#two may not technically be enough for a pattern but it sure feels like it

[rabbitqueen]

There are two kinds of flying squirrels: “ominous shape in the dark” and “tv buddy who wants you to put Columbo back on”

[colonelarr0w]

What Might've Been

Sypnosis - A mysterious girl appears at the entrance of Jujutsu Technical High School -- not speaking a lick of English and not understanding where she is. She isn't human...but that gets you wondering...what is she?

Pairing(s) - ! ALL PLATONIC ! Satoru Gojo x Reader, Suguru Geto x Reader, Shoko Ieri x Reader

Warning(s) - mature themes, canon JJK violence, gore, child death, angsty ending (I'm sorry gang)

Word Count - 10.4k

A/N - Randomly got an idea to write a fic where the Reader was a curse. I hope you all enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Darkness. 

For as long as you could remember, the only sight seen by your eyes was an overarching darkness that seemed to stretch on forever — never once giving any indication that there may be some kind of light at the end of the otherwise never ending tunnel.  

And to you, that was okay. The darkness became your friend over time, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety that could not be replicated by anything. It held your hands and guided you, watching silently as you grew and developed until a time where you could be used — until a time where you would be useful to the world of curses. 

But like many things, your darkness eventually found its end, creating an opening that allowed light to pour in and the warmth of the sun to touch your skin with gentle hands. Confused, you folded your fingers into the hand that the light offers you, and with squinted eyes you look around.  

Where am I? 

Your head turns, blinking a few times to adjust to the overwhelming light that only seems to brighten each time that your eyelids flutter open. Slowly, you turn in a circle on the heels of your feet, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar sensation that lies beneath the skin of your feet.  

You glance down, tilting your head curiously at the uneven stones beneath you. Curiously, you bend your knees, lowering your palms to the ground and laying it flat against the stone, shocked to feel heat emanating back onto the skin of your palm.  

What are you doing? 

You stand up straight, ears perked as you attempt to locate the source of the voice who had addressed you. Oddly enough, you stand completely alone in the stone pathway, surrounded only by unmoving trees and bright green grass. You open your mouth, trying to will any kind of sound to leave your parted lips, but you remain silent. 

You press your lips back together in a firm line, narrowing your eyes and once again lowering yourself to the ground, this time taking a seat in the center of the stone pathway. Above you is a maroon-colored arch, one that is hanging over a set of stairs that lead somewhere — but you’re not entirely sure just where it leads to.  

Are you comfortable? 

You nod happily, laying both of your palms against the warm stones and spreading out your fingers, feeling smaller pebbles being caught within the lines of your skin. Your eyes wander up your arm, noticing the small stitches that hold the various parts of you together. 

The scars don’t horribly disfigure you, not like the other curses that you could recall seeing in the depths of your memories. They turned out more inhuman than you, you were one of the lucky who was made to pass as human — only discoverable by eyes that shined like the prettiest aquamarine stones. You believe it was called Six Eyes. 

You lift one of your hands off of the stones, suddenly aware of just how hot it had felt against your skin. You shake your hand, forming an ‘o’ with your lips and blowing on the palm of your hand, shocked to feel an opposite sensation. It wasn’t warm, but at the same time it wasn’t completely cold. But it was cold enough to relieve the burn on your skin — and it’s then that you notice the pattern left behind by the stones.  

“C’mon Suguru, I’m sure he won’t mind if we take our time with this one.”  

You turn your head at the sound of another’s voice, tilting it curiously as you watch two figures appear at the top of the steps. Both are tall and wear the same kind of clothing, yet they also wear completely different styles. One of the figures — this one with bright white hair — wears his clothes tight, accentuating his otherwise lanky figure. The other figure — this one with longer, darker hair — wears his clothes baggy, with parachute pants that make his legs look larger than they most likely are. 

You wonder which one of them is supposedly ‘Suguru’. 

Careful now, remember the eyes. 

You nod your head, pushing yourself to your feet with the help of your hands. You lift your head to peer up the stairs, noticing how both of the figures had stopped walking and are peering at you with the same curiosity as yourself.  

“Hey! What’re you doing down there?” It’s the white-haired figure that calls out to you, his covered eyes no doubt focused on you. The dark-haired figure is silent, watching you with a wordless curiosity. Opposites. 

You part your lips to speak again, feeling an uncomfortable vibration in the base of your throat. You quickly snap your jaw shut again, rubbing your fingers against the skin of your throat and wincing — that had been oddly painful. But at the same time, it only spurred on your curiosity. Why could the two figures make sounds with their mouths and you couldn’t? 

“Hey!” the white-haired figure calls out again, this time lifting his arm and waving down at you. You mimic him, lifting your arm and waving back at him. Confused, the white-haired figure turns to the dark-haired figure at his side, nudging him before beginning to descend the steps. 

You wait patiently for both figures to approach you, but even when they do, they stand a healthy distance away from you — likely because of the discolored scars that litter your body, holding you together like a freshly stitched doll.  

An uncomfortable silence hangs over the three of you, only broken by the dark-haired figure clearing his throat and speaking to you, “What are you doing down here?” 

You try for the third time to do what the dark-haired figure is doing — making sounds with his mouth. But the moment that you try, a strangled cough falls from you instead. With both palms, you cover your mouth, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as the figures exchange a look with one another.  

“What’s up with you?” the white-haired figure asks, tilting his head at you. You pout, jutting out your bottom lip and crossing your arms over your chest, disappointed that you couldn’t articulate yourself in the same way that both of the figures could.  

The dark-haired figure is more sympathetic towards you, smacking a hand into the chest of the white-haired figure and shooting him a pointed glare. He turns back to you after a moment, his eyes softening as he gestures with his head towards you.  

"You can't speak?"  

You shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows to create an expression that is a mixture between frustration and sadness. The dark-haired figure nods understandingly, humming to himself. You mimic him, humming as well.  

The white-haired figure glances between you and the dark-haired figure, then letting out a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm over the shoulders of the figure standing beside him, still glaring at you through his sunglasses as if you were a roadblock to him – and in a way, you were. 

"Come on Suguru, this is pointless. Let's just--" 

"Shut up Satoru." 

Suguru. He's the one with the dark hair.  

Satoru. He's the one with the white hair.  

Opposites. 

You tilt your head curiously at them, listening as they bicker with one another. How Suguru tries to patient with both you and Satoru and how Satoru only continues to act like a spoiled child. Your eyes continue to flicker between each of the two as they speak, taking mental notes of the difference in their tones, postures, and facial expressions.  

Suguru then turns to you again, having effectively shut Satoru up. You find yourself smiling at the expression that Satoru wears; he looks more like a disappointed child now as opposed to a spoiled one. It made you wonder if he acted like that constantly, or if it was because you were around.  

"Why don't you come with us?" Suguru offers, extending his hand to you. You peer curiously at it, how his fingers lightly shake and how the lines in his palms flex as his fingers extend out to you. You glance down at your own palm, flexing your fingers before placing your palm flat on top of Suguru's. 

Rolling his eyes, Satoru turns on his heel and begins to move back up the stairs, not caring to glance over his shoulder to check that you and Suguru were following him.  

You glance at Suguru, who still holds your hand. You hum again, smiling as Suguru's eyes flicker to meet your awaiting gaze. He returns your smile, then gesturing with his head towards the top of the stairs. You nod understandingly, falling into step with Suguru and climbing the steps.  

You tilt your head back to look at the archways that line the stairs, smiling to yourself as you walk quietly beside Suguru – neither of you say anything about the fact that your fingers are still interlinked. For as foreign as it was to you, it also felt familiar. 

"Come on, you're both taking forever!" Satoru complains from further up the stairs, turning to finally glance at both you and Suguru from over his shoulder.  

You release your hold on Suguru's hand, deciding to take it two steps at a time to properly catch up with Satoru, not wanting to hear him complain any longer. You spread your arms out to balance yourself once you reach the top of the stairs, spinning on your heel and grinning widely as Suguru walks into view – immediately returning your childlike grin. 

"What do we say to Yaga?" Satoru asks as Suguru moves to stand at his side. Suguru hums, his gaze momentarily flickering to sneak a glance at you. You lift your hand to wave at him once his eyes land on you, then taking two large steps to stand directly beside Suguru.  

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," Suguru mutters, feeling his spine stiffen as you bravely fold your fingers into his own, squeezing at them and sending him another closed-eyed smile.  

< … > 

"And she was simply sitting there?" Yaga clarifies, raising an eyebrow at Suguru and Satoru – both of whom nod their heads. Satoru crosses his arms over his chest, having been mentally checked out of the conversation since first entering the office.  

"From what we both saw," Suguru says, sneaking a glance at Satoru and mentally smacking his best friend at the disinterested look on his face, "yes. She was just sitting there." 

Yaga hums in thought, folding his fingers together and resting his chin on top of his knuckles. He turns his head to the door, curious to see what would happen if he were to open it and allow you inside. But at the same time, he didn't want to risk a possible Curse or Curse User to have entry to his office, knowing that the action would carry its own unique set of consequences.  

"Is she human?" Satoru asks, breaking the otherwise tense silence in the office. Yaga's eyes flicker to the third-year, his eyes narrowing as he mulls the question over in his head. That specific thought had not crossed his mind yet – were you human? 

"Has she demonstrated anything that would indicate otherwise?" Yaga inquires. Satoru and Suguru exchange glances, thinking about your odd behavior and your inability to verbally communicate with either of them.  

"Well, she acted oddly as we spoke to her. And when she herself tried to speak back to us, it was almost like she wasn't able to," Suguru answers, recalling the way that you had opened your mouth to speak and winced at the realization that nothing would come out.  

Yaga nods thoughtfully, once again looking to the closed office door. He ponders his options, weighing them in his mind before he braces his palms against his legs, rising to his feet. He closes the distance to the door in two, long strides.  

Outside of the door, you turn your head to the sound of the office's door clicking open, revealing a man with tanned skin and buzzed dark brown hair. You tilt your head up at him, pushing yourself to your feet and hiding your hands behind your back, peering up at the man with curious eyes.  

"Hello there," Yaga says to you, trying his hardest not to sound intimidating. You blink at him, resembling a deer caught in a truck's headlights as you tilt your head to the opposite side.  

Deciding to try again, you part your lips to speak, wanting desperately to say something to the man that towers over you. But just like the previous two times, the only thing that comes from your throat is a hum – just like how Suguru had hummed at you before.  

Furrowing his eyebrows, Yaga glances down at your hands, watching as you lay your fingers against your throat, squeezing at it as if trying to force sounds out of it. He narrows his eyes at you, humming to himself before turning back to the office door. No, you weren't human. 

"Why don't you come with me?" Yaga offers, gesturing with his hand towards the office. You follow his gaze, peering inside to see both Suguru and Satoru sitting on two wooden chairs. You grin, promptly making your way inside and beelining for Suguru, lowering yourself to sit cross-legged in front of his chair. 

Yaga is only a step behind you, watching through narrowed eyes as you sit down in front of Suguru. With the way that you glance up at him, one might think that you were the third-year's obedient dog. Your eyes wait for him to notice you, lighting up the moment that his gaze meets yours – even if it's only for a fleeting moment.  

They know what you are, be very careful. 

You shake your head, ignoring the ringing in your ears and turning back to Yaga. The older man sits behind a grand oak desk, one that has papers scattered about its surface with scribbled lines drawn onto them. Suguru furrows hie eyebrows down at you, having noticed the flickering expression that had passed over your face – as if someone had blown into your ear and startled you.  

"Both of you keep an eye on her. You may tell Shoko as well, but try to keep her from the other students," Yaga instructs, receiving nods of agreement from both Satoru and Suguru. You turn your head halfway to Yaga, curious as to who this mysterious 'Shoko' was.  

Would they be another figure like Satoru? Or were they someone like Suguru? 

"We understand," Suguru says, then standing from his seat and offering his hand to you. You lay your palm against his, allowing him to lift you off of the ground with shocking strength.  

Satoru puffs out the air that he holds in his lungs, not reacting as his bangs fall back into place over his eyes, shielding his vision. You tilt your head at him, was he hiding his eyes on purpose? Or was there something else about him that you simply didn't know?  

"Come on, let's get you a uniform," Suguru says to you, smiling. You return his smile brightly, bounding after him as he makes his way to the door of the office. Satoru follows close behind, hunched over with his hands stuffed into his pockets. It was effortlessly clear that he was inconvenienced by your presence. 

You follow close behind Suguru as he leads you down a long, winding hallway. Besides the three of you, there isn't anyone else, which only piques your curiosity in who 'Shoko' was and who the 'other students' were. Deep down, you hoped that Shoko wasn't anything like Satoru – who continued to make it clear that he didn't like you one bit.  

You turn your head to sneak a glance at Satoru, taking a mental note of the way that his eyebrows pinch together and the way that a pout settles over his lips. He walks close to Suguru's side, similar to the way that you did.  

Suguru stops walking eventually, turning to peer down a small archway that leads to an outdoor area, one with the trees that matched those that you had walked past when Suguru and Satoru had led you up all of those stairs.  

"Stay here, I'll go and get Shoko," Suguru says, nodding at both you and Satoru before walking outside. You take a step after him, but Satoru is quick to stop you, his fingers closing around your wrist and tugging you back to your original position.  

"He said stay," Satoru says slowly, speaking to you as if you were a child who lacked understanding. You nod at him, pressing your lips firmly together and waiting patiently for Suguru to return.  

The dark-haired male returns a few seconds later, another figure following behind him. Their hair is short and brown, with a beauty mark just underneath their left eye. You peer curiously at them, watching as they shift the position of something in their mouth – a stick with a brown end.  

"Woah," the figure says, eyes raking up and down your figure before their eyes flicker between Suguru and Satoru, neither of which say anything in response. "Shoko, it's nice to meet you." 

You smile brightly at the figure, holding your hand out to her in the same way that Suguru had done to you so many times before. Shoko returns your smile with one of her own, soft and gentle; and her hand folds into yours, shaking it politely. 

"We've been tasked to keep an eye on her. She isn't allowed to be around any of the other students, obviously with us being the only exception," Suguru explains, stowing his hands away in his pockets, "at least, that's what Yaga told us." 

"Babysitting duty," Satoru says in a sour tone, scrunching his nose in an expression of disgust as he glances to Shoko. She reaches a hand out, swiping at the back of his head and rolling her eyes at the dramatic cry that he lets out.  

"You're such a jerk," Shoko mutters through her teeth, then turning to you, "don't mind him, yeah?" 

You flash her a closed-eye smile, nodding in agreement.  

< … > 

"Go on and try again, there's nothing wrong with trying," Suguru says with a reassuring smile, finding himself biting back a chuckle at the frustrated expression that passes over your face. You puff your cheeks out, annoyed at the fact that every time that you tried to speak...nothing happened.  

You inhale deeply, puffing your chest out and holding the air in your lungs before forcing your lips apart, trying once again to say one simple word.  

Ignoring the small burn in your throat, you screw your eyes shut. 

"Hello." 

Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkled at the corners as you open your eyes again, staring at him like a deer in headlights. "See? I told you that you could do it." 

You grin widely, springing up from your place in front of Suguru and barely containing the excitement that shoots through you. You curl your hands into gleeful fists as you continue happily dancing around, earning a proud chuckle from Suguru. 

"Hello," you repeat, shocked at the sound of your own voice. It didn't sound anything like the little whispers in your head. Those were raspy, gravelly voices that felt like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. Your voice was soft, quiet – a stark contrast. 

"Hi," Suguru returns, smiling again at you as you seat yourself back down in front of him. "Now, what's your name?" 

You purse your lips, humming in thought before bubbling, "(Y/N)!" 

Suguru nods, reaching a hand out to affectionately ruffle your hair. You lean into the touch, smiling brightly and repeating your name to him again.  

Your ears perk at the sound of two pairs of footsteps, turning to see Satoru and Shoko walking into the otherwise empty classroom – presumably looking for both yourself and Suguru. Satoru says nothing to either of you whereas Shoko waves politely, shooting you a kind smile.  

"Hi!" you say excitedly. The sound of your voice causes Shoko's eyes to widen, the cigarette between her lips falling to the floor in front of her. The ghost of her smile returns, spreading across her face as she kneels in front of you.  

"Well would you look at that? You found your voice," Shoko compliments, patting your head in a fashion similar to the way that Suguru had. You smile at the display of affection, leaning closer to Shoko and then glancing to Satoru, hoping for that same kind of praise.  

He rolls his eyes begrudgingly, unfolding the arms that he had previously crossed over his chest. "Good job (Y/N)." 

You smile, scrunching your nose up at him. 

< ... > 

"There you go. Now, when you go to punch someone, tuck your thumb inward," Suguru instructs, lifting his hand and folding his own thumb inward, then gesturing to you to mimic the action.  

"In," you repeat, holding up your hand and making a show of tucking your thumb inward. Suguru nods at you, then gesturing to the punching dummy that he had nicked from one of the training rooms in order to help you with your self-defense.  

It had been six months since Suguru first stumbled upon you at the stairs of Jujutsu Tech, and in those six months he still didn't have an answer to the question of who you really were or where you truly came from.  

Sure, you looked human enough – even though the stitches that littered your body could tell a completely different story depending on the author. But even with those stitches, you acted like a constantly excitable child, always wanting to be at Suguru's side and wanting to be involved in everything that he did.  

To him, it was endearing, albeit very confusing at the same time.  

You turn to the punching dummy in front of you, curling your hands into fists and making sure to tuck your thumbs inward just like you had been told. You throw a punch at the dummy, smiling as it wobbles backward before returning to its original position.  

"Good?" Your body turns to glance at Suguru, already feeling your senses tingling at the proud smile that settles itself on Suguru's lips.  

"Good job (Y/N)." 

"Yeah, you're doin' great," Shoko agrees as she walks onto the training field, smiling and returning your hug as you rush to throw your arms around her. "Yeah, yeah, I missed you too." 

"Where's 'Toru?" you inquire curiously, tilting your head as you realize Satoru's absence. Shoko glances over her shoulder, furrowing her eyebrows and letting out an exasperated sigh through her nose.  

"He was supposed to be right behind me. Guess he got sidetracked," Shoko says offhandedly, though she regrets her tone upon seeing the fall in your expression. Your shoulders slump, eyes casting themselves to the ground as you take a step back from her.  

"Does 'Toru like me?"  

Suguru and Shoko exchange knowing glances with one another. Neither of them answer you quickly, which only adds to the feeling of dejection.  

Shoko lifts her hand, resting it reassuringly on your shoulder and sending you a comforting smile. "Sure he does, he just has a weird way of showin' it." 

All you could do is nod in response. 

< … >  

"A mission?" You can't help but tilt your head at Suguru, who only nods at you as he adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. He chuckles, then turning completely to you. 

“Yeah, Yaga will sometimes send us out on missions. We go out to a given location and exorcise the curses that reside there,” Suguru explains, watching as you mull his words over in your head.  

Curses? Exorcise? 

“What’s a curse?” you ask, following Suguru as he begins to walk towards the entrance of Jujutsu Tech. He turns to glance at you over his shoulder, feeling himself smile as you spread your arms out to balance yourself, having accidentally rolled your ankle while following him.  

“A curse is—“ 

“There you are Suguru! I’m offended, you almost left without me,” Satoru says loudly from behind you, dramatically wiping away tears that definitely don’t exist.  

You turn and smile as the snowy-haired male approaches both you and Suguru, throwing his arm over Suguru’s shoulder and sparing you a half-assed glance. You smile and wave, still polite as ever.  

“Are you going too?” you turn to Satoru, “Yaga said that I can go too!” 

Satoru forces himself to smile, left eye twitching in annoyance as he turns his head to look at you. “Joy.” 

“Don’t be like that Satoru,” Suguru scolds, whacking a hand against the back of Satoru’s head. The latter lets out a yelp, cupping the back of his head and shooting Suguru a half-assed glare — one that is immediately reciprocated by the raven-haired male.  

You smile lightly at both of the boy’s antics, taking two steps to stand at Suguru’s left side, then turning your head to flash that same smile at Satoru. 

For a moment, something inside of Satoru softens. But only for a moment. 

“Ready to go?” you say to both of the third-years, smiling and folding your hands behind your back as your gaze flickers between the two.  

“Stay close, okay?” Suguru says to you, his eyes softening as his gaze falls on you. You smile, nodding your head at him.  

“Okay!” 

< … >  

So that’s what an exorcism is. 

You watch through curious eyes as Suguru holds what used to be a curse in his hands, fingers curled around the small, swirling ball. He lifts it up, eyes examining it for a moment before he notices your curious gaze.  

“That’s…what a curse is?” you say, pointing at it and scrunching your nose. Suguru nods his head, opening his mouth and promptly absorbing the curse — just as he always had done.  

Your eyes widen as you watch him consume the ball, eyebrows lifting to create a worried indent in the skin of your forehead. Your hands shoot out, taking hold of either side of his face and tilting it this way and that.  

“What did you do that for?!” you squeal, squeezing Suguru’s face and staring worriedly at him. He chuckles, unable to answer with the force at which you hold his cheeks.  

“It’s okay (Y/N),” he says, voice slightly muddled, “it’s just my technique.” 

“Technique?” you echo. 

He nods, adjusting his jaw once your hands release him. He smiles again at you, the sight slightly reassuring you.  

“Sorcerers have what are called Cursed Techniques, mine just so happens to be the absorption of curses,” Suguru explains, smacking his lips as a disgusted expression falls over his face.  

You tilt your head at him, pressing two fingers against your throat before your gaze returns to his facial expression — how his eyebrows are slightly pinched together, how his eyes water and how his jaw momentarily sets itself in place.  

“Not good?” you whisper to him, as if asking him about a secret that only he knew the answer to. Suguru’s eyes flicker to you, his gaze softening.  

“No,” he answers simply, shaking his head at you. You pout, bottom lip jutting out before you reach out and pat his shoulder — similar to the way that he would pat either your head or shoulder as a means of comfort.  

“Why do you do it then?”  

Suguru pauses, his hand coming up to cover your own. His fingers affectionately squeeze your own, lips turning upward in a smile just as soft as his actions.  

“It’s a curse (Y/N). We’re meant to exorcise them,” Suguru reiterates, smacking his lips together in an attempt to rid his tongue of the taste left behind by the consumed curse.  

You hum, glancing down at the stitches that crawl up your arms. We’re meant to do it. We’re meant to do it.  

But why are they meant to do it? 

“So…curses are bad?” you turn your head to Suguru, falling into step with him as he glances down at his phone. Satoru must have texted him regarding the curse that he was meant to exorcise. 

Suguru hums in agreement, stowing his phone away into his pocket and casting you a sideways glance. He makes a mental note of the conflicted expression on your face, eyebrows pinched together and eyes slightly narrowed.  

“Yeah, they pose as a danger to people that can’t see them. So us Jujutsu Sorcerers are sent to exorcise them,” Suguru explains, reaching behind him to fold his fingers into your own. Your lips, which usually turn upward at any given affection, remain pressed together in a thin line.  

Your eyes widen for a moment, an expression of realization flickering over your face. You stop walking beside Suguru, not reacting as his hand tugs at yours, silently telling you to continue walking.  

“…they pose as a danger to people that can’t see them.” 

Wait a minute. 

“What are you doing out here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” Suguru says gently to the little girl standing in front of him, her arms wound tightly around a small stuffed rabbit.  

She sniffles, using the hand that doesn’t hold her rabbit to wipe the stray tears that roll down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she sobs.  

Suguru sighs, an exasperated puff of breath through his nose as he places a hand on top of the girl’s head, rubbing her hair comfortingly.  

“It’s alright.” 

Curiously, you kneel down beside Suguru, staring at the girl with your head tilted to the side. You lift a finger, pointing at the rabbit that the girl clutches to her chest.  

“I like your toy,” you say to her with a smile, mimicking the way that Suguru had smiled at the girl in order to prove that he wasn’t there to hurt her.  

The girl only sniffles again, her gaze never once leaving Suguru. Curiously, the raven-haired male flicks his eyes to glance at you — had the girl maybe not heard you? 

“I like your rabbit,” Suguru repeats, gesturing with his head towards the toy clutched in the girl’s arms. The girl smiles gently, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she hugs her rabbit a little tighter. 

“Thanks Mister.” 

You pause, blinking. The girl continues to smile at Suguru, forgetting about any and all of the fear that she had been feeling just seconds before.  

She couldn’t see you. 

Non-sorcerers can’t see Curses. Did that mean that…? 

“Hey…(Y/N), you alright?” Suguru asks, his voice filtering its way back into your ears. You turn quickly to him, blinking away the last remnants of your trance.  

“Yeah! I’m okay!” you answer with a bubbly smile, though that thought lingers in the back of your mind — what were you? 

< … > 

“Have any of you seen (Y/N)? I wanted to practice a Reverse Curse Technique with her,” Shoko shifts her cigarette from the left side of her mouth to her right, peering curiously at Suguru and Satoru.  

Satoru shrugs, sipping at the can of cola in his hand and glancing at Suguru, who also shrugs.  

“Lovely, you’re both so useful,” Shoko rolls her eyes, turning on her heel and departing from the room. She wanders down the hall, passing by your dorm and stopping as she notices the door had been left open.  

Curiously, she peers inside, shocked to see you sitting in the center of the room. Surrounding your crossed legs are various textbooks from taken from the library, all of them open to pictures of various curses — ranging from Second-Grade to Special-Grade.  

Your eyes roam over the sketched pictures, fingers running over a particularly nasty looking Special-Grade curse that looks oddly similar to a disfigured human — a woman to be exact. You tilt your head at the image of her, her arms were stitched in a similar fashion to your own, but yet you both looked drastically different.  

“(Y/N)? What’re you doin’ in here?” Shoko smiles softly at you as she enters, knocking once to alert you to her presence. You turn quickly to her, slamming the textbook shut and looking at her as if you had been caught doing something that you weren’t meant to be doing.  

“Hi Sho’!” you say affectionately, standing from your place in the center of the room and brushing your hands down the front of your pants. She eyes you curiously, humming to herself before removing her cigarette from between her lips, puffing out one last cloud of smoke before she walks to the window of your dormitory, then disposing of her finished cigarette.  

She tilts her head, noticing your avoidance of her question, “Everything okay?” 

You nod, humming at her and folding your hands behind your back, forcing your gaze to focus on her and not wander down to the closed textbook by your foot. You swallow the growing lump in your throat, wincing as it momentarily gets stuck — hopefully Shoko wouldn’t notice.  

“Yeah! I was just reading, Sugu said it was a good way to kill time!” you answer with your usual bubbly smile, but Shoko doesn’t fail to notice how it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding something, and it wasn’t very subtle. 

“Oh cool, what’re you reading?” Shoko inquires, tilting her head and lowering herself to the floor, plucking one of the closed textbooks off of the ground and flipping through it. She makes a mental note of the way that your expression falls, like a child who had been caught doing something that they shouldn’t.  

“Reading about curses, those thingies that Suguru and ‘Toru went to exorcise,” you answer honestly, taking the textbook from her and opening to the page that you had been staring at, turning it towards her and smiling again — hoping again that she wouldn’t notice the way that you force your lips upward.  

“Oh, that’s a Special-Grade,” Shoko comments, smiling at you as you turn the textbook back around, glancing down at the sketched picture. “They’re tough ones.” 

“Stronger than Sugu and ‘Toru?” 

Shoko shakes her head, chuckling breathily, “No, not stronger than those two idiots.” 

You glance down at the picture, at the stitches on the curse’s arms and the way that its eyes crinkle in a sadistic, maniacal smile. You tilt your head — she looked a little bit like you. 

“Are curses bad?” you glance up at Shoko, who stares curiously back at you. “Are all of them bad?” 

“Well, yeah. They wanna hurt the innocent, and that’s why we exorcise them,” Shoko explains, following you to the floor as you sit down, crossing your legs. Your eyes wander back down to the sketched image, eyebrows pinching together.  

“But what if a curse doesn’t hurt people?” 

“That’s practically unheard of,” Shoko comments, turning to you, “a lot of the curses we exorcise have already hurt innocent bystanders.” 

You nod your head, though the action feels forced. You hadn’t hurt anyone…did that make you a bad curse? 

< … > 

Go away. 

Go away. 

GO THE FUCK AWAY. 

You step back from the now broken mirror, chest rising and falling in heaving breaths as you glance down at your reddened arms, nail marks dragged against your skin in angry red lines.  

Eyes that scream tales of hatred flicker up to your awaiting reflection, the broken glass giving your body a fragmented look that only adds to your disgust of the stitches that hold you together. 

You were the same as that broken mirror — fragmented and messily put back together by hands that weren’t your own.  

Your shoulders continue to rise and fall in tune with your heavy intakes of air, hands curled into white-knuckled fists with blood dripping down the crevices of your skin. You bled the same as they did, and yet you were still so drastically different. 

“Monster,” you whisper to your reflection, glancing back at it and reeling your arm back, preparing to strike at the broken mirror again. 

You are no monster. 

You pause, fist hanging limply in midair as you stare at your eyes. Something in you tells you to complete the action, but you don’t.  

“Curse.” Shakily, you lift a finger to point at the fragmented reflection that stares back at you.  

That’s better. 

You glance down at the reddened lines that now adorn your arms, nail marks left behind by angered scratching fueled by the sight of your stitches.  

You weren’t like Suguru or Satoru — they were human. 

I’m not human. 

Now show them what a true curse is. 

< … > 

"Another Special-Grade? Honestly, can they just not find qualified sorcerers to deal with these things?" Satoru complains loudly, his eyes momentarily falling shut as Shoko slips his darkened sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose.  

Suguru bites back the laugh that bubbles at the back of his throat, his gaze flickering to watch the dramatics of his best friend – which has now resulted in the snowy-haired male lying flat on the floor of the gymnasium, his arms spread at his sides like a starfish.  

"Supposedly, we're the only two that are qualified enough to take on Special-Grades. You know that Satoru," Suguru reminds him, kneeling down on the floor and sitting cross-legged beside Satoru, who blows a puff of air from his parted lips and groans as his bangs fall back over his eyes.  

"Bullshit," Satoru mutters, pushing himself up onto his elbows and turning his head just enough to glance at Suguru. 

"Come on, we should leave now before Yaga gets upset." 

Satoru groans again, standing with Suguru's help and glancing at Shoko – who is currently lighting what the males believe to be her fourth cigarette of the day, though neither of them comment on it.  

"Can one of you check on (Y/N) before you go? Haven't seen her," Shoko mutters, struggling momentarily with her lighter. The moment that the end of her cigarette is lit, she takes a deep inhale, then releasing the small cloud of smoke in front of her and waving it away quickly.  

Suguru's eyebrows pinch together, "What are you talking about?" 

Shoko pauses, she hadn't told either of them about the state that she had found you in that day; surrounded by meaningless textbooks and looking at the pictures as if they had resonated with you on a spiritual level.  

"Just," Shoko pauses, already lifting her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose, pinching it, "check on her, yeah?" 

Satoru opens his mouth to protest, but Suguru is quick to slap the palm of his hand against his friend's parted lips, effectively silencing him.  

"Sure thing," Suguru answers with a closed-eye smile, moving his hand from Satoru's mouth at the feeling of the center of his palm being licked.  

The walk to your dormitory from the gymnasium isn't very long, or at least, it wouldn't have been as long as it was if Satoru wasn't loudly complaining and dragging his feet. As much as Suguru wants to spin on his heel and tell Satoru to just stop, he restrains himself – focused instead on getting to you and figuring out the source of Shoko's concern.  

He rounds the corner to the student dormitories, his eyebrows pinching together as he notices your door open. Satoru pauses as well, resisting the urge that he has to throw out a sarcastic quip.  

"(Y/N)?" Suguru calls into the empty room, taking a step over the threshold and peering curiously around your dormitory's interior. The first thing that he notices is the overturned furniture, then the scattered pages of various textbooks, and lastly the broken glass that litters the floor. What the hell happened?  

"What the hell happened here?" Satoru asks, looking around and lifting his leg to be sure that he doesn't step on any broken glass. Suguru exhales shakily, already turning on his heel and leaving the room – now he understood all of Shoko's concern. 

"Come on, we're finding (Y/N)." 

< … > 

"No, wait, please!" 

You tilt your head, eyes widening momentarily as the man in front of you begins to expand, his eyes bulging from his head as blood spills from his lash line like tears. His hands lift shakily, fingers digging into his hair before his head promptly explodes.  

His body tilts backward, falling with a lifeless thud.  

See? Isn't it entertaining?  

You stare down at the headless corpse, kneeling down and poking at the blood that dribbles down the man's neck. The liquid clings to your skin, the sight bringing a disgusted curl to your lips as you quickly straighten yourself, standing.  

You turn on your heel, exiting the alleyway that you had cornered the man in, wandering down the busy street and listening to the buzz of the pedestrians that surround you. You turn your head this way and that, simply taking in the simplicity of the lives that humans lead.  

As you continue to walk down the street, you find yourself smiling at the fact that nobody pays you any mind – not that they had the ability to. You were unseen for as long as you wished to be unseen, creeping up on whoever you wished with the same stealth as a prowling cat.  

You should get that one next.  

You lift your head to look ahead, eyes landing on a young girl wandering the streets, her eyes bright and glittering as she skips along. Her arms are wound tightly around a stuffed animal, just like the other young girl that had been unable to see you on that mission with Suguru.  

A smirk curls the corner of your lips upwards, eyes crinkling at the corners as you slowly begin to stalk your way towards the young girl. She continues walking, her little pigtails swaying with each step of her feet. You reach a hand out, the tips of your fingers just barely grazing the back of her head. 

"(Y/N)." 

You pause, eyes wide as you lift your head to stare ahead. The young girl turns, her eyebrows pinching together in confusion as she stares right through you, her eyes focused instead on the raven-haired male that stands behind you.  

Suguru pauses, watching you with a tilt to his head that simply asks, "What are you doing?" His body language otherwise is relaxed, showing you that he was of no threat to you. He didn't want you to think that he was going to hurt you.  

You don't turn to face Suguru, instead reaching a hand out and laying your palm flat against the top of the girl's head. She gives no reaction, her eyes still focused on the male who had called her by the wrong name.  

Suguru watches through horrified eyes as the girl promptly expands, her voice catching in her throat. Her parted lips only release a high-pitched squeak before the upper half of her body explodes.  

Her blood spatters against the pavement in front of her, the lower half of her body tilting backward before it falls to the ground with a dull, lifeless thud.  

The passerby that walk down the street pause, and it only takes one person screaming to send the surrounding pedestrians into a state of unbridled panic. 

Suguru watches, his eyes wide as those around him scramble for safety, not knowing what was going on or who had been the cause of the carnage that lay in the middle of the sidewalk. His body stands as stiff as a board, eyes flickering momentarily down to the girl who lays in the sidewalk.  

“(Y/N),” he begins, taking a brave step towards you and reaching for your wrist. Your eyes flicker down to his outstretched fingers, quickly avoiding him and turning around to blankly glare at him.  

It was a look that he had never seen on your face before, hatred swirling in your eyes and a disgusted scowl curling the corner of your lip upward. You glared at him as if he were the scum of the Earth — devoid of all of the warmth that you once held for him.  

“What? Are you going to exorcise me too?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, hair falling over your shoulders as you turn completely to face him.  

Suguru furrows his eyebrows together, staring at you as if you had somehow sprouted another head. Exorcise you? How would he even be able to do that? 

He doesn’t know what you are, remind him. 

Your lips peel back in an angered growl as you turn your head to catch a glance at the young girl lying on the sidewalk. Her blood had already somewhat dried up, now caked on top of the sandy brown tiles of the pavement.  

“I did what the other curses do,” you murmur, eyes flickering down to your now bloodied hands. This very time yesterday you would have scrunched your nose in disgust and tried to scrub every last droplet of blood from your palms.  

But now? 

Now you looked down at the blood like it was your own personal golden trophy — a reminder of what you had become and the persona that you had adopted. If you were considered a curse, then you were going to show everyone a true curse…even Suguru. 

“Does that mean that now you’re going to exorcise me?”  

Suguru pauses, swallowing the growing lump in his throat and glancing at you with an expression that is an odd mixture of confusion and concern.  

“(Y/N), what are you talking about? You aren’t a curse,” Suguru says, his sentence momentarily broken by a breathy chuckle. You grit your teeth, shaking your head at him.  

He doesn’t understand…make him understand.  

“Only you, ‘Toru, and Sho’ can see me,” you point out, “nobody else can.” 

“That’s not true. Yaga and—“ his voice trails off. You nod knowingly, smirking as the realization finally dawns on the male standing in front of you.  

“And no one else,” you finish for him, taking a step towards him. Then you take another, and another, and suddenly your shoulder is brushing against his as you move to walk past him. “You don’t find that odd?” 

Suguru turns quickly, already wanting to reach out for you and knock some kind of sense into you. But you’re much swifter than he is, and you dodge the hand that reaches out for you. 

“But you aren’t like the other curses.” 

You smirk, gesturing with only your eyes down to the girl that lays dead in the middle of the sidewalk.  

“Is that not what other curses do?” you jab a thumb over your shoulder, reminding Suguru of what lies behind you. “Is that not why you exorcise them?” 

Suguru pauses, once again swallowing the lump in his throat and forcing his gaze to focus on you — trying to forget what lies just over your shoulder. He didn’t want to accept it, he couldn’t accept it, but you were making it abundantly clear that you held not an ounce of remorse.  

You were a curse. And he was a Sorcerer. 

What the fuck does he do now? 

< … > 

Suguru Geto —> Satoru Gojo 

You need to get down to ******. Something’s REALLY wrong with (Y/N).  

Satoru Gojo --> Suguru Geto 

What do you mean?  

Suguru Geto --> Satoru Gojo 

Just get down here.  

Satoru Gojo --> Suguru Geto 

Alright, I'm on my way.  

"Suguru! What's going on?" Satoru waves his hand in the air as he slows to a stop at Suguru's side, peering curiously at his best friend through the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Suguru stands quickly, not bothering to answer before he's sweeping past Satoru and leading him in the direction that you had walked off in.  

Curiously, Satoru follows, falling quickly into step with Suguru as both sorcerers walk down the pedestrian-filled sidewalk. The former doesn't fail to notice the way that Suguru's eyes dart around the various shops and scan the various faces that happen to pass by. The only question that he had was; why? 

"Are you – uh – gonna tell me what's going on?" Satoru finally breaks the silence between himself and Suguru after they had been walking for a good five minutes in nothing but an awkward, tense silence.  

Suguru swallows the lump in his throat, voice heavy when he finds it, "Just...something's wrong with (Y/N)." 

"Yeah," Satoru replies with a roll of his eyes, "I gathered that much." 

"No, I mean really wrong. She isn't human Satoru," Suguru says gravely, already feeling himself shudder at the realization that you were nothing like what he had originally believed. But after you told him that nobody beside himself and the others at Jujutsu Tech could see you, everything quickly fell into place.  

"What do you mean she isn't human?" Satoru echoes, tilting his head curiously as Suguru stops at the entrance point of a darkened alleyway. Brown eyes stare quietly down the length of the alleyway, focusing on something before Suguru takes a brave step forward with Satoru following close behind.  

"I mean that she's a curse," Suguru says finally, turning his head to glance at Satoru.  

The snowy-haired male pauses, standing as still as stone at the entrance of the alleyway. His jaw is slack, but he's quick to snap it back into place. "A curse?" 

Suguru doesn't answer, not that he really needs to. But Satoru wants him to, he wants an explanation – a play-by-play of just how it came out that you weren't human. If you were really a curse, how come his Six Eyes had never told him that? What about you made them falter? 

Or maybe...maybe they hadn't faltered. Had Satoru ignored his Six Eyes when they told him that you weren't human when he first met you? 

"Let's just find her and get her back to Jujutsu High before anything happens," Suguru says as firmly as he can, though Satoru doesn't fail to notice the slight waver to his best friend's voice. He had cared about you from the moment that his eyes fell on you, tucking you underneath his wing and shielding you from the uglier parts of the Jujutsu world.  

And yet, here he was, still protecting you even when you were the one thing that he had sworn to protect other people from.  

That was the difference between Satoru and Suguru. Suguru would protect you even if you were digging a knife into his chest. He would protect you even if it meant turning the entire world against him. Satoru wouldn't. 

If he found you before Suguru, he would exorcise you on the spot – with absolutely no remorse.  

Because at the end of the day, if you were a curse, then you were no better than every other curse that he had seen. You were a danger, a hazard, a posing threat to all non-Jujutsu Sorcerers. It didn't matter what connection he had to you or what relationship he had with you; you were to be exorcised.  

"Why don't we just exorcise her?" Satoru suggests, indifference seeping into his tone. Suguru turns quickly, looking at Satoru as if he had just been stabbed.  

"Are you serious? Satoru, we can't just--" 

"She's a curse Suguru. It'll be the exact same as any other mission that we've gone on," Satoru points out, ignoring Suguru's pointed glare as the pair wanders further into the alleyway. "She can't be that strong, you've never trained her with the use of Cursed Energy." 

Suguru remains silent, looking around the nooks and crannies of the alleyway as if you would be hiding in any of them. Satoru follows closely behind, though he doesn't put as much effort into finding you.  

"Don't rope her into the same group as those other curses," Suguru says, turning and sending Satoru a warning glare, "she's nothing like them." 

From somewhere deep in the alleyway, both of the males hear a drawn out "aww".  

Suguru turns, eyes widening as he tries to locate where the sound had come from. He knew that voice, he knew that voice, of course he knew that voice.  

Satoru pauses, the arms that were once crossed over his chest unfolding as he follows Suguru's gaze, also trying to locate where the sound had come from. A whisper in his ear tells him to look upward, and so he does.  

There, sitting in the darkness, is you. Your legs dangle over the fire escape of the accompanying apartment building, arm lifting in a friendly wave as you gaze down at both Suguru and Satoru – both of whom remain silent at the sight of you.  

"Did you both come here to exorcise me?" Your voice is as sickly sweet as it always had been, though this time it's tinged with a second emotion, one that neither male is able to correctly put their finger on. Was it malice? Or was it a twisted sense of joy over being found? 

"No (Y/N). We came here to help you--" 

"No you didn't!" you're quick to cut him off, standing from your place on the fire exit and smiling widely. "I just heard you both. I may be a curse, but I'm not completely dense." 

Neither of them answer you, but you can see that they desperately want to. You wonder if they pause because they don't know what to say or if what they want to say would only fuel your already burning anger.  

"(Y/N)--" 

"How will you do it?"  

Suguru pauses, staring up at you. He swallows – he knows what you're referring to. You're wondering if he'll absorb you just like he would any other curse, or if he would exorcise you in a more traditional matter. You wonder if your off-colored blood would stain his hands and if he would stare at it the same way that you had stared at the young girl's blood on your own hands.  

Satoru looks down at his feet, ignoring the uncomfortable tingle in his bones as his nails dig into the palms of his hands. He grits his teeth, willing himself to remain silent even though he so desperately wants to bite out an angered comment to you. He wants to yell at you for deceiving him, for making him believe that you were human – that you could be trusted.  

And oddly enough, he doesn't. His urge to remain silent wins, and so stay silent is exactly what he does.  

"(Y/N), I'm not going to exorcise you," Suguru says reassuringly, trying his best to coax you down from your place above him. You tilt your head at him, eyes sparkling as you silently will him to continue. Maybe his argument would be good enough, but it would most likely be the exact opposite.  

"Yes you are," you bite back, tone bitter and dead. Suddenly you aren't as sweet as you were before, replaced instead by a persona that neither Suguru nor Satoru had seen before. Whatever curse you were, you had discovered it, and you were embracing it in a tight hug that nobody would be able to pry you from.  

That's right, remind them. 

"I'm just wondering how you're going to do it." 

Suguru shakes his head again, his voice catching in his throat. He knows that he's going to have to exorcise you, not even because of protocol but because of the safety of every non-Jujutsu Sorcerer. Though he doesn't want to believe it, anyone could see as plain as day, you were dangerous.  

You had killed a young girl without so much as a blink of your eye. Her blood on your hands meant nothing to you, you had glanced down at your stained palms with a glint of interest instead of disgust. You looked down at her body like it was nothing but a squashed ant on the ground.  

Who was to say that you wouldn't kill again with that same lack of remorse? 

"I'm not going to exorcise you," Suguru says again. You tilt your head, you know that he doesn't sound sincere, but at the same time he does. "I...can't exorcise you." 

You smile, eyes folding at the corners as smile lines indent your forehead. You stand from your place atop the fire escape, though you make no notion to make your way down to where both sorcerers stand. It's tempting, you could fight them and prove your strength; but it would most likely end with you being exorcised anyway.  

They were Special-Grade sorcerers after all, and you had no idea what grade level you fell into. All you knew was that you had the ability to make people disappear...or rather...make portions of them disappear into bloody heaps.  

"Suguru," Satoru says warningly, already readying his body for a flurry of attacks. If he had to fight you, he wouldn't hold back. To him, you were nothing but a curse, but this time, he knew your name.  

"Wait." 

Satoru pauses, watching as Suguru takes a brave step towards the fire escape, looking up its ladder to maintain eye contact with you. You peer curiously down at him, trusting him.  

His heart thuds in his ears as you slowly descend the ladder, pausing just a few steps above Suguru and glancing down your nose at him. Your hands hold the metal steps of the ladder, fingers curled tightly around the rusted metal as you remain silent, keeping Suguru's gaze.  

"You haven't answered me," you say quietly, your voice bordering on a whisper, "how are you going to exorcise me?" 

Suguru shakes his head again, blinking away the tears that cling to his waterline – a result of him keeping his eyes open for a prolonged period of time. He knows that he has to, but he doesn't want to.  

Was this the sacrifice of a Jujutsu Sorcerer? 

He's still going to exorcise you.  

You watch through widened eyes as Suguru's hand lays flat against your chest, fingers bunching up the front of your shirt and tugging you forward roughly. Before you're able to react, everything goes dark. Your vision closes it on itself, the last thing you see being Suguru's tear-filled eyes staring back at you, a desperate "I'm sorry" caught in his throat – never to be uttered.  

Satoru lifts his head at the sudden silence that falls over the alleyway, eyes widening as he notices the ball curled between Suguru's fingers. You're no longer standing on the ladder of the fire escape. 

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened.  

"Suguru," Satoru begins, taking a hesitant step towards Suguru. The raven-haired male only shakes his head, glancing down at the ball in his hand before he hesitantly opens his jaw. He wonders if maybe it wouldn't taste like a wet rag, but he knows that it will. All curses do.  

< … > 

"Hey, there you are," Shoko says with a smile, shifting her cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other as she walks to Suguru's side, hoisting herself up to sit on the windowsill in front of him. He turns to her, returning her softened smile with one of his own.  

"Sorry, was I keeping you waiting?"  

Shoko shakes her head, pinching her cigarette between her fingers and blowing out a small cloud of smoke. She turns her head to glance out of the window, squinting at the sunlight that filters in through the glass panes. "No, I figured you wouldn’t be keen on hanging out with everyone just yet." 

Suguru hums, taking the cigarette that Shoko offers him, its end still burning with that orange hue that he had always found beautiful. He takes it between his lips, inhaling and ignoring the burn that the smoke in his lungs gives off.  

"Just don't shut us out for good, yeah?" Shoko glances at Suguru, eyebrows raising. He chuckles at her, smoke pouring from his parted lips as he returns the cigarette to her fingers. "She was just as important to us as she was to you." 

Suguru sighs, through his nose, turning his head to glance out of the window. On one of the branches of a nearby tree, a crow rests comfortably, its head tilted to absorb the evening sun, soaking it in. It shakes off its feathers, then turning to look through the window, eyes locking with those of Suguru's.  

He stares back at it, blinking once before he returns to reality, half-listening to the story that Shoko had been telling him.  

"Listen to me for a minute," Shoko says, reaching a hand out and comfortingly squeezing Suguru's knee. He gazes quietly at her, wondering what it is that she wanted to say. "(Y/N) meant a lot to all of us. But you did the right thing in exorcising her. Who knows what she would've done if we just let her walk around freely?" 

"Was it my fault that she turned out the way that she did?" 

Shoko shakes her head quickly, throwing her cigarette down onto the floor and turning her foot to extinguish it with her toe. Her lips turn upward in another soft smile, this one reassuring.  

"If anything, it was the textbook's fault that she turned out the way that she did," Shoko says, her voice a mixture of serious and teasing.  

She notices the way that Suguru's expression doesn't change. His eyebrows are still pinched together in a way that displays his guilt – his regret over not being able to help you. His eyes are hollow, sullen. His irises speak a thousand words even though his lips utter nothing.  

She notices the way that his hands subconsciously clench into white-knuckled fists at the mere mention of your name. He had cared so much about you, in his eyes you could do no wrong. But to then have you become what you had...she couldn't imagine the pain that Suguru felt in his chest when she whispered your name.  

"Geto," she says, smiling as his head snaps to force his gaze on her, "it was never your fault that (Y/N) became what she did." 

The hand that rests on his knee pats it once, twice, three times. Just enough to comfort Suguru enough for him to momentarily forget about the guilt he felt over absorbing you.  

"We can remember her for what she was before...everything. There's nothing wrong with that." 

Suguru nods, smiling at the memory of your warmth and joy. How pure it was, how it radiated off of you as if you were the embodiment of the sun. In his memory, you weren't a bloodthirsty curse... 

...you were always going to be (Y/N). 

[heliads]

hii! if you do still write for the maze runner, could i have a minho and reader fic, kinda enemies to lovers where she gets drunk one night and insists on sitting next him and hes just really snarky and confused?she ends up laying her head on his shoulder and is completely enamoured by his hands? (absentmindedly plays with it,admires it) and the others notice it and tease them relentlessly, maybe he has to carry her to bed and she asks pleads for him to stay? and the next morning they get teased even more?? totally fine if you dont want to but thanks!!!💕

omg enemies to lovers with minho

masterlist

Minho only has time for two things right now: one, making it out of the Maze long enough to scratch out the day’s findings in the Map Room, and two, his best friend Newt. Today isn’t like the other days, although it seems like it due to the endless litany of tasks that always seem to await him. He wakes up early, he runs the Maze, he comes back and helps everyone else pretend that they’re totally getting closer to finding a way out, even though they aren’t. Even though they may never find such a thing.

That’s why Newt’s so high on Minho’s list of priorities right now. Today differs from the others because it’s an important day for the Gladers, it’s Greenie Day. Some unlucky kid was sent up here while Minho was out mapping the Maze, some kid who’s probably already fighting back tears at the prospect of being stuck out here with the rest of them until the day that he dies. It’s not a pleasant life, Minho can attest to that. The Greenbean’s about to find that out for himself.

Still, the newbie will be a part of the Glade from this day forward, which means that Minho’s either going to befriend him, tolerate him, or just avoid him for as long as possible. Or her. There technically has been one girl sent up here, but Minho does his best to spend as little time thinking about her as possible, so he can’t be blamed for reverting back to the old belief that only boys could ever be sent up in the Box.

Newt leans against the door of the Map Room, waiting for Minho to finish tallying out all the turns he took this morning. Minho only has so long to remember the precise pattern of corridors before they flicker out of his head, and Newt knows it. If today’s Greenie caused serious problems, Newt would have mentioned it as Minho was walking out of the Doors. On a casual day like today, though, the blond second in command doesn’t mind waiting.

Newt straightens up once he sees that Minho is done. “All ready, then?”

Minho nods, heading out of the shade of the Map Room to rejoin the land of the living. “All ready. What are your takes on the Greenie?”

Newt shrugs. “Seems like all the others. A bit shaken up, certainly. You might want to check any new supplies that were sent up for you, the kid got a nosebleed and started spewing blood over a few boxes near him. We think we’ve gotten most of it off, though.”

Minho makes a face. “Start him on a course as a Slopper for that. If we have to clean up his blood, he has to clean up ours.”

Newt chuckles. “Can’t say that I haven’t thought about it. He doesn’t seem all that bad, though. Doesn’t remember his name, of course, but who does?”

“He is a boy, though?” Minho asks, careful to keep his tone unassuming.

Newt still sees through him, just like always. “Yeah, a boy. What, Y/N won you over so easily that you want another girl around?”

Minho makes a face. “Don’t remind me of her. I’m just curious. Feels weird that they would send up one girl and no others. Maybe I want someone else who’s pretty and doesn’t make me want to jump into the Box Hole and see what happens.”

Newt arches a brow. “You think Y/N’s pretty?”

“Pretty annoying,” Minho says through a deadpan stare.

Newt snorts. “Hilarious, Minho. Remind me, though, what exactly is your problem with Y/N? She’s friends with the rest of us. Personally, I think she’s just fine.”

Minho’s brow furrows, as it always seems to at the mention of Y/N. “I’m sure she’s fine with you, just not with me. We don’t talk that often ‘cause I’m always out in the Maze, and when we do, we only ever find problems with each other.”

“That’s just because you only talk to each other after a long day when you’re both starving,” Newt says, “you always pick the worst time to interact. I swear, if you found her on one of your days off and actually had a proper conversation, you’d enjoy each other’s company a lot more.”

“But why would I want to waste my rest day on my mortal enemy?” Minho asks, eyes opened wide in an expression of mock horror and derision.

Newt just grins. “I suppose you’d have to wait and find out. Honestly, I swear the two of you could actually be good friends.”

Minho presses his lips together. “Yeah, just like me and Gally. I’m sure we’ll be best buds sometime soon.”

Newt laughs and mercifully drops the subject. Neither of them want to complain for a while, anyway, they’ve got a stellar evening planned. The best part of a Greenie day isn’t the arrival of another stumbling, wide-eyed burden to bear, it’s the afterparty. Bonfire Nights are fantastic, they always are. Gally’ll get into a fight with somebody, then one of the Gladers will get so drunk that everyone can tell stories for months afterwards. What’s not to love?

The sun sets soon enough, and the rushing darkness brings a tide of Gladers all gradually headed towards the site of the bonfire. They don’t head there directly, but by chance, swinging in and out of the area until one looks up and finds themselves surrounded by friends. That is how it is in the Glade, Minho supposes, although everyone pretends to be tough as nails they’d follow whoever they needed if would mean they wouldn’t feel so alone.

That’s a dark enough thought, though, so Minho pushes it to the back of his head along with the rest of the restless worries that tend to creep over him once dusk falls. Tonight is for fun. He can stress later.

Minho catches up with the rest as everyone circles around a stack of logs dragged out by the Builders about an hour or so earlier. He arms himself with a branch about as long as his arm, lights it on fire, and launches it at the bonfire alongside Newt and Alby. He used to pretend to be a hero when he did this during the first few months of his arrival to the Glade, some warrior or fighter in an ancient war. Anything to disguise the face that he is still relentlessly here, even after everything he’s been through to try and leave it. He’s long since given up pretending.

Minho stumbles upon his friend group soon enough, arranged somewhat on the outskirts of the whole Bonfire Night gathering. They’ve got a good view of Gally’s fighting ring without being within the Keeper’s line of sight, which is perfect for those who wish to watch the matches without actually being dragged into them.

Minho has already helped himself to enough of Gally’s hospitality through his special drinks, so he thinks he’s good without a fight for tonight. There was one time a few months back when he’d been arguing with Gally for a while and Minho had actually bothered to go into the ring and solve a few problems with his fists. That had been a good night.

For now, though, Minho is content to sit back, drink too much, and listen to his friends’ tongues loosen as the hours pass by. The sun set long ago, and he can watch as the golden light of the bonfire slowly swallows all of them whole.

He’s briefly startled when a figure appears out of the gloom and slides into a seat next to him, tossing her head back to enjoy a sudden breeze. Minho narrows his eyes at her.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

He didn’t mean for the question to come off that harshly, but he’s not about to apologize. Just as he said to Newt earlier this afternoon, Minho and Y/N have rarely said anything to each other that wasn’t bitter. They just don’t get along well, that’s all.

Y/N, however, just grins back at him, apparently unbothered by his attitude. “Sitting. I thought it was obvious.”

Minho’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, but why next to me?”

Y/N shrugs, taking a mouthful from an already severely depleted glass of Gally’s brew. “It was an open spot. You may not like me that much, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up a perfectly good place just because you’re pouting at me.”

Minho frowns, raising an accusatory finger in the air. “I am not pouting.”

Judging by the upward slash of Y/N’s smile, though, he may not be right about that.

“Of course not. And I’m not the best looking one here by far.”

Minho almost laughs but manages to keep it to himself just in time. Newt appears to have seen through him anyway, though, the blond boy looks altogether far too proud of himself. Minho glares at him, which just makes Newt’s smile broaden.

As the night wears on, Minho finds himself surprisingly alright with Y/N’s presence. He was preparing himself for all out war, an exchange of insults and vitriol just like every other time they’ve tried not to speak, but for some reason, tonight is different. It’s for the best, too; Minho wouldn’t want Bonfire Night ruined by his supposed enemy when he only gets this kind of celebration once a month.

About an hour or so into the whole affair, Minho is abruptly dragged out of watching the festivities play out when he feels something on his shoulder. He glances over to see Y/N leaning against him, her head tilted against the top of his bicep. Were it any other day, he would have all but shoved her off, but for some reason today he stays stock still so as to not encourage any movement.

Instead, he looks at her, really looks at her for what must be the first time in forever. She is pretty, he hadn’t been lying about that. Perhaps everyone who looks at her must fall in love, perhaps that is why Minho has spent all this time running from this inevitability just like he does all the others. Even the firelight is enamored with her, it traces lines of gold up and down her arms, collecting on the lines of her fingers as they reach for Minho’s.

He feels himself tense up as she takes his hand. Her touch is soft, feather-light, yet it still shakes him to the core. Minho watches as she turns over his hand, gently tracing his palm.

“You have nice hands,” she murmurs under her breath, and Minho has to remind himself that she’s only doing this because she’s drunk and he’s drunk and nothing has to matter at all.

Still, that doesn’t mean he has to pull away. Minho’s hands are tanned from spending all his hours out running in the sun, and hardened from calluses. For a moment, he’s almost embarrassed to have her looking at them. That being said, to leave now or otherwise push her aside seems impossible, so he stays quiet and only feels himself relax when she repeats her intoxicated whisper about how much she likes his hands.

Truth be told, Minho doesn’t know how long he would have stayed there were it not for the voices of his friends interrupting the whole thing. He feels as if a spell has been cast upon him, trapping him in place. He could have remained there the whole night, Y/N’s head still on his shoulder and her hands still wrapped around his.

Frypan’s voice, by contrast, is a rude awakening. “So, what’s all this about? I thought you hated each other.”

Minho jerks his gaze up with a start. “We’re– we don’t–”

Newt cuts him off with a broad grin. “See, what have I been telling you? They’re perfect for each other. It’s adorable.”

Minho glares. “Oh, shut up. If you weren’t drunk as a skunk I’d meet you in Gally’s ring for saying that.”

Frypan snorts. “Deflecting, are we? Just face it, Minho, you can’t pretend you hate her forever.”

Minho rolls his eyes with as much incredulity as he can muster, but that doesn’t mean he moves a millimeter. The boys’ teasing comments fade into the background when he looks over at Y/N, and vanish fully into silence when she meets his gaze and smiles at him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile he likes so much as that one.

When the night ends, for unfortunately even a night as golden as this one must surely end, Minho finds himself reluctant to stand up. He’s certain that Y/N is asleep by now, and he doesn’t want to wake her up. She just looks so quiet there, so peaceful. Peace is rare around here, so why should Minho be the one to rob her of that bliss?

Carefully, he stands and gathers her up into his arms. He starts the walk back to the hammocks, weaving around people and trees as if he were in a dream. At one point, Newt appears out of the gloom, grinning at Minho as he half disappears in the dark of night.

“What did I tell you? A regular Prince Charming, you are.” Newt says.

Minho makes a face, but when he blinks Newt is gone again, vanishing back into the darkened land and sky. Minho manages to make it to the hammocks and gently lays Y/N down, smoothing a roughspun blanket around her so she doesn’t feel the chill of the wind currently pushing them together.

He spends one last moment there, feeling his drinks weigh him down with all the weight of the world. One of her hands is turned up, as if reaching for him even now. He lets his fingers brush it once before he, too, evaporates into the darkness.

It’s bright outside. Minho doesn’t know how that happened, how he managed to get from Y/N’s hammock to his or even when he fell asleep, but the next thing he knows, it’s morning again. He drags a tired hand over his face. Man, he forgot how his head always pounds the morning after Bonfire Night. He feels like an army of enraged Builders has gone to war against his skull.

Minho pulls himself up. Thankfully, today is his off day, so he won’t have to get up at dawn and try to run after all of this. Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of his friends, who are all beaming at him with the kind of triumph that tells Minho he’s about to be teased relentlessly.

Frypan chuckles as he laces up his shoes. “If it isn’t our favorite romantic. You know, I didn’t know you had that much game.”

Minho blinks for a second, confused, and then remembers everything that had happened the night before. The drinks, the fire, Y/N with her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Things happen.” He manages.

Newt’s eyes widen. “You’re not going to try and push it off again? You can finally admit that you’re head over bloody heels for the girl?”

“Hey, I never said anything of the sort. I’m just saying that things happened, alright?” Minho says hastily.

Frypan grins. “We’re sure. Go wake up your Sleeping Beauty, I’m sure she’d like to see you.”

Minho waves a hand at them as they dissolve into laughter. Maybe he will go talk to Y/N anyway. He certainly has a few things that have just come to mind, things about feelings that he didn’t know existed until last night.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @hiya-its-amber, @thatfangirl42, @gods-fools-heroes

[love-toxin]

Omg fluffy fruity four aaaaaaaaaahh!!!! Just imagine them when you first agree to date all four of them though 😍.

They absolutely smother you with love. Individually they’re always coming up to you with a new gift (lol your two dummies Eddie and Steve nearly mauled each other when they realised they’d both gotten you the same present and didn’t communicate, until you tell them they both got you a gift card to the same place and it literally just adds up). They’re always taking you out on dates because finally they can do so! Everyone’s always calling you, and knocking at your door, and throwing rocks at your window, and climbing through your window; because you’re not living together yet, soon though, they hope, but until then, every day you’re with all, or some, or at least one of them! And you’re so happy because you’re favourite people in the world are. Just. Always. Smiling!!!! Every singly minute every one of them are all shiny eyes and big smiles because everyone’s so excited and in love and it’s all finally here!!!

FIRST DATE....FIRST DATE ON MY MIND....i want that first moment.....anon u are making me always smiling.....this was so fucking fun to write

(cws: steve pov, post-s4, references to s3, polyamory, roller rink date, first kisses, established relationships/friendships, secret relationships, angel can rollerblade, angel's confident + protective (you'll see), brief mentions of blood/broken bones/injuries/scars, post-recovery, extremely mild violence, flirting, teasing, fluff fluff fluffy fluff, featuring the eddie breaks his ass saga, fem reader.)

A group date has never been much on Steve's mind, he's usually been a lone wolf when it comes to the pursuit of love. Sure, he's been on double dates, like when he and Nance were first together--but never like this, never with people he's involved with joining in. It's never been like...."Hey, this is my boyfriend Eddie, and my girlfriend Nancy, and my platonic life partner Robin, and-"

Woof. Getting a little ahead of himself; this may be normal with the others, but this is technically a first date with you. He airs out his shirt with his hand, having worn his nicest red-and-white checkered polo with jeans and the leather jacket that Eddie had thrifted for him, although it's hung over the bench he and the other three are sitting on. Nancy's in a prim little baby pink dress that flares around her knees, white stockings and a matching cardigan that's joined his, Eddie's, and Robin's jackets, with her permed hair teased up so it fluffs out. Robin's got her cuffed acid wash jeans and a brightly patterned blue t-shirt tucked into them, her sneakers scuffed and scribbled all over with bright markers. And Eddie's dressed up a bit, his hair washed and curlier than ever with a sleeveless black Judas Priest tank top (one of the few he has that isn't ripped) and black jeans, the fit accentuated with a chain on his belt, rings aplenty, and a necklace close to his throat that he carefully constructed out of soda tabs for this particular occasion. Even Steve has to admit it's pretty impressive, although his eyes are distracted a little by the inky expanses of skin that Eddie's showing off more than usual. He's surprisingly chipper for having just recently recovered from his injuries and gotten out of long-term care, bobbing his head to the music that fills the roller rink as he takes a sip from his soda, before crushing the can and launching it into the trash nearby.

With the usual haunts not seeming romantic nor special enough, the four of them had agreed on a trip to the roller rink for your first date as a complete group. It's one of the new buildings that's gone up in the section where Starcourt used to be, and it feels a little nostalgic in a way, the neon lights overhead and coming off the arcade in the corner reminding him of the view out of Scoops--which is bittersweet for both him and his best friend. But Nancy had agreed that it would be therapeutic for both he and Robin to make a hopefully good memory here, that it would help put those bad ones to rest. Still, though, his leg is bouncing nigh uncontrollably as they wait for you to arrive, his heart still rocketing around his chest cavity at the thought of you not showing up. His brain is begging him to check his watch again, but he knows that it'll only make it worse, plus Eddie's bound to slap his hand away again if he tries it.

"Relax," Robin whispers from beside him into his ear, Nancy on her other side seeming just as anxious, although she's keeping cool and still with her hands folded in her lap. His partner in crime pats his shoulder and smiles, her eyes creasing with a reassurance he wishes he could take to heart so easily. Granted, you were Robin's friend first before you met any one of them face-to-face, so she's liable to know you the best. Although Steve knows that she's probably spent so much time fawning over you she might not catch everything you say the first time, especially thinking back to when she would rush out from the backroom of Scoops just to come out and give you free icecream. Even then, you were cute as a button--but on the promise of the best friend code and the crush code, he'd never snatched you up for fear of Robin's wrath.

He's still reminiscing on that memory with his elbows perched on his knees as he's hunched over, chin supported by his locked hands, so he misses when the other three's eyes light up at the sight of someone coming straight for them. But Steve's pulled out of his reverie by your voice, chilling and sweet in the same way that forces him to sit up and look with a jolt.

It's not hard to spot you at all. You're dressed in a cute skirt he's seen before, paired with a flowy top with big sleeves that cinch at your wrists, collar open a bit to show off your pretty neck and the delicate little necklace Robin had got you a couple birthdays ago. Plus a big, sweet grin that shows off your teeth and tugs his focus off of anything else for a moment as you greet them all with a wave, your other hand clutching your bag over your opposite shoulder.

Robin's the first to get up and hurry to meet you, throwing her arms around you in a big hug that you're happy to reciprocate with a tight squeeze. Nancy's next to smooth out her skirt and get to her feet, with Eddie so close behind he's practically on her heels as they gather around you for a "friendly greeting". They've still gotta be lowkey as much as they can--no lovey hand-holding or kissing certainly, but he was more worried about Robin keeping her eyes off yours and Nancy's legs and Eddie's hands off his own ass than anything else.

He's barely even aware that he's being rude, not coming up to join them in welcoming you and just staring. But when the others part with smiles on their faces for you to set your bag down with their stuff, you approach without an inkling of disgust on your face--and when you've stopped about an inch from him, Steve finally clears his throat and gets to his feet to stand at your height.

God, you smell amazing. And he's really glad he didn't say that out loud, but rather turns his energy towards something he does know how to do properly and with ease--be a gentleman.

"Hi." You beam, so close that the desire to kiss you feels just about impossible to ignore. You've got such plump, soft-looking lips, all glossy with the same cherry stuff Nancy and Robin use that just tastes divine.

"Hi." He breathes out, eyes stuck on you even when you giggle, and tilt your head down to cover your mouth with your hand--only then does he break into a laugh himself, mostly at himself for being so awkward when he intended to be totally suave. He's got a sense that you like this better, though. Because you're you.

"Your skates, milady." He reaches back to grab the pair he'd had tucked between him and Eddie by the laces, and holds out his hand to take your bag in exchange as he passes them over and brushes your knuckles.....how are you so soft?

"Thank you, sir!" You're all too happy to take them, and reach around yourself to hold your skirt back against your thighs as you plop yourself on the bench to put them on. In the meanwhile, the rest of them hurry to dress their socked feet with their own skates, either joining you on the bench or propping themselves up elsewise to tie them up tight.

Honestly, he feels like kind of a dingus for being so nervous. Not only are you a sweet person, but you've met them all before. You've cried and fought and bled with them, you joined the party late but you were the one to follow Eddie's lead when he ventured alone into Mordor--and you were the one to bring him back, half-dead and clinging to you with pale hands and a bloodied mouth. You, who had barely gotten to know them by then and had just gotten sucked in because you were worried for Robin, kneeling over Eddie and breaking his bruised ribs as you gave him CPR every agonizing minute on the way to the hospital. The Samwise to his Frodo, as he called you so affectionately while pumped so full of painkillers when he saw you for the first time after the fact.

It's hard to see that same girl today in you, sitting thigh-to-thigh next to him as you each lace your skates like you haven't got a problem in the world. You turn your head while you do so and catch him staring again, but with a wink you somehow spark the desire that lies inside him to burn even hotter. And then you're gone, up and on your feet to roll yourself towards the opening to the rink, with Eddie already there with a hand outstretched to help you down the step. It's a bit of a trek for himself as he follows your lead, but he manages without too much hassle and it's much easier to roll along once he's on the shiny, waxed ground of the rink.

Being a Friday night, the roller rink is populated with a decent amount of people, but it's thankfully not overcrowded--just enough for you all to seem like normal friends as you skate together, but not enough that you'll feel like you're being watched every second that you're there. Which, after the Russians, is a big fear for him that lurks in the back of his mind on more days than not.

It becomes obvious very quickly that there's a distinct range of skill level between the five of you; Nancy's pretty solid on her feet, and so is himself to a lesser extent, but Robin is a bit shaky and Eddie.....lord, the man is the opposite of suave. He's barely keeping himself up, and he can already hear the complaining and grumbling from a few feet ahead where you four have gotten a head start. But you glide up to Eddie's side, speaking gently with your hands reaching for his as you help him away from the wall.

"There you go! You got it, see?" Feeling already like he's getting left behind again, Steve propels himself forward to join the rest of you, and gets a knowing look and a smile from Nancy that soothes his beating heart for the moment.

"Feel like I'm gonna fall on my ass-"

"Can I give you a tip?" With your hands locked together, you two drift back to cut in front of your other three dates, and it's really quite impressive that you're managing to absorb Eddie's horrendous lack of balance that's causing his feet to slide every which way, and forcing him to keep catching himself.

"Course you can, sweetheart."

"Don't fall on your ass." You chuckle at your own joke, but you're nice enough to show him your form and wait for him to adopt it, mimicking the stance of your legs so he can stand on steadier ones of his own.

"Aw, don't wanna breathe life back into it?" Just as he's grinning like a fool, you tug him forward and catch him by the elbows as he collides with your chest, a whisper boldly uttered into his ear before you let him go and skate on ahead a few feet. Whatever you said, Eddie's blushing hard--and when he turns back to the other three, all Steve catches is him mouthing "Holy fuck!" with a huge grin and eager eyes.

"Coming anytime soon, kiddies? Or am I skating alone?" You laugh uproariously, showing off by taking a few rolling steps backwards before you turn and skid off towards the curve of the arena. And Steve's not gonna be left watching again--he's gotta reclaim his title as King Steve, and does so by shooting off after you with Nancy and Robin just a few steps behind, the two of them encouraging Eddie along who thankfully seems confident enough now to keep up. It doesn't take long for him to catch up, and when he does, you don't seem one bit bothered by his presence--which at first puts him off, wondering self-consciously if maybe your teasing is a ruse and you haven't got any affection for him and just for his partners. A glimpse of conceited terror flashes by, and he considers the image of the ones he loves leaving him because you'd rather them instead of him.

Thankfully that doesn't slow him down, though, because then he would miss the bite of your lip as you check him out from head to toe when he rides up beside you and matches your pace. It disappears when you realize he's looking, but your expression doesn't fall, which is a good sign....hopefully.

"You look really pretty tonight, by the way. I meant to say that earlier, but you left me speechless." Luckily for him, it seems that cheesiness is your kind of romance--because you seem genuinely flattered, your hair whipping back as you two have a little moment together, riding round the curve to hit a long stretch of track again.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one." His brow raises, and he leans a little closer into your space with a "Really, now?", unawares that the whiff you get of his cologne is totally striking you into the dreamy lover zone. "Really! Nancy looks so good in her dress--I'll have to borrow it off her sometime."

Oh, so you are a jokester. No wonder you and Robin get along so well, the laugh you both share being cut short only by you stumbling forwards as someone crashes into you from behind. Steve's hands shoot out to catch you, but thankfully you manage not to fall, and instead stand back up straight from wrestling with your balance to find Robin herself scrambling to keep upright too. He's just about to give her a verbal jab for nearly knocking you over, before he feels a collision with his back that's preempted by a girlish yelp from behind him--and he's unfortunately not as coordinated as you, because while Robin's got her arms around your middle as you stand together, he falls straight forward with an "Ah!" as someone lands right on top of him.

"Shit!" Nancy squeaks as she collapses into him, barely braced for impact against his toned back nor him into the hard floor, his hands hitting the waxed surface with a loud slap that turns heads all over the rink. Fortunately for him she's quick to get herself back on her feet, you and Robin looking out for her dress so it doesn't ride up, and from behind the two of them Eddie erupts into laughter--and no wonder, it's no surprise that he's the one who pushed her. By the time Steve's on his feet and dusting himself and Nancy off, Eddie's meandering up with a smirk, and rolls right past him with a "Don't look now" as he passes the two of them by. Obviously he does, turns his head over his shoulder to look at you--and for a split second he loses himself in a memory that only ever crops up in his dreams.

In his mind, he sees you there again. Dressed in your hoodie and jeans as battle gear, wielding nothing but a broken mop handle from the Munson's trailer wrapped with cloth, hair matted with gooey Upside Down gunk. The image of you burning the end of it like a torch with the lighter Eddie entrusted to you, and thrusting it upwards into the sky to keep the swarm at bay before you were forced to use it like a bat on the stragglers. That's what Eddie had told them he saw when he lay there, bleeding out--that's when he knew he was in love, watching your tears dry on your cheeks as sorrow and fear were refreshed with fury and frustration, and you stabbed and thrashed and beat those bats feeding on him into bloody submission. If you were there when he and Robin....well, if you had been there from the beginning, he knows that you all would've been better off. Hell, if he had met you years ago, he probably would've enjoyed a much different life, because he never would have let you go.

"Steve," Nancy nudges his arm, unusually upbeat for having just been shoved over, and when he comes back to reality he's found that you're just as lost in his eyes as he is in yours. Robin's held on to you for awhile longer, longingly clinging to you from behind as you stroke her hand around your belly, before all four of you manage to disengage and move a more respectable distance away from each other. But you're still close, all four of you rolling along at a leisurely pace in a group while other skaters pass you by on both sides. And just as Eddie's enjoying his jump on you all by rolling backwards and cackling, his foot suddenly slides out just a touch too far and he lands flat on his ass with a shriek--much to your collective and very deserved amusement, both you and Steve rolling over to help him up with minimal complaint even though he has plenty as he rubs his sore behind. You're just in the midst of cooing at him, reminding him of his previous transgressions with lovely Nancy and the value of karma....before the chatter of the crowd and the upbeat music is cut through by two middle-aged riders, one of them spitting out a single word as he passes by you five.

"Freak."

There's no question who it was directed towards. Eddie cringes, the fun and the laughter dissipating immediately like a match being blown out. Steve feels his own anger bubbling to the surface with increasing frequency as he watches their backs, but a deep breath and Robin's warning hand on his arm stop him where he's at, just barely manage to contain the rageful words that would have burst out of him otherwise. It's unfair--unfair for all of you, for Eddie especially, but it's unfair that it stings his heart so bad but he can't...can't do even the simplest thing about it, he can't even yell or fight back, because then people would start to wonder.

It hurts even worse that this is just a glimpse at what you can expect as a part of their collective. To even associate yourself with them, with Eddie, means you'll be branded as a fellow freak for life. There's worse in store, he's sure, and living with that fear is barely tolerable for the four of them--now that it hits him with reality, it seems unfair for them to even ask you to take on that same responsibility, no matter how much they adore you and wish to keep you close and safe.

Yet, you're ahead of the four of them. Literally--you're out in front of them, blading forward on practiced feet and your face set as you roll quietly but with determined intention. You come right up behind your harasser and his friend without interruption or notice. And what Steve sees next is almost too shocking for him to digest, the same for his partners beside him as they watch you check the guy with your shoulder, dashing forward and whizzing by him so fast he has no chance of catching himself--and you hit him hard with no aid of your hands, the ungentle-gentleman crashing into the ground with no semblance of grace and a pained shout that causes his friend to wobble and nearly fall himself.

"Oops."

You circle back around to meet with them, passing just close enough by the other bystander not to collide with him too, but for him to flinch away and cause a smirk to twist your lips as you stare him down. Your eyes only shift when you skid to a stop in front of your dates, completely aware and prideful at all the eyes on your back and the attention you've just shamelessly drawn to yourself and the rest of them. Steve's left without words again, just turning and sharing a look amongst all of them before aiming his gaze back towards you. God, he's never wanted to kiss anyone so bad in his life.

And it gets better. He didn't even realize his mouth was hanging half-open until you reach your hand up to his chin, and close it for him. With that one show of confidence, he knows that his doubts were wrong--you belong nowhere else but with them, that much is more than obvious now that his eyes have been opened. It's too much to take, he's a little too wrapped up in the admiration and devotion and love he feels--because yes, he knows it, he's in love--he grabs your face in his hands, dips down, and kisses you for everyone to see. Warm, sweet, and sticky, your lips compliment his as perfectly as honey on fruit and tastes a bit like it too. The cherry flavour makes itself known on his tongue, eyes closed and breath stopped to savour the fleeting kiss in its entirety like he won't ever get it again. He might not; you might slap him for being so forward, but he doesn't care....well, he cares a little bit, but not enough to feel any regret as he breaks off with a smack and is left standing there, cupping your face and breathing hard.

When he dares to open his eyes, yours are still blinking back into the light, those lashes fluttering as you look back at him with surprisingly delicate doe eyes. Your first kiss in the middle of a roller rink--not as romantic as he thought it might be, but you don't seem all that bothered, surprisingly.

"Hey! You two!" Your heads both snap towards the source of the yelling, broken out of the haze of being trapped in your own little world to spot the manager or what-have-you storming towards you from the DJ stand.

"Run!" Shockingly, the onlookers are witness to prim and proper Nancy Wheeler being the one to yell that out, the five of you bolting at once--while you and Steve have your hands locked together, and you whip your other arm back for Robin to grab as the three of you race like hell towards the exit on the opposite side, you can hear Nancy pushing Eddie along and his cries of "Shit! Fuck! Fucking Christ, Wheeler-!" before he hits the ground again. Fortunately with a look back for Steve to make sure you're not abandoning your other dates, he catches a glimpse of Eddie kicking his skates off and Nancy following suit before helping him up by the arm, the two of them choosing instead to sprint on their bare feet across the arena to catch up with you three at the gate.

One after another you hurriedly kick your skates off in succession as you hop up the step to the carpeted side area, even quicker to grab your bags and jackets and shoes as the manager hustles after you with a grim and annoyed look on his face, motioning for some other members of security to hurry over to cut you off. Unlike all of you, though, they don't truly know the rush of running for one's life--while the adrenaline of such is still fresh in all five of your minds, and you're able to gather everything in seconds on your way by before dashing past the other rink-goers to hit the entrance. And like always Steve's the one bringing up the rear, hurrying you all along and just barely missing the grab that one of the security makes for him before he makes a run for it too.

Before he knows it, you're all past the glass doors that clunk as you throw them open and running through the darkened parking lot, Steve's BMW standing out alone amongst the other cars too nervous to park close to such a nice ride. Doors unlocked in a flash, he haphazardly throws his jacket and shoes into the backseat with Nancy, Eddie, and Robin squished in the middle, and is the last one in his seat with a last glance towards the doors you just ran out of. As if he'll suddenly see a crowd of men in uniform pass by the glass, and feel the cold silver of a gun on his neck as someone shouts at him with words he doesn't understand.

Your voices calling his name bring him back, though, and he drops into the seat and slams the door shut to fumble with the keys and turn them in the ignition. As Steve starts up the car, the dulcet notes of Here Comes The Rain Again strikes up midway through the chorus, orchestrating the background track of your speed away from the scene with hopefully few consequences--although he's sure you'll never be allowed back there again, which is quite the ironic turn of events considering his history with the place. And honestly? Fuck it all to hell, he thinks as he peels away from the place and skids on to the road from the lot to vanish into the darkness, save for the glow of his tail lights disappearing slowly into the night.

Aside from the panting from all of you, Eddie's the first to speak through the realization of what just happened. What you all just did, right in the middle of supposedly keeping a low profile. "I think you stole my kiss, big boy."

With a glance into the rearview, Steve's heart swells with relief at seeing his boyfriend smile at the laughter he gets out of you from that joke. It takes him a second to realize that both the girls have the same smile--that soft, relieved smile of peace after the storm, that he'll never stop loving for as long as he lives.

"I've got plenty, promise. Also, how often do you guys run from the law like that?" It's almost like he forgot you were in the seat next to him, although that might be a good thing, because in the panicked shuffle he might have crashed had he caught a glimpse of your pretty legs in his seat and your skirt hitching up.

"How often do you body check old men? That was amazing," Nancy laughs in the seat behind you, still completely in disbelief. You reach your arm back over the console and grab her hand after she says that, the two of you holding each other for a few beats of content quiet.

"Told you she's awesome," Robin sighs happily, sinking into her spot and letting her head hit the back behind her, as she settles her thudding heart with a hand on her chest.

"I know that, she saved my life."

You seem to grow a little sober at that idea, your hold on Nancy's hand broken and yours sliding back into your own lap to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. You're shy around praise, that's pretty obvious--kind of funny to think about, considering you didn't seem too shy when you were kissing him breathless at the arena.

"I didn't, really. But...thank you, Eddie."

"You kidding? I wouldn't have an ass to bruise if you didn't, angel. I'm holding you to that promise, by the way." You turn to him with a finger to your lips in a "Shh!" motion, giggly and lighthearted as you smack his knee and he makes kissy sounds at you with his lips puckered.

If it wasn't abundantly clear by his own feelings and theirs, he knows with complete confidence that you fit right into their dynamic now. In hindsight, there should have been none of those tense conversations shared between the four of them for those nights leading up to the day that would decide their fate, because it's turned out a thousand times better than he hoped.

"...I don't regret it, y'know. Not for a second." Your head lolls to the side to look over at him, and he manages to tear his gaze from the road to meet your eyes--like fiery cinders among the ashes of simmering coals. When it drifts, though, and he lets his sink downwards, he catches sight of something he never even knew you'd been carrying all by yourself.

Where your skirt's ridden up, he can spot what looks like a mostly-healed gash in your thigh. It runs from one side to the other and disappears where your skin meets the seat, still bright and painful-looking despite not being an open wound....if he didn't know better he'd think it was the mark of a demobat's tail wrapped round your leg, because that's exactly what it looks like. And he'd know better than anybody what that looks and feels like. You meet where he's looking with a tilt of your head, and move to pull your skirt down to cover it--but while making sure he moves his attention back to the dark road, he grabs your wrist before you can do it.

"It doesn't hurt, Steve." If he could see it, he'd be unnerved by your smile. It's definitely fake this time.

"I know. Not anymore, right?" He glances back one more time, bringing his hand off yours with haste once he realizes he's squeezing you too tight. But the way your smile lifts up your face this time, shifting from lips parted in awe to flicker up into an expression that makes his heart melt....it's better than when you put it all on for their sake. Way better.

"Right. Not anymore."

[faejilly]

writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

tagged by @junemermaid, no-pressure tagging anyone who would like, because I have no idea who's seen and either done or passed on this one lately. PLEASE PLEASE DO IT AND BLAME ME IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST INCLINATION, I love seeing these things, I'm just brain-dead re: tagging today. 💙

1. Vakarian makes Shepard feel old.

Chicory, Mass Effect, Weaver Shepard, not on AO3 yet because I'm trying to turn it into a series of first/early impressions of the ME1 crew from Shepard's perspective. But then I've done Kaidan's first impression of Shepard already, so I can't decide if I should do her version of that or figure out another one. But also should I add Joker? I should always add Joker. But then in what order? (You can see the overthinking process here, can't you?) SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE WEAVER & TALI AND IT WILL BE DELIGHTFUL. She adores Tali. But also wishes to keep her safely in engineering 99% of the time. BUT ALSO...

anyway. back to sentences. ->

2. Emmett had known that he would see her.

Almond Blossoms, 7kpp, Emmett/Sheltered Princess & a lot of chaperone POV's. Also I posted that in September last year so this is clearly going to be a little depressing in terms of my ongoing 'am I a writer anymore?' existential crisis

3. “Don’t move.”

Never Again, Shadowhunters, Malec, sort of omegaverse, sort of weird magic bonds, a very belated prompt fill from the @knotinmyname anti-ai-scraping event.

4. The Matchmaker may have announced them, they may consider themselves engaged, this might be exactly what they should be doing as these connections are exactly what the Summit claims to be for… but Nathalie’s a 'known’ seductress and suspected murderer, but Clarmont’s only 'allowed’ here for the Royal Family to keep an eye on him, to make sure he knows how generous they are being with their mercy.

Relief, 7kpp, Clarmont/Ambitious Widow (Revaire feels!). Yes, that is just one sentence. Yes, I did that on purpose. No, I probably shouldn't have, but idc. 😅

5. Alec hasn’t even been Marked, still technically a fledgling rather than a Shadowhunter, when he learns that most nephilim can’t hear their weapons sing.

untitled eldritch angel powers prequel, Shadowhunters, Alec Lightwood & Politics is my jam, even when he's like 10 or something. As is weird magic and angel lore that I get to make up! Not on ao3 because I think it's going to be in a bigger thing, but I haven't actually done it yet, but I also get really tired of trying to rearrange my AO3 stuff because then I lose links and comments and brain power that should have been used for maybe writing something again some day.

6. All the dealers know Magnus’ name.

Fluff for @foodsies4me! Malec Auctioneer AU on the floor because it made me smile. (I used to be an auction block clerk.)

7. A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message.

working title is 'wtf the clave is competent' and this is another playing-with-lore Shadowhunters prequel (that will eventually be Malec) started off via a Tangential Tuesdays prompt (which is a thing I would like to properly do again, but I keep not writing which makes it tricky)

8. An Omega heir to two old bloodlines in line for a Headship was something the Nephilim hadn’t seen in almost a century, and ought to have been prestigious enough for Alec to have chosen any path or mate he wanted. [x]

9. That was Magnus. [x]

These are both omegaverse prompts for the aforementioned anti-ai event and actually posted on time last June. Both Shadowhunters and Malec and just little bits and pieces of almost things. And fun on their own, imo, but. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

10. Cullen thought he’d gotten used to seeing this new Hawke in Haven.

Gladiolus, Cullen/Hawke, Dragon Age: Inquisition (Hawke as Inquisitor). Another prompt fill, a ficlet for a collection I have on AO3; its continuing existence is almost entirely @jadesabre301's fault.

Well, picking chapters and scenes posted on tumblr rather than my ao3 was probably good for my sanity, since my ao3 is a bit of a mess.

I seem to start with very declarative sentences this past year or so: we are here and this is what we're dealing with. Which is not... how I have previously concluded this meme, but I'm not sure that it's really any different than usual, just more obvious. It's a habit developed, I think, in writing relatively short-fic and also playing with lore or setting, because I very much need to set up my framework if I want anyone else to follow it.

I definitely should try and play some ME and/or watch some Shadowhunters and clean up some of the bits that I would really really like to have as finished stories though. This has successfully reminded me that I do, in fact, usually like writing and still think like a writer, so that's probably good!

/thank you june 🥰

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Red, Green, and Darkness

Paranormal Preteens AU: Episode Seventeen

A JSE Fanfic

This is the chapter where I was like, "this is a story ABOUT kids, but I don't know if it's a story FOR kids." If that wasn't evident by the swearing and putting children in danger dhfsjaklh The kids meet up after the incident at the hospital to talk about it. They discuss some information they managed to take from the hospital, and then are visited by a familiar shadowy face. Who, against all odds, shares some more information. Anyway... Enjoy ;)

++++++++++++++++++++

Going to school on Monday felt like the strangest thing after everything that happened. They’d rescued Marvin from a strange basement under the hospital on Saturday, and now they were supposed to go to school? It was weird. Chase felt weird just walking up to the front entrance, and he could see that same feeling reflected on Schneep’s face.

The feeling persisted throughout the first half of the day, and then it was time for lunch. Chase, Schneep, and Stacy had all decided in homeroom that they would try to find JJ and Marvin in the cafeteria. They’d be able to talk about stuff—but not everything, because Jackie wouldn’t be there. The older grades didn’t have lunch at the same time as the younger ones.

The three of them met up soon after getting their lunches, then scanned the cafeteria for the twins. “If I were them, where would I sit...?” Stacy muttered to herself. “I’ve never really seen them around.”

“Maybe they go outside to eat,” Chase suggested. It technically wasn’t against rules for students to go eat in the school courtyard by the front entrance. As long as they didn’t leave the grounds.

“They do not seem the type,” SChneep said. “I am betting they sit somewhere along the edges. Come on.”

Sure enough, Marvin and JJ were soon spotted at a table pushed up against the brick wall of the cafeteria. It was empty except for the two of them—which may have been due to the twins’ reputation, but Chase thought it was more likely because the trash cans were right next to the table. No one wanted to sit by the trash cans. “Hey! Guys!” Chase sped up a bit, nearly dropping his tray of food before sliding onto the empty table bench. “Here you are! Do you sit here all the time?”

Pretty much, JJ said. It’s not as crowded. Marvin nodded, tracing a pattern on the table with the handle of his plastic fork.

Stacy and Schneep sat down as well. “Uh... how are you?” Stacy asked.

“Did your parents yell at you for disappearing?” Schneep added, looking at Marvin.

“Uh, I’m good, and no.” Marvin looked up at the others. “I told them I left the hospital early to try and get home and they were really disappointed, but like, nothing happened. They almost grounded JJ, though. Dad thought his story was a bit sketchy. Like, how did he run into me if he was really at your guys’ house like he said he would be? But JJ convinced them that you guys saw me when you were taking me back home and Jackie picked me up.”

“That sounds crazy,” Chase said.

They’re a little crazy sometimes, yes, JJ agreed. Marvin rolled his eyes.

“But are you okay?” Stacy persisted. “Didn’t your hands get all scraped up?”

“Yep.” Marvin raised his hands; the palms were wrapped in bandages while the fingers were plastered with band-aids. “But they don’t hurt anymore. I don’t even think they’re bleeding. They must’ve been really shallow cuts.”

“Hmm, that does not make sense with what happened,” Schneep said slowly. “You would think that the cuts would be very deep with all the blood and how much you were grabbing. Even if they were not, they should still hurt.”

“Well... they don’t,” Marvin said simply.

“What did your parents say about it?” Schneep asked.

“Oh, they were worried!” Marvin looked almost excited about that. “I told them and Granmam that I tripped and scraped them up when I fell. They didn’t ask any more questions after that, but Granmam got really fussy and helped wrap them up. She’s great.”

Schneep nodded. “She seems great.”

A moment passed, the conversation dying down. Then Chase coughed. “Do you think we should do something about the big hole in the hospital basement?” he asked in a low voice.

I don’t think we can, JJ said. What are we supposed to do about a big hole?

“Not to mention those weird guys wearing black,” Stacy added. “We’d have to get past them. I-I think we barely got away this time.” 

“Maybe beanie boy will have some ideas,” Marvin said. “When can we meet up with him?”

“Jackie says he works after school on Mondays,” Chase explained. “So it’d have to be tomorrow or later. I left my phone in my locker, but I can go get it and message him to come to my house tomorrow.”

JJ shook his head. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Our dad is insisting that he drive us everywhere for the next week, and he and Mam won’t be happy that I’m spending so much time with you.

Chase blinked. “Why? You spend time with us all the time.”

JJ looked a bit sheepish. Actually, since the school year started, I’ve been telling them that we’re studying at the library whenever we meet up...

“They’re not gonna stop us from being friends with you or anything,” Marvin added. “But they’re gonna be unhappy.”

“We should not meet up this week, then,” Schneep said. “Oh, but it seems so long to wait.”

“Why don’t we just actually go to the library?” Stacy asked. “JJ and Marvin can go there early and the rest of us can meet them there. Like, I know there was a whole ghost thing there that happened to you guys, but you said the ghost is gone now.”

“Oh!” Marvin sits up straight. “Yeah, that could work!”

“Alright, I can message him to meet us at the library after school, then,” Chase said. “Would that be—” He stopped.

“Chase? What is it?” Schneep asked.

Chase’s eyes were locked onto one spot. The others all followed his gaze... to a pair of teachers walking over to their table. “Well hello there!” said Mrs. Karter, the Chemistry teacher. “You guys are all sitting on your own over here.”

“The cafeteria gets pretty full,” Marvin said, shrugging.

Mrs. Karter laughed. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? Ah, are you Marvin?” She waited for him to nod before continuing. “Right. Your grandmother called the school and told us you’d been in the hospital recently. Is everything alright?” Marvin nodded again. “Well, if you ever have any problems, you can talk to Gina here.” She gestured at the other adult with her.

“Hello.” Gina was a tall woman with a long blonde ponytail and round glasses. She nodded at the kids. “I’m the school’s guidance counselor. If you ever have any problems, like with school or friends or stuff at home, my office is right by the headmaster’s.”

“Okay,” Marvin said dully. Nobody else said anything. They all stared at the two adults in silent unison.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to say,” Mrs. Karter said. “Have a good lunch.” She smiled, then she and Gina left.

The table was silent for a while before Stacy spoke up. “She was at the planetarium.”

“Yeah, the whole reason we knew about the basement there is because we followed her into the staff door,” Chase agreed. “She’s part of the mystery group.”

Which means that other woman probably is, too, JJ said. He looked at Marvin. Do you think Granmam really called the school?

“Yeah, I think so,” Marvin said. “You think she’s lying about that and is really checking on us because the mystery group wants to? I mean, she’s definitely checking on us because the mystery group wants to. But I think Granmam really called the school. It’s a weird detail to make up. If she wanted to make something up to hide that she knew we were at the hospital through the group, she would’ve said our parents. But she probably does know about the hospital through the group. And that’s why she’s talking to us. And brought that other woman. She doesn’t know that we know she’s in on it.”

“I am sad that the counselor is part of it,” Schneep sighed. “Counselors can be good.”

“Mmm, I don’t think that the counselor here is that good,” Chase said. “Back in April I got sent to her office cause I wasn’t, uh ‘participating’ in class. And she kinda just... sucked. Asked me what was wrong over and over, but I didn’t wanna talk about it and it was... I-I didn’t like it.”

“I said they can be good, not that they always are,” Schneep pointed out. 

I don’t like that there are teachers here that are part of the group, JJ said frowning.

“Yeah,” Chase agreed. “But I mean, it’ll probably be fine if they don’t know we know. And if we don’t, uh, talk to them or anything.”

Stacy nodded. “We should probably be careful about being alone with any of the—”

Laughter rang out. “Ohhh my god, hi Stacy!”

Stacy flinched. Once more, the group turned to see someone approaching their table. This time, it was Heather Westing, along with her Curly Hair sidekick and some other girl with braided black hair. “Hi, Heather,” Stacy said. “Hi Kat. Hi Anita.”

“Oh my god, we haven’t seen you in so long!” Heather said. “Have you been sitting over here all the time? With the trash?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stacy slumped in her seat.

“That’s so crazy! Wow!”

“What do you want, Heather?” Chase asked.

Heather gasped, turning to him like she just noticed him. “Oh my god, hi Chase Brody! Stacy, is he your boyfriend now?”

“No!” Stacy said defensively. “We’re just friends!”

“But you two are so cute sitting next to each other! Right, guys?” Heather turned to her sidekicks.

“Right, Heather.”

“You two are so cute.”

Chase’s face was getting hot, and he could see Stacy’s whole head turning red.

“Hey, uh,” Marvin leaned forward, waving. “You’re Heather, right? Hi. Fuck off.”

Heather’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes went wide and her face went pale. Behind her, her sidekicks gasped in comical unison. “W-well, I, uh...” Heather stammered. “I was just saying hi!” She whirled around and hurried off, the two other girls following her.

The group watched them go. Then, slowly, Schneep started laughing. “Sh-she... she looked like you slapped her!” he giggled.

JJ grinned. She deserved it. Good job, Marvin.

“Hah.” Marvin grinned back.

“I bet she won’t bother us for a while,” Chase said, also smiling. Then he looked at Stacy, still slumped, and stopped. “Uh... Heather’s a jerk. I know you were friends, but... she was really rude to you.”

“She’s not a jerk,” Stacy said automatically. “She’s just...” But she can’t figure out the words for what Heather ‘just’ is.

“Why is it a bad thing to say that you two are boyfriend and girlfriend?” Schneep asked.

Chase choked on the sandwich he’d just decided to take a bite of. “W-well, uh—because she’s gonna tell everyone! And it’s not true! Like, even if it’s not a bad thing, it sucks to say things that aren’t true!”

“Ah.” Schneep nodded. “I thought it was something specific about you two.”

“No, we’re just friends and it sucks to lie that we’re not,” Stacy said, looking at Chase. “But, uh, sorry for getting all defensive about it.”

“Oh, no problem,” Chase said. “I wouldn’t date me, either.”

“Uh...” Stacy’s not sure how to respond to that.

“I wouldn’t date you either, Chase,” Marvin added. “Or you, Stacy. Or, uh... anyone I know. Or anyone I don’t know. I mean, I’d have to know them first to know if I’d want to date them. JJ, would you date Chase?”

JJ gasped and immediately shoved Marvin so hard he almost tipped over.

“What???” Marvin said, confused. “Oh, it’s because you like Ri—”

JJ shoved Marvin again, fully pushing him out of sight, then leaned on top of him and shoved his hand over his mouth. Now it was his turn to have his face turn completely red. Marvin protested, waving one hand in the air like he was waving a white flag of surrender. The other three watched this with mild amusement and confusion. After a couple seconds, JJ let up, and he and Marvin popped back to sitting positions like nothing happened.

“Uh...” Stacy cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So, do you guys still have that cat from your birthday?”

“Yep.” Marvin nodded.

It’s a girl and her name is S-I-N-N-E-Y, JJ said.

“I chose it!” Marvin said proudly. “She’s a Russian blue, and the Russian word for blue is ‘siniy.’”

“How do you know the Russian word for blue?” Chase asked.

“Cause when I heard about that type of cat ages ago I got curious and looked it up in a book in the library,” Marvin said. “So speaking of the library. JJ and I will head over right after school tomorrow. You guys come like, ten or fifteen minutes later. Does that work?”

They all agreed that would work. And when Chase texted Jackie later, he agreed it would work, too.

++++++++++++++++++++

Hollewych Library hadn’t changed at all since the summer. It was a bit cooler inside, with the dropping temperature that came with the fall, but that was it. Mom dropped Chase and Schneep off, wished them good luck studying, and then drove off.

“Do you think she will realize we are not studying here?” Schneep asked Chase.

“Nah, bro.” Chase shook his head. “It’s not like I told her we had a specific project we wanted books on. So she won’t be asking about it. If you’re worried, I can do all the talking about it.”

Schneep nodded, grabbing the straps of his backpack. “That would be fine. Let’s go inside now.”

The group had agreed to meet up in the Young Adult section of the library on the second floor, which Chase thought was the only real good part of the library. This was where most of the comic books were! They were lined up on small half-size bookshelves that only came up to his waist. In between these half-size shelves and the computer lab, there was the main “Teen Hangout,” as the posters on the bulletin board by the front entrance called it. This was fairly cool. The furniture here was newer, colored blues and greens, with cool polka-dot-decorated rugs underneath them. The tables had outlets you could plug laptops into—or phones, if you had the charger. Probably the only place with outlets that wasn’t right by the wall.

Everyone else was already here. Jackie was sitting in a chair flipping through a comic book, Stacy was in another chair, reading the back of books stacked on a nearby table, and JJ and Marvin were sitting at the nearest computer playing some sort of game. “I told you the teleporter was a bad idea,” Marvin said as Chase and Schneep approached. “Watch this, it’ll be the disguise, I swear.”

Of course it will, it’s the last one! JJ said, exasperated.

“Hey guys,” Chase said, waving.

Jackie put the comic book down. “Hey, little guys. Marvin, JJ, they’re here.”

“Hang on, something’s happening,” Marvin said as he and JJ leaned closer to the computer screen.

Stacy sighed. “You can play computer games at home, you know.”

“No we can’t, we don’t have a computer,” Marvin said.

“Wait, really?” Chase asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Marvin fell silent as he and JJ watched the screen.

“Well, I guess we’ll just wait a bit,” Jackie said.

“That is fine,” Schneep said, walking over to the most central table. He took his backpack off, unzipped it, and pulled out a manila folder. Then he set it on the surface. Jackie and Stacy looked immediately curious, but the group stayed silent until Marvin and JJ were finally ready to join them—which, luckily, didn’t take too long. Soon, everyone was sitting in a chair or sofa near this central table.

“What’s this?” Jackie asked.

You took this from that office in the hospital, didn’t you? JJ asked.

“Yes.” Schneep nodded. “I thought about looking at it a couple times, but I thought we should all see what is inside together.”

“Alright, let’s get started then.” Jackie reached over and flipped the folder open. Inside was a stack of papers that all looked very similar. Tiny type, with some bold letters at the top, and absolutely no pictures. Jackie started separating them out, counting silently as he did. “Twenty-three,” he finally concluded.

“That’s not all that big,” Chase said. “Mom has folders in a filing cabinet for when she works at home, they’re all really thick. What are these?”

“Look, they all have the same word at the top.” Schneep pointed at one. “What is ‘memo’?”

“Oh, I know that,” Stacy said. “It’s, like, a short note that goes out to a company telling everyone something.”

“So, it’s something that the whole hospital got?” Marvin asked.

Maybe just the strange doctors in the basement, JJ speculated.

“So what’re they about?” Chase asked.

“Hmm.” Jackie pursed his lips. “They were stacked in order from oldest to newest. See, they all have dates at the top. Let’s start with the oldest. Hang on.” He pushed the papers into a stack, then did some rearranging so they were in the order they wanted. While he did that, he looked at Marvin. “How are you doing, by the way?”

Marvin shrugged. “I’m fine. My hands aren’t even cut up anymore. See?” He held up his hands so everyone could see. There were small white lines going vertically down his palms and the undersides of his fingers. “Only scars now.”

Schneep frowned. “That really healed very quickly.”

“Hey, I’m not fucking complaining,” Marvin said. “Jackie, what’s in the memos?”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” Jackie held up the new stack, scanning the first one. “This is from December, two years ago. Uhh... nothing exciting. It’s talking about someone stealing lunches from the break room.” He looked at the next one. “‘Switching of offices’... blah blah blah... this is also useless.” Then the next one. “Aaaand so is this one.”

“They can’t all be useless,” Stacy protested. “That was some, like, evil hospital basement. There has to be evil stuff in their papers!”

“We’ve only looked at three so far. Here.” Jackie separated out the back half of the papers and put them on the table. “You guys look for yourselves.”

The kids immediately snatched up the papers, ending up with each getting two. Chase looked at the ones he’d taken. The first one was boring. Stuff about ordering supplies. The second one... “Maybe this is a thing?” he said. “Apparently back in January this year there was someone who went to inspect their, uh, ‘base of operations in the hospital.’ That has to be the basement. The guy is only referenced with his initials, I.H., but... it sounds like it’s their boss.”

“Well, we know that the guys in the hospital weren’t the only members of the mystery group,” Marvin said. “So of course they have a boss somewhere.”

“I.H. is good,” Jackie said. “Now we know to be worried about people with those initials.”

“Oh! Jackie, you said that the planetarium was, ah—it fell down, ja?” Schneep said. “This one talks about that.” He held out the paper to Jackie. “Here, see.”

Jackie took the memo and scanned it really quick. His eyebrows raised into the air. “‘We lost several personnel in the collapse’,” he read out loud. “‘They will be missed’... duh duh duh... oh, ‘We will be expected to step up recruitment to make up for the loss of our members. Other locations may also expect to see increased activity from the Fissures due to the one at the planetarium being closed off.’”

“Fissures?” Marvin repeated. “So, are those the cracks in the ground? Like the big hole in the hospital, o-or the planetarium? I even saw one in the pool.”

“I’m guessing so, yeah,” Jackie said. He paused for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Wait a minute. There’s this. ‘The collapse may have been caused by one of the Anomalies from the Fissures. A notice to look out for any strange shadows you might see.’” He looked at the others. “Sound like anyone we know?”

“Anti,” Chase said quietly. “He’s all shadow. So... he might be a... what was it?”

“Anomaly,” Stacy said. “There’s stuff about those in this one, too.” She held up one of her memos. “This is from May. Something about there being more Anomalies appearing.”

“That must be what all the strange things are,” Schneep said. “Like the pool monster, and the dog, and those mushrooms, maybe even the ghost from here. They are... Anomalies.”

“So the group knows about them,” Jackie summarized. “They come from these Fissures in the ground. But... what do they want with the Fissures and the Anomalies?”

JJ cleared his throat. The others all looked at him. His expression was... troubled. Silently, he handed one of his memos to Jackie.

“Oh. Uh... thanks.” Jackie looked at it. He read silently, his face growing more grim and anxious with each line.

“What is it?” Chase pressed.

“Uh... well.” Jackie cleared his throat. “This is from the middle of August. It’s uh... talking about... They were planning to... oookay.” He shook his head.

Do you know how the city does blood drives to collect blood for people in need? JJ said, drawing the attention of the others again. This group was taking some blood from those drives and pouring it into the hole in the basement.

“Why the heck would they do that?” Stacy asked, nose wrinkling in disgust.

“This, uh... says that it’s not as effective,” Jackie said quietly. “‘No matter the age of the donor, the donation lost potency in the time it took to transport it to a Fissure.’ I-I don’t know what it’d be effective for, but... that’s what it says. So... um... they decided to try something new.” He glanced at Marvin, then quickly looked away.

Marvin, unfortunately, understood instantly. “So that’s why they brought me to the basement,” he whispered.

“I-it’s kind of funny, the memo says ‘the new program is better than the old one,’” Jackie said. “Better... fucking how would that be better?” JJ leaned over and pointed at a spot near the bottom of the paper. “Yes, I saw that, and that’s...”

“I want to see.” Marvin didn’t even wait for Jackie to hand it over, he just stood up and snatched it out of his hand. Everyone went quiet as he read the paper. Surprisingly, he looked relieved. “Oh. Okay. I really thought I was gonna die or something, that’s better.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding how supremely fucked up that is,” Jackie said softly.

“What?” Chase asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

Jackie sighed. “This... ‘new program’ of theirs was the idea to... fucking... keep a couple ‘subjects’ around so that they could use their blood whenever.”

“That’s better than dying,” Marvin said.

“Marvin, how can you say that?” Schneep looked aghast. “It is still horrible!”

“Yeah, but you guys would’ve found me eventually,” Marvin said casually. “If I died, that would’ve been it.”

Jackie stood up suddenly. “I-I need to go to the bathroom,” he said. “Does anyone else want to come?” He looked around at the others. None of them said anything. “Okay. I-I’ll be right back.” And he turned and hurried away.

The kids were quiet for a while, digesting what they just learned. “Um... So...” Stacy shifted in her seat awkwardly. “Do you guys want to... keep doing this stuff? After... all that?”

If we don’t do something, who will? JJ asked. The police were no help when Marvin disappeared because the mystery group lied to them. I think the same thing will keep happening.

“Also, uh, I dunno if we can stop now,” Chase said. “These guys gotta know who we are now. Remember Mrs. Karter at lunch? I think she was checking to see what we knew.” He stood up to his full height. “We have to do this! We know how to fight the monsters, we can figure out how to fight the people doing this!”

“I doubt the grown-ups would listen to us if we tried to get them to do something,” Schneep muttered. “So I think we have to. So nothing happens to more people like happened to Marvin.”

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded. “I’m gonna fucking murder them all.” He looked at Stacy. “You don’t have to murder if you don’t want to, though.”

Stacy sighed. “No. I’d feel bad for quitting now.”

Chase smiled at her. “Well, uh. Thanks, then, Stacy.”

“Stacy? So that’s her name.”

At once, the group tensed. That voice—that familiar voice. All flying to their feet, they turned to look at where it came from—

Anti sat on top of one of the half-sized bookshelves, grinning. “Hi,” he said.

“You fucking bitch!” Marvin shouted. “Why the fuck did you push—”

Chase quickly claps a hand over his mouth. “Shhh,” he hissed. “Do you want the whole library to look at us?”

“No, let’s do it,” Stacy said. “Let’s get the whole library over here to see this.” She drew in breath to shout, and Chase put his other hand over her mouth. Quickly, she shoved it away and glared at him. “What are you doing?”

“He’d just disappear and we’d look like idiot kids,” Chase explained. “They might even kick us—hey!” He quickly withdrew his hand from Marvin’s mouth. “Did you just lick me?”

Marvin wiped his mouth on his sleeve and didn’t answer, instead continuing to glare at Anti. “Why the fuck did you push me down the stairs?!” he whisper-shouted.

JJ’s head whipped towards Marvin. HE PUSHED YOU?! he signed furiously, throwing his hands around.

“He did!” Marvin nodded. “That’s why I was in the hospital! And then when I was stuck on a gurney underground he showed up and said a bunch of weird shit!” He pointed an accusing finger at Anti. “You bitch! You bastard! You motherfucking dickwad!”

Anti’s smile dimmed, but didn’t disappear. “So you didn’t like your present?”

“Was pushing me down the stairs supposed to be a birthday present?!”

JJ picked up a library book from the table and threw it at Anti. It hit him in the chest, and Anti looked down, surprised, as it landed in his lap. JJ picked up a second book and threw that too, but this time it passed right through Anti, and the first book fell through his legs.

“No, that wasn’t it,” Anti said, no longer smiling. “That was how I got you there. You had to go to the hospital. And not visit it, I mean, you needed to be there for a while so the dark doctors would notice.”

“So what was the present?” Chase demanded, stepping in front of JJ before he could try throwing something else. “The hole in the ground? The experience of being freaking terrified? Of disappearing forever?”

“No, no.” Anti looked genuinely confused. “I mean... I mean the stuff.” He stared at Marvin as if expecting him to say something.

“Am I supposed to know what ‘the stuff’ is, motherfucker?” Marvin asked, fists clenched at his sides.

“Yeah?” Anti tilted his head. “I thought you’d like it. Cause you like magic. You’re a witch, right?”

“Um... what the heck are you talking about?” Stacy asked.

Anti looked at each of them in turn. They were all clearly angry and confused; even Schneep, who was usually the most scared of Anti, wasn’t backing away like he usually would have. “The stuff,” Anti said. “You know... like...” He waved his hands, becoming more shadowy and translucent before snapping back to how he was before. “All that stuff.” The kids all glanced at each other. Slowly, Schneep shook his head. “You mean... it didn’t work?”

“What didn’t work?!” Marvin cried.

“O-oh.” Anti looked... sad. More than sad. His whole posture slumped. He almost seemed guilty. “I thought putting your blood in the hole would... oh. I’m sorry.”

Nobody knew how to respond to that. JJ glanced around at the others. This is weird, he said.

“Yeah,” Chase agreed. He looked at Anti. “What were you trying to do? What was that place beneath the hospital? Who were those guys in black? What was the hole all about? Was it a ‘Fissure’? Why are you sorry?”

Anti hummed. It sounded less like a sound made by an organic creature and more like the buzzing of lights about to burst. “Okay.” He shifted position, folding his legs beneath him, and it’s then that the kids noticed he wasn’t actually sitting on the bookcase, but instead floating a couple inches above it. “I guess I can explain some things. The present didn’t work, so it’s only fair. This can be your present now.”

“Okay, cool,” Marvin said, exasperated. “So what the fuck were those guys in black going to do to me?”

“They were gonna feed your blood to the dark place.” Anti pointed at the contents of the file spread out on the table. “It’s all in there. I knew they’d pick you for a target cause no one would really miss you.”

Marvin blinked, taken aback.

 I would! JJ said angrily.

“I still dunno what you’re saying,” Anti stated.

“He says that he would miss Marvin,” Stacy said.

Anti shrugged. “He’d get over it.”

JJ was shaking, furious, but Marvin simply put his hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to stand down. 

“Why did they want to give blood to this ‘dark place’?” Chase asked.

Anti shook his head. “No, that’s a bit too much.”

“Then what is the dark place?” Chase pressed.

“It’s where the greenlight comes from,” Anti explained. “Blood makes greenlight stronger. You guys remember that from when you were fighting the dog monster, right?”

Schneep frowned. “That hole in the hospital leads to the dark place? It’s... a Fissure?”

“Yeah. And yeah.”

“And who are the people in black?” Chase asked.

“Those guys were the dark doctors,” Anti said. “It’s their job to get the blood. The dark doctors are only a small part of the Circle, though.”

Marvin cleared his throat, getting over his shock. “Who are the Circle?”

Anti giggled. “I can’t tell you that! That’ll ruin everything!” He rocked back and forth, not falling from his floating position. “That’s kinda the whole point of this, isn’t it? You guys want to fight monsters that the greenlight causes? You need to find the Circle eventually.”

Everyone was getting increasingly fed up with Anti’s behavior. JJ looked about ready to grab him and try shaking clear answers out of him—the only thing holding him back was Anti’s ability to pass through things. Chase was about to discard his own advice to be quiet and scream at Anti to stop being weird and vague, when—

“Oh my god.” Jackie appeared from around a bookshelf, right behind Anti. He stared, gaping. Anti stiffened at the sound of Jackie’s voice and promptly disappeared. Jackie on over. “A-are you guys alright?”

“We’re fine,” Chase said. “Anti doesn’t really do much.”

“He pushed me down the fucking stairs!” Marvin was barely able to keep his voice as a whisper-shout instead of straight-up yelling.

“He did what?” Jackie gasped.

One by one, overlapping each other, the kids explained what just happened. Jackie looked a bit overwhelmed but listened as best he could. Then he raised his hands. They all quieted down immediately.

“The point is, he was acting weird,” Chase said.

“Yeah,” Stacy agreed, nodding. “This was my first time seeing him, not counting that little bit at the hospital, and even I knew that this wasn’t a normal thing.”

“Well, uh, I-I wouldn’t know either,” Jackie said. “I’ve never seen him in person before this.”

You only saw him from behind and then he disappeared, that doesn’t really count, JJ said.

Jackie laughed. “I guess.” He sat down in the chair he’d sat in earlier. “Okay. So. Let’s put all this together. There’s this group that Anti called the Circle, and the people at the hospital—who he called ‘the dark doctors’—are part of it. The Circle is probably who’s sending these memos, then. They have something to do with the cracks, which they call Fissures. And Anti said that the Fissures lead to somewhere called ‘the dark place,’ which is where greenlight comes from.”

“And the greenlight causes the monsters,” Marvin added. “And the Circle guys call the monsters Anomalies, and Anti is probably an Anomaly, too.”

“Right.” Jackie nodded.

“So... it’s like...” Stacy held out a hand. “This is the dark place.” She held out her other hand a foot above the first. “And this is us. And there’s like... tunnels connecting them.” She tilted her hands, extending her pointer fingers until they pressed together. “And the greenlight comes out and does stuff to things up here.”

“But what does this Circle group want to do with the greenlight and the monsters and all of that?” Schneep asked.

Jackie shook his head. “We don’t really know, do we? They... pour blood into the Fissures.” He shuddered as he said that. “There has to be a reason for that.”

“Anti said blood makes greenlight stronger,” Marvin recalled.

“Do you think they want to take over the world?” Chase asked. “That sounds kinda cartoony, I know, but like... this whole thing is already stuff that would come from a cartoon.”

If Anti is telling the truth, then we will have to confront the Circle eventually, JJ said. If we want to keep fighting the monsters.

“If you guys don’t want to, no one’s making you,” Jackie said quietly. “You can all pretend like all this never happened.”

“We already talked about this when you were gone,” Chase said, folding his arms. “We all want to keep going.”

Jackie looked at Marvin. “Even after what happened to you?”

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded. “Cause if we keep going, and we figure out how to stop them, then that won’t happen to anyone else.”

“...heh.” Jackie smiled. “You guys are all so brave, you know that? I guess I have to be brave with you. I’m not letting you guys do this alone.”

Chase grinned right back. He leaned into Jackie and gave him a big hug. After a moment, Schneep joined in.

“Whoa, hey!” Jackie laughed. “Alright, alright, break it up.” Chase and Schneep backed away when cued, and Jackie started putting the memos back in order. “This has been... a lot today, so I think it’s best if we stop here. We can still hang out here, though. Just not talk about all this stuff.”

You know, we never finished the ghost movie, JJ said thoughtfully.

“You didn’t bring your camera, though,” Marvin pointed out.

JJ frowned. He made a sign that none of the others knew, and Marvin laughed.

“We can do that some other time,” Schneep said. “Perhaps we can check out books while we are here?”

“Yeah, that’s what a library is for,” Stacy pointed out.

“I don’t like books, though,” Chase muttered.

Jackie laughed. “You probably just haven’t found the right one. Come on, little guy, I’ll show you some of the stuff I liked when I was your age. You’ll probably like it too.”

Chase would never admit it, but he was glad that Mom insisted he and Schneep take her library card with them. He wondered if the adventures in the books Jackie suggested would be anything like what was happening to them right now. 

Maybe not. This was real, after all. Something they were all beginning to grasp.

[onovnii]

kiss it better | giorno giovanna

— a short drabble of giorno taking care of his s/o after a mission...

feat. giorno giovanna x gn!reader cw/tws. established relationship — light part 5 spoilers? , blood mentions , not beta read we die like men ;) , nicknames (angel y love) note. i don’t know i just wanted to write something with giorno  lol

giorno giovanna.

it wasn’t unusual for you to come back hurt after a mission, it was to be expected honestly. giorno had already planned to set time aside to tend to your wounds; he wasn’t new to this and either were you.

but for one reason or another, today seemed to have it out for you especially. firstly, you went alone. you thought you could handle a simple investigation, the thought of another stand used crossing you never came into your mind…you wish it did. the fight felt like it lasted hours, but was probably only for a couple of minutes. even so, you defeated your opponent as usual. but they were surprisingly strong and had left you with a giant gash on your side. a deep cut and probably some broken bones you weren’t aware of. god…you wish you had brought a phone to call giorno..or even mista.

it didn’t matter though, cause in the end you still got the job done. but fuck it felt like you were dying. luckily for you, some deity out there must’ve taken pity on you. making it back to the base safely, you had mista carry your weak body back to giorno’s office.

when facing giorno, you could only smile weakly. you could vaguely tell he was worried, but your sight had gotten a bit too hazy from the blood loss to tell. the two men exchanged words but you could only make up the last of what giorno had said,

“thank you mista, i’ll take it from here”

giorno knows he can’t technically heal, so he can’t really alleviate any pain you may be feeling. but he does try his best to distract you from it. when sitting you up on the counter, he’ll firmly put his hand down on wherever the bleeding is, to stop it and to decrease any low levels of pain it may be causing. you’ll feel him manifest GER as his stands power flows through his hand and into your body. it’s extremely painful, feeling the body part heal itself back up at an inhuman speeds. you couldn’t help but let out a groan. 

giorno looked back up at you with concern. he wasn’t too sure on how to help beyond this point. giorno ran through a couple of ideas in his head before he settled on one; one that might help with a momentary distraction.

giorno’s free hand begins to caress your face. feeling a warm pair of lips press themselves against your skin; giornos lips. he gently kisses your cheek, muttering praises in between each kiss.

“i know it hurts, you’re doing so well, angel”

for a moment, you nearly forgot about the pain on your side. the feeling of butterflies in your chest was enough for you to momentarily focus on his gentle words. you feel the pain slowly leaving your body, as well as GER’s flow of life come to an end. looking down, all that remains is the blood staining your clothes. with a sigh of relief, you let your head fall onto giorno’s shoulder.

“thanks again, giogio” you mumble tiredly. he only smiles at this, happy his plan had worked. his hands go back down to your side, fingers tracing light patterns on your exposed skin.

“of course, love”

©ONOVNII - valene 

[sainte-melasse]

How did u make ur socks <33 the nurse onese

Thank you for liking them ♡♡♡

I actually made an update version a couple of years later :

The process is quite simple. I'm going to explain it with beginners in mind so maybe some stuff will seem obvious to you since I don't know your sewing experience ^^ If you need a better explanation or a diagram for some parts, feel free to send me another message ♡

You'll need : 

- a pair of plain white socks*

- red stretchy fabric (I like using one that is also a bit fuzzy like velvet or fuzzy socks fabric, it hides the imperfection)

- a needle and thread (red is better but it shouldn't be visible anyway)

- some lace trim for the cuffs (I used two of different width)

- (optional) elastics if you want the lace cuffs to be detachable

The cross (or any simple motif you want) :

- Cut the cross motif out of your red fabric with a seam allowance. My cross was 1,5cm on every side (so 4,5cm in height and width) plus a sewing allowance of 0,5 cm (you may want to use a bit more if your fabric is fraying but it shouldn't be the case with stretchy fabric)

- Put on the socks and mark where you want the cross to be (use a washable pen to not leave marks) (At this stage, I also put on my mary jane to be sure the cross was peeking out at the right place)

- Put the motif where you want it to be, the direction it stretches should be following the width of the foot, not the length

- Sew it down by hand using a ladder stitch so that the raw edges are safely hidden away (try not to stretch the fabric or the socks while sewing) (There is lots of ladder stitch tutorials on youtube if you need it)

The lace cuffs :

Mines are detachable so I can use them with any of my ankle socks. If you want yours to be too, use an elastic sewn into a loop slightly smaller than the size of your ankle, if not, sew the lace trims directly on the socks cuff.

To do so, stretch the elastic/sock and sew the lace trims on the stretched elastic/sock. Once you stop the stretching, the lace will scrunch up in a frilly way and it should easily slide on and off your foot. It's easier to do this kind of sewing with a sewing machine (so you can stretch the elastic while sewing) but you can also put the elastic/sock on an object (a bottle for example) so that it stays stretched up while you sew.

*Technically, my first version of the nurse socks were with velvet socks I made. It wasn't that good as my velvet wasn't stretchy enough. There may be socks patterns somewhere around the internet, at the time, I followed that tutorial. You just need to use white stretchy velvet. It's not that comfortable tho, especially if you're using polyester velvet.

[stormxpadme]

​Whumptober 2022 No. 23 - Tied to a table & “Hold them down.”

2035

This was … bad. This was potential knockout material.

From all Logan knew about this asshole keeping his family and him prisoner, the guy's fucked up methods had always easily matched even the ones of Logan's Weapon X torturers at the time, sure. But this, right here … wasn't just sick and fucking agonizing, not to mention the fact that his wife and his other two lovers had to watch with their own two eyes as some 200 years hundreds old mad scientist was cutting Logan open … It was also dangerous on a level Logan hadn't often run into trouble before.

  It should technically have been good news that at least, Essex hadn't slapped an inhibitor on him, unlike on Jean, Scott, and Scott's wife who were all frozen in shock in their respective cells, the only occupied ones in that lab rat track lining the operation theater from all sides, like some absurd arena. Being – unfortunately – as brilliant as he was clinically insane, that bastard was too smart to let someone possibly die on him that he wanted to use as a living weapon, shield and for his sick experiments to accelerate his comparatively low healing factor all at once.

  That didn't make the nauseating pain of a laser scalpel neatly peeling Logan open from his lower ribcage all the way down to his loins before the unforgiving, ice cold clamps of huge wound retractors started to keep his abused flesh from mending back in place, any easier to bare though. Moreover, judging by the way Logan started to feel dizzy from the enormous blood loss immediately, his voice, thankfully, too hoarse for any more screams after minutes already and not recovering immediately on its own … There had to be at least a weak kind of inhibitor radiation somewhere nearby. This little shit knew exactly what he was doing, and sadly, he had the means to achieve it, too. If none of them didn't come up with an idea to end this dicey situation as soon as possible, Logan doubted he would make it home from this captivity in the middle of their fucking beach holiday in one piece, if at all.

  "Oh, right. That." His enemy wasn't busy enough cutting through his organs in what felt like a completely random pattern to not notice the way, Logan's wide-open eyes were wandering through the room, searching the source for this compromised condition, between gagging on the bile, spit and blood that was dripping from his scream-split lips and gasping out chopped breaths through the all-consuming agony in the parts of his body not shielded by his Adamantium. "I think this is what you're looking for, Mister Howlett." His snow-white face the menacingly grinning grimace of a skeleton, Essex held up what he'd prepared behind him on a sterile table for this so-called revolutionary next surgery of his. Some metal device shaped in the same diamond form that was that asshole's goddam brand, sticking to his forehead like a blood mark. On the apparatus' shell, there was indeed not only the lazy red blinking of an inhibitor signal showing but also the golden and blue paneling of a radio signal receiver. "A masterpiece, if I may say myself. You see, the moment I find a suitable place for this feeder between your intestines, it will inject minuscule amounts of a toxin even lethal to a robust system like yours into your blood. With this remarkable healing factor of yours, of course, the damage from that concoction will be continuously repaired; I'm afraid you will be feeling its effects on a non-subtle level nonstop. I am confident that with this new beautiful piece in place, you and I will quickly come to an agreement about your services in my ranks. That is, unless you wish me to activate the crystal's internal inhibitor, the receiver range of which reaches far beyond this continent, I might add, and find out if you can use those fascinating weapons in your hands quickly enough on yourself to not perish to most unpleasant poisoning ... Or …" With a dramatic little swirl, Essex turned to the cell closest to the theater where Jean had sunk down to the ground, with her knees hugged close to her body, her face almost as white as her captor's, staring ahead entirely unmoving.

  A sight that was so much worse even than the gruesome pain leaving Logan to writhe in his Adamantium bonds hard enough for them to cut all the way through to the same alloy enwrapping his bones, a disgusting, screeching, clanking sound louder with every second this torture went on.

  And Essex very much obviously was in no hurry. "You do, of course, still have the option of asking your wife to comply with all of my requests and put an end to all this. You need to understand, Mister Howlett: My favorite research object over there, or his lowly classified spouse, I do not necessarily require for my current series of tests. And while you would make a beautiful addition to my rebuilt forces, I am a man true to my word when I enter an agreement. You two can put an end to this unappetizing episode anytime by giving me what I desire."

  Logan would have snorted if he hadn't been too busy coughing blood for that. He'd, fortunately, got to know his wife better in the course of the decades than to think she was even considering, no matter how far her soul had fled into complete apathy, helping what was one of the most dangerous and powerful enemies both of mutant- and mankind on this planet of all people to burst the mental chains around most of his abilities that Charles and Emma had once placed upon him, right after learning about the bastard's existence.

  Of course that had been before both Old Baldy and that Frost psycho had fucked up so badly that they had either gotten tired of justifying their bullshit on Earth and had rather left to fuck certain Empresses of planet-destroying alien Empires full-time or had had to be taken away from Earth with a mental equivalent of a prison shackle by force. Both of which had weakened that decades-old mental hold on that asshole so much that he'd managed to break free and restart his damn army and empire of labs and storages of medical data on mutants around the world. And he was long from being finished.

  So far, they'd all been lucky enough to not be hit with the full force of the guy's powers – which Logan seriously doubted they could have survived even if every super-powered being on this damn planet had worked together –, mostly, because everything that Essex had stolen in the course of the centuries from his countless examination objects, was still trapped in that jail of his own fucked up head. It was one of the few things, Logan reluctantly had to give Charles and his blonde partner-in-crime credit for, no matter how many manipulations, lies, and downright ethical crimes it had taken for the two of them to hide this part of their work from the rest of the world.

  Jean might not share all of Logan's animosities towards her old mentors, but there was no way in hell she would unleash this creature's full might back onto this world just to save Logan from slavery or worse, even if it would tear her sane mind and heart to pieces. Not her. Not she, who had been forced to do that very thing with another, more cosmic but just as insane being trying to destroy all life in the universe two times already. Something Jean had once told him after her first death pricked his increasingly dazed thoughts in spite of that relieving fog of threatening unconsciousness that promised, Logan would at least not have to feel the part of the procedure that might as well tear him away from his home and everyone he loved there for good. Something about fate ... Something about how Scott would not have been able to save Jean in Logan's place and that maybe the two of them had meant to be together from the start. As much as Logan cared for Jean's and his two part-time lovers, he could only find that his amazingly clever wife had been right once more.

  If it had been Scott, tied to this stretcher right now instead of standing completely still there in his cell, watching his arch-enemy with the blazing heat of a dying sun in his eyes but unable to unleash it from them … One of them would have broken, Jean or him. Simply because Scott's body, capable as it was, had not been equipped with the same gift as Logan's. Which meant, Jean wouldn't have had even the smallest hope that Logan knew her to be clinging to right now, even with their link rendered inactive, that she could have got him back, somehow, even if it took decades. Fate indeed.

  Essex seemed to tire of waiting for anyone to indulge his sick fantasies in silence and walked back to Logan's stretcher with something almost akin to a shrug, a surprisingly human notion for someone not even possessing the basic sense of empathy by nature and having no problem with that. "I was kind enough to offer. As I was saying: This device that I have been working on since I regained enough of my old strength to break free of the bonds that were …"

  Logan somehow managed to turn his head Scott's way in spite of the growing heaviness in his muscles and let out a cynical huff, which brought up what felt like half a liter of more fluids he couldn't tell any longer what they were, ending up in a decorative white and rust red puddle on the ground. He didn't expect them to be able to stop the guy from his most recent insane plan, but at least buying time had in the past more than once made a significant difference. Though admittedly not in situations like this when no one was missing them yet and even if they did, no one would be able to track them down, not with Jean's and Noemi's mental connection cut and Logan's and Noemi's bond being far too weak for such ambitious plans. But if there was one thing Logan had learned from the life by his wife's side, it was hope to the last desperate second because it had paid off more than once. And talking kept him from giving in to the roaring, livid rage of the animal that was his instincts inside because that wouldn't do any of them any good as long as his claws were stopped by Adamantium shackles while he was bleeding out and going into multiple shocks from pain and blood loss and croaking from organ failure all at once. "That guy always talking that much?"

  "I wouldn't know," Scott answered, surprisingly soberly for Logan being able to see even from over here that every single muscle of his body was tense. That he was only waiting for the chance to tear his oldest enemy to pieces, in spite of knowing just like the rest of them, even that would only be a temporary relief as long as Essex had his damn clones stationed everywhere on this damn planet and could telepathically transfer his whole mind to any of them within split seconds. Similar to Jean, Scott didn't waste energy, trying to fight someone a hundred times more powerful than him, unlike his wife next door who had been very grimly busy, ever since waking up from whatever tranquilizer they'd all been taken out with at the Caribbean, to manipulate the lock of her cell with hardly more than two nails and a hairpin, as if Essex wasn't even there. As if their enemy didn't just a wave of his weakened but still working telekinesis to shift all damage back into place. Right now, all they had on the asshole was words and spite, and sometimes that had to do. "Charles was nice enough to purge all that narcissistic pathos of his from my mind, as you know. Thank god for small favors." For someone who hadn't remembered Essex existed until five years ago and who, thanks to said installed barriers in his mind, still didn't know anything about him but what Emma occasionally penned down in a few e-mails from her increasingly fuzzy memory, Scott sure as fuck knew exactly how to play that asshole like a fiddle who'd been obsessed with him all his life.

  Essex didn't bother to let that gap in the size of the Rockies in Logan's midsection close but his device was forgotten for the moment when he approached his victims' cells with slow, stiff steps, his head held high, his teeth clenching so hard, Logan thought he could hear it even through the cotton covering his senses. "That's correct, young Mister Summers. Your former mentor was thoroughly making sure, your fragile mind doesn't lose itself to insanity before he could exploit your powers himself. The man you claim to have loved so much was only ever interested in what your body had to offer. Correct me if I'm wrong but did he not leave you without as much as a goodbye or lifting those barriers in your head?"

  Scott leaned against the cell door with an unbelievably bitter grin on his lips that Logan doubted he had to feign. "Right. Because you are haunting and torturing my family and me solely for our irresistible charm."

  Definitely a shrug this time. "Unlike your old puppet master, I was always honest about needing you for your gift. But I richly reward those who are mine. Were you not enslaved by Charles Xavier long enough, Scott? You know I always keep a spot for you vacant in the highest ranks of my army."

  Scott turned away coolly. "Thanks for the consideration, asshole. But I think I'm actually really good with knowing only scraps about you."

  Logan could swear he could see Essex' tall, strong shape shake in growing aggression that was so much unlike his usual detached demeanor for a moment. "Suit yourself, boy. With these class four telepaths so eager to protect your ignorance no longer around, I promise, you will no longer be able to forget about me." Abruptly turning away, the bastard stalked to one of the hall's dozen cabinets with instruments and came back with a long, thick pole that didn't look particularly dangerous at first sight … Not before one of Essex' hands turned into a harsh fist, his powers reshaping one end of the rod. His blurring sight didn't allow Logan to make out what the sicko was up to this time, not until Essex reached for one of his beloved laser scalpels next and heated his new tool, revealing its now orange glowing, smoking end to be of the same shape the asshole was wearing on his face. A lazy wave of hand later, one of the eerily human-shaped robots in this facility that Essex was commanding with his sheer mind stomped towards Scott's cell.

  At this point, the blood loss had become too grating for Logan to even keep his eyes open. He thankfully kept on drifting off, even the hole in his body at this point nothing but lethal emptiness, the turmoil of his emotions dazed too much to decide between dull admiration for his team leader's unwavering strength and frustration about the stupid stubbornness with which Scott had just earned himself a ticket on the agony coaster himself.

  But what Logan could make out easily still was that uncharacteristic loathing, hissed tone in Essex' voice that revealed Scott had indeed managed to land a blow himself for once. "Hold him down." That obviously meant, nothing had come from an unfair duel between a very well-trained but dehydrated and exhausted body and a metal shape twice its size with the strength to match.

  If Logan was lucky enough, he would pass out before he would have to hear the screams.

  He didn't hear Scott scream. He heard Scott's wife talk, for the first time since they'd all woken up in this moldy underground facility that could be anywhere from the equator to Atlantis for all they knew. "Revenge doesn’t become you, Essex."

  "Cat … don't." The provocative defiance gone instantly, Scott panted out his warning between groans of pain from whatever bruises the sparring against metal guy had left. With none of those links that Jean's abilities had created between all of them in the course of the years working right now, there weren't a lot of ways Scott could try to keep his not exactly-always-rational partner from some stupidity. Not that he was having a lot of success with that any other day.

  "Shut up, kitten," Logan somehow managed to grit out as well with what was left of his voice. Which wasn't a lot at this point.

  He doubted it would have made a difference if his lover had heard. "Non-procedural physical alterations, really? And here the woman who has put your ugly mug six feet under for decades won't get tired yapping about how you compartmentalize all your personal sensitivities away from your work."

  "I am not reciprocating," Essex returned stiffly, but Logan could hear the asshole had actually stopped on his way to Scott's cell again. When he somehow managed to pry his eyes open once more, he could see a clear hesitation in the way the bastard looked back and forth between the unruly prisoner that he hadn't even given a second glance to so far and his so much more loathed other victim. The pause lasted only for a moment before he straightened his posture again. "I am reclaiming what is mine so that we can all save ourselves these unpleasant encounters in the future. When we first met, you used to know I was inevitable, Scott. It will be easier for all of us if you never forget it again."

  "Really. Couple of PhDs, an M.D, the occasional pact with eon old assholes, and this is the best you can come up with." Katja wasn't finished yet, pissing someone off who could squash her like a damn fly, and Logan very much hoped that his favorite kitten knew what she was doing, because for once, none of them was in a good position to pull her fine ass out of trouble. One thing was for sure, she had been spending far more time reading those highly confidential little snippets of information on this bastard here that Emma occasionally sent them from her space exile than Katja would let on, more than one would expect, given that bitter enmity between her former mentor and her. "Hundreds of years spent in the shadow, making sure there's not a single trace you leave on your most prized jewel, because what good surgeon likes to give their patient scars … And now? You sure someone's not being a little petty here? What was that you used to tell people about cruelty for no purpose being ignorance?"

  "Oh, I have a very specific purpose in mind for the man that the two of us happen to share, my darling thunder angel." An ugly laugh came from Essex' lips, betraying all his usual noble claims about his only goal being the good of humanity and bringing it to salvation single-handedly. "But I am thinking, you might be right. A reminder to not resist serving science when I am calling might be a lot more effective when Mister Summers here is confronted with the consequences of his noncompliance every day henceforth."

  One half turn on his heel and a prompting snap of Essex later, robot guy had slammed Scott's resisting body back against the cell's back wall and shut the door, only to open the one right next to it. Huge, unforgiving hands grabbed Katja around her throat before she could even think of defending herself with her own long-trained athletic maneuvers, knocking the wind out of that terribly small and fragile-looking body by forcing it brutally against the cell's bars.

  A cut of a sharp-clawed metal finger later, Katja's top hung from her upper body in pieces. The fight of all that anger that had filled her enough a second ago to challenge one of the most powerful beings in this universe, left as quickly as it had come.

  Logan only realized that a new, weak surge of energy had revived his own cells when that ugly rattling of his wrist bones against his cuffs sounded once more, more rivulets of thick red dripping onto the dark-tiled ground, an unhinged growl on his lips that was nothing but a promise Essex' way.

  Though underlined with a lot less feral noises, spoken with almost scary emptiness instead, Scott left no doubt that his threat wasn't any less serious. "You lay hand on her, Essex, it's the last thing you'll be doing."

  "Maybe you should seek your former partner's assistance with restoring your memories about our common past, Mister Summers." The scornful glee was back in Essex' voice, leaving no doubt about how much this sick son of a bitch really enjoyed his sadism the moment he found a good enough excuse for it. "Then I would not have to remind you how much I dislike getting my hands dirty." His newly heated rod in his hand, not stopping for even another second, their enemy entered Katja's cell.

  Through the shadows in these parts of the room and the obstacle of the thick bars, not to mention the veils of tears and sweat and blood and exhaustion in his eyes, there wasn't a lot Logan could make out at this point.

  But when Katja's and his eyes did meet for a moment, there was not a hint of the fear, despair, and guilt suddenly in them that was radiating off every of Scott's cells, now that he had to watch his oldest enemy torture the love of his life … with a scenario like this happening for the second time. Only this time, Katja had consciously and willingly chosen it. That bitter triumph on her face didn't even vanish entirely when her scream filled the hollow echo of the room, along with the sickening smell of burnt flesh. This was exactly what she had been going for, and she was facing it with both eyes open like every other challenge in her life.

  Logan didn't get a lot of time to be proud of his kitten.

  Essex had only just left that cell again with a satisfied nod, leaving his prisoner in a trembling, curled-up heap on the floor when Logan's dampened hearing could pick up on the smallest, quietest click of metal from the direction of Scott's cell.

  Instead of withdrawing into her fears and grief as Logan had actually thought for ten dumb minutes, Jean had gathered whatever small hint of cosmic force she had kept behind in her cells after finally being parted from Dark Phoenix for good, to bypass the obstacle of her inhibitor collar, for being able to use her telekinesis on another one.

  Before the two halves of the broad metal band had even entirely fallen from Scott's neck, Sinister's current body was blown into a thousand pieces, followed by the one of the robot nearby and two more waiting in the operating theater's corners.

  With how completely unhinged at the seams his team leader obviously was, a dangerous glare of red still smoldering in his pupils even after the enemies had fallen, Logan had to give him as much exhausted credit as his failing thoughts could still come up with, for having enough wit left to first shoot the lock on Jean's cell to pieces before even blasting his own and then the one on Katja's door before rushing into that room, falling onto shaking knees to take his wife in his arms.

  Those two would be alright for the moment, Logan supposed, though they all certainly shouldn't sit around here for too long, wherever here was, before the next army of robots or possibly even some Marauders would come storming in here. It wasn't like he could have helped his lovers a lot right now anyway.

  With the well-known, professional touch, free of even the slightest tremble, of his wife on those cruel instruments in his body, the sickening tug and tear of pressure finally gone just seconds later … But then the real pain started, the animal inside breaking free with a hysteric scream from its leash, leaping forward, wiping every sane thought and emotion but revenge and defense out with pure adrenaline and hot, blind-red rage … Luckily for everyone in the room, the smallest twitch going through Logan's upper body when he instinctively tried to break free from his real bonds once more, had him black out.

     ***

    They must have gotten the most necessary hydration and sustenance into him in the time, however long it had taken the others to blast and shove their way free from whichever fortress of their enemy they'd been in this time. When Logan opened his eyes next, the usual unnerving nausea of missing ground under his feet and the calming, low hum of the Blackbird's engine soothed the last of feral wrath inside of him trying weakly to break free once more but being far too numbed for it from his body still plenty busy trying to repair itself.

  Jean's soft touch against his forehead, her gentle kiss against his too-dry lips did the rest to ground him back in reality. "Almost home. Wounds have all closed. A night on an IV, half of Hank's sugar stock, and a bottle of the good stuff or two, and you'll be fine."

  "Thank you, Red." Logan pulled her second hand that was holding his close for a brief kiss; that was all his still annoyingly weak muscles allowed for the moment. He needed her to know though, how proud he was of her. How grateful that this shitshow had ended before they could have been parted once more for only God knew how long. And for stepping in before a certain other ugly scene on the other side of the room could have become even worse. "The others?"

  Jean let out a sigh of the same resignation and tender admiration Logan remembered feeling for a certain member of their group earlier and nodded to the other side of the jet, the small figure laying there on the passenger bench on her stomach, nuzzling against the caress of her husband on the side of her face, her neck, far from where a huge bandage was covering her shoulder. "She learned a little too much from you for my taste."

  "It's not Logan's fault someone here still doesn't know their limits," Scott threw in unusually harshly, ignoring the astonished raised eyebrows from a certain blue furball and an aging Cajun in the cockpit, not pulling back when his wife winced a little but also leaving no doubt whom this anger was directed at right now. "Why …? What the fuck were you thinking, Katja?"

  "That you suffered from this madman enough," Katja gave back calmly, her voice, too, still rough from screaming and captivity, but free of any doubt.

  "And you shouldn’t have at all." Scott's free hand clenched in his suspiciously messy hair for a moment, another weak red tint in his sky-blue pupils revealing how much this captivity had really hurt him, in spite of walking away from it basically without a scratch. Especially because of that. "Neither of you. You should never have been dragged into this. I should have searched for him alone the moment Emma told me about him."

  "Where would you have started looking?" Jean tried to stifle these exhausting, useless new waves of self-flagellation that ran so deeply in this damn family before they could even arise. "Please, enlighten us. Tell us what we missed, what we lacked in our attempts to find something that Emma and Charles buried and burned all traces of decades ago, so thoroughly that Emma doesn't even remember herself."

  "I should have done something," Scott insisted, even moving away from his wife for a moment as if he'd feared that Katja's patient caress over his reddened cheek, the agitatedly working muscles of his neck could stop these self-destructive thoughts he sometimes liked to lose himself in so much as they were making the pain inside easier to bear. "Today should never have happened. What you all went through, what you had to see, Jean ..."

  "I didn’t." Only Jean's remarkably placid interruption finally had Scott stop, his head tilted in confusion. "It might have escaped your attention, but I was kind of busy. Like, with manipulating the lock of your collar with powers on a class 1 level. Or cutting Essex off from all his clones safe for the one he had ready as an escape this time."

  For long seconds, all of them were speechless. Even in the cockpit, no one was breathing.

  Logan's senses were still far too exhausted to make out a lot but to see that glistening suddenly shining in Scott's eyes, he didn't need them. He was pretty sure, their lover would have stormed over to kiss Jean senseless if Logan wasn't just doing that himself. "Sometimes I forget you were always the strongest of us," he murmured against her shoulder when she took him tightly in his arms, the soft touch of her hair, the faint smell of roses always lingering on her skin the necessary further input of affection and memory to drown out the last of agony and dread. "Why didn't you take the last one away from him too, though?"

  Jean showed a frustrated grimace and an apologetic shrug Scott's way. No, that had not been the last meeting with that son of a bitch yet. But for the first time in decades, hope was at least very justified that it would happen soon. "He would have got suspicious. I couldn't risk that he'd kill the ones among us he thought expendable in revenge. Or torture them further."

  "If he'd been gone forever then, that would have been a small price to pay." Though everyone looked at her with a good amount of irritation, Katja lowered her eyes just as little as when she had challenged Essex to keep his dirty paws off her husband earlier.

  Neither did Jean, though. "You're gonna have to leave choices like that to us, Cat. We all make our own sacrifices." She briefly nodded toward that undoubtedly very unsightly new mark on her lover's skin that would, thanks to the X-Men's resident mutant healer though, hopefully, be gone without a trace soon enough. In many respects, Essex still underestimated them a lot.

  "Scars are something I can deal with," Cat gave back quietly, with a weak grin as if she'd been in Logan's head for a moment. "Losing one of you? Not so much. So do me a favor, Claws … Make sure that asshole never gets you again. I can't promise I'll be that patient with him next time."

  "As long as I have anything to do with it, none of you will ever get anywhere near that bastard again. Especially not you, Katja," Scott stated quietly, a rest of regret and anger still thick in his voice that only vanished when his wife pulled him close for a tender kiss. As it turned out in that very same year still, boss man should once more be annoyingly right.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive​

[privacon]

My Husband is Cheating on Me What Should I Do?

My husband is cheating on me – what should I do? The idea that your husband may be having an affair can be devastating to think about… But there are steps you can take to make sure that you come out of the situation safe, secure, and in a good position to move forward private investigators.

In this article, we’ll discuss the signs of a cheating husband, what to do immediately after finding out or confirming his infidelity, and what you can do legally to protect yourself.

What to Do When Husband Cheats

The first two obstacles in navigating infidelity are confirming your suspicions and controlling your reaction. “Follow your gut” and allow yourself to be more perceptive to any of your husband’s behavioral changes.

You also have to be emotionally ready to face that reality so you can react appropriately. The sections below will go over both points: signs of a cheating husband and what to do when your husband cheats.

What Are the Signs of a Cheating Husband?

Even if it started with a gut feeling, you’ll usually notice changes in your spouse’s behavior. Here are a few common red flags or signs of a cheating husband:

They are putting more effort into their appearance.

They are suddenly working late or are busy more often.

You feel changes in your physical and/or emotional intimacy.

They are suddenly secretive about their phone or computer.

Their spending patterns have changed.

Once you notice these changes, verify that the affair is indeed happening by catching your husband in the act (without revealing yourself or your knowledge of the affair).

However, we don’t advise you to screenshot text messages or do anything that compromises your husband’s privacy, as it can be used against you. We talk more about this later in the article.

What to Do When You Find Out Your Husband is Cheating

Confirming the infidelity can often hit you with a second wave of intense emotion. But this is the part where you have to take action. Here’s what to do when you find out your husband is cheating (in 5 steps):

Do not confront him (yet)! Confronting your husband before you’re ready (especially in the heat of the moment) will only put you at a disadvantage. It may also compromise your safety – if he can lie to you about an affair, he likely did not represent himself honestly during the rest of your marriage. According to The National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey, 1 in 4 women – or 24.3% – aged 18 or older in the US have suffered severe physical violence by an intimate partner. If think you’re in danger, call 1-800-799-SAFE (it’s free and confidential).

Consider getting a therapist for yourself. Infidelity is emotionally distressing, and you need a solid support system to help you think clearly.

Take care of yourself. Try to eat well and get enough sleep. Don’t allow your husband’s infidelity to derail your health. Check-in with close friends and family. You need to gather enough strength to follow through with whatever decision you make down the line.

Consider your options. Take stock of your goals, finances, and living situation, and figure out the resources you need to move forward. For example, you may qualify for temporary government assistance (like TANF or SNAP) after divorce if your husband was the family’s sole provider. And while infidelity is not technically considered “abuse” by the law, some women’s shelters may provide you with other resources and referrals to help you get back on your feet.

Make a plan. Gather your resources and talk to close friends and family about how they can help you deal with the aftermath. Your allies might be able to help with getting work, finding a place to live, or simply watching your kids (if you have any) while you’re attending to legal matters.

If My Husband is Cheating, What Should I Do Legally?

Once you’ve made the decision to pursue legal action (or you’re simply considering your options), here’s what you can do to improve your chances for a favorable outcome:

Gather court-admissible evidence of the affair. This is the most important step for improving your odds if you decide to separate down the line. You can’t obtain text message records without a warrant, so you’ll need photos of his infidelity happening in public (we can help you with that!). Even if you don’t decide to take legal action, we’ve had many clients report that having conclusive evidence helped them regain some feeling of control and obtain closure.

Keep a decent amount of cash on you as the court may freeze your bank accounts during a divorce investigation. Your individual bank account may also come under scrutiny during an investigation.

Once you have evidence of your husband’s infidelity, talk to your lawyer.

Godspeed!

While you can’t change your husband’s infidelity, you can control the outcome. Act quickly and quietly and gather your resources, your allies, and your lawyer! And if you need help with gathering evidence, consider hiring us.

Privacon Investigations is a full-service private investigation agency based in Western New York. We’ve (sadly) handled many infidelity investigations in our many years of service. We can help you swiftly and covertly determine and gather evidence of infidelity. You’ll be assigned a female investigator specifically for this type of case. If you’re interested in learning more, check out our Infidelity Investigations page.

[kenovele]

Bogs Blog 24

7th May 2023

Another week has passed. These days weeks are going by faster and faster, and we still seem to be in the final push phase of the tiny house build despite the fact that the weeks still progress and are list does not seem to decrease in size. But maybe it has something to do with the daylight hours, days are getting shorter and colder and our motivation to work on the Tiny house after work is getting less and less. The last couple of weeks were massive ones on the Tiny, we were working on it often from 8am and then sometimes to as late as 11pm after dinner in the shed working on projects and little design things that we want to have in the house. Working on it so much that it appeared that Benoit had no motivation left to even write his blog! Although it has been fun to feel so close to finishing, we have been feeling like this for a few weeks, and we are looking forward to the day when the final push really is the final one. But the closer we seem to get at the moment the longer our list gets too.

Although we have made progress, on Monday afternoon after a day of site visits with Benoit we headed up to town to pick up our beautiful bar stools (which look rather similar to the ones at Rouvreux), we also made some decisions on the tiles for the kitchen. The decision was a hard one, I am slightly worried about the pattern of the benchtop being too busy with the shape of the tiles that we wanted. However, we found nothing else that we liked as much as these hexagonal ones. So it is a bit of a risk as I have no idea how it is all going to go together but I am hopeful that this design decision works out as well as all the others we have made.

Since then, however we have been busy in our separate lives and I have hardly seen my choupie d’amour all week. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I was working in Te Aroha so had a blissful night by myself in a hotel where I ate Indian food for dinner in bed and watched sad romance movies to my hearts content. Then Thursday I had the day off work to celebrate my friend Cathys graduation and the boys stayed up in town at my Aunts place as it is closer to where they are currently working. Benoit will have more information for you, but this week he has been employed by my brother to be his apprentice and helper in a few building jobs that he has lined up before he starts his big world tour of New Zealand. So, this week, Benoit and Jamie have been busy building a deck, two decks actually and on a third level of an apartment complex so it is rather technical work getting all the materials up and down the stair cases. Although it is hard work, I think the boys are both enjoying working together and earning some money (I especially think Benoit is enjoying having some pocket money to buy himself beers, although I feel like he is buying my brother more beers as he seems to frequently bet a box of beers on something and then ends up losing the bet – although I am not sure why he is surprised as my brother is serious when it comes to beer). But I am happy to see them having fun together, how lucky am I to have my two favourite people that get along so well!

This weekend, it has been another busy one. On Saturday morning it was finally the two-pot epoxy experiment on our bench top test, rather stressful as epoxy is very hard to do nicely, and we have no room for error as the bench is already in the kitchen, so I was rather nervous but with enough back ground research we managed, like everything in the tiny house, we made it work. And we are happy. On Sunday we were happy with the test and decided to start on the benchtop, we both spent the morning prepping and getting everything epoxy proof. It was a team effort as we recruited both Mum and Dad to help us out. Honestly, I am so proud of how our wee house has come together, from start to finish we have been involved in every step, every tiny detail we chose and if I may say so myself, I am happy with the final result.

On Saturday night we went up for a surprise birthday party, royal themed to tie in with the coronation with our new King and this king of Ellerslie (my uncle). It was a lot of fun and we had a lot of laughs and a good catch up with everyone. We celebrated in a very well themed surprise birthday, we had beers and darts in the ‘English pub’, then dinner in the castle themes dining room and then presents in the church where we ate cake and watched the coronation of our new king, King Charles and Queen Camilla. It has been nice to add a few social things to our list of things that need to be done. We are both enjoying the variation in our lives, and I think it has been good to have a break from the tiny house over the week to come back full force this weekend.

Until next time - Love Kate xxx

[resowrites]

Keepers Of The Stone - Part 3 (finale)

Summary: Captain Kirk and the Enterprise have received an urgent subspace message from a mining colony on Admetus Two. The colony has been struck down by a mysterious virus and the Enterprise have been tasked with not only finding out the cause, but saving the dying miners in time. But what will they find upon beaming down to the planet - and what is at stake over the course of their mission?

Characters: TOS crew.

Warnings: Occasional adult/dark themes, occasional threat of violence/danger, technical/space jargon, angsty, mentions of sickness and death, lightly beta’d.

WC: 3129

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! No copyright infringement intended, gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Part 3:

24 hours later.

Mr. Spock awoke to the glaring light above his bed in sick bay. When he slowly tried to sit up, he found himself bound by multiple restraints. He couldn't recall having been beamed aboard, in fact, he had little recollection of the past day and a half. Instead of calling out for Dr. McCoy, he laid back down and tried to search his memory for what had happened. But his conscious mind fought him, as though what he had seen was so terrible he had to be protected from it. He was determined to fight his way through such defences, he was sure that the information needed was locked away in his head. He could feel sweat collecting on his brow, he was very near the source of such agony now when suddenly the privacy curtain to the bay was swept aside. Mr. Spock's head fell back against the pillow as he panted with effort. "Are you alright Spock? Are you in any pain?" Dr. McCoy ran towards him and looked up at the monitor above his head. It registered high psychic output meaning that whatever Mr. Spock was going through, its origins were mental instead of physical. With effort, Mr. Spock turned his head towards the doctor.

"I am well enough Doctor, I was merely trying to recall my memories on the planet surface, which for some reason my consciousness has chosen to bury, when you came in and disturbed me." Dr. McCoy couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Well excuse me for doing my job, you've been out of it for 24 hours, I had to check in on you every hour until you came round. Are you telling me you have no memories of what happened when you beamed down to the planet surface?" Dr. McCoy examined his pallid face closely, memory loss could result from head trauma right up to toxic gas inhalation. Mr. Spock would continue to need close observation. 

"I appreciate your devotion to duty doctor," which came out far more sarcastically than Mr. Spock likely intended, "but I assure you I am otherwise well. With enough effort, I am sure I will be able to recall my memories after a short time." It was then that they both heard the curtain sweep open again.

"Be sure that you do Spock, it may be the only answer to this mystery..." Captain Kirk stepped towards the foot of the bed and held his hands behind his back. "How are you, Spock?" He asked in a far gentler tone.

"As I was just informing the good doctor, I am quite well barring memory loss of my time planetside. Can you enlighten me as to what led you to beam me back?" The Captain pursed his lips but decided to continue for the moment, if Mr. Spock said he was well then he was prepared to take his word for it.

"As soon as we heard you get up to walk, I had the Bridge turn on the main viewing screen. At first, it was hard to see what you were looking at. Eventually, we noticed the strange shift in air patterns signalling the creature was nearby. We didn't see it come towards you, all we could see was you standing one moment, and collapsed on the ground in agony the next. You gave me quite the scare Mr. Spock..." the Captain smiled softly at his longtime friend and companion. 

"My sentiments as well Captain... though I do not believe the creature was attempting to maim or kill me. It communicated something which for the moment I am unable to understand though, of course, I will give it first priority." Captain Kirk smiled as he shook his head.

"Your first priority is to rest Mr. Spock, we still have time until the reactor goes supercritical, and I'm sure Mr. Scott will jury rig another solution if necessary. I'll check in on you later." The Captain smiled briefly before swiftly exiting the room. Once Dr. McCoy had noted down the readings from the overhead monitor, he too left Mr. Spock to get back to sleep. Not that the First Officer had any intention of doing so. Despite his weakened state, he quickly entered a meditative state and began calmly sifting through the fragments of memory that was now slowly beginning to coalesce. It seems it was the method the creature used to communicate with him, rather than any harmful behaviour itself, which led to the surges of pain Mr. Spock felt. 

Perhaps their two species had incompatible forms of telepathy... or it didn't take enough care when entering the mind of a creature radically different from itself. Again Mr. Spock gritted his teeth against the pain, the images in his mind were slowly starting to merge, and words formed into sentences that gradually built in meaning. Finally, after almost an hour of concentrated thought, Mr. Spock let out a low sigh, he believed he'd discovered the key to the entire mystery.

The next morning.

The senior officers had once again gathered around the briefing room table. Captain Kirk eyed them all from his position at the head of it, determined that today they were going to put this matter to rest once and for all. They had only hours left to stabilise the core or the atmosphere would eventually be wiped out in the equivalent of a nuclear blast. He was glad to see Mr. Spock take his regular seat beside him. He still looked rather peaky but in much better form than he did the day before. Captain Kirk noticed the intense look in his eyes, he had news for them all, one way or another. "Alright gentlemen, we're on a strict schedule so I'll try and keep this brief. We've now confirmed the presence of Novorium on the planet, after Mr. Spock's altercation yesterday, I want any and all suggestions on how to proceed. Remember, our goal is to save the planet and make it suitable for re-habitation." Although Mr. Spock raised an eyebrow at the use of the word 'altercation,' he turned his gaze towards the Captain, indicating that he wished to speak first.

"Captain, gentlemen, if I may, it is imperative we save the planet from nuclear disaster. After my interaction with the Novorium yesterday, I now understand their behaviour on the planet..." Dr. McCoy eyed him sceptically, as austere and rigid as Vulcans liked to appear, he was concerned that Mr. Spock hadn't quite recovered his senses enough. The Captain, however, was prepared to him hear out.

"Go on Mr. Spock, what can you tell us?" The Vulcan sat up straight and cleared his throat.

"It appears the Novorium have inhabited the planet for millions of years. They reside mostly underground, though when the colonists took control of the planet, they ventured to the surface to observe their activities from afar. When the colonists began mining the Tavassium, the Novorium were initially concerned at their main food source being taken from them..." Dr. McCoy quickly cut in.

"What? You mean to tell me that a bunch of clouds are going around eating stone?" It was at times like this that Mr. Spock had to resist the all too human urge to roll his eyes. 

"They are not merely clouds doctor... nor the Tavassium simple rock. It appears that the same qualities which attracted the miners to use it as an energy source are also those that attract the Novorium. Once it is harnessed in a reactor, it is depleted of the nutrients that the Novorium needs. Had the miners not used it in this manner or started shipping it off world, in all likelihood the Novorium would have let them be." The Captain furrowed his brow.

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Spock, that the Novorium are responsible for the deaths of the entire colony?" Something flashed across the Vulcan's steely black eyes.

"Captain the matter is not quite as simple as it appears. The colonists, however unwittingly, were depriving the Novorium of their only food source. Had they not acted to defend themselves, they could well have been wiped from existence." Dr. McCoy was unconvinced.

"But hold on a minute... they managed to communicate with you, why couldn't they make their case to the colonists?" It was a perfectly valid point and one that the Captain wanted answered as well.

"I am afraid that would have been impossible doctor. Humans do not possess the same telepathic capabilities as Vulcans. You saw my state in sickbay, I do not believe a human would have survived such an encounter, or at least retained their sanity in doing so." The doctor pursed his lips, he hated any implication that humans were somehow inferior to Vulcans, but as he hadn't experienced such contact himself, he was forced to take Mr. Spock's word for it. 

“So that’s it? The entire planet has to be abandoned because these creatures can’t share a natural resource?” Captain Kirk wasn’t happy at the prospect of having to report such news to Starfleet. They’d want him to find a compromise, despite there clearly not being one in this situation.

“Captain it is the Novorium’s only source of food. We, however, have a choice regarding the energy we consume. To continue mining on the planet would be to subject the Novorium to extinction. And that also violates our most sacred laws.” Captain Kirk couldn’t believe the matter was so clear cut.

“But why can’t they share the Tavassium, surely there’s enough to meet everyone’s needs?” The Vulcan had anticipated such a question and shook his head.

“Negative Captain. The planet does not have enough for both the Novorium and the miners. The mine we beamed down near is actually one of the last sources of the element, it is why we picked up a reading from it far below. The Novorium tampered with the automatic controls to determine whether the vein was soon to be exhausted.” The Captain then realised something.

“But if what you say is true Mr. Spock, then shortly the Novorium will have to move off world as well…” the Vulcan cut in.

“Or die in the process, yes.” The Captain nodded his head to show his appreciation for the Novorium’s predicament as well. It was hardly their fault that they depended on the planet for survival and if the Federation could find a way of offering assistance to them, it would. 

“Did you try and extend an offer of help? Surely they can understand we don’t wish to cause any more harm?” Mr. Spock tried to recall the exact words spoken to him by the Novorium but alas, his hazy memory failed him.

“Unfortunately Captain there would be little we could do, we cannot search whole systems looking for other suitable food sources. I have since checked our databases for any records of the element under other names or descriptions of similar discoveries. There is only one and it is thousands of lightyears away. I can try and make contact with the Novorium but either way, they remain sanguine about their likely fate. They are not anxious or insistent on survival at all costs.” The Captain found such a description hard to believe but without direct contact with the species themselves, he judged Mr. Spock’s assessment as sound.

“Recommendations Mr. Spock?” He suspected he already knew the answer.

“Captain, if the supply of Tavassium is in any event, limited, it makes no sense to continue risking the lives of colonists or further endangering the Novorium. I believe the time spent on Admetus Two has come to a natural end…” Lt. Cdr. Scott quickly piped up.

“No truer words Mr. Spock, the readings from the reactor have spiked. It will go critical sooner than expected. We’re out of Pergium and we can’t get another supply in time. The Tavassium sciences tested showed some missing trace elements though they don’t know the exact cause. If it was consumed by the Novorium then it’s likely most of the stock down there is the same, especially after it was placed outside of the warehouses. I don’t think the reactor is stable enough to attempt another refit and by the time we know whether the new Tavassium is effective, the reactor could have already blown. What are your orders, sir?” Mr. Scott looked gravely towards the Captain. Although Starfleet’s commercial interests in the planet were now at a close, they still had a duty of care towards the Novorium, their actions towards the colonists notwithstanding. 

“Well, what can you do Mr. Scott? We can’t let the Novorium die. We’ll have to risk sending Mr. Spock down to communicate with them one last time. If we at least give them the option to find the planet you discovered Mr. Spock, we’ll have done all we can. If you can’t rig the reactor to remain stable Mr. Scott, we have no choice but to let it destroy the planet.” All the men around the table remained silent apart from Dr. McCoy.

“You can’t seriously be considering sending Spock back down? It isn’t safe Jim!” But the Captain made no response. It was a terrible burden to be left to decide the fates of whole planets as well as his crew, but their time had run out and their first priority now was to try and save the lives of the Novorium. Time being of the essence, Captain Kirk quickly ended the meeting and escorted Mr. Spock to the transporter room personally. They had no idea whether he could get the Novorium to appear again, the Tavassium they used as bait had most likely been consumed, though Mr. Spock felt confident he could try and reach the Novorium telepathically. In any event, they had to give it a shot.

Mr. Spock beamed down to a still deserted colony, given that there was no way of saving the planet, they’d have no time to collect the bodies and return them to their relevant families and home planets. It was a sobering thought and harsh reminder of how dangerous space exploration continued to be. When he decided he was in as good a spot as any, Mr. Spock stood very still and tried to quieten his mind. Although he wouldn’t say he felt anxious, the weight of saving the Novorium’s lives felt very heavy indeed. Telepathically, he began sending out a calling card of sorts. If the Novorium were in the vicinity, hopefully, they’d respond soon. 

Mr. Spock knew he didn’t have another four hours like last time to await their response. Luckily this time he didn’t have to, through his squinted eyes he could see the familiar wavering atmosphere that signalled a Novorium was present and fast approaching. He quickly signalled the creature to stop and explained that he couldn’t again undergo direct communication due to the pain it caused. The Novorium seemed to understand. It hovered where it was and awaited further instruction. Normally a Vulcan has to be in physical contact with a subject to be able to communicate via mindlink, but obviously, the Novorium couldn’t be touched and therefore had developed a much more expansive consciousness. 

As quickly and as simply as he could, he explained the location and coordinates of the nearest planet that would supply them with food. He explained the graveness of the situation with the reactor and that it would destroy the planet and most likely their species as well. He wasn’t sure the Novorium had understood, but he had no further chance to explain, the creature swiftly disappeared and it was soon as though Mr. Spock had merely been talking to himself. He tried to call the creature back but was interrupted by the beeping emanating from his communicator. “This is Spock, what is it?” His tone sounded impatient though in truth he was more concerned that the Novorium he encountered hadn’t quite grasped his meaning. Lt. Uhura responded to him stiffly.

“The reactor is about to meltdown Mr. Spock, prepare to beam out.” She ended the transmission before Mr. Spock could reply. Back on the Bridge, there was far more of a commotion. 

“Captain, we have to get him out now, the reactor’s going to go at any moment!” The Chief Engineer practically lept out of his chair. Captain Kirk jabbed at the comm panel on his chair.

“Kirk to transporter room, lock onto Mr. Spock, and beam him back now.” The Captain didn’t even sign off, instead, he lept from his chair and made his way to the engineering station.

“Report Mr. Scott?” But the burly Scotsman simply stared at his console glumly.

“It’s gone sir… everything within range… destroyed.” Captain Kirk gritted his teeth and turned to face Lt. Uhura who was already trying to reach the transporter room. Finally, she overrode their competing signals and got through to Lt. Kyle. A smile stretched across her face.

Sometime later on the Bridge.

Captain Kirk put the finishing touches on his report to Starfleet. They wouldn’t be happy at having lost the whole colony along with the planet as well. They’d most likely carry out an investigation and upon finding the planet’s atmosphere stripped clean, would order a quarantine that barred any of their ships from visiting it again. It was a terrible waste of work and resources but as Captain Kirk often discovered, those were the breaks. He looked over at Mr. Spock, who was quietly engrossed at the science section. He decided to get up and stretch his legs. Mr. Spock could sense the Captain moving towards him and motioned for a Cadet to take his place. Standing in front of each other, Captain Kirk could see that Mr. Spock was troubled by the unknown fate of the Novorium. They no longer registered anywhere on the planet, nor anywhere else in fact. “…You did all you could Spock.” But it was useless, an unclear outcome was as bad as a negative one in Mr. Spock’s view.

“Captain! Registering Novorium on heading 1356 mark 2.” Ensign Chekhov shot up excitedly from his seat.

“… And more Mr. Spock.” The two men smiled at each other.

“Alright Mr. Chekhov, plot a course for Achelous Five, apparently there’s a moon we’re to investigate…” the young Ensign smiled as he tapped away at his board.

“Aye aye sir, course laid in.” Mr. Sulu smiled beside him, relieved they were finally on their way and hopefully to a much happier mission. 

“Warp factor three.” The Captain was also seated now and smiling broadly. Not all their missions were a success, but at least they’d managed to save a rare species from extinction. 

“Warp factor three sir.” The Enterprise hovered for several moments before vanishing from view.

A/N: Hi guys, as a huge Star Trek fan and a lover of the original series, it’s my pleasure to present this new three part story. This is the final part! I hope you all enjoyed the story and felt I captured something of the spirit of the original. Any feedback is appreciated and I hope you’ll continue to stick around and enjoy new stories in the future!

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@starryeyes2000

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me //  I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.  

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.  

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.  

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.  

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​ @iammirrorball​

taglists are open! drop me an ask if you would like to be added!

[rainy-day-coffee]

Vice dorm leaders with a fem!s/o who doesn't care about her, but cares hella for other people? She is someone extremely lovely, but doesn't care for go to extremes to help someone?

Make sure to take care of yourself everyone! Go drink water! Or tea! Or better yet, coffee! Go eat something too!

If this isn’t exactly what you wanted, don’t hesitate to send in another request! On an entirely different note, I just realized that if I wrote a confession scenario for Jamil it would contain a ton of angst, with some ending fluff in an attempt to heal the wounds. Or maybe more angst to squeeze lemon juice in said wounds.

Vice dorm leaders with a caring fem!s/o who does not care for herself

Trey knows the feeling of burnout at the expense of others. He doesn’t tend to put the needs of others before his own, but he is used to leaving them for later if the situation calls for it. As vice dorm leader, he always has a steady stream of stress flowing all around him. It’s one of the last things he would wish upon anyone.

His dorm always seems to have a new source of trouble. You always try and lessen his burden even when he tells you it isn’t necessary. It melts him on the inside!

He’s thoroughly heart-broken when he realizes you care for everyone but yourself. He knew you had a tendency to prioritize others, he just hadn’t thought it would be this severe.

In his free time, he’ll sit you down and have a long talk with you. He needs to know why exactly you feel the need to do this and what he can do to help. If you aren’t confident enough to tell him, he’ll respect your wishes.

If you thought he radiated parent aura before, he’ll radiate nearly twice as much now. He sends you text messages throughout the day to remind you of things! For example, “If Ace and Deuce get into trouble again, let them. Riddle can chew them out later”

He’ll gently pull you away from draining situations you put yourself in. If you so desire, you can return to them later. For now, how about you help him bake a bit? It’s a great way to relieve some stress!

Your thinking and way of being is almost the exact opposite of his. Why are you willing to give people everything and not take anything for yourself? Why do you push your own importance to the bottom of the list? That is, if it’s even there in the first place. You absolutely baffle him to no end.

Growing up in the slums taught him to put his needs first. He acts solely to benefit himself, or so he says. That mindset carried on into your relationship too. For the long run, you both will learn from each other. Ruggie will teach you that it’s okay to think about yourself. Everything you do will benefit someone important to him, you. You’ll teach him that not every act of kindness needs something in return. He won’t be indebted to anyone, especially not to you.

Every time you offer to help him with anything his heart explodes with happiness! It’s a strange feeling, but he loves it nonetheless!

He does get a little jealous when you help others. He knows it’s in your nature but he’s a little on the greedier side.

The moment Ruggie sees you biting off more than you can chew, he will sit you down and make you rest. You’ve done this countless times for him, it’s only fair if he does it for you too.

He’ll help you with absolutely everything you ask! Your happiness is something that makes him happy too. It’s well worth the investment!

He’s guilty of exploiting you. Long before your relationship blossomed into what it is today, he would ruthlessly watch you diligently completing tasks for others. Even he would give you things to do! You were always willing to help after all. It didn’t matter if he threw a tsunami of different chores at you, you’d always do your best to complete them. It amused him greatly. A caring hard-worker with no strings attached? How excellent.

That way of thinking changes a bit when he starts to develop feelings for you. It changes even more when you two start dating.

Loves that you support his club activities! He likes inviting you to help him too. The Mountain Appreciation Club now has two members!

If he sees people dump their problems on you, he’ll send his dear brother after them. While Floyd has fun squeezing them, Jade will invite you to take a nice long break with him instead.

He knows that talking sometimes isn’t the best way to get things to happen. He’s aware that changing the way someone thinks is also something that will take time.

If you refuse to put your needs first, he’ll request things from you whilst simultaneously canceling all other plans. Those requests will simply include things he knows you enjoy doing and things he knows you need to attend to. You’ll do it for him no doubt, correct?

You managed to worm your way into a cold eel’s heart, you now must deal with the “selfish” love he gives. Though that love doesn’t seem all that selfish.

At first he was very hesitant to let you into his life, much his less heart. People who were “kind” to him always hide their true intentions until the last moment. Usually, they would only be kind to him to get to Kalim, something Jamil always had to be wary of.

He’s used to people asking him for his services, not someone asking to help him with them. Although Kalim is always willing to help him, Jamil can never accept, not that he wants to in the first place. It’s a different case with you.

Mainly, he’ll give you tasks the two of you can do together. It’s a way to squeeze in more time with you! Apart from that, he prefers to do his work by himself. He doesn’t want to rope you into his life as a servant.

Jamil isn’t the best at speaking about emotions and such. When he realizes just how little you take for yourself, he feels pained but he won’t say anything about it. Instead, he takes it upon himself to help you just as you’ve helped him.

As hypocritical as he thinks it is, he wants you to take care of your own needs and desires too. Ever since Kalim granted him more freedom, he’s been trying to do the same. Although you two are different cases, it’s a lesson both of you can learn together.

The moment you become his girlfriend, he technically starts to stalk you. He used to do so before the relationship started as, but whether you knew that or not is a subject for another day.

After watching you for a while, he starts to notice a pattern. Not one he likes either.

Rook sees the beauty in everything and everyone. He has a way of convincing people to see that beauty too. He’ll slowly make sure you extend that kindness you give to others to yourself. As eccentric as he is, he’s also a very patient man.

He’ll verbally remind you and ask what you really want to do. This includes the topic of his requests too. If he ever asks for something that you really don’t want to do, he’ll drop it. He tells you it’s your right to put your needs first.

“Mon amour, all people in the world are important and worth loving. That includes yourself. If you ever find yourself forgetting this, I will be here to remind you every day!”

He’s a very giving lover himself! He goes out of his way to do many things for you! 

He doesn’t want you to change who you are, he just wants you to be kinder to yourself!

More likely than not, you’re some sort of friend to Idia. You probably met him through Ortho!

He’s very grateful to you, you’re one of the first real-life people who has tried to befriend Idia. You’ve probably tried to get Idia to practice some more healthy eating habits and the like too. Apart from that, you also try to understand both of them.

Ortho sees you as a best friend, maybe even an older sister! He doesn’t like to see such negative thoughts concerning your well-being.

Just like he does for his older brother, he tries to get you to practice some healthier habits. More specifically, he makes you promise to help yourself! It’s his way of showing that he cares for you greatly.

Be wary, he pops up randomly during the day to remind you to take care of yourself! If he sees you helping a friend, he will help you himself. Afterwards, he’ll drag you to rest! You spend lots of energy both physically and mentally, you need to recharge! Not even Ortho can run for forever without recharging his battery!

Lean on him! He’s very reliable, his brother has given him many different features!

He’s met people such as yourself before. Right off the bat he knew how you handled yourself.

As much as he appreciates the amount of effort you put into helping him, he most likely will shoot you down from trying in the first place. He’s an old one, he can do such work easily you can rest assured!

He constantly tells you to enjoy your youth. Go on! Do crazy things! Be selfish! 

Lilia will be your personal cheerleader on your journey!

In all seriousness though, he’ll have a talk with you about this. Among other things, he’ll gently encourage you to push yourself forward. Though it will be a long process, stamping out the thoughts of needing to help others without helping yourself is the first step.

Nobody dares to ask too much of you. The vice leader of Diasomnia may look cute on the outside but he does have an intense aura surrounding him when he wants to.

He likes to rope you into spontaneous adventures in the great outdoors! It’s a perfect get-away from the stress at school. It also gives you some time to sort out your thoughts. 

Slowly but surely he’ll make you realize your worth is just as-if not even more-important as those around you.

[fangirl-everythang]

Last Nerve H.S

Summary: Harry x Reader; Harry chooses a particularly rough day to be extra clingy leading to some events...

Warnings: Swearing, Oral Sex, Sex, Spit

Word Count: 1530

Today was not the fucking day. It started this morning when Harry decided my sleep was more important than my 8 am board meeting, so he turned off the alarms. All of them. And guess who was late to one of the MOST important days of their career. That's right you guessed it, me.

Not only that but he's just constantly clinging to me from the moment I woke up in a panic to the moment I stepped foot through the door. I couldn't even take my shoes off without him near me. I love him but Jesus fuck.

I groan as I hear the handle in the bathroom giggle. "Yes, Harrold?" I huff. 

"I just wanted to see you love."

"You've seen me literally all day" I sigh opening the door. "Actually, no I haven't." He smiles cheekily rubbing my side. I just roll my eyes and pad back to the bedroom. Unbuttoning my top and tugging my pants down. "How was work?" He asks from the bed.

"How do you think it was Harry?" Attitude prominent in my tone as I switch my shirt.

"Not bad?" He questions. I huff in annoyance as I turn to go downstairs but none the less, he follows. "So, was it bad?"

I just nod patience with him thinning incredibly fast. "Like bad or bad bad?"

"Bad bad Harry." He pouts and embraces me. "And all better now?"

Walk away. Walk away. "I'm gonna go pick dinner up, do you want anything?" He frowns "Why are you leaving to go pick the pizza up when they deliver?" He ask.

"I need the walk." And with that I head out before he can get another sound out.

-----25minutes later----

I think I'm okay. For now at least. Putting my key in the door and carrying the semi cold pizza in the other, I know one of two things may have happened when I left. The first being that he is mad or he's waiting. And I hope it's the first option.

"There you are, I thought you got lost." He sighs in relief.

"Its only three blocks away please calm your titties." He grins and I can't help but to smile back.

The pizza isn't half bad and where do you go wrong with old Friends re-runs. After we finish the show is still playing but Harry isn't paying it nearly as much attention as the hand he's holding. " You know I love you."

"I know Harrold." He just pouts

"You don't love me?" He asks pulling me into his lap discarding the remote.

"I do Harry, I really do but and I mean this in the nicest possible way, you're getting on my last nerve today."

He chuckles and points to himself, "Me? getting on your last nerve?" The aura in the room shifts, his eyes a deeper shade of green. Going to move from his lap he just places his hand on my hip.

"Where do you think you're going darling?" Before I could speak he just continues playing with my panty line.

"You know technically... " he says slowly with lingering hands. I feel my body shudder as his long fingers brush over my clit. "This is your last nerve." He continues rubbing the small nub through my panties, "I don't know about getting on it per say, but I'm sure there are other things I could do." When he halts his movements a whine escapes my lips with a sudden urge for him to make me cum. "Harry don't be a tease please."

"Tell me what you want y/n." He says smirking. "Shirt off Harrold." He grips the bottom of my shirt "nuh-uh Haz" he looks at me confused. "Yours." He quickly pulls his shirt over his head exposing his beautifully tatted body. I can feel my pussy dripping, but he knows better. Grabbing my shirt, I slowly take it off as he lets out an animalistic growl. Pulling my panties down while he watches I make my way to the arm of the couch as he hurriedly removes his pants and lays in front of me. Spreading my legs I run a finger through my folds he looks at me hungrily. Before I could speak to taunt him his lips where on my pussy .

"Fuck Harry, I didn't tell you to do that." I say between pants. He moans continuing to bury himself between my legs showing no mercy. His tongue teasing my hole. A string of moans and curse words leaving my lips and right now I'm praising this couch. He loops his arms around my thighs holding me in place as he continues to devour me, leaving no part of me untouched. Leaning on my elbows to watch him I feel myself nearing my edge as he looks at me. The sounds his mouth is making against my vagina is unholy for sure. He takes his thumb and presses random patterns onto my nub and I'm done for. My hands pulling his hair as my thighs clench around his head moaning out his name. He keeps kitten licking me as I come down from my high. "Harry." He raises an eyebrow while looking at my swollen labia "hmm?"

"Kiss me." He complies kissing me with force. I can taste myself on him as he pushes his tongue in my mouth. His hand comes up to my throat applying pressure not too much but enough to make me want more. He forces my head up, "open your mouth darling, and don't you fucking close it. Got it?" I nod expecting him to stand and put his dick in my mouth but boy was I wrong. He inserts two fingers into my mouth and as I begin to suck them he pinches my bum " I said don't close that pretty fucking mouth." He says putting more pressure on my tongue. He looks like he's contemplating something before I could question it I feel something sliding down my throat.

My thighs clench together almost instantly. Its nasty but he makes it so hot, his spit gliding down my throat I swallow it as if it were my own. "Good girl." He takes his thumb and wipes my chin. Pulling me back down to the couch level. Looking at his throbbing length, his tip is so pink leaking with precum. I reach between us and line him up with my entrance. He runs his tip through my folds tapping my clit with it. "Am I getting on your last nerve y/n?" He whispers. "Are you Harry?" I ask before attacking the spot just below his ear, leaving a reminder for the both of us.

Grabbing his length and pushing him into me I begin moving my hips as he lets out the sexist moan in my ear. "So wet y/n" he grunts pushing into me all the way almost leaving me breathless.

"So tight" he moans as I clench around him. He feels so good inside of me. Rhythm of his own being made as he speeds up his thrust. He dips his head on my shoulder and attacks my collar bone with kisses sure to leave very visible marks all over. The pleasure from his lips sending my senses into overdrive but I need him to come first. Reaching up to kiss him it's just teeth clattering and moans being exchanged.

"You fuck me so good Harry." I whisper in his ear as he gives out a particularly hard thrust causing both of us to moan loudly, hitting a spot that has dots fading into my vision.

"M'gonna cum baby" he tells me as I tighten around him he pushes into me reaching around to rub my clit, I quickly grab his hand and lace our fingers together as he bites down hard filling me with his cum pushing through sloppy thrust. Once he finishes, he looks up at me.

"You didn't cum." He frowns. I grab his cheeks and softly kiss him.

" I don't think you know how hard it was for me not to cum again." He looks at me skeptically, " and why is that?" he ask placing little kisses on my breast. "You'll see if you ever take your dick out of me." He smirks and roughly grabs my jaw, " Your pussy's mine." He slowly pulls out watching our arousal drip out of me "fuck y/n" He whispers.

"Finish me off Harry, use it." He smiles at my request "You're such a dirty girl for me aren't you princess" He leans down and runs his tongue over the bruise he left on me as his fingers gather our mixture and he spreads it on my clit. He rubs fast circles edging me on using his middle and ring finger he pumps them nearly knuckle deep, occasionally brushing over my g-spot, whispering sweet nothings in my ears. My orgasm ripples through my body sending me into a world of pure bliss. Coming down from this high left me panting he just smirks at me, playing with the arousal that now adorns my thighs.

"look at the mess you've made darling"

A/N: Long time no see, well I have said that I wanted to get back into writing so here you are my loves. I wanted to disclose that this is also on my Wattpad ( fangirl_everythang) which contains more of my work that I’ll be posting. I figured I could reach a bigger audience this way but the nerves are wrecking me; I’ve heard so many stories about authors getting their work taken. It’s heart breaking and makes it all that much more scarier.   I'm not too sure how I feel about this smut scene but I do think it embodies Harrold pretty well😊 Anyways let me know how you guys like it, or if you don’t. (I take request as well)

xoxoJanelle