieve my body of its sticky sweat. I focused on my breathing, the rise and fall of my stomach. I was actually alive. “That was quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Saving me?” I nodded, and he laughed again. “You mind telling me why you did? Or who you are?”

“I told you who I am.”

“Oh, c’mon.” I couldn’t help but giggle again at his frustration. I finally sat up, leaning back onto the palms of my hands.

“I went to your agency and your secretary said you were missing. You weren’t around to save yourself so I told her I would.”

“Okay, but why?” I curled my legs in to sit criss-cross, struggling to find the right words.

“I need your help… I’m looking for someone.” I picked at the skin around my finger nails, but kept eye contact with him as I spoke. He extended his metal hand out to help me up.

“Well, I’d say you’ve earned the right to tell your story.” Once I was back on my feet I brushed some of the dirt of pebbles off of my hands and jeans. “Let’s head back to my office. You can get a chance to unload your mind.” He said it like it was a good thing. The idea of voluntarily remembering what happened sent a spike of anxiety through my whole body. We had a decent walk back though. Plenty of time to think of ways to put it off.

It turns out Nick was an excellent travelling companion. Usually I enjoyed the still silence but listening to his stories of ‘the old days’ was both intriguing and hilarious. He talked about the cat and mouse chase that ensued between him and his old friend, Skinny Malone. There was something familiar about listening to him. Somehow it felt like a little window to before the blast. Even though he was recalling memories that had only happened some years before then, it felt like he was talking about the streets of Boston as it was two-hundred years ago.

The strangest mixture of dread and relief washed over me once we made it back to Diamond City. I almost got myself killed trying to get to this point, and yet part of me wished it had killed me. It sounded better than reliving what happened.

The town was silent under the midnight stars, so different from how I had left it. The occasional guard popping out from the shadows to patrol the market. Walking through, we would grab their attention but I noticed once they saw Nick they weren’t bothered with us anymore.

Back at the agency, the detective stepped in tentatively, I’m sure not to startle his secretary who was most likely sleeping.

“El, you here?”

“Nick?” I watched him smile as there was a sudden shuffle of footsteps from the private quarters. He silently invited me in, shutting the door behind us. Ellie came running in from the hall, her eyes obviously sleepless. “Oh my god, you’re alive. You’re actually here.”

“Try not to be too disappointed.” Nick said with a smirk. She ran over and embraced him, and he accepted it warmly. He gave her head a fond pat after breaking their hug. I noticed the tiny tears that had formed in her eyes. She wiped them away before they had the chance to fall. Suddenly her face turned into a scowl as she crossly set her hands on her hips.

“I told you it was a trap. You could have died.”

“A trap would mean they knew I was coming. They just got a lucky shot.” They bickered like that for awhile. In the meantime I let my bag fall off my back and onto the ground. I plopped onto a nearby chair, that had definitely seen better days. It was still a relief for the throbbing soles of my feet.

At first I tried to follow their conversation, but my brain would start to phase the sound away and replace it with emptiness. A quiet nothing feeling embraced me, where the only thing that was being processed was the sight of the robot moving from one paper stack to the next.

At some point Ellie stopped and pulled me from my trance to thank me and I believe I responded politely. She disappeared to bed some time after that, but I didn’t notice. I was back in my disassociation, my eyes only tracking the little movement in the room.

The flow of Nick’s patched trench coat. A scratch on the back of his neck. I wasn’t sure if I was even awake anymore. It was oddly satisfying, like meditating specifically on the moment.

“You’re staring.” The detective’s voice rang in my head before I realized he was actually speaking to me. He had sat down at the desk in front of me, and pulled a screwdriver from one of the drawers. “Have you ever met a synth before?” He asked as he started fiddling with some of the screws in his exposed hand.

"Oh, uh… no, but that’s not- uh…” I attempted to rub the sand out of my eyes but it was useless. I dropped my hands into my lap and sighed as I looked back at him. “Sorry. I'm just tired. I should head over to the Dugout and let you settle in. We can meet up in the morning." When I rose from the chair it felt as if I had spent all day there. Every joint in my body ached, begging for a proper rest.

"You could. Or you could use my bed tonight if you want." His statement actually woke me a bit from my state.

"You want me to sleep in your bed?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't have to. I don’t sleep so it’s not like I use it. I figured it would save you a few caps, and I thought I'd offer since you saved my life and all." I gave a soft laugh. The idea of walking just a few steps to a bed, as opposed to across the diamond, did sound appealing to me.

"You don't even know me. I could be some sort of con artist."

"I'll have to keep a close eye on you then, won't I?"

His bed, bedroom area, was up on a loft above Ellie’s. I climbed up the ladder quietly as she slept. My leather armor was shed to the floor, along with my blue flannel overshirt and heavy brown boots. I crawled onto the mattress and curled up happily under the light blanket. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. My mind just drifted back into the peaceful blackness.

[nelrunari]

❖ And the Dream calls: Aias Nym Qidove.

Character Name: Aias Nym Qidove

Pronouns: He/him

Age: In the mid/late 300s

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of violence, death, eye trauma, cults

Appearance:

Aias is short for a draakelf, but still a large 6’5 and very broad by elf terms. He looks about as strong as he is, for sure. He’s covered in little bronze scales, most visibly around the edges of the face and backs of the ears. Some, at this point have turned silvery, and some, black.

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DuqVfHiUYAAUnOo.jpg:large

Personality: 

The definition of a lawful good paladin, Aias is a gentle soul. He seeks to do whatever good he can, no matter how small the deed in the name of his own personal morals and those more justice-leaning of Bahamut. He believes deeply that there is a spark of good in everyone, and will almost to his and the other’s detriment, try to make them see and bring it out in them. Coming from a culture that was very touchy, he often misinterprets personal space allowances even hundreds of years later, but will respectfully back off if he’s made aware. He happily assumes the role of someone to give guidance or shelter to anyone and everyone. While he’s charming, and carries with him plenty of life experience, naked intelligence has never been his strong suit. He has something of a martyr complex, and will withhold information from a person or many people if he believes it could bring them harm, thinking it is up to him to carry all the burden thrown his way.

Positive: Forgiving, Sincere, Compassionate, Optimistic

Negative: Secretive, Overbearing, Trusting, Fearful

Background: 

Born Nym Qidove, oldest of three, he lived on a secluded island of other dragon elves, kept secret from the main lands via magic and centuries of painfully careful secrecy. Aias could see that the power that ruled over the land, known to them only as The Order, had maybe just one or two bad apples among them, and since childhood, sought to become part of the guard to change this from the inside to protect his friends and family. But he was a skinny, weak little thing, unsuited even for the farm work of his family, and too clumsy to work with his father in crafting jewelry.

The day he was old enough, he joined the island guard, and consequently had quite the hard time. They sought to bring out a vicious fury from all their soldiers, but Aias had no unbridled anger in him, and one such attempt to wrest it from him very nearly lost him an eye, and scarred him deeply across the left of his face. He was dismissed and given a different job, “tax collecting”, in a sense, a conceptually low combative profession. After an incident that left him to paranoid to remain around his society any longer, he took the first chance he had to escape, and abandon everything to disappear into Faerûn with only a heavy, cruel looking greatsword he stole off one of the Order guards before fleeing.

Life on the mainlands was tough with no understanding of the common tongue, and it took him a few years and many kind holy souls to teach him the basics; sleeping in churches, in the stables of those who would hire him for a day’s labor, or occasionally on the streets. He made his way eventually to Kingscrest along the Sword Coast, and after many attempts and failures, was drawn into the crownsguard, the drive to protect never leaving him despite how deeply fearful he had become. He became the personal guard to the queen for many years, joining an adventuring crew for a time to confront a force of evil in that land before. During that time he learned to depend a little more on the people around him, and bolstered his bravery enough to, with a heavy heart, leave them behind in new pursuit of wrong-righting and getting stronger, planning to one day return Home and hopefully drive the evil force there out.

He was gathered in by another group that wandered around the country of Ælea to fight the good fight and search for possible ways to solve a problem he refused adamantly to talk about for a hundred long years. And the lot of them, who came and went, became known across the land as legends. At some late point in these years, the scars were removed from his face with magic and he felt a little less burdened by his past, growing brighter and more confident. Aias sought ways to as he would say “remove the curse” that had been placed on  his people by weapons like that blackened sword he always kept wrapped up, and eventually brought it to a master smith who knew as much about weapon making as she did about magic. By her hammer and prayer the sword was whittled down and much of the dark magic it was filled with dispersed, leaving only a long blade, “made of the strangest platinum”, he was told. Over this time, he did meet members of the religion that had been practiced around Home, but only at a distance, and  as subtly as he could, herded his friends and anyone who would listen away, avoiding any confrontation he could. Even a century later, even a mention of the Order made his knees shake. It was the two longest standing members of this group, two elves that granted him the adult name ‘Aias’ for his loyalty and devotion and he used it ever since. When finally the venture became too much for the final two in the party, Aias was left alone, and went north in search of other brave souls he found a large city in the heart of Ælea’s mountain range, Exaholde, to settle down in as a townsguard for what he hoped would only be a short while.

Over a decade, he rose through their ranks to become the captain of the western division, under only the general himself and beside 3 others. He took on one wild soul, someone he felt he could guide to a better state and after a few frustrating years of butting heads, slowly, quietly, fell for him. Although the relationship was only ever one sided romantically, they became very close friends. But it wouldn’t have mattered, he would not reveal more than surface level details of himself for fear of being found out by the wrong person and having the horror of Home brought here. This would cost him  that friendship eventually.

Eventually came the news of an encroaching threat, a small but horribly devastating collection of people bearing crimson and black armor, all marked with the same symbol: a crying eye with a slit for a pupil between two scaled wings. The Order was here, and it was coming to Exaholde. For what he could not know, but would not run, not this time. They were many, but he, he was strong. In the ensuing battle in the south fields, he spent more of his time healing the fallen and begging them to run when it was almost immediately clear they were outmatched, including reviving a number of times, the fool he fell for. In a last grand stand, he and a powerful magic user of some ilk destroyed each other, and he was disintegrated. Finally, in death, he felt Bahamut’s touch, warm and gentle.

But it was not a peace meant to last. When his eyes inexplicably opened again, there he was, back Home. Weak.  And he could remember nothing more than that. There was only a drow man and a handful of people that looked distantly familiar, all in crimson and black. He was fed lines about “helping” this place, that this island called Ea Asari needed his help specifically, for his connection to the platinum dragon. They insisted on training Aias, who had been graciously reminded that was his name, in the ways of barbarianism by hoping perilous, terrifying battles would bring out a primal rage, for reasons he did not understand. And slowly, as the months went by without success in finding this fury, this man who he only ever heard called Order Master became impatient. In a snap, quite literally, the memories flooded back and Aias stood dumbstruck. In that moment, he found his rage, and in it, fought through, strangely, no one as he slew the drow, who seemed nothing but pleased. Shortly after, he was descended upon by dozens of guards, and eventually put down. He could not harm these people, his own family in two cases, and could not for the last of the life left in him understand why any god could let all this happen.

Death was cold, this time. And dark. Five women, unseen but sounding all the same, spoke, saying she was glad to finally see him. “Even if,” she said. “it is for but a moment.” And as cold claws wraps around Aias, his eyes opened. And there he was. Alive. Again. But he had not any control over himself, his voice was not his own. Instead, it was someone else. Someone barely familiar.  An attendant to whatever all this was spoke: “Welcome back, Order Master.”

Memento: 

The Bell - A long, bright blade smelted from platinum scales that never chips or scratches, the handle seeming too long for a regular longsword. Struck upon the ground, it makes a sound like the clap of a church bell. The thing is exceptionally heavy to most anyone not connected to a good-aligned higher power. It used to be a very evil weapon, but it was reforged and tempered to be a pretty, if not now notably less powerful blade. He keeps it with him though it slowly siphons his life away every new moon, thinking he may be able to use it as an antidote for its own curse.

Natural Abilities:

Breathweapon: Can breathe a 30ft long line of lightning.

Darkvision: Able to see 60 ft ahead as if in bright light,  in dim light and that far in darkness as dim light and are unable to discern colours.

Draconic Heritage: Resistance to lightning damage

Power History:

Aias is (was?) a level 15 paladin with his oath pledged to the crown, and a level 1 barbarian.

His too many skills and peek at the character sheet are here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ywkm9Pvm-yMEk-u00Uy4bQHuiO8Tx-YOh-gNaMId0l4/edit?usp=sharing

Extra:

Pinboard : https://www.pinterest.ca/Rennigan/nym/ 

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0XdsiGHpeMGeOLghWJGGWK?si=2inbtAKhRl6C0OLZM1E1ig

❖ Nelrunari Section ❖

Ward: Hallowtide

Player Tag: Here

❖ OOC Section ❖

Name/Alias: Rennigan/Ren

Contact: @ChronosAster on twitter

Age: 25

Pronouns: they/them , she/her

[taebyunofficial]

Eyes Shut

Byun Baekhyun X Reader

Summary: Your past haunted you. No matter what you did, you couldn’t escape. Dumped by your biological family, you were thrown into another that was equally bad. The abuse you suffered as a child and up until now, have shaped who you are. Being broken was not something that you wanted to admit, and all you wanted to do was to be found. That’s when Baekhyun came into your life. But what happens if the timing is off?

Warnings: abuse (emotional/physical), depression, subtle mention of self-harm.

A/N: hello! So this story is based off the song Eyes Shut by Years & Years. If you notice, I love writing fics based off songs. It just really inspires me a lot! I hope you like it! I’m hoping to write for others soon, but as of right now, I think Baekhyun is one that I’m most comfortable writing for. If you are in some sort of abusive relationship, please get help! If you are going through something hard, I am always here to talk and listen. I hope you guys enjoy!!!! Let me know if you would like a continuation of this!!!! I think I could write a short epilogue containing what the letter said, as well as Y/N’s journey to recovery. What would happen between them? WHO KNOWS??? 

Blistering pain soared through the side of your face as your father’s hand made contact. Immediately, you gripped your cheek and tears threatened to escape your eyes. But you wouldn’t let him see that. You wouldn’t let him win. Not this time. Inhaling deeply, you shake with rage and hurt. You wondered why you had been left with people like this. Why did your biological family leave you? Even if you were some sort of mistake, why couldn’t they take you to an adoption center? Instead they left you on the streets.

Quickly turning on your feet, you ran to your room and slammed the door, locking it behind you. Walking into the bathroom, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You hated what you saw. Bags adorned your face along with the redness from the earlier slaps. Bruises and cuts were left in the wake of the hurricane that was your father and mother. Tears finally began streaming down your face as you fell to the floor, curling into a ball as somewhat of a defensive mechanism. No sounds came out of your mouth though. You sobbed as silently as you could so you wouldn’t make them more upset at you. You stared at your wrists and clenched your fists until your knuckles turned white. You had the lines, that’s for sure. Oftentimes it felt better than what your “parents” would put you through.

It wasn’t always like this. When you were growing up you thought they were loving. But you were so wrong. When you were about ten was when it all started. If you were being honest, you didn’t know what happened. It never clicked with you as to why they became this way. But even so, you blamed yourself. Perhaps it was because you were using their money. Maybe it was because you weren’t as good of a child as you thought. You always thought to yourself that’s why they hit you the way they did. Your parents were disappointed. They told you that you were useless, and that you would never aspire to be anything. But at one point they believed in you. Or so you thought. Everyday you told yourself that you would prove them wrong, but you didn’t know where to go. Even if you ran away, you had no place to stay, let alone have any money to feed yourself with. It was hopeless. You were never going to get out of there.

All the emotional and physical scars left you afraid to go anywhere, to do anything. Anxiety would creep on you no matter what you did. Even at school when your teachers asked if your parents hit you, you would deny it because you were afraid that your mom and dad would be even more upset. When you became older, you joined every club and extracurricular activity you could just so you wouldn’t have to go home.

Eventually, your body felt numb from all the crying. Your eyes were puffy and your face was splotchy. The entirety of your body was covered in bruises. You wanted to leave. You weren’t sure where you would go, but anywhere would be better than this. This “home” was no longer a home. Perhaps it never was one. Grabbing a backpack, you stuffed as much clothing and supplies as possible. Even though it was summertime, you put on an oversized black hoodie with some beat up skinny jeans to cover the bruises. Lifting up the hood of your jacket, you opened the window and slipped out.

Walking the streets of Seoul, cautiousness took over your senses. To be honest, you weren’t used to having this many people around you. Everytime someone brushed against your body, you got anxious. Trusting people was not something of your forte. Thoughts began to invade your thoughts as you wandered the streets. You always wondered if you had a brother or sister. What would your life be like if they had kept you? Would be it any different? Shaking your head to erase the thoughts, you began to make your way far from your parents. The night was approaching quickly, and you had yet to find a place to lay down for the night. Exhaustion was taking over your body and you knew you were going to collapse at any minute. From the crying to the fighting, you couldn’t handle it anymore. There were too many sleepless nights for you to stay awake any longer. Eventually, you found a stadium that seemed in a safe part of the city. It was covered and large enough that you would be able to find a nice corner to sleep in. You even hoped that one of the doors would be open. And to your surprise, one of doors was propped open, probably due to someone cleaning the venue up or something. With rest on your mind, you snuck in and found a room to stay in. Caring about being arrested or kicked out was the least of your worries. All you wanted to do was sleep for an eternity.

Nothing would hurt you with your eyes shut.

Awakening with a violent shake, you jumped and screamed, backing away from the person that was near you. Immediately, your legs were pressed against your chest in an effort to keep your core safe, something that you often did when your parents were kicking you while you were down on the ground.

The taller man held his arms up in defense. His face was filled with worry and suspicion. Why wouldn’t he be suspicious of you? As of right now, you looked homeless and it looked like you were on the verge of dying. You probably looked crazy too since you were wearing such hot clothing in the already scorching weather.

Silently, he begins to talk.

“Are you alright?”

Nothing came out of your mouth. The only thing you could do was stare at the man standing in front of you. Your body wouldn’t move, and you didn’t know why. Your instincts were failing you. Cursing in your mind, you stared at your legs for not carrying you out of the stadium. Running away was something you often did when a problem arose. But right now, your body didn’t allow it.

“I’m Baekhyun.” he introduced himself. He smiled brightly, trying to make you feel more comfortable. Making his way towards you, he knelt down in front of you, only making you flinch.

“Please don’t hurt me…” you whispered shakily. “I’ll… I’ll be on my way.”

Grabbing your backpack and what little rest you got, you shuffled away from the handsome man that introduced himself as Baekhyun.

“No, no, it’s okay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” he get up and reaches to grab your arm, to which you reacted immediately. Pulling your arm toward you, you refused to make eye contact with him.

“I’m fine.” you lie. That was far from the truth. You wanted to find a safe haven, you wanted to be able to trust again. To not have fear that you might not wake up one day. You could feel tears begging to come out but you blinked them away. Shaking your head slightly, you quickly walked out of the room, making a run for the doors. Baekhyun followed closely behind, not wanting to let you go seeing as you were in some sort of crisis.

When you opened the doors, you were greeted with screaming girls which immediately gave you a headache. Frowning, you squinted as the light made contact with your eyes. Security guards surrounded the area and metal gates organized the lines. The screaming only intensified when Baekhyun showed his face to try to catch up to you.

“Wait! If you’re in trouble, just let me help!” he began. Running after you once more, he loses you in the crowd of people. Baekhyun curses under his breath and walks back into the venue. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, wondering why you had been sleeping in the dressing room in the first place. The first thing he noticed about you was the massive bruise you had on your face from the night before. Something about you made him want to protect you even more. Of course, he didn’t know you by any means. But he didn’t want anyone to feel like they were always in danger. Something inside of him exploded when he saw how scared and broken you looked when he shook you awake. Perhaps it had been fate. Being an idol was his dream, but even idols feel lost sometimes. And maybe you were his answer. The one thing that he needed to fill his emptiness, was you.

Determined to find the scarred girl, he walks back out to the security guards.

“I need you guys to do me a favor. If you see that girl again who was wearing a black oversized hoodie and some skinny jeans, bring her back. I think she’s in trouble and I would prefer her not to have to sleep on the streets tonight.”

The guards nodded their heads, beginning to speak on their radios to alert all the other staff in case you were still around the stadium.

Jongdae looks over at Baekhyun when he returns back into the large stadium.

“You alright?” he inquires.

“Yeah… just… found someone sleeping in our dressing room.”

“What?”

“I think… they were in some sort of trouble. I tried to calm her down and let her know that I wasn’t trying to hurt her or anything, but she ran away from me. I have to admit, I am a little worried.”

Minseok sighs and puts a hand on Baek’s shoulder.

“Even if you are worried, I don’t think it’s your problem. Seoul is huge. We can only hope that she will find a safe place and get away from whatever trouble she might’ve been in.”

Jongdae nods in agreement.

“If by chance you see her again, then take action. Maybe then you’ll know that you were supposed to cross paths.”

Throughout the entire concert, all Baekhyun could focus on was you. What was your story? What happened? Who had you so afraid? He wanted to help you. He wanted to keep you safe. He wanted to pick up the pieces that someone or something had scattered. Baekhyun didn’t know why he was feeling this way. This was something that never happened to him. Feeling a connection this strongly towards someone he didn’t even know scared him. What would happen to you if he didn’t find you?

After their show ended, Baekhyun rushed out of the stadium, wanting to find you as quickly as possible. Getting into his car, he begins to drive around Seoul. You wouldn’t be hard to spot, seeing as you were wearing winter clothing in the season of summer.

“Where on earth did she go?” Baekhyun whispered to himself. Drumming his thumb on the steering wheel, he began to circle the streets of Seoul. After a couple hours of driving around the large city, he felt himself getting tired. Sighing to himself, he parks his car and gets out, sitting on the nearest bench available. Rubbing his face with his hands, he groans in frustration.

Why did he care so much? Minseok was right, this wasn’t his problem. And yet to some degree, he felt like he needed to take care of you. Baekhyun leans back into the bench, looking up at the bright night sky. The stars almost seemed to mock him. He scoffed and shut his eyes, praying to some god that he might be able to find a clue as to where you could be.

The wind howled through the sky, rustling the trees and leaves in the park. Rain began to fall shortly after, thunder and lightning dancing and singing in the dark. As if on cue, a scream could be heard not too far from where Baekhyun was sitting. The thunder boomed as if it was trying to cover it up, but to no avail. The scream was piercing, as if whoever yelped was crying for help. It was a scream that sounded like they were about to give up.

Running as fast as he legs could carry him, he followed the helpless voice. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he reached it, but all he knew was that he needed to help somehow. His experience in hapkido would help him, right? His mind was going a million miles a minute. But for now, all he knew was that he needed to hurry.

“Let go of me!” you screamed. How your father found you was beyond what you could’ve even imagined. Thinking you were far enough from them, it was as if they put a tracker inside and turned it on. “I’m not coming back with you!”

“Who the fuck said you could leave?!” your father spits out. He swiftly grabs you by the hair and throws your lifeless body to the ground. He was a strong man, very built and very athletic. Even if you were to fight him, it would be no use. He could overpower anyone easily, and at this hour, no one would hear you screaming. “You are OUR daughter and you will come back home. Get the fuck up.”

Exhaustion hit your body. Fighting was too tiring. No limbs were moving. The rain hit you again and again, soothing the soreness that began to make an appearance. You could hear your mother’s yelling coming closer. A sharp pain reached your side and you groaned in agony. Previous bruises that had been inflicted never quite went away. This kick was no different. It would just add to the never ending list of bruises that already clung to your body.

“Get up Y/N. This is your last damn warning. Get the fuck up!” Soobin bent her leg once more to get another kick in.

“Hey that’s enough!” a familiar voice resonated in the air, making you turn your head to see who it was. It was a surprise to see Baekhyun, who you only met hours ago coming to your rescue. “I think you guys should leave before I call the cops.”

Scoffs were let out by both your parents.

“And who the hell are you? Some sort of idol, right? Don’t get involved in our business, kid. I’m warning you.”

Baekhyun instinctively steps in front of the large man.

“I really think you should go. Do not mess with me.” Baekhyun angrily clenches his fist, water dripping down his body.

“I could crush you like a grape. Move aside. I don’t think you want your idol appearance to get tarnished.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking her back with me. Clearly, she does not want to go back with you.”

“And what, she wants to go back home with you? Trust me, she’ll use you kid. She will wipe you dry. Doesn’t help that she’s a worthless piece of shit!” your mother spat out at you. Flinching away, you covered your face.

“Let’s just go, Soobs. We’ll get our daughter back.” glaring at Baekhyun, your father grabs your mother and leaves. Baekhyun lets out a breath and kneels beside you. Picking up the frail body you possessed, he opens the car door and sets you in it, turning on the heater immediately to get the both of you dry.

It was silent the whole way back to his place. Tears silently escaped and you rested your head against the window. Eventually drifting into a slumber, you reminded yourself that nothing would hurt you with your eyes shut. As you dreamt, you remember yourself drawing pictures of a life that you wanted. Happiness filled the scene, bright colors and smiles collected on the pages. But these are the pictures that you evaded. The reality that would always hit you when you woke up was that you would never be happy. They broke you into nothing, and no matter how hard someone tried, the pieces they picked up would be dropped again. There was too much baggage, too much danger when it came to being with you. Your parents were dangerous people, they were ruthless. Going to a school dance was something that never ended up happening because your date would always get some sort of threatening call from your dad.

The friends you did have always dumped you, too scared that they would become a target. New people would try to reach out, but eventually disappeared from your life as well. It was lonely, the life you had. Hopefully one day, you would be found by someone who would stay.

As the car came to a stop, Baekhyun picks up your sleeping form from the passenger side. Opening the door with his foot, he swiftly takes you to his room. He sets you down and tucks you in, plopping down on the chair next to the bed. Soon enough, sleep takes over his body.

As the morning arrives, Baekhyun’s eyes begin to flutter. The light coming in from the window hits his face at just the right angle, making him squint. Yawning, he opens his eyes and stretches, looking down at your still sleeping form.

“She probably doesn’t get much sleep… “ he begins to think to himself. Getting up from the chair, he makes his way towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

Shortly after Baekhyun leaves the room, you wake up. Looking around, you frown at the unfamiliar sight. Barely remembering what happened last night, you groan when a pain shoots into your side.

“That’s right. My mother kicked me.” cursing, you slowly make your way out of the bed and into the kitchen.

Baekhyun smiles when he sees you’re awake,

“Hey, did you sleep alright?” he asks as he flips the bacon over in the pan.

Shrugging your shoulders, you sit on a chair, questions filling your brain.

“I guess…” you begin. “Thanks… for helping me.”

Baekhyun turns the stove off and turns to face you.

“It’s not a problem. I figured you needed some sort of help.” he rubs the back of his neck and sheepishly smiles.

“Why did you do it?” you quickly quip, wanting to know his true intentions for aiding you. If there was some sort of catch you would rather escape and go live on the streets than have to owe someone anything for saving you from your own damn parents.

“Honestly… I don’t know. I saw you sleeping there and it just pained me to see your beaten face and I just… wanted to help. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care if you don’t tell me… but I wanted you to feel safe is all.” he sighs.

Looking down at your shoes, you nod your head.

“Thanks again… but I’ll find a job and be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

Baekhyun shakes his head rapidly. “No, it’s okay. You can stay here as long as  you need to. I promise I won’t invade your space or anything… just think of us as roommates.” he smiles and hands pushes a plate of food across the counter. “At least think about it, okay?”

Simply nodding your head, you take the food graciously. As much as you hated to admit it, his place was nice. It was clean and spacious, a minimalistic design was expressed throughout. The walls were painted ivory, with various paintings adorning each side. Photographs of what you presumed to be his idol friends lined the bookshelves, a flat screen tv hung across a black sofa in the living room. Posters were plastered in the hallways of what looked to be screenshots or promotional pictures of music videos. The man was wealthy, and you could see it just in the way he dressed. He had expensive taste, that’s for sure. Growing up, these were all things you hardly saw in your day to day life. Sure, you always had dreams of being wealthy and being able to afford all the things you couldn’t before, but you always knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m Y/N.” you finally introduce yourself after taking a few more bites of food. Even now, you couldn’t make eye contact with him. Trusting was still not an easy thing for you to conquer. Shaking your leg anxiously, you finished your food in record time.

“Nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” Baekhyun took a moment before continuing. “Look… whatever happened, I promise I’ll look out for you. They won’t get back to you, I swear. You’re safe with me.” he gives you a small smile and a reassuring squeeze on your hand. Immediately taken aback, you pull away from him.

This was going to take time, and he knew that. After being hurt for so long, he should’ve known better than to be so straightforward, but that was his personality. He hoped that his bubbly persona would be able to get you to a more comfortable state. Even so, no matter how much time it would take, he swore to himself that he would keep his promise.

“Ah, sorry.” he blurts out, clearly flustered.

“It’s okay… I’m sorry. It’s just… habit I guess.” you sigh.

“No, you don’t need to apologize. You are completely valid in what you are feeling. I will do better to adjust to what you need. Why don’t you go take a shower? We will go shopping for some clothing for you.”

You smile for the first time in ages and nod, appreciating how kind he was being. Perhaps there was nothing malicious about this boy. Maybe you had finally been found.

“I think you would look good in this color.” Baekhyun offers. Handing you a pastel yellow shirt, he grabs a light denim skirt to pair with it. “I know you want to hide, but if you want to start healing then I think you should begin by allowing yourself to be more comfortable in your own skin. This isn’t something you have to wear all the time, but I think you will feel better when you realize how beautiful you are.”

Instantly, your cheeks turn a bright red. Not once in your life have you been complimented by someone as beautiful as Baekhyun. His smile could light up a room, and just being in his presence made people feel flustered. You could easily tell when you had gone out with him. All his female fans were crying and blushing the entire time he interacted with them. His light definitely showed through his actions and his words.

“Ah… thank you…” gently taking the clothing from his hands, you walked into the dressing room and tried everything on. Looking into the mirror, you began to tear up. The bruises reminded you too much of your parents. It reminded you of home.

“Come out once it’s on!” Baekhyun calls. “I want to see how it looks!” you could hear the excitement in his voice. Fashion was clearly something he was passionate about.

Wiping your eyes, you walk out and give him a disappointed smile.

Baekhyun frowns and furrows his brows.

“Hey hey… what’s wrong?” he inches his way towards you cautiously, ensuring that you don’t feel uncomfortable around him.

“I… the bruises… they remind me of them. I’m scared they won’t ever go away.” you sniffle.

Baekhyun’s lips go into a straight line as he embraces your smaller frame with his larger one. He holds you as tight as he can without suffocating you, stroking your hair in an effort to comfort you and calm you down.

“Y/N…. they will go away. I promise. They will not be here forever. Look at it as a reminder that you are stronger than they ever will be. You are still here. There must be a reason for that. These scars and bruises don’t define who you are. Remember that, okay?” he coos, humming softly into your ear.

Your shoulders that were once so tense began to relax at the sound of his voice. It was strange, feeling so calm around someone you barely knew. It felt… safe. Being wrapped up in his arms made you feel like nothing was going to hurt you ever again. Maybe Baekhyun was your protector. A guilty pang hit your chest when you realized that you wouldn’t be able to repay him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you balled a portion of his shirt into your hands.

What were you supposed to do? If you were being honest, you didn’t really want to leave his side. Maybe for once, a normal life was coming your way. But at the same time, burderning him was the last thing you wanted to do.

“I’m sorry… thank you…” pulling away from his warm embrace, you smile up at him slightly.

He brings his thumb up tp your cheek, brushing away the tear that managed to escape.

“If you don’t want it, we can find something else. Okay?”

“No, I like it. You’re right, Baekhyun. I need to start being comfortable in my own skin again.”

“Good. Now let’s go get you some more stuff, okay?”

After hours of non-stop shopping, the both of you got back to his place. Setting down all of the bags, you sigh in disbelief.

“You really didn’t have to buy all of this stuff, Baekhyun.” you whisper. Asking for help was something that you hated doing, mainly because your parents always got mad when you did ask for help. But, being the stubborn man Baekhyun is, wouldn’t take no as an answer.

“We talked about this, Y/N. As I have said before, I may not know you but I can tell that you are someone who deserves the world. Who knows, maybe we’re soulmates.” he wiggled his eyebrows and laughs when your cheeks flare up.

Covering your face with your hands, you groan as he begins to make fun of you for getting embarrassed.

“Oh come on, it wouldn’t be that bad being soulmates with me, right?” he questions.

“...... I guess not.”

He grins cheekily at your response, taking your hand and pulling you onto the couch.

“Shall we watch something? My buddy Kyungsoo is an incredible actor. I’m sure you will meet him soon.”

You simply nod your head and bring your knees up to your chest, watching intently at the screen. With Baekhyun, you seemed to forget about all your problems. Of course, you didn’t want to have to rely on him all the time, so you made a goal that you would improve your mindset and you wouldn’t let your past define who you are. If anything were to ever happen between the two of you, you wanted to make sure that you were someone he could rely on, someone that he didn’t always have to take care of.

Before you knew it, your eyes began to droop and you dozed off.

“GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE RUNT!” your father screams as he chases you around the house. “I TOLD YOU TO BE HOME ON TIME AND YOU ARE LATE!”

Crying, you make your way into your bedroom and lock the door. Sobbing violently, you curl into a ball and rock back and forth to try and ease your mind. The pounding on the door wouldn’t stop for hours. At some point, you thought he might actually break it down to get to you. And that would be another thing to add to the list of reasons why your parents resented you.

“Open this damn door, now.” Soobin, your mother, called. “I’ll give you until three. One, two, three.”

“NO!” you screamed, crawling under your covers. No matter how awful things got back at home, keeping your eyes shut was the one thing that made you feel safe.

“Fine! But you can’t stay in there forever. You will be punished when you walk out of this room!” Jihoon, your father, retorts.

Bottles being broken could be heard down the hallway, and you knew that your parents were getting drunk with their friends again.

“How’s your daughter doing?” one of them slurred.

“Ha, that piece of shit? How do you think she is? I think the question should be, how are we? Because we’re the ones suffering.” Jihoon states as he throws another bottle in the countertop. “She’s good for nothing. All she ever does is drain us of our money. Y/N doesn’t clean, help her mother cook, or anything. I doubt she’ll be able to do anything in her future. She will aspire to be nothing. Can you tell how proud we are?” he scoffs.

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” you could hear another female remark.

“Harsh? Hell no. You try living with that thing for a week. You’ll be drained by the end of it. The only thing Y/N is good at is whining.” Soobin adds. “Let me go get her and you’ll see what I mean.”

You woke up sweating as you remembered that day. It was the one time you tried calling them out. But after their friends had left, they beat you until you could hardly breathe. It was the worst when they were drunk. They acted like they weren’t harming you at all when their friends were over, but behind the scenes, little did they know. You cried for help repeatedly that day, and ever since, you learned to never make another sound. If you did, it only made things worse.

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom to splash your face with cold water.

“Come on, Y/N. Don’t let them get to you. Not anymore. Don’t let them win.” you reminded yourself. Finally, you had a second chance at living a normal life. They were not going to be the reason that you failed again.

“You okay?” a sleepy Baekhyun calls from the doorway. He rubs his eyes and puts his glasses on.

“Yeah… just had a nightmare.” you give him the most reassuring smile that you possibly can.

Baekhyun sighs and nods, holding his arms out to you.

“Come here. I wanna try something.”

Cautiously, you make your way over to him, allowing him to take you by the hand and back into the bedroom.

“Get back in bed.” he points absentmindedly.

Obliging, you crawl back into the bed and twiddle with your thumbs.

“When I got nightmares as a child, my mother would sing me to sleep. And for whatever reason, it made me feel safe. Maybe that will help you.” he whispers as he tucks you in.

“No, you’re tired. I’ll be okay.” you argue.

“I’m okay. I’ll go back to sleep after you fall asleep.”

And with that, he begins to sing a lullaby. His voice was like velvet. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He sang with such passion and his voice was filled with all different kinds of emotions. It truly was something that calmed you down immediately. Shutting your eyes, you drifted off to the sound of his voice, comforting you in every way.

Early the next morning, Baekhyun wakes you.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” he smiles. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn and sit up.

“Morning.” you say through another yawn.

He chuckles and you smile slightly to yourself. This was your road to recovery, and you’re happy that Baekhyun was the one who found you. Honestly, you just hoped you could keep it up.

“I have rehearsal today. Do you want to join me? You can meet the rest of my members.”

“I don’t want to impose. I think I’ll just be in the way if I come.” you sigh.

“No, don’t say that. You’ll be fine. But if you don’t want to come that’s okay. I should be back around noon. We can go grab some lunch after that if you would like to sleep in a little more.”

“Mhmm… sleep would be nice.” you grumble as you fall back into the pillow.

Once more, the sweet sound of Baekhyun’s laughter fills your ears.

“Okay, sleeping beauty. Go back to sleep. If you need anything, your phone has my number, alright?”

“Okay.” you mumble. Before sleep takes over you once more, you felt a slight warmth touch your head. When you open one eye, you realize that Baekhyun kissed the top of your head. Your heart begins to flutter and you smile underneath the covers. This was a first for you, feeling safe and happy. Truly happy. Whenever you were in class or out somewhere, you always faked it. Not once has anyone ever made you feel this comfortable in such a short amount of time, and it scared you. Sure, it made you happy, but what would happen if things didn’t work out?

Shaking your head from your thoughts, you inhale deeply and drift away once more.

A couple months pass by, and your relationship with Baekhyun was only getting stronger. When he didn’t have a schedule, he was spending his time with you. You were finally getting to experience what life really was like. Of course, like all people, you had your ups and downs. Only this time, your downs were much more manageable than when you were with your parents. Yet there was always something that seemed to hold you back. You knew that moving past something like that was going to take time and take effort, but you really didn’t think that your past would ever catch up to you.

Baekhyun helped you find a job so you could earn money, and to your surprise, you were doing a lot better at it than you ever thought. Your parents always told you that you were good for nothing, so it felt amazing to prove them wrong, even if they didn’t see it.

It wasn’t until the press started taking photos of you everywhere you went that it went south. Your parents found you at your workplace, harassing you when no one was around. Rumors began to spark up that you and Baekhyun were dating. That’s when tabloids began to do research on you and your past. Knowing them, they would find out everything. How your biological parents dumped you on the street, how your parents were abusers, how you got into some wrong crowds in school and got mixed up with some drugs. Stealing was something that you learned to do whenever you ran away from home. You weren’t a good person by normal standards at all, and you knew that deep down. Soon enough, everyone would know too. Including Baekhyun.

Baekhyun would constantly tell you that he didn’t care what your background was. He knew that you were a good person, even if you didn’t believe that yourself. As you grew more comfortable with him, you began revealing parts of yourself to him that you locked away for years. Then there were other things that you kept to yourself. Things like the lines on your arms, the people you got involved with, the stealing. Those were things you wanted to keep to yourself. This was your time to start a new life and you hoped he wouldn’t see you any differently.

Your anxiety became more and more of a problem as time went on. That’s when you knew that you were still damaged. That’s when you knew that you needed to leave to focus on yourself. If you were going to have a real relationship with Baekhyun, you wanted to make sure that you could love yourself first before loving him.

So, before he returned home from tour, you packed your things and checked yourself in at a mental health facility to get help.

“Yah yah yah!” Baekhyun yelled as you shoved him into the pool.

“Oops! That was my bad!” you try to act as innocent as you can, but Baekhyun was coming for revenge.

“Chanyeol-ah, hold her down for me!” he begins swimming back to land as Chanyeol runs over to grab your arms. You try squirming, but it was no use. The taller man had a much bigger advantage over you.

Baekhyun narrows his eyes at you when you begin to giggle.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you hold your hands up in apology and defeat, but Baekhyun doesn’t listen. He throws you over his shoulder and walks towards the pool, tossing you in gently.

“That’s what you get for messing with Bobohu!” he pouts.

“Okay okay, I apologize.” you laugh. “Truce?” you hold your hand up to him while in the pool, smiling.

“Truce.” he smiles and takes your hand. His eyes grow wide as you pull him in once more.

In the background, you can hear Chanyeol and Sehun’s laughter. It turns into a battle in the pool. Jongdae grins and walks behind Jongin, shoving him in as hard as he can. Jongin screams as he makes a large splash into the pool. Shortly after, Junmyeon pushes Jongdae, slipping on the water then falling in himself. Yixing laughs from his lounge chair as he snaps photos and videos of everyone goofing off. Everyone in the pool begin to converse and eventually team up against Yixing.

“NO NO NO!” he screams as the all the members of EXO carry him to the water. And with no remorse, they drop him in.

You smile to yourself and sit in the chair Yixing was in not too long ago, taking it all in. Not long after, Baekhyun sits next to you.

“I think you’ve found a new family.” he says nonchalantly.

You smile to yourself and nod in agreement.

“I think so too.”

“Yah, I have something for you.” he states as he gets up to grab his bag. Sitting up in your chair, you pull your sunglasses off your face.

“What is it?” you peer over his shoulder as he removes the item from the bag.

“It’s a recording. I know that you get nightmares sometimes, and if I’m not there to sing you to sleep, you can listen to this.” he blushes slightly at the cheesiness of the gift. “I know it’s kinda tacky, but I thought it might be nice since we’re going on tour soon.”

Your eyes went bright and you tackled him to the floor, holding him close to you.

“Thank you, Baek. I will cherish this forever.” you say into his chest.

“Get a room!” the members yell in unison, laughing as the two of you get up and blush.

Baekhyun scratches the back of his neck and helps you up.

“I’m glad I found you.”

“Me too.”

Baekhyun smiles widely and pulls you into a tight embrace, not seeming to want to let go. He kisses your temple and you smile into his chest in return.

“Come on, let’s go get ‘em.”

Smiling at the fond memory, you hold the recorder in your hand. Placing it in your pocket, you leave the letter left for Baekhyun on the kitchen counter. Taking a look around his place once more, you smile to yourself. You were proud of making it this far. You were proud for making all this progress. But now it was time to make a full recovery. And if you ever hoped to be with Baekhyun again, you wanted to be the happiest you could be, so he would no longer have to worry about leaving you.

You swore to yourself that when you came back to him, you would no longer be broken. You would mend yourself and come back being able to love him to the fullest. Because that’s what he deserved.

And you deserved to be loved by yourself. Until you learned how to do that, and to do it with no doubts, you knew you couldn’t give Baekhyun the universe. Loving yourself came first.

Though Baekhyun wouldn’t be with you as you received help, there was no doubt in your mind that he would be singing for you, no matter where he was.

With that in mind, you set off so you could be whole once again.