#{ but. first order of business. close the multi and focus over here }

[huntershowl]

ok i've done a big stupid and overwhelmed myself real bad with drafts across both blogs. i'm gonna take a sec to reassess because it's getting to the point where rp is stressin and i absolutely refuse to let that happen lmfao

[bella-studyblr]

Task Management:

Creating + Maintaining a Schoolwork Schedule

Key elements

Your schedule suits your individual time/task management preferences.

It is flexible enough to accommodate sudden changes, plus fluctuating energy levels, states of concentration, symptoms and moods.

Daily tasks are not over-whelming; they are small enough that they are achievable.

You do not get “burned out.”

It allows you to be consistent.

Steps to create your schedule

Decide if you want your planner to be paper or digital

Find an “order” that’s logical and achievable for you (more on this later)

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all the assignments, tests and other events taking place that week/month (and their due-dates).

Then break these down, assigning tasks to each day of the week (more on this later).

Break down your tasks even further (more on this later).

Decide if you want to follow a simple daily to-do list or a timed schedule (more on this later).

Find your “order(s)”

Mandatory: Schedule assignments around other commitments (work, social, hobbies, etc.).

Do the hardest task first to get it out of the way (so that the rest of your tasks are less daunting, and because your smaller tasks require less energy therefore can be done even after completing the hard task).

Do the easiest task first to build momentum (give yourself a feeling of accomplishment which will motivate you to continue, and boost your self-confidence early in the day to establish a positive mindset for the rest of the day).

Do the task that’s due first to minimize deadline stress, and so your assignments don’t fall through the cracks (causing you to get discouraged and lose momentum).

Plan according to your energy level throughout the day and week: Do you have Pilates once a week? Maybe you can reserve that day for easier assignments. If you know you’re going to be tired for whatever reason, account for that in your planning.

Consider your state of concentration: If you know you’re too groggy or spaced out for the first hour of your day, you can either schedule easy tasks in that time, or none at all. If you take a medication in the afternoon/evening that makes you tired, schedule easier tasks or none, and get harder tasks done earlier/later in the day. If you have ADHD and crowded places mess with your concentration, but you like studying at a café, go when it’s not busy.

Be mindful of your emotions and symptoms: If you have depression, or are prone to depressive episodes, you’ll need to consider that when scheduling. You might have to rework your entire schedule when you get into a depressive episode (like adding lots of breaks). If suddenly you’re going through a big life event (like a breakup), you need to account for that when scheduling. For instance, if you can’t stand to be alone, maybe you can go out instead of staying in, and if your motivation is low, you may need to up your reward-system or break down your tasks even more.

Break down this week/month’s tasks

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all your due dates for the time period you’re scheduling for.

Based on due dates, outside commitments, predictions of energy/mood/symptoms, assign assignments to the days of the week/month that make most sense for you.

Break down daily tasks into sub-tasks

You can do this (in advance) for your full week/month’s assignments, or do it every morning/evening.

Generally, your assignments will follow a variation of this formula: brainstorm, create an outline, research, write rough draft, edit and revise. Test/exam prep will look something like: check to see what the test is based on, pinpoint important sections, review to see how well you know the material, create a list of items to study, rewrite select notes, make flash cards, study topic 1, study topic 2, etc.

What are the individual components of these steps? Here are some examples. Brainstorm: what should my topic be, what should my thesis be, what points can support my thesis, what do I need to research, what questions do I need to ask my prof? Outline: topic, thesis, points, conclusion. Research: write down all the important parts from each source (separately), then sift through to sort into Supporting Point 1, Supporting Point 2, etc. Rough draft: opening statement(s), intro, point 1, point 2, etc., conclusion, closing statement(s). Edit/revise: read and check for grammar only, then read again and check for spelling only, read again and check for cohesiveness only, etc. Topic 1: Part A, Part B, etc.

Each of these small components can be individual items on your to-do list. Big tasks like, “write essay” are too big for most people. Even “write rough draft” is daunting. If you start with something specific and small like brainstorming, and work your way up, it’s a lot easier to approach. Plus, being able to check off tasks more often and more easily will boost your confidence and your sense of competence, thus building momentum.

Here is a sample to-do list: Research X for Point 1 of Literary Essay, create outline for History Essay, Edit/Revise Assignment 1, study Topic 1 and Topic 2 for Test 1.

To-do list or time-based schedule?

To do list: Write down all your assignments for the day. Put them in the order you want to do them, or go through them intuitively (based on what you feel like doing, or what’s most practical at the time/place you’re at).

Timed-based: Write down all your assignments, then write down the time you’re going to do each of them. You could set reminders or alarms if you want, or simply refer to the list. There’s an awesome app I recommend if this is your thing. It’s called Structured (iOS only).

Curate your study environment for maximum focus

Eliminate distractions such as uncomfortable clothing, sounds (or silence), phone and computer notifications, clutter in the room and on your desk, people who may try to talk to you (shut your door and/or inform them that you’re busy).

Designate a space to doing homework only and avoid spaces that you associate with other things (do not study in bed, as you will want to relax or sleep, and/or you will mess with your sleep by weakening the bed’s association with sleep).

Build associations: Incorporate other events and items into your study/homework routine that you only use while doing that, so that you associate those things with studying/homework (examples: specific playlists, pencils/pens, cups/bottles, scents, rituals, decor, etc.).

Ensure good lighting (preferably including daylight).

Get dressed in clothes that make you feel good about yourself. They don’t have to be “professional” and they should definitely be comfortable. Do not stay in your pyjamas. Believe me, I know this can be hard, and I love PJ’s. But they are not good for productivity.

Don’t “multi-task.” It may feel like you’re getting more done this way, but by splitting your focus, not only do tasks take longer, they also diminish in quality. Commit to the task you’re doing.

Meditate: You can even meditate for just 1-5 mins right before studying, homework and/or classes.

Practice self care (daily!)

Sleep (enough, well, and regularly).

Daylight: Get outside, work by windows, use a light therapy box. These can help regulate your sleep, improve and maintain mental health, and boost energy.

Fresh air: Getting outside even for a couple minutes can help you refresh and reset, and feel good about yourself and your life. Fresh oxygen can help you wake up and is great for your health. Even just opening your window can do a lot for your mood, energy and motivation.

Movement: Try to move at least once per day. The benefits of exercise are numerous and immense.

Healthy and consistent eating: Avoid spikes in insulin levels by eating regularly so you don’t have extreme dips in your energy level. Also, brain power uses calories too, so make sure you’re eating consistently, and try to eat healthy. There are so many other reasons eating consistently is good for your health (and by extension, your productivity).

Relaxation and leisure: Make time for fun and socializing, as well as intentional relaxation. Hobbies, movies/tv, time with friends/family, meditation, baths, progressive muscle relaxation, etc.

Therapy: Your therapy sessions are not daily, but you can do 5 minutes of inner-work per day based on what you and your therapist are currently working on. Working with a therapist is a great way to stay on track with your goals, and develop the skills and positive mindset required for success in school.

Reward yourself

Track progress: Reflect on all the assignments you’ve completed and your grades to remind yourself that you’re capable!

Completing to-do lists daily maintains a sense of accomplishment which keeps your momentum going. Check those items off! Or give yourself gold stars! ⭐️

Treat yourself with non-food rewards: Tie completed school work with fun tasks like video games, or take yourself out for coffee, or some other small (non-food) outing. What I’m trying to do right now is not do my leisure activities until my daily tasks are done.

Develop a positive mindset

Take promises you make to yourself seriously. The more you break promises to yourself, the easier it will get to continue breaking promises. You will lose respect for yourself which lowers motivation, and you will lose trust in yourself which can become debilitating as well. The more you keep promises, the easier it will get, the more motivated you’ll become, and the more you’ll trust and respect yourself. Your confidence will improve, and you’ll feel better about yourself. Productivity is choosing yourself. Discipline is choosing what’s best for you instead of what you feel like doing in the moment. Discipline is a muscle, and like any muscle, it can be strengthened, and it can atrophy.

Remember your “why.” What is the end goal of being in school? What’s your career path, and why did you choose it? What will your life be like when you have that career? What would your life be like if you gave up and didn’t make it to your goal? Aiming for your dream while running from your nightmare is a great strategy for maintaining motivation. Lighting a fire under your *** can be a huge motivator.

Remember how good you feel when you get schoolwork done, and let this motivate you to stay consistent. You can also remember how you feel when you don’t get work done, but definitely focus more on the positive!

Go to therapy and/or hire a coach. There are SO many benefits to therapy and I’d honestly need a whole other post to get into it. You don’t need to be depressed or mentally ill at all in order to benefit from talking to a therapist. They can even help you with time management, procrastination, motivation and more! If you can afford it, please do it. It’s such a worthwhile investment.

Be consistent

No “zero days.” Do at least a bit of homework or studying every day so you don’t slip into vacation mode. Make schoolwork a daily part of your life, so it just becomes the norm.

Build productivity momentum (track progress, check items off your to-do list daily, treat yourself, keep promises to yourself, remember your “why,” remember how success feels).

Stay on top of projects. Your assignments are made up of smaller tasks you assign yourself across time. “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.” - Robert Collier

Avoid burnout (more on this later).

Keep it interesting (more on this later).

Avoid burnout

Self-care: shower and/or bathe regularly, maintain proper sleep habits, stay hydrated, take care of your skin, do relaxation activities like meditation and reading, do fun activities, pamper yourself every now and then with face masks or foot baths, take your meds as prescribed, eat well and regularly, get outside often, move daily, etc.

Break up study/homework sessions into small, manageable chunks of time, with constructive (refreshing) breaks in between.

Break assignments down into even smaller tasks so that you aren’t over-working yourself during the course of a day, and so that you don’t overwhelm yourself (the stress can lead to burnout).

School-life balance: Keep up with your social life as best as you can, make time for your hobbies, maintain self-care, say no to things that don’t serve you, etc. Try to follow through with scheduled schoolwork 100% of the time, but know that you won’t. Sometimes you’ll need to prioritize mental health over schoolwork (be careful though, this is a very fine line, and a slippery slope). Sometimes things will come up and it’ll be out of your control. But more than anything else, there will be times when you just decide to prioritize something else like fun and socializing over schoolwork. This is why your schedule needs to be flexible: to accommodate sudden invites to hang out and random decisions to skip a homework/study session, but more importantly, flexibility will reduce the odds that you’ll skip in the first place. If your schedule includes hobbies and socializing, and anything else that’s important to you, then you won’t feel deprived. If you have school-life balance, you’ll have more of yourself to devote to schoolwork when it’s time to.

Keep it interesting

Romanticize your life by putting effort into making all of your daily tasks a special occasion.

Make meals and drinks special by using your favourite dinnerware and cutlery. Perhaps even incorporate extra elements such as: a beautiful tablecloth, napkins, candles and/or dim lighting, music, wearing your favourite clothing, etc.

Pretend you’re the main character in a movie about a successful, productive student (because you are the main character in your life).

Make games out of studying if this is something that interests you (the Forest app comes to mind).

Use lots of colours in your notes and buy colourful stationary! 🌈

Vary your approach/methods if needed to avoid boredom.

Study with friends (online or in person).

Reward yourself often.

Remember your “why.”

[funtimebunnyblog]

I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

[rjhpandapaws]

Congrats on the 160 followers!

For your ask event, could I please give you the prompt of “Firsts”? More specifically “First fight”.

I’m thinking canon-verse, established relationship Reed900 with Gavin not realising that his strong, resilient boyfriend actually needs a lot more attention and affection than he lets on. The cause of the fight could be anything, maybe a forgotten anniversary, but I wanna see a fluffy fluffy reconciliation in your trademark writing style!

Thanks Panda!!!❤️❤️❤️

//thank you Maya!!! Also I live this idea

Gavin was many things, but emotionally aware was not one of them. Which was in his humble opinion why he and Nines worked so well, being with Nines didn’t require that much emotional investment. Or so he had thought anyway. He didn’t really notice Nines pulling away from him until he was nearly gone, though now that he was looking back he could see some of the steps that were taken. As they said hindsight was twenty-twenty; but that wasn’t going to help him fix his relationship. Knowing that he was wrong wasn’t going to keep him from losing the best thing that had ever happened to him. It started out slowly enough, Nines started spending fewer nights at Gavin’s apartment, they didn’t live together so that wasn’t entirely unusual. Sometimes Nines needed time to himself, emotions were new to him and they could be overwhelming at times. Or that was what Gavin told himself, his boyfriend was bullet proof and nearly indestructible so it was hard to imagine anything else being wrong. Nines hadn’t been designed to feel anything so it was easy to convince himself that Nines only needed space to process. Then the coffees had stopped. Richard expressed himself largely through actions, and he expressed affection specifically through gifts, in Gavin’s case coffee. There was a stretch of weeks where the coffees were few and far between, but that was because they were working a big case and there just wasn’t time, though by the time the case had been closed they had stopped all together. Which Gavin hadn’t noticed until then because he was only human and could only put all of his focus on one thing at a time; and the maybe issue with Nines was not the thing that needed his attention at the time. It would pass, Nines just needed space. 

Connor had been the last straw. It wasn’t that he thought Nines was cheating, he knew better than that. The reason Connor was the last straw was because of how Connor saw Nines. Nines was his little brother despite being the bigger and arguably more powerful of the two; Connor had been around longer and knew a little more about how things worked. Moreover Connor had loved, he knew what it was supposed to look like. Gavin didn’t particularly want to be on the bad side of someone made to get away with crimes. Either of them actually, though he feared Connor more than Nines. Nines looked the part, Connor did not, and there would have been people who argued that Gavin deserved it. So he needed to fix this before it got to that point. Easier said than done because Nines was actively avoiding him, which Gavin was sort of impressed by considering as they were partners. He would disappear at the end of their shift without giving Gavin a chance to say anything. It was getting frustrating. How was he supposed to fix things when he wasn’t being given a chance to learn what was wrong. That would change soon though. Things came to a head on a Friday afternoon. They were in Gavin’s car riding back from a scene when he couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Can you tell me what I did at least?” He asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Nines, “If you’re going to avoid me.” “I’m not avoiding you.” Came the calculated reply, “I am putting as much effort into this relationship as you are.” Gavin wanted to call bullshit, “What do you mean?”

“I always come to you when we are together. I bring you coffee when we’re at the station.” He replied and there was anger at the very edge of his voice and something else, “But I get nothing back. I pull away and you can’t be bothered to check until Connor and I put in to swap partners.” “You what?” Gavin snapped, that shouldn’t have been what caught him and he knew it, “You’re going to work with Hank? Nines, what the hell?” “I don’t see another option Gavin. Clearly you want space and this seems the best way to handle that.” Nines replied, his voice back to level, “And I need time to reevaluate things apparently because I thought we were on the same page.” Gavin would have stared at him if he weren’t driving. Getting in a car accident didn’t seem like a good way to break the tension, “What is it exactly that made you think I wanted space? You have a multi-million dollar brain so what made it jump to that conclusion out of all of them.” “Your emotional distance for one thing. Humans are meant to feel things and unless you’re mad there usually isn’t anything.” Nines explained, “The fact that it has taken you four months to realize something is wrong despite my trying to bring it up several times. Out of all the things that should have upset you, what got a reaction out of you is that I would rather shadow the Lieutenant than be ignored.” Gavin sighed as they pulled into the station. “Then go.” He said, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do and there was no point in keeping Nines if he didn’t want to stay, “I clearly can’t make you happy so find someone who will.” He heard a computerized something come from Nines followed by a burst of static, and then he was gone. The echo of the car door closing sounded almost like a judge’s gavel coming down. Gavin couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a mistake.

As much as Gavin hated the saying that you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, he found it was true. After months of working, if it could be called that, with Connor, he missed Nines. There was more to it than that as well. He spent a lot of time watching Nines, and he noticed that he wasn’t nearly as emotionally flat as Gavin had believed him to be. He wasn’t as expressive as Connor, but he showed what he was in small ways. Or perhaps Gavin was just seeing this now because he and Hank treated their partners so differently. As much as he and Hank had their personal differences and opinions, Gavin would be one of the first to admit that Hank was more kind to the people he worked with than Gavin was. Perhaps it was his general disposition, or maybe because Hank had multiple partners over his career and that made him easier to work with. Where given his prickly nature Gavin tended to work on his own and didn’t handle team work well. Though the one nice thing about this was he was learning from a distance how to handle Nines. While Gavin wasn’t a nurturer by nature in the way that Hank was, or at all really, it was nice to learn that was what Nines responded the most to. It made sense in a way as well since that was the same way that he took care of others. Hank would bring him a pouch of thirium or a cup of something to sample whenever he got up to get coffee; the same thing he had seen him do with Connor. He made an effort to learn about Nines and make conversation with him, which Gavin tried as well, but he wasn’t all that chatty unless he was drunk so that wasn’t on the table. He knew now, in a sense, what to do to try and fix this.

It took him longer than he would have liked, and a significant amount of pushing from Connor before Gavin was ready to confront his mistake. Nines had seemed so happy without him, so it was easy for him to believe that it was better like this; for Nines at least. Connor agreed to help him so that week Gavin got himself mentally prepared and made plans for the end of the week on how he was going to do this. He was going to fox this, or at least apologize if Nines was already moved on. Here was the thing about having plans and anxiety, time became a myth and the day you were fearing came after what felt like a thirty minute nap. Friday was there before Gavin had psyched himself up enough, but he couldn’t back out because he was pretty sure Connor would come after him if he did. His plan started with a small detour before work. He stopped at a cafe that he learned Nines liked and ordered something for him, he could make coffee for himself at the station. When he got back to the car he put the sticky note that he rewrote at least a hundred times on the lid and drove to the station. He hoped this wasn’t too cheesy, but Nines liked solving mysteries so Gavin was praying this would work. He set the cup on Nines’s desk as he walked to his own. Nines either wasn’t in yet or busy which made things easier on Gavin, he wasn’t sure he could explain himself if he had been asked. It was a matter of courage as well as the plan was entirely contingent on the first sticky note working. Connor had agreed to set the rest of them up, mostly because he didn’t want Gavin to chicken out which was an entirely valid point. As often as he stuck to his guns when it came to his opinions and getting into fights, when it came to personal matters he was much less bold. This was important though so he was going to stick to it. He spent more time staring at Nines’s desk than he did working, even after Nines had come back. Luck had him missing Nines studying the cup, but he did see him put the sticky note on his monitor which he hoped was a good thing.

His plan started with a scavenger hunt that brought Nines to the places that meant the most to the two of them and places he had known Nines to find privately special for reasons Gavin wasn’t privy to. Each place had a sticky note with a clue, he had asked Connor to come up with a code for it, something that Nines would have to work at a little to solve. He would have done it on his own, but Nines had a powerful mind and Gavin didn’t so it only seemed fair that he level he playing field a little. He didn’t know the system Connor had used but he did know the answer. He wanted this to work, but even if it didn’t he hoped Nines would enjoy himself while he did it. The day passed slowly for Gavin because of his worry. He didn’t feel like he got all that much done which was unusual. Going back to the apartment seemed daunting as he made his way to his car, there would be one of two results when he got back and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face either one. The best option meant putting in consious effort into being more aware of what Nines needed from him, and the worst one meant he had done too little too late. He was tempted to detour but didn’t, because not having an answer was almost worse. He was distracted on the drive home and made his way back on autopilot. He parked and took a moment to gather himself, he would get an answer tonight. He needed to focus on that rather than what the answer would be. This awkward uncomfortable thing would be ending today, either in a second chance or closure, but it was ending today. That was Gavin’s silver lining.

There wasn’t anyone outside of his apartment when he got up to it. He ignored the ache in his chest in favor of hoping Nines was only late. Connor had made the code so it probably wasn’t easy, it would take time. He turned his key in the lock and opened the door, instead of being greeted by his cat he was met with dim lighting and music. In the middle of it stood Nines. Gavin probably would have cried if he could get his emotions in order. “You came....” Was what he managed instead, breathed above a whisper and carrying the weight of all of the things he was feeling. He let the door fall shut behind him as he tried to gather himself. “Of course I did.” Nines replied as he made his way closer, “I learned what I put you through today, and I only thought it would be fitting to put as much effort into my apology as you did yours. That’s what you do when you love someone.” That broke Gavin and this time the tears came unbidden. He hugged Nines and buried his face in his chest, this wasn’t something he had expected. All those months he assumed Nines to be better off, happy even, without him there. He hadn’t known he was hurting. He didn’t have the words to express as much, and it didn’t seem that he needed to. Nines closed his arms around Gavin and ran his fingers through his hair. He made a sound that seemed more contemplative than comforting, but Gavin figured he was trying his best.

“You were so quiet that day Gavin. I expected more of a fight from you, but you just pulled away.” Nines said after a moment, there was remorse in his words, “I didn’t know then that it was because you were hurting. I thought you had just given up. I was so upset I didn’t go into stasis for days.” He paused for a moment, “Hank explained things to me, how humans react when they’re hurt and I realized how I had messed up, but I didn’t know how to fix it. You got to that first. I want you to know that I love you and I never stopped, and I don’t plan to.”

@asset35-maya

(Prompt from this list)

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas/The Signal Fic Recs

This is for @capttain-emo who saw me reblog this wonderful rec list by @stories-from-the-batcave , and asked if I knew any more. (I highly recommend those, btw, I love all the fics on that list! Yes, that includes the one I wrote in there) Duke Thomas is my favorite Batfam member, so I have a bunch! Unfortunately, there isn’t as much Duke content out there as I’d hope - people just don’t seem to like him as much for some reason? It’s sad. So, there are gonna be a couple here written by me. Rest assured, I have way more Duke content on the way - including a WIP coming out this week! (Ao3 linked out at the top of my blog)

I love recommending Fics, so hit me up in my inbox if there’s a trope or character or relationship (platonic or not) that you’d really love to read! I also write fan fiction, and my requests are always open!

1. Siblings: The Truth of the Matter by Me!

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & his siblings

Duke had a strange family. Two of his siblings had been raised from birth to be assassins. One was born in a circus. One had been a crime lord for a time. Yet another was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company by the age of seventeen. All of them dressed up in spandex every night to punch bad guys.

So when he was woken up by icy water being splashed in his face, tied to a chair in nothing but his boxers, he wasn't surprised. Now, that's not to say he wasn't worried. Duke was definitely worried. Especially since it was these two.

AKA Duke gets tied up and questioned by his siblings, all while drugged with Truth Serum!

2. Bliss by Me!

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Damian

Duke walks in on a sleeping assassin child in need of comfort, and takes a chance. Brotherly bonding ensues!

3. An ever growing family of birds and bats by alicecrow6

Rating: General Audiences/Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Damian

a series of Batkids Age Reversal fics where Damian comes first, then Harper, then Duke and so on.

4. look at me, all the things I can do by Aelig  

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Cass, Duke & Bruce

"Duke took a bite of his toast, gaze still on Bruce. His foster father was sipping at his coffee, eyebrows frowning. To an outsider, you would think he was reading the morning news on his tablet, like always; Duke knew better. Bruce's look was a little away from the screen, his lips downward.

It was almost funny, to watch Bruce internally panic."

OR: It's the morning, and Duke is going back to school for the first time since his injury.

5. The Batchair(s) Issue by NightFlier

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen w/ background ships Relationships: Duke & Cass, Duke & Steph, Steph/Cass Trio & Batfam

Duke Thomas feels like an outsider, and not just because he's part of the new Outsiders team roster. He's the newest member of the legendary Batclan and hasn't yet formed the close bonds that the others share. Not to mention, he's the only active Meta on the team. As if it wasn't hard enough to relate with people with such colorful, unique backgrounds.

But it's okay! Duke has a plan and it'll probably work for a while before crashing & burning. BatShenanigans ahead.

6. All That Glitters is Gold (Unfortunately) by IndefiniteIceCube

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Tim, Duke & Steph

The world is gold and Duke can't breathe.

He can't breathe.

He was sitting in AP World History just a minute ago.

Was it a minute ago? It seemed like a minute ago but it could have been hours because all he can focus on is that he can’t breathe. His lungs won’t fill and- and he’s trying he swears but he just. can’t. breathe.

And the gold—

-----

Duke's powers emerge.

It doesn't go well.

7. Be the Light that Helps Others See by Ace_Corvid @ace-corvid

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

Duke didn't really know what to expect from movie nights with the Bats.

He could only assume they approached this with the same determined intensity as they approached everything else. They were all so extra it was like their gauge for normal was completely broke. He wasn't really prepared for this.

And yet here he was. Surrounded.

(Alternatively; Batkid's have a movie night.)

8. I've Made a Million Mistakes by Sohotthateveryonedied

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

9. Children (All of Them) by TheFalconWarrior

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

In which Tim is not stupid but Jason might just be, Damian is furious, Dick kind of feels like he should be doing…something, Steph is ecstatic, and Duke wonders how long he can survive.

10. In the Dark of the Night by Aelig

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Jason, Batfam

"Duke was woken up by someone sliding into his bed. Someone big judging by how the mattress shifted.

Because Duke was a well-trained vigilante, his first reflex was obviously to kick whoever was being creepy right now and push them out of his bed.

It was only when the someone landed on the floor with a yelp that Duke realized that he was at Wayne Manor, which was incredibly secure – normally. He could recognize the voice, too."

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: none

OR: The Batfam and their way to deal with nightmares.

11. Welcome to the Family by angstyelephant

In which Duke Thomas goes back to the beginning.

12. Family-- by incorrectbatfam

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & batfam

“Your assignment over the weekend is to write a poem about your family.”

13. I'm Still Climbing(Even When the Rest Have Fallen) by anidear

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Dick, Duke & Damian

After his first exposure to the Fear Toxin, Dick checks in on Duke.

14. The cat and the newcomer by Fleur_de_Violette

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Alfred the Cat

Duke always found people talking to their pets about their problems silly. And yet here he was.

15. Duke-napped by NightOwl1600

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & batfam

The others don’t really bother Duke with his business. They all care about him, he knows, but outside of the vigilante business, they don’t really care to ask aside from the typical “How was school?” or “Can you buy me some chilidogs after you’re done with whatever you’re doing?” So he’s a bit concerned if they’ll even notice when he’s been kidnapped as Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne’s newest ward. But he’s not about to panic; as the others seem to be so determined that traumatizing new experiences are part of Bat-initiation.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family freaks out because “Did anyone go over the do’s and don’ts of getting kidnapped with Duke?!”

16. Nightmare/Hallucination by FearfulKitten @fearfulkittenwrites

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Jason

Duke found himself staring at the ceiling again. His heart was no longer racing, but he wouldn’t exactly say that he was calm either. This is the moment after the end of a race you lost, when all of the adrenaline is starting to wear off and the hopelessness sets in. That’s it. You’re out of the competition, buddy.

Except that this isn’t a race, and Duke hasn’t just lost his spot for the finals. He had simply lost sleep.

17. Jason Todd, Big Brother Part 8792 by Gemini_00

Rating: General Audiences Category: Other Relationships: Duke & Jason, Duke & Damian

Robin and the Signal sneak along the Outlaws mission in order to steal a bazooka and hang out with Kori. Jason has to deal with two little brothers and feeding a team of outlaws. He's putting this on Bruce's credit

18. "What's wrong? What's happening?" By FearfulKitten @fearfulkittenwrites

Rating: General Audiences Category: Other Relationships: Duke & Tim

Duke runs into trouble during his daytime patrol, and ends up needing some back up. The resident over-productive insomniac bat picks up the call.

(A little bit of and Duke interaction for a nice tumblr Anon :) I hope you like it!)

19. Nightmares by FearfulKitten @fearfulkittenwrites

Rating: Teen Category: Other Relationships: Duke & Dick

Filling the nightmare square on my bingo card with the help of an anon on tumblr who asked for a fic where Duke has a nightmare and asks for the help of one of the older batboys!

"Duke checked the time again. Two minutes had passed.

Time was ticking too slowly. He was tired, but sitting alone in the dark was definitely not a good idea right now.

He’d have to ask for help."

20. Brothers in Arms by TheFalconWarrior

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

...possibly against each other. Batkid prank wars are the worst.

Duke is learning. Tim is evil. So is Damian. Dick is embarrassing. Jason is dramatic. Steph is brave. Babs is all-knowing. Cass wants in. Alfred is a little amused, and Bruce is so. Tired.

21. First rule of Robin, right? By ALzzza

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Damian,Duke & Dick

"Nothing’s going to hurt you—you got that, nothing.”

Duke doesn’t have anything better to do but it’s not like that matters. Hell, he’d drop everything and run—always in time to catch this little bird.

Or, Damian’s Been Having Nightmares, Duke To The Rescue—Dick Always With The Reassurance

22. Duke's Diary by fiery_day

 Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam,Duke & Dick

This is a couple of journal entries by Duke as he learns to become Signal. He relates his thoughts on the batfamily and aspects of the vigilante life he now leads.

23. Significance of a Gala by nxttime

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam,Duke & Jason, Duke & Tim

This year’s Wayne Gala would be Duke’s first, and he had no clue how to feel about it.

 25. The cloud that looks after each other by Batmango

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & Goliath

Duke wakes up the Bat cave after a fight with the Joker.

For MashpotatoeQueen5 as a thanks for using so many of my prompt in the excellent January Jot-Downs.

Prompt: a hurt comfort after an injury/illness? Or just cuddles. I love me some cuddles.

26. The One You’ll Know By by Redrikki

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Bruce & Alfred

After losing his memory, Bruce asked Alfred not to tell him about his vigilante life, but he's beginning to think his butler left a few other things out. Like, say, his kids.

27. Duke Thomas Hates Bullies by Gemini_00

Rating: Unrated Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Steph, Duke & Tim, Duke & Bruce, Duke & Damian

Everyone loves that Duke Thomas isn't like all those other crazy Waynes. Everyone loves that the Signal isn't trying to get himself killed. Duke may not see Bruce as his dad, but he is definitely part of the bat family. and nobody is going to bully his family. Or, Duke Thomas Kicks Ass.

28. batman is dancing to fortnight and this might as well happen because vigilante life is already so *Goddamn* weird (Duke Thomas: A Memoir) by MashpotatoeQueen5

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & Batfam

You may not have time to unpack all that, but Duke Thomas does.

(He doesn't get it either.)

(He loves his new crazy family nonetheless.)

29. In a World Where You Can Be Anything, Be Kind by RedHoodie1723

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & Batfam

Day Six of Batfam Week 2020: Take Your Child To Work Day

It was Duke's first time visiting Wayne Enterprises, and he couldn't help but be intrigued by the Martha Wayne Foundation.

30. You’re My Brother by blackpercy

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Dick

Duke's missing his parents a lot and Dick comes in to help his little brother.

And that’s it for the list! I hope you enjoy these thirty works! Once again, send me an ask if you have requests for fics, recs, or if you have general questions!

[hehosts-moved]

since i write technically a heavy amount of death note characters on my multi (yagami, gevanni, beyond birthday, etc), ren’s canon does fit cohesively into death note. ie, his "canon” does not impact or disrupt the death note canon. typically, he has no large role in the main storyline, acting as primarily a supporting and/or side character.

you can technically find the verses mentioned, including death note, on this page here. 

this post details more headcanons towards the death note verse.

since those universes (and others) all exist in a “real world” setting (kagome’s modern life, death note being set in a slightly inversed tokyo, etc), it’s not hard to fit a host in there seeing as host clubs are common, as well as red light districts. 

specifically in death note, ren is absolutely terrified of kira. he’s a passive supporter on the surface, but he knows he’s basically a criminal were he to be judged by kira. 

without going into over detail, ren is technically exploiting the legal system, and not just for his escorting, as well as having stolen, is actively working for a shady figurehead, and is overall running a business that’s a front despite it being his actual income. he runs errands for goro, has been a “collector” once or twice (though that’s not common and left mostly to the inner circle), among other things. ren isn’t inherently violent, but he gets by however he can. 

i headcanon that yagami and ren went to high school together, but were not very close. they perhaps studied together, were a bit competitive for grades, but ren never openly challenged yagami, feeling that they were “bred” differently. this means that, for a death note AU, that ren went to daikoku private academy instead of __ high school.

goro is also passive to kira, but without any fear. he like to watch this new “god” come to the playing field. ji-hun is ambivalent, but deng is very curious.

to be noted: the biggest difference for ren, is that he follows yagami’s age, not where we see him in his “main” verse, though technically i write ren throughout his entire life, we just focus on a specific part of his life for his canon. so he would be around the 22-23 age, making kyosuke like very little.

kyosuke is born when ren is 22. ren was born in august, and kyosuke is born in december. by the time the second arc is swinging into gear, which takes place a few months before, on, around, and after kyosuke’s first birthday into the new year (end of january), kyosuke is not even really speaking yet, and ren and hina’s marriage has dissolved rapidly / is ending / is over.

they only lasted a year, and that was a few good months, at first, with a tumultuous ending. it would have been hard to consider them “anything” by the end.

ren has also only been managing the club for maybe 2ish years at the end of death note, since he takes over managerial duties at 21, and he is fully running the club as goro’s extension with confidence at 23.

again, ren is born in august, so by this time, we’re getting basically into arc 2 / past the intermission (starting in october, ending in jan of the next year). he has just turned 23 now that long before october.

in the small window that the second arc is actively taking place, ren has just fully embraced the role of manager of shining!, as well as still acting as its #1 host. while he was technically manager the entire time, he really is able to fully to take over the roster of being “a manager,” instead of just “acting” as basically an MOD (hiring, firing, orders). this is when he’s really trusted with “the money,” as well as being trusted to start truly “working for” goro. kyosuke has turned one, his marriage is ending, and, by the time yagami is in the last month-to-few-weeks of his life, ren’s is actively changing to becoming a single paren. hina moves out, and kyosuke heading towards his second birthday at the end of the year.

[carminite-wyrm]

A Sunless Skies!AU fic, Part 1

So I've...ended up writing a fic for my Sunless Skies x Hermitcraft AU. At first it was meant to be just like, a ficlet, but it's kind of spiralled a bit into a multi-parter fic. So here's the Part 1!

Again, credit to @redstone-sun for the FL!AU that kickstarted my inspiration for the Sunless Skies!AU!

Ren and Doc, brave Co-Captains of the Octagon Van, seekers of secrets and conspiracies, have for once, decided to take a brief vacation from their adventures and accidental incidents in the High Wilderness. Their vacation of choice? A few days at the most desirable holiday destination in all of Albion: Worlebury-juxta-Mare.

An idyllic holiday spot, where nothing is amiss, and nothing can go wrong. Right?

(Spoilers for Sunless Skies lore!)

The admission passes for a weekend stay at Worlebury-juxta-Mare had been a gift from the Boatem Crew, after a series of incidents that were probably best to never be spoken about again, on both groups’ parts.

Specifically, Scar had handed over the admission permits with a wink, tipping them out of his top hat with a dramatic gesture, along with a pamphlet.

“Should be fine for a weekend stay, gentlemen! I’ve heard that they even sell genuine rubbery lumps there, tastes just like it does back in London, apparently. Haven’t tried any myself, admittedly.”

And with that parting note, the Boatem Crew had set off from their rendezvous, leaving behind Ren, Doc, and their horde of semi-displaced goats.

A few weeks later, they had finished finding decent homes for the goats across the entirety of the High Wilderness, with a few exceptions who were still very much at home onboard their locomotive. And finally, the two could head off to their first vacation in several months.

“So, Worlebury-juxta-Mare.” Ren commented, staring at the cursive writing on one of the passes, and checking the pamphlet’s travel details with the map in front of him. “Have you gone there before?”

“Nope.” Doc replied, most of his focus upon repairing his mechanical arm after their last goat drop-off resulted in a very close call with some of Albion’s native wildlife. “It’s…off to the east, isn’t it?”

“Past London, yeah. Not close to the Avid Horizon, though.”

“That’s good to hear, I don’t think they’ll be happy to see us again so soon after that one, uh, incident.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”

“True.”

The journey to the holiday destination took a little under a fortnight, with the last of the goats willing to leave rehomed on the way. The one remaining goat ended up being named Vigenere, and appointed as the Octagon Van’s noble mascot, screams and all.

The island that Worlebury was located upon was shrouded in mist, which slowly parted to reveal a quaint-looking town, with multiple other locomotives docked at the port, and the faint outline of amusement park rides in the distance.

“Well, it certainly looks like what the pamphlet described.” Doc said, as their locomotive was guided to a docking station.

As they stepped onto the wooden planks of the docks, they followed the signs leading them to a sizeable queue in front of the main gates of the station. A few signs, all in the same fanciful cursive as the passes that they carried, directed visitors either to the queue for those with passes, those bringing supplies, those waiting for regular entry, and workers. Right by where all the queues began, they could see a bright turquoise banner for a Swaggon Inc. stall, set up in what looked like a cart, and selling all manner of knickknacks to the passing visitors.

“Suppose that’s us.” Doc pointed at one of the shorter queues, patrons in fine clothing and clearly of noble or wealthy backgrounds murmuring among themselves as their passes were checked and stamped.

As they waited, an official suddenly wandered by, stared at them for half a second, before making a ‘come over here’ gesture. Curious, the two headed over, and the man held out a hand, the badge of a government representative clearly affixed to his lapel.

“First time in Worlebury-juxta-Mare? Excellent, excellent, right this way then.” He said, a businessman’s grin fixed upon his face as he shook their hands in greeting. “I’m a representative of the Bureau of Entertainments, and I’d like to welcome you to our fine port. Now, I know queue jumping is a little uncouth, but well, for fine gentlemen as yourself, I am certain you would rather be enjoying the sights rather than mingling with the proletariat for hours.”

Ren and Doc shared an awkward glance, silently comparing their practical, but significantly less extravagant, attire with the shining emerald suit the official was wearing. Over by the admission pass queue, one of the women’s hats looked more expensive than all of Doc’s prosthetics combined, and Ren knew for a fact that Doc had not spared any expense with his equipment or materials for that.

“Uh, thanks? We do have passes though.” Ren held up the aforementioned two items.

“Consider this a courtesy for your first time visiting. We are, of course, absolutely certain that you will be returning guests, after all.” The man smiled at them, before showing them to a door that had a brass plaque with the words ‘Fitting Room’ etched onto it. “Now, there is a dress code, so please do step inside and let the good Couturier find you a suitable outfit.”

With only the slightest amount of hesitancy, the duo stepped into what turned out to be a sizeable room that had all manner of clothing hung up in the wardrobes and racks that lined its walls. The Couturier took one look at Doc’s labcoat (missing a sleeve after it was ripped too many times by him using his mechanical arm to physically fend off the creatures that attacked their locomotive), and Ren’s combination of overalls, tinted goggles, and a ragged red shirt, seemed to grind his teeth in silent outrage, and stalked over to one of the racks.

“Pick an article of clothing you imagine suits you, and I’ll…figure something out to match it.” He said shortly.

Doc immediately gravitated towards the rack of coats, finding a white coat that was almost like his labcoat except with all its sleeves, and also made in the fashion style of decades past. The Couturier seemed to calm down upon seeing his choice, and immediately busied himself with providing the rest of a three-piece suit to accompany it. Off to the side, Doc saw Ren contemplate a lavish velvet-lined hat, before putting it down and flicking through a selection of dress shirts and blouses.

Fifteen minutes later, they had finally shoved Ren into a tailcoat set, much to the relief of the Couturier, who had seemed close to sobbing after the twelfth time that Ren had thought the chosen attire did not suit him.

“I still think the fur coat would have looked better.”

“It looked like someone had stitched together a bunch of rats, Ren.”

Ren sighed dramatically, before immediately lighting up once again as they finally made it into the port town proper, and spotted the wide variety of shops and amusement park games that lined the streets.

“Oh, there’s a stall for the rubbery lumps that Scar mentioned!”

And with that, the hours whirled past as they visited shop after shop, Ren gleefully taste-testing several shops’ worth of tea variety before ordering a few caddies for them to take with them. At one point, Doc swore there was something more wormy than earthy in a particular cup of tea, staring suspiciously into his cup before setting it down. There was something…just a bit odd, besides the fact that the mists really were vaguely corrosive and causing their clothes from the fitting room to slowly disintegrate and unravel as time went by.

But, on the other hand, Ren did seem to be having a good time, and the shop with a wide array of elaborate tea sets, and other porcelain objects, was quite enjoyable to wander through, even if the screams from the nearby donkey ride was a little disconcerting.

Wait. Screams?

Doc whirled around, to where the donkey ride was. No, he must have been mistaken, it seemed like nothing was amiss, though his mechanical eye did focus upon an odd reddish stain that seemed to shimmer in and out of view. He blinked, and the stain was gone.

Huh, his eye probably needed a little bit of a tune up once they were back on board the Van.

“Hey, Doc, want to get some candyfloss?”

He turned away from the donkeys, to where Ren was tugging him over to a stand with multicoloured sticks of candyfloss. Still perturbed, he absently took a bite out of the pale green spun sugar that Ren had purchased for him.

It was sweet. A bit almond-bitter, if he thought about it for long enough.

Their hotel resort room was actually quite comfortable, considering they were essentially visiting for free. The Department official had said that their stay would be the equivalent of their usual pass, just without needing the actual pass, for some reason.

Ren tugged awkwardly at his clothes as they settled for the day, the fabric already looking a bit threadbare. Doc simply huffed, sitting down in one of the armchairs with relief after a whole day of walking and running around.

“They sure weren’t joking about the mists.” Ren joked, looking out at their beachfront view. “We’ll probably be lucky to get to midday tomorrow before we have to leave because our fitting room outfits are in tatters.”

“I thought we already saw everything today?” Doc eyed the bags of souvenirs that they had acquired, and the stack of cargo receipts he was dreading having to file away at a later time.

“There’s an art exhibition tomorrow, and we still haven’t seen the beach.”

“Hm, alright.” Doc sighed, sinking further into his armchair. “I’m going to be honest; I’m looking forward to being back on our locomotive, my eye’s been seeing some strange things and I think it might need a tune-up.”

“Probably isn’t anything serious, Doc!”

“I hope so.”

Roughly eight hours later, Doc was deeply regretting everything as the sky above the beach shimmered and doubled, the sight of an idyllic foggy day overlapping with scintillating tendrils of unsettling light. Off to the side, Ren was attempting to skip stones along the sea of mist, which quite frankly wasn’t working on account of the ‘water’ not being water in the first place.

“Ren, I think we should leave.” He said, catching the other man’s attention. “I’m…The place is starting to look a bit weird.”

“Ah, is the eye giving you that much trouble?”

“No, it’s-“

“Eh, we can always come back later, we still have the tickets Scar gave us.” Ren shrugged, and the two of them slowly made their way back to the dock. As they stepped back out onto the wooden platforms that formed the dockside, Doc blinked as the double vision he had been experiencing slowly cleared up, fading away almost like mist on a windy day.

An hour or two later, and Doc held up his mechanical eye to the lightbulb above his workstation, frowning in consternation. There didn’t seem to be any faults with the eye, and he even swapped it back out again with the spare, to compare the two. For all intents and purposes, his eye was perfectly functional, down to the polished glass lenses within it.

“Well, Doc? How’s the eye?” Ren poked his head into the tiny room that housed most of Doc’s tools and other equipment.

“It…seems to be working as normal. I don’t get it, I swear it was glitching out whilst we were in town, but there’s nothing wrong with it! I even pulled it apart to check if some of the internal pieces had corroded or fallen out of place, but it was all fine!”

“Huh, weird.” Ren shrugged. “So, you up for heading back in to the town, or do you want us to go? We did manage to get quite a bit of souvenirs, anyways.”

“Honestly? I think we ought to go, there’s just something not right about this place.”

“Hm, maybe something about the mists is making your hardware go a bit haywire? They do have a corrosive effect, even if its mild enough to only affect fabrics.” Ren nodded. “Anyways, I’ll go tell the crew to get ready to set off.”

“Uh. Captains?”

The two turned, to see one of the crewmembers looking at them with barely hidden panic on their face.

“Yeah?” Ren raised an eyebrow.

“Vigenere. The mascot. We can’t find them anywhere!”

[whump-town]

The Silence That Only Comes When Two People Understand Each Other

(not Hannah with the multi-chapter Hotchniss fic again) Stay with me, I’m on a kick, and all I want is cute old Hotchniss but I have to ease my way into that---- Emily and Hotch do not have good parents 

She had heard the word before, only with enough context to know that it was bad. Hearing her father mumble it under his breath, eyes darting over his shoulder to her mother still looming in the doorway of their room. “Always have to be a bitch about it,” he keeps moving, paying Emily no mind. She feels his words hit her as if they were meant for her even though he doesn’t even recognize that she’s in the room. She looks to her mother, Elizabeth pulling her robe tighter around her body before turning on the spot and slamming the door shut behind her.

She watches his receding back, looks back at that door, and wonders if maybe she doesn’t understand bitch means.

She was five-years-old and laid out on her back in the mulch, air punched out of her lungs. The slap of that word stinging her cheek, hot tears rolling back into her hairline. For several long minutes, she thinks she’s going to die right here. Her teacher squats down beside her, shushing her with gentle Turkish words that her fogged mind untangles slowly like the maids when they take combs to the knots in her hair. Far more gentle than her teacher when she places her on the bench and whispers soft condolences, picking that mulch out of her dark hair. Next time, she’s promised, she should just let the boys in front of her. Her cheek is cupped in a cold palm and she’s offered a smile as she’s told “boys only push the pretty girls, Emily, be happy you are so pretty to them”.

Turkish has never felt right on her tongue-- she thinks about that teacher’s words often.

She’s twelve standing in her mother’s full-length mirror, she hasn’t seen her father in five years. The cigarette between her mother’s lips bobs as she speaks words that Emily has stopped hearing. The words tumbling, slurred off of her lips, lemmings off cliffs. She stands, hips jerking as Elizabeth tightens the back of the dress but silent. “Do you think that’s what boys want? A little bitch to tell them off?” She’s instructed to suck in and she closes her eyes but does not grunt or dare express her discomfort as the dress is pulled in too tight. “Boys just want a pretty little mouth to fuck. So keep yours shut, I don’t want to even know you’re sitting at that dinner table.”

She’s twelve years old looking at herself in the mirror and seeing what that boy and her mother must-- a bitch. She watches Elizabeth flick the ash off her cigarette into the ashtray. “Jackeline Kennedy smoked,” she defends herself. Emily wonders if Mrs. Kennedy was a bitch too.

She’s nineteen the first time someone tells her that “bitch” was never something she had a choice in. Her Sociology professor looks down at them from the edge of his glasses. Each graduating class seeming to chip him down a little more until there’s nothing but the knarled man standing before them. He sighs for dramatic effect or maybe because he sees the youth and the arrogance in the room before him and can hardly stand to keep going.

“For the same thing,” he begins, “we would applaud a man who takes initiative. A man who points out a flaw is brilliant, he’s genius for seeing something everyone else missed. What about a woman?” He looks out into his audience to find the women thinly peppered in one little section. Women stick together, they’re always together. “What do we think of the woman who demands her rightful spot at the business table? A woman who points out the flaw in the project?”

He’s not expecting it.

Emily doesn’t even raise her hand, “we call her a bitch.”

He stops but finally nods. “We do. We call her a bitch.”

Being a bitch is what gets her all the way to the FBI. Other girls get talked over, they get pushed down. She talks louder, stands up out of her chair, and goes on when her classmates try to interrupt her. It makes her sick, her nerves are shot and so she finds herself swimming in liquid courage. Tequila burns but it makes her louder, prouder. That’s what it takes, that’s what she gives.

She’s a bitch and it’s the only way she’s able to find her voice.

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

His father sends him to boarding school at fourteen. He’s too old to label his darkly circled eyes and too thin limbs as failure to thrive but it’s at least suicidal. A label that they slap onto him like hearing the words will suddenly shoot some sort of life into his veins but he’s tired of being reanimated for the show of fancy old men. Tired, in general. He’s hesitant to trust any of them but he feels as though if he stands any longer his bones will grow too heavy for his skin to hold. He lets them direct him down the hall, too succumbed to his fate to flinch away from the hands that clap his shoulder or jostle his head.

His father told the town, the county, every lawyer, and every person he came across the awful things his good for nothing son had done. That the bruises on Sean’s face were from him, from Aaron. That the boy had uncontrollable anger and it broke his heart to send his own flesh and blood away but he’d been given no other choice. And, by God, if Aaron could so something like that to Richard Hotchner, a man who married such a kind and gentle woman, a man who made something of himself, then they could understand why he had done it.

And the poor man, how could something like that happen to him?

Aaron was assigned his first therapist there for the same reason he got one in every other turning point in his life-- something just isn’t right about him. No matter the walls he places around himself and the personalities that he learns to play to suit a given situation. People still feel his tense muscles when they place a leisurely, affectionate hand on his shoulder. Everyone can see his anxiety and that little thing he does with his fingers.

“I think,” his therapist had once whispered. Leaning in, closing the staggering space between the couch and chair, as if to only speak to Aaron. So softly, so guarded. A secret. “Aaron, I think, the only thing you want is doubt.” A seedling to sprout in his bones, to give voice to the brightest part of him. Doubt that he is right when he looks in the mirror and sees his father. Doubt that he is unlovable. Doubt that his father is right. Doubt when he respins childhood memories to fit his father’s lies. Doubt that he hates being touched. Doubt that he can handle it.

Doubt.

He couldn’t understand what that had meant at fourteen. He hadn’t wanted more doubt than he already had. Doubt his father had actually abused him. Doubt that he belonged. Doubt that he wanted to be here, not just at this school, but in this life. Doubt that he mattered. Doubt that there would ever be a place for him. Doubt. Doubt. Doubt.

Why would he want more doubt?

“I think you’re lying.” Emily Prentiss stands at the end of his bed, the girl who learned to drown in order to stay afloat. Past the point of dipping her toe in the water, she knows how to swim. Folding her arms over her chest, Emily watches him carefully. Frown deepening when all he does is look back at her, seemingly daring her to challenge him. She doesn’t fear him, not in this incapacitated state and not even if he were standing toe-to-toe with her. At the back of her mind, she hears the doctor’s earlier warning about upsetting him. She thinks about the medical file she’d been handed coming in, a whole list of questions they needed to know. The warning, the implication, of the notes on his chart.

His heart has already stopped once today. For thirty minutes, she nearly lost him today and she knows that if she doesn’t push this it’ll destroy him. That’s what happens when you keep secrets like this. But she’s not afraid of stopping his heart. He’s a stubborn bastard, if he wanted to die he would have done that already.

So, she stands there and she’s not afraid to call him out for what she knows is true. There’s something more, he’s deceived by the dissociative way his eyes go out of focus. How she’d felt her own heart leap to her throat when the monitors picked up their pace, his eyes closed but the rest of his body betraying the panic and fear he was reliving. The numbers going from nearly too slow, sluggish to 120, and panicked. His blood pressure still tanked.

Doubt. She has more than just doubt that her inquiry of his well-being --Do you want to talk about what happened-- was met with a true answer. That he doesn’t know and that he can’t remember.

But the truth is not so simple. What is she going to think? What will any of them think if they knew? The way he wasn’t strong enough to fight Foyet off. How it had felt as Foyet stood over him, beaming at their chests with a wide grin of pride. Assuring him that he would live through this. That, after everything is said and done, they’d look the same. That he’d been in and out of consciousness and he’s not sure what happened to him, what Foyet did when he blacked out. How it had stopped hurting but his body had kept reacting forcing him to choke and to hold his breath. How he hadn’t protected himself. Laid there and took it. Closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see.

She doesn’t want to know that but she isn’t given the chance. She looks over her shoulder and sees Haley and Jack approaching. Watches Haley crouch in the hall to say something to Jack, to guide him to the visitor’s chairs just outside the door. The time for this argument has trickled low and she settles one last look on him-- on the dark bruise across his temple and the iodine staining his skin. “We’re not done,” she assures him.

She doubts him and he hates it.

[matthewtkachuk]

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

[imnotwolverine]

The Accidental Family - Chapter 5

Henry Cavill x OFC - multi-chapter

< Chap 4 | Chap 5 How to dad | Chap 6 >

Disclaimer: fluff, sadness, memory loss, some strong language

Word count: 2.098

Author’s note: I had a home spa day and I may or may not have made WAY too many bubbles in the bathtub..which then in turn kind of floated out into our adjoining kitchen and...yea...I’m posting this to procrastinate the clean up of ..THAT. Wish me luck. 😂

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

It was not unusual for Henry to be up this early, and yet Phoebe was slightly surprised to find him in the kitchen, the smell of coffee searing into her nose as she was welcomed with the sight of a kitchen island crowded with paper folders and the family whiteboard scribbled full with an enormous, intricately filled out schedule. 

Henry was still working on it as she quietly stepped over the threshold, her arms crossing before her bathrobe as she watched him bend down, ass sticking out as he leaned in to scribble something in the far right bottom corner.

‘Morning.’ She chimed, making Henry jerk up in surprise, his eyes looking at her like she had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

‘Whatcha doin’?’ She leaned into the kitchen island and looked at the papers that were strewn over the smooth light grey marble.

‘Oh, ehm, just ..trying to find some order in this mess.’ He shrugged and clicked the cap back onto the whiteboard marker, his fingers pushing it on the small whiteboard ledge before he fully turned towards his wife, her dazed eyes still blinking at him with mild confusion.

‘You see I found all these things you keep around. School schedules, doctor’s appointments, swimming classes, soccer, eh..you know. I wanted to have an overview.’ He shrugged, making Phoebe cry out laughing.

‘You did what now?!’

‘Wait, don’t tell me you have a schedule just like this laying around..’

‘No, no. Eh..’ Phoebe looked over at the coffee machine, deciding she’d need a cuppa before she’d dive into Henry’s findings.

‘Want some coffee as well?’

‘No, no, I’m good. Gotta keep fit, so I can get back in the saddle as quickly as possible.’ He jabbed into the air, as if ready to beat an invisible opponent.

‘Silly man.’ Phoebe chuckled, pouring some of the hot brew into a mug with a smiling elephant on it - yes suddenly Henry owned a whole arsenal of silly mugs. Squinting his eyes playfully he studied Phoebe:

‘Silly stupid or silly smart?’ Henry asked, but all Phoebe did was shrug, turning a pair of mischievous eyes at him while she sipped on her coffee.

‘Anyways. I think, if the doctor’s okay with it, I can start squeezing in office visits between Sam’s soccer practise and Piper’s speech therapy and..’

‘Hen..’ Phoebe sighed, walking up to him to brush a hand over his arm, his shirt fitting snugly around his large chest, attracting her gaze for a short moment. ‘..one step at a time okay?’

‘Yes-yes, I know. I..’

And then she chuckled, earning an even more confused look from him. ‘What’s so funny?’ His brow furrowed.

‘Oh..it’s just. I never thought I’d get you to..draft school appointment schedules.’

‘Why’s that?’

Phoebe hesitantly licked her lips, her stormy blues meeting his aquamarine, his face betraying that he truly didn’t understand. ‘You were at work..a lot.’

‘Oh.’

Henry slowly turned around, also looking back at the busy schedule; it was indeed quite impossible to fit all this in with the 14-hour workdays he had always been so accustomed to.

‘..fuck.’ He breathed softly, scolding his old-Henry-self for being such a workaholic idiot.

‘That’s okay. We were a pretty good team.’ Phoebe leaned into the kitchen island, her hand lowering the coffee cup to her hip as she quirked her head to the side to study the schedule he had drawn up.  

‘So which of these did I do with the kids?’ He asked hesitantly.

‘Soccer, on Saturday.’

Henry blinked at the 40-something other items that were listed on the meticulously drawn out grid. ‘Oh my.’

‘Yea..’ Phoebe grinned. ‘There’s a good reason why I quit my job as a nurse.’

‘You were a nurse?’

Phoebe turned her head to answer, but decided not to, her lips instead just twitching up in a half-smirk. ‘For a while. But at least now I know exactly what to do when one of the cubs run a fever.’

‘Did you like being a nurse?’

She shrugged and took another sip of her coffee. ‘Wiping shit of a patient’s ass or my kid? I’ll choose my kid any day of the week.’ She winked at him.

‘Sounds wonderful.’ Henry chuckled. ‘And about that; shouldn’t the children move home at some point? Or..you go to them, or..?’ He wished to scratch his head as he did whenever he was unsure, but Phoebe was quick to stop him, her hand catching his wrist before he could move it up higher.

‘Eventually.’ She swallowed harshly and released his wrist. ‘I just don’t know when.’ Her eyes moved back to the board as she continued with slight melancholy. ‘There’s only so much you can plan.’

--

‘Hi Danny.’ Relief flooded Henry’s limbs as the amazonian goddess of a woman stepped into the office he had been left in some fifteen minutes earlier.

It would be just a short visit to the office, the studio having postponed the production of the new Witcher season until things were cleared out; Henry’s doctors were not very eager to give any green lights until Henry himself showed he was able to carry the burdens that came with being a lead actor in such a heavily regarded tv show.

‘Hey there big guy! Lookin’ good!!’

‘Yea,’ Henry smiled happily. ‘Feeling pretty good as well.’

‘Good to hear, good to hear! Oh and sorry if I’m a little slow. Jet lagging pretty hard over here; just got back from LA and had like..the craziest delay. But, here I am! It’s good to see you, Henry.’

‘Likewise.’ Henry cleared his throat as he tried to remember the short script she had sent the day before. A script that he’d have usually learned in between scenes, taking up no more than half an hour. But now he felt a certain nerve crawling up his spine as she plucked out that very same script from her bag.

‘Alright. So. I thought we’d have a little reading first? See how that’s going? I mean, if that’s alright with you, of course.’

‘Eh..yea, sure.’ Henry hesitated as his eye flew over the bag he had brought along, the script in there begging him to be picked up in case he failed to produce the words.

No, he could do this. He had to prove he could…

‘So, starting at the top of the scene. Geralt is sleep deprived and agitated. You know the drill..’ She waved her hand like it was no big deal, only to remember moments later it might be a deal after all, her tongue clicking as she realised her mistake. ‘I mean. IF you know the drill, or don’t know the drill, either way is fine. No question is bad. We have no stupid questions in this room, mkay? I mean, I’m just so glad to see you here! And..-’

‘No, I can do it.’ Henry frowned and tried to focus on the blurry daze that was his memory, the words somehow sticking to the tip of tongue like they were about to spill..but didn’t come. ‘Okay, maybe just eh, keep the script to be sure.’ He quickly grabbed for his bag, unzipping it to retrieve the script, the many marks indicating just how much he had struggled with it the night before; at some point Phoebe had to pull the paper from his stiff fingers, so he’d at least get some sleep.  

Reading the first lines of the paper, he tried to get the voice right, the sentence right, the atmosphere right. Things that usually came like second nature. But now it all just didn’t click, his brain sluggish as he tried to read aloud the words as he tried to give his all - it wasn’t enough.

‘Okay-okay-okay.’ Danny stopped him after a short monologue. ‘Maybe let’s just..read? No crazy stuff?’

Again Henry tried. And this time it went a little better. A little. Not enough. Frustration raged through Henry’s bones as he tried to remain calm, his fists clenching around the paper as his eyes read the words and his mouth spilled them, but it just wasn’t as magical as it had once been.

By the time he said goodbye to Danny he kind of knew what had just happened; he had lost it.

--

‘Hey! How’d it go?’ Phoebe called from the couch, her eyes remaining trained on the laptop perched on her lap, a cup of steaming hot tea next to her on the side table.

Henry grumbled something indiscernible and bid her good night, heavy feet dragging up the stairs way before Phoebe had the chance to ask what happened. Closing her laptop she rushed up after him, knowing full well that he couldn’t be in much of a good mood - her Bear had always been like an open book to her.

She could already see him open Sam’s room to go to sleep in the narrow bed, but she stopped him at that, her hand clutching around his bicep, pulling him back towards the master bed room.

‘Come!’ She exclaimed, tugging at his heavy body which refused to move.

‘I can’t. Not ..now, okay?’ He lowered his head as he leaned his forehead into the door frame. It was more than a little clear that he was heartbroken.

Phoebe frowned, her arms opting to wrap around him instead, fingers accidentally brushing over his cock as she shimmied her hands around him, locking fingers in front of his belly. Did he think she wanted to have sexy time? She could hear his breath choke up. 

‘Not that, silly.’ She whispered, her hot breath fanning over his dark blue shirt.

‘Then what? I can’t even..’ His breath choked again and an ever so quiet sob erupted from his lips. It broke Phoebe’s heart. 

‘Mr. Cavill. You’re too heavy for me to carry, but could you please get to the big bed, so I can cuddle with you? Please?’ Phoebe squeezed her arms a little tighter around his chest, making him sob harder.

‘I just…’ His large paw wiped over the expanse of his cheek, angrily removing a tear that had strayed down to his jaw. ‘Fuck.’ And with that he caved, his head removing from the door frame as he slowly turned in Phoebe’s tight embrace, his head looking down at her pleading eyes. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

It took a good thirty minutes of crying and half muttering what had happened before Henry had calmed a little, Phoebe sitting next to him beneath the sheets, her eyes watching in agony as her Bear totally fell apart, thick tears running down his beautiful cheeks. He was convinced that he could never act again. That this was it. His memory was failing him. He could do simple stuff, but acting? No way, José.

Phoebe scooted a little closer as Henry finally sighed, the last of his tears spent for the moment being. Without question or answer, the both of them curled into a sweet embrace, Henry’s head leaning down onto her chest as she carefully brushed her hands through his curls, finding the scar that now ran evidently over the back of his skull; it was just another piece of Henry she’d learn to love.

Sniffling softly, Henry melted into her touch, his breathing slowly calming to a soft and deep in-and-out.

And then, she sang, her body slightly swaying on a quiet tune.

You’re my Honeybunch,

Sugarplum

Pumpy-umpy-umpkin,

You’re my Sweetie Pie

Henry smiled into the fabric of her night gown, the soft satin like mother’s skin against his glowing cheek. ‘My mom used to sing that.’ He murmured.

You’re my Cuppycake,

Gumdrop

Snoogums-Boogums,

You’re the Apple of my Eye

Henry slightly lifted his head and looked at Phoebe as she gently continued to caress his hair, her lips chanting the sweet little lullaby. Finally she turned her attention to him, warm eyes melting his fragile heart.

‘I know. She actually taught me. With Sam. I mean, he was probably the fussiest baby ever to exist.’

Henry chuckled. ‘And now I am your baby.’

The both of them laughed softly. ‘No, no, no. You’re no baby! Though if you need some smothering with love, I’m glad to offer it.’ She playfully jiggled her momma-licious tits, making Henry swallow quickly.

Any other day of the week he would have jumped at the chance - nothing much had happened yet on that department, but right now, with his body all rosy and exhausted, he could only shake his head no, his cheek moving back to rest on her chest. ‘Another time.’ He sighed, melting back into her loving embrace.

‘Okay then Bear. Sleep well.’ She pressed a kiss on his crown and shimmied a little to get comfortable.

Sometimes, dads also need a little bit of mommy love. 

--

Chap 6 >

--

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[goblinconceivable]

braindump: betty/daniel

I’ve been living with them for a while, notes taken, a few stories significantly started but there’s a gelling issue, which I’m hoping is at least partially down to a lack of proper braindumping.  So, in no particular order and certainly not comprehensive:

Frankly I also got too hooked on the last 2 eps, which is likely where I’m blocked.  It’s an abrupt emotional twist for them (esp Daniel), and in trying to make sense of that I’m losing focus on the 4 previous years.

- I’m a little bit obsessed in the scene where Betty tries to convince Matt she’s fearless by pointing out her bang-less-ness.  And then runs into Daniel, who is at that moment half brain-washed, but yet when she asks about her fearless quotient his response is immediate and natural and entirely lacking in irony: “no bangs.”  It’s a tiny little moment that shows how well he not only knows her, but understands her.  Without judgment, without fanfare.  Were I to have a husband, this is the sort of response that would confirm I’d married the absolute perfect guy for me.

- They’re too close for mirroring to be an important indicator, but there are two scenes that stand out in this vein: the first is when Betty thinks he may have pushed Christina down the stares and steals the video.  She’s backing out the door, and he follows, matching her step for step.  I love the direction choices because from her perspective there’s a sense of menace, Daniel as potential villain is stalking her.  But from his guileless perspective he’s talking to her and if she’s moving, so is he.  The second is from the penultimate, talking about Trista, where Betty’s rolling back and forth and he moves with her, rather than simply turning his head.  It signals his full engagement in the conversation, seeking her attention, and is why the scene plays as flirting rather than their normal banter.

- That bulletpoint was getting a bit long, so second point on the flirting is that it plays against Betty shutting down the conversation “none of my business,” leading to the fight over involvement in each other’s personal lives, leading to the revelation that they know each other at that deep personal level so very, very well.  Which was a very clumsy leadup to Daniel’s revelation during Hilda’s wedding speech, that could have been handled so much more deftly but those last two eps were quite rushed, I don’t know when they found out about the shortened season but it feels like they’d planned for more space and had to jab in exposition.

- Becaaaaause: they narratively broke his ‘aha’ moment onto “know you better than you do” while the strength of the message is really in the “do anything to protect them.”  Which is, I believe, where they cut to his softened expression.  Not coincidentally, this is precisely what a lot of fan-readings of the characters focus on: Daniel will do anything to protect Betty.  Bobby might have said he’d throw himself under a bus for Hilda, but Daniel HAS done that for Betty- in fact literally doing so would probably have been easier than publicly shouldering the blame for the Tornado cover and giving away the profits.  Due to the fact that he had time to consider the consequences and did it anyway.

- Which is tidy segue into an admission that I’m flying mostly blind on the Molly arc because I basically skipped all her scenes, but it’s my understanding that Daniel doing this was a pivotal moment for them.  Ie, she was impressed that he did this thing.  I mean, I really appreciate that he spent the whole press conference scene looking for Betty, so the show in no way undercut their relationship.  But then they very clearly built the Molly relationship on the foundation of not only the man Daniel had become due to Betty, but choices he was making in large measure for Betty: it’s not that he saw Betty beaten down and resolved the situation: he was upset but lost, she yelled at him, and THEN he resolved the situation by taking the bullet.  Did I break grammar by ending up with two colon’d clauses in the same sentence?  It’s a braindump, ain’t gotta be pretty.  XP

- Quick sidebar that the same thing happens with Alexis.  She was expecting to come back to one brother, but then listens in on his pep talk with Betty and finds she’s returned to a different brother.  This may be where I got the “an assistant” phrasing, if so, my bad.  But basically, she was impressed with Daniel’s actions, not understanding that it was Betty specifically inspiring his actions.

- Follow that a step further and did Molly ever acknowledge how important Betty is to him?  Legit question.  I think her line here was about him doing it “for an assistant” (?) rather than even “his assistant,” establishing Betty as a non-entity for her.  (Quoting a summary but I think I’m in the ballpark.)  And I’m sure I’d have read about it somewhere if she brought Betty up during their discussion on who he’d date when she was dead.

- Just one last note on Molly, (okay it’s a multi-part though it veers off her as a character) but a possibly incorrect beef is that I hate the Daniel/Molly relationship because there’s no interesting or even real conflict?  It’s perfect?  I’m supposed to think this is magical “true love”?  Molly has apparently been engaged for years to a man she doesn’t really love (and um... that’s lazy not strong), and helps inspire a vengeance filled betrayal by her ex because she’s so awesome everyone loves her?  But she comes out squeaky clean because any emotional cheating on her part is balanced and thus “justified” by Connor falling for Wilhemina.  And then the only “conflict” is that she’s dying, and is perfect throughout it?  That’s...  weak.

-That poem thing WOULD have been an interesting point of conflict but it was resolved by Betty’s intervention, rather than within the relationship.  Which actually is an incredibly interesting beat.  The problem with that being it’s so entirely consistent with the role Betty plays in Daniel’s life that it’s treated as just another beat, as if it doesn’t MATTER that a fundamental moment of intimacy and growth of vulnerability in Daniel’s very important romantic relationship is a door opened by a third party.  There’s a strong argument to be made for something but I broke off to write the next point and now can’t remember what that strong argument is.  I might remember later.  It may have had something to do with Molly being a stepping stone in Daniel’s arc, but the cult-thing was so long and dominating that it didn’t work, it tied him too tightly for too long and coinciding with a loosening of his relationship with Betty there was flailing.

- Quick one: Daniel’s fast-forwarded and time-bounded relationship with Molly is the analog to Betty’s time-limited relationship with Henry.  Which is a discussion I would like Daniel and Betty to have.  Esp. noting that Betty and Henry had issues they worked through together (ice cream foreplay being one.)

- Player!  So going back to a happy place, when Betty’s on the phone trying to fix the apartment situation and the camera pans onto Daniel just leaning against the doorway: this may be a legitimate little moment of “squee!”  There’s so much denial in his laid back attitude at Player, but I still love watching how the informality of the environment reflects in the informality with Betty.  He gives her free reign, and there’s many answers to “why,” and I (almost) don’t want to go into them because I totally adore how this Daniel is basically a College!Daniel only he’s latched onto Betty, who, meanwhile, is just being Betty.  OMG how different his life would have been if he’d met Betty in college...

- Okay I actually don’t feel like going into whys, it’s just an arc to enjoy.  With a small mention of how he TOTALLY was playing with the MODE book and handed it to Betty knowing she’d understand and use it to get them back in.  Such a crazy subtle manipulation, to the point where I’m not sure it wasn’t almost entirely subconscious on Daniel’s part.

- The YETI recommendation letter.  What I love is that this is another time when Daniel fvcks up, but fixes it, and more importantly displays competence and ingenuity alongside authentic caring and effort.  Here’s the thing: YETI wanted Betty, even if it was just a quota thing (which it wasn’t entirely, at least one of the board was generally enthused.)  So all that was necessary was to have them re-label her as from Player.  Daniel knew this and did this.  And told Betty that.  BUUUUT that point was purposefully (by script and character) overshadowed by the gesture of the lengthy rec letter he put significant time into.  Whose real audience was... wait for it...  Betty.  He even did a second draft!  Which is more time and effort and a cleaner product.

-  Also flaking on her practice run.  I also enjoy how he (finally...) bounced back into the office clearly having forgotten her schedule, but having mentally shifted from Molly-space into Betty-space.  He’s enthused, he’s engaged, he’s sort of bantering and I’d like to see where that scene would have gone if she hadn’t immediately gotten the acceptance call.

- So there’s this moment somewhat early on, pretty sure when Betty’s taking the writing class, and wants Daniel to give her feedback.  And he’s all “why?,” coming from his “I don’t actually know what I’m doing” place.  She responds that he’s her friend and wants to know what he thinks.  And he does a little double-take at that word.  Because until that point Daniel totally sees Betty as HIS Friend, and they’ve referred to each other as friends, with a little “f,” and he believes that.  But it wasn’t until this moment that he even considered that HE might be HER Friend.  Presumably because he doesn’t believe he has anything to offer her, beyond the power he holds as EIC and her boss - ie, “here run this show” and other such responsibilities.

- Which is a recurring theme.  Pronounced on relationship stuff especially.  When she asks him for input on the Henry vs Gio situation, when she’s trying to date the playwright.  His response is always “I’m in no position to offer relationship advice/judgment on relationships.”  He sorta dodges the first and is permissive on the second.  I don’t know where to go with that so I’ll leave it (for now).

- When  he was supposed to be in Rio, Betty wasn’t even at MODE, she was working for the “enemy,” and he was sending her regular postcards?  First, they’d have been postmarked in New York and presumably with local stamps, so I’m not 100% on Betty not cottoning on.  But it’s super cute that he was thinking of her when he was incommunicado with literally everyone else.  Did he want her to figure it out (subconsciously)?  It’s an act of reaching out, but also of convincing: he’s created a fictional narrative of being in Rio, fed and embellished by the media and swallowed by coworkers, but it’s through Betty that he’s establishing the fiction in a definitive way.  He wants HER to believe it, because if SHE believes he’s there and having a good time, then he can believe it too, with a small piece of his imagination.

- Same convincing as in Player.  BTW, how did all those messages on her phone work?  He was 99% totally hiding the situation from her.  a) why wouldn’t he just call her from his phone, as he always did in the past?  b) he was creating another fictional space.  Where her “number” was literally on a post-it on his temporary assistant’s monitor.  It’s all play: “call Betty” happens many times, and every one is the act of doing it while knowing that he’s not really doing it.  c) Betty does not point out that he should have been confused he never heard back, or more to the point, that he never heard her voicemail message.  d) he was in a state of limbo waiting for her to come back, nothing is real until she does.  At which point there’s lovely dramatic tension since he both wants her to fix it and get them out of there, and wants to draw her into this new reality and thus make it feel viable.

- 100th Anniversary edition.  I love the idea that he’s hep on her writing his bio because he needs her name, at least, to be next to his.  His identity as EIC is predicated on her being his partner, and needs that shown, even if it’s functionally an “in joke” because it’s not like she can be featured.  In musing over his thoughts while flipping through the book right before deciding to quit, I usually come back to a realization of the transience of the role, but I want it to be a gutpunch of how he assumed, without being aware, that Betty would be next to him in picture, and that’s what they were heading for.

- I’ve actually got through most of my notes, so just a couple more.  Daniel is super impressionable.  He did what Becks told him to in the pilot.  He did what Natalie told him in the cult-situation.  Both against his better judgment - his look after Betty when he kicked her out for being “drama he didn’t need” - that’s the same look when he told her to clock out and was dragged off by the not-16-year-old.  I’m too tired to go check the pilot, but assuming similar look there.  He does what he’s told by anyone telling him to do something, but he WANTS to be rescued from the bad influences, who are so often so forceful.

- Final scene: okay so it turns out quick a lot of my thoughts are trying to understand Daniel.  His growth is blatant and deep.  So a second round will be more Betty-focused.  ‘Cuz I identify strongly with her and don’t have a lot of surface questions about her motivations, but I’m LOST on side of the romantic coin.  And plus she deserves a close look regarding how she grows during the series.

- I watched at least part of the reunion and very much like how AF answered the question of the final scene versus what EM says.  Because I think they each, as actors, see it from the perspective of their characters, which means it was played authentically and grants insight.  AF basically says that she saw it as Daniel coming to say thank you, and how it came down to Betty teaching him that he was good enough.  Which came across a little funny because her phrasing implied they’d never talk or see each other again or something and that’s an alarming finality.  But also implies that Betty really did see moving to London as a significant parting of ways, something that started as soon as she became an editor and their relationship changed.  Probably before.

- She then challenged EM as to why Daniel didn’t say goodbye (as if she didn’t know and hadn’t thought about it?  I’m guessing this was panel performance: asking the question “in character” and throwing the question to the other relevant actor.)  But anyway, EM’s answer was “Because things were just starting.”  Which is blatantly a shippy answer, and he even explains Daniel’s “revelation” as when he “really saw Betty for the first time through and through.”

- At some point in these things you’re like: oh but I thought of something else, and only stop when your brain falls asleep.

- I thought of something else.  And then I forgot it.  My brain is failing!  But not yet failed.

- After Betty gets her braces off there’s this scene near the end, at the shoot.  Daniel sees her and crosses quite purposefully to talk with her.  He wants to banter and share this exciting moment with her.  And the scene goes a little strange when Betty kinda goes “yeah, going now bye.”  I expected more eye contact, a big smile, more conversation.  That’s Betty.  That’s them.  But instead it’s a little awkward so Something Is Happening Here.  Is she self-conscious?  Did she see and hear something in Daniel’s look and comment right after she was detached from the bra and isn’t at this moment comfortable with him?  Is this all fallout from her dream in which she and Daniel slept together/he thought she was a bad person/rejected her only they chose not to explicate this/cut a useful scene/thought I’d get that right away but I’m obtuse?  I don’t think it’s the last one because while I can be horribly obtuse, I don’t think it was coded.  But that’s what the obtuse would say.

- At any rate they don’t pick up on it again, next scene (next ep) they’re back to normal.

- But Daniel does immediately chase after Amanda and let go of her.  Which is payoff for his convo with Betty earlier where she sort of disdainfully asks if he WANTS a more serious relationship with Amanda.  I did sort of wonder if he actually does, but Betty’s judgmentalness is what convinces him he doesn’t.  Usually I’d say Betty understands him so well she knows he doesn’t, but they’re not as close at this point, Betty is living her own life much more, so I dunno.

- But I don’t actually think Daniel was falling for Amanda, or that the show wanted us to think that was ultimately a viable path.  Because of that moment when he’s in a car, calls Amanda, says “I really need to see  you” and she turns him down.  It parallels his text to Betty when Molly died.  One text and Betty came over.  This was an actual distressed voice convo and Amanda doesn’t care enough about him to be there, which is really great development for Amanda even though we don’t see her!  She previously went after Matt when he was in jail, she’s interested in Tyler here, she’s not totally pining for Daniel!

- Daniel of course was using Amanda and their earned if mild emotional intimacy as a crutch, trying to fill the space Betty left.  Also note when Amanda turned him down for sex and he stayed to “hang out,” - this is not supposed to be an analysis of Amanda but I wanna note I like that moment because it felt like she was pleased to think she wasn’t just sex to him, while still being over him romantically. Because she does care about him.

- Or for pete’s...  I have this bad habit of writing notes which I later look at and am like... “huh?”  This is a fic idea, from Daniel’s POV: “Betty had moulded him, often by sheer force of her iron will, into being a man who almost deserved Molly.  And he'd turned right around and become a man who would never deserve Betty.”  And I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT THE SECOND HALF MEANS.  Specifically.

- Wedding dancing.  Happens twice.  Hilda’s wedding, we know what that is.  But at Daniel’s wedding.  I like that he wasn’t 100% Molly focused, ‘cuz, shipper.  And I know why the show had Matt cut in, because gotta keep things moving.  But isn’t it a thing that you don’t cut in on the groom/bride?  It’s their day.  Daniel just sort of nonverbally asks Betty if it’s okay (to leave her with Matt), but can’t help a) thinking he was a bit put out and b) want Molly to see his expression looking at Betty and have some sort of “aha” moment where she - do Molly and Betty have any scenes together?  I don’t remember seeing any and I think I did skim through all the eps, but I need to do that again.

- Ooh, one of the things I forgot en route!  I like that Betty has revolving love interests, because that’s textual argument for Betty never having feelings (romantic) for Daniel.  Which is super, super important in this iteration of the story.  There’s a couple moments - pilot and the first bridge scene - where she arguably has a momentary crush, which quickly settles into a developing platonic relationship.  

- Jump back to Daniel finally seeing Betty as a true equal = romantic feelings.  It’s a thing.  Look my brain is deteriorting and wording is hard!  So there’s two sided imbalance throughout.  Daniel always saw Betty with this veneer of youth, and a great deal of his use for her is helping her “grow into the woman she’ll be.”  And that’s the roadblock in him seeing her as a romantic possibility.  Which was initially quite awesome because he was sleeping with people younger than her, even the “she’s actually 20″ girl was younger than Betty.  And yet always saw her as in many ways more mature and competent than her.  And double-yet he still saw how much further she could, and would, grow.  His belief in her knows no bounds.

- Meanwhile Betty sees him as...  someone who’s also becoming.  Who has great potential.  Bullying him into it if necessary.  And because he’s guided by her, she can’t crush on him, he’s like her pet.  Were she to have a crush, much less fall for him, it would have been horrifying.  She needs to have a moment when she sees him as a true equal, someone who - look, everyone is always still growing so it’s not like he needs to be fully formed, and it’s a little murkier what the moment would look like when she finally sees Daniel “for the first time.”

- ‘cuz as noted, Betty has been there for pretty much every important moment of growth and crossroads in every facet of Daniel’s life.  Whereas Betty consistently had many things and relationships in her life Daniel was not involved in.  She’s always been way more self-reliant (not the word I wanted, is there one that starts with c?)  It’s why they did sort of need to peel away through a chunk of S4, because Daniel needed to learn to cope without Betty propping him up, because it’s like a Miranda-thing:

- “I don’t need Gary.  But I want him.”

- Daniel has to be able to be find without Betty before Betty can see him as a viable romantic partner.  She has to see something she never has before.  Daniel saw that the seedling he’d been protecting was not only strong enough to survive on its own had grown up and bloomed (process begun early in the season when he was being overprotective and she shut that down).  For Betty...  I guess Daniel...  ...  .....  it didn’t happen in the show.  As EM noted, for Daniel, the ending was the beginning.  Because his moment isn’t leaving MODE, that’s just the corresponding moment to Betty shaking him off.  His moment is further down the road when he puts into practice everything he’s learned and ...  something answered in fanfic because it’s spec and I’m tuckered.

[everythinggeeky]

The Fall | Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi! reader

Warnings: NONE! the angst, 

Word Count: 2.9k

Request: okay hear me out. request where the reader is cozy with Anakin with Ahsoka for her mission and when order 66 is executed, meaning she goes through all of that with the clones and the ship crashing but she doesn’t know it’s Anakin’s doing and then maybe Ahsoka tells the reader what maul told her on Mandalore during their fight. does that make sense? lol, I see angst. -Anon

masterlist

A/N: I took some creative liberties with this, hope you don’t mind! don’t sue me for emotional damages. Requests and tag lists are open!

You stood by the window watching as the stars shoot by in brilliant colors. You always enjoyed traveling in lightspeed - it gave you the opportunity to ignore the realities of the galaxy, even if only for a little while. Trying to distract yourself from the pressing matter at hand, your hand wandered to the small charm that hung from the side of your belt. Rubbing the charm between your thumb and forefinger, you remember the day that Anakin gave it to you after he had been training with you for months. 

“Y/N. This is for you. It’s a traditional artifact. There’s an engraving on the back for you, can you read what it says?” You fondly remembered a significantly younger Anakin handing the small charm to you on Coruscant after he had returned to you following a dangerous mission.

“I’ll always be with you,” you read aloud.

“Right. Because we have to stick together, no matter what,” he smiled sweetly down at you, “I have a duplicate on my belt. I’ll keep it there to remember my promise.”

You nodded, confirming your half of the promise. Since that day, you carried the charm on your belt, right next to your saber. This gentle reminder eased your anxieties when departing for a new mission. The ritual was the same: three clockwise spins between your thumb and forefinger, four counterclockwise. 

Over time, as Anakin and yourself grew from padawans to Jedi Knights, the charm began to lose its engraving from the repeated ritual, but the promise still stood between Anakin and yourself.

You would unite following a mission and embrace one another to confirm your physicality. Over time, your relationship with Anakin grew from fellow padawan, to close friend, to the possibility of something more, despite what you chose to label it. You always knew you had a special bond with Anakin, but were afraid to pursue it. The Jedi code forbids attachments, and you couldn’t risk your attachment to Anakin becoming your downfall.

These tender moments of nostalgia only lasted for so long; the sound of the transmission patching through pulls you out of your daze. You sighed heavily, not wanting to be bothered. After turning around, you were relieved to see that it was Anakin instead of another general. 

“Ahsoka, Y/N, this could be a tipping moment for the Clone Wars. The Jedi are counting on you once again. Capture Maul and uncover his motive. I must go, but I know you’ll accomplish what is necessary.”

“Have I ever let you or the Jedi down, Anakin?” you spoke up.

“Never. And don’t let this be the first,” he chuckled, trying to distract from the gravity of the mission at hand.

“I won’t,” you confirmed as Ahsoka walked away to attend to strategic planning with the troops.

“Y/N. I’m serious, I need you to come back to me this time. The way this is looking, the Jedi could gain an advantage here and win the war.”

“I will, Anakin. I always will. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...too long. There wasn’t enough time today on the dock.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, but with Obi-Wan there…” he trailed off.

His personal communicator chimed again, pulling his attention away from your private moment.

“I have to go, Y/N. The Chancellor-” Anakin tried to pull away.

“Be careful, alright? You know how I feel about mixing politics and war. It’s never good.”

“I’ll be alright. I promised to come back to you, didn’t I?” he smirked his trademark smirk before continuing, “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“Impossible,” you smiled softly up at him.

“Good luck with your mission, Y/N,” Anakin spoke softly, the transmission ended before you had the chance to finish.

“You too,” you said into the silence.

You were on board a shuttle with Bo-Katan and Ahsoka, making your way to Mandalore. Maul was confirmed to remain in the city, his direct location unknown. Enemy fire interrupted your smooth transport; your troopers, and Bo-Katan leaving the ship on a jet pack. You looked to Ahsoka and shrugged before fleeing the ship, dismantling and disarming the enemy on the way to the surface.

After landing, you were met with heavy blaster fire which was blocked by the smooth and effortless motions of Ahsoka’s lightsabers, as well as your own. Working your way down into the tunnels of the city, you decided it was best you split up. Ahsoka would work with the commander and a few others, and you would lead your own respective group.

Taking out the opposition one by one, you worked with your team to find Maul. Ahsoka patched through eventually informing you of the dark lord’s location. You and your troopers made your way to the hub to surround Maul, armed and ready to fight.

“Ah. I see the Jedi have some new recruits I was not aware of,” Maul purrs.

“Can’t keep moving the same guys around everywhere in the galaxy. Too bad you’re stuck with us I suppose. Surrender and there will be no bad blood,” you spoke up, twirling your saber once for intimidation.

“Surrender? Why do so when the Jedi will inevitably lose?” 

You looked to Ahsoka with concern, preparing yourself for a bloody match with the Sith that almost eliminated Obi-Wan Kenobi. After a small back and forth, you lost track of Maul. You discovered that Darth Sidious was responsible for the Clone Wars, ensuring that the Sith were playing a game with the Jedi from the very beginning. After hours of gruesome fighting and snide remarks, Ahsoka was able to capture some time with Maul to discover Darth Sidious’ plot while you and Bo-Katan resolved the smaller fights on the surface.

You were separated from Ahsoka, busy taking down the enemy forces of the surface of Mandalore. Your saber made quick work of the blaster fire, blocking it from coming into harm’s way with your comrade. Slashing down enemies with an impressive twirl of your saber, mimicking the style of your master from so many years ago.

You hadn’t seen Ahsoka in a few hours, too busy fighting alongside the other troops assigned to the upper levels of the city. You received notice that Ahsoka was in pursuit of Maul, determined to uncover his motive and the greater plot at play. Through her continued efforts, she successfully captured Maul. You reunited and met with the Council to discuss further efforts to eliminate the Chancellor’s control.

“We have Maul. We will escort him back to Coruscant,” Ahsoka speaks up to the Council.

“The war could be over soon…” you trailed off quietly.

“If the Chancellor complies,” Master Windu confirms.

You nod, doubt troubling your mind. Where was this coming from? You knew Anakin and Obi-Wan would complete their mission and get the information necessary to end the war. But something lingering in the back of your mind continued to grow; you were so close, was this really going to be the end of a long war?

Master Yoda questioned your thoughts, “Doubts about the war, you have.”

“Doubts, yes. Is this too good to be true? If Darth Sidious is truly playing both sides...how can we know this war won’t go on for many years to come?”

“Faith in your colleagues, you must have.”

“Yes, Master,” you replied, looking to the floor.

“A message for Skywalker, perhaps?”

“No, when I see him after all of this is over, I’ll tell him myself.” 

“May the force be with you.”

And with that, Master Yoda ended the transmission.

“Ahsoka, you didn’t tell the council about what Maul said” Rex spoke up.

“You’re right. I didn’t,” she spoke as she walked through the doors.

You followed her through, mind wandering endlessly. Is the council right? Is this almost the end of a multi-year war? 

“Wait...What did Maul say? You didn’t mention it to me”

“In time...if what Maul said is true, it will reveal itself. I don’t want to distract you from the truth and from the mission, Y/N.”

“I see...why can’t you tell me, Ahsoka?”

“I just can’t,” she continued after a long silent pause, “I can sense something troubling you, Y/N. What is it?” Ahsoka asks as you make your way to the ship where Maul is to be boarded.

“Do you really think the Council is right? That Maul is right?”

“There’s no way to know for certain, but your doubts echo my own. I know the Order has a reputation for corruption, and it’s not up to me or to you to eliminate that, but I can’t continue knowing I contributed in an effort that allowed innocent people to die.”

“That’s why we’re here, Ahsoka. You know what is right.”

“I suppose, I just don’t want to be a soldier anymore” she closed, taking her position on the bridge alongside Commander Rex, while you sat outside the briefing room, unable to tolerate the pressure of more diplomacy.

As you traveled through hyperspace, the force called out to you in a series of struggles and arguments between an unknown party.

“It’s not the Jedi way!” a voice called out through the force, exhausted.

The painful thoughts plagued your mind as the scuffle continues. 

“What have I done?” 

“Anakin?” you said quietly into the empty hallway, looking around for anyone that could help you, or maybe you could share the news with. 

You hurried to find Ahsoka, surely she felt this too. As the doors to the bridge slid open, Commander Rex stood between you two, guns drawn and aimed at both of you. Pulling your lightsaber from your belt and igniting the blade. Ahsoka stood still, shifting her focus from you and then back to Rex.

“Rex...what is this?” Ahsoka begged.

“Under Order 66, all Jedi are to be executed for treason. You are in violation of Order 66,” he spoke in a tone that was dissimilar from his normal.

Firing a shot at both of you, you and Ahsoka ducked out of the way; using her lightsaber to deflect the back-and-forth fire between the troops. Before you had the opportunity to get caught in the middle of the fire, you fled the scene, running into the hallway of the ship. You ran to escape the fire of the corrupted troops, finding a quiet supply room to yourself.

You thought if you could find the quiet space to meditate, perhaps you could send a message to Anakin. What was the argument that you heard? What did Anakin do that was so terrible that he immediately regretted it? There has to be some good left in him, surely nothing is solidified quite yet. 

Reassuring yourself that nothing has been set in stone, you sat on the cold floor of the supply closet. Inhaling deeply, you centered your thoughts to reach Anakin’s. The blaster fire continued outside, drawing you away from your meditation now and again. As you tried to connect with Anakin, you were once again dragged down by Anakin’s panicked and angry thoughts. 

“Anakin...” you spoke into your force bond, hoping he would reciprocate.

You waited, hanging on desperately for a response. You let a tear fall as you reached for the charm on your belt. 

Three clockwise, four counter. 

“Please, Anakin…”

“Y/N…” Anakin spoke out, heartbreak is laden in his voice.

“Where are you Anakin…?” you pleaded.

“Coruscant,” he quipped.

“What has happened?”

“I can’t-”

“Anakin, please…” your connection was brutely interrupted by clone troopers searing the door, attempting to break the door down.

You looked between the door and the charm in your hand, pondering your next move. As the clones came closer to breaking down the door, you forfeited your force bond with Anakin, leaving your meditative state and igniting your lightsaber. 

Two clones broke down the door to the supply closet, exposing your hiding place.

Another clone echoed Rex’s command from earlier, “you are in violation of Order 66. You will be executed for treason.”

You fought off the clones, finding a way to flee the clones, and reunite with Ahsoka. After running what felt like forever, you found Ahsoka. Breathless, she stopped you.

“Y/N. The clones are compromised.”

“You don’t say,” you huff.

“No, they were designed that way.”

“What??”

“The Kaminoans installed an inhibitor chip. Order 66 was the plan all along.”

“Darth Sidious…”

“Yes.”

“Is this what Maul was talking about…?”

“Yes, but there is something else.”

“Tell me.”

“Y/N, I really can’t.”

“Ahsoka, please.”

“It’s Anakin.”

“What about him? I felt it. I tried. Ahsoka, I tried to talk to him. He pushed me away,” you spiraled.

Ahsoka caught your shoulders, squaring you to herself, “Y/N. Maul said Anakin is behind this. The destruction, Order 66. He is Sidious’s apprentice.”

You pulled away from her, “You lie. There’s no way that Anakin could have done this…”

“I know. But I think Maul may be right. Anakin has always doubted the Council, and increasingly so in recent days…”

“Ahsoka...I..”

“Right now, we have to worry about the clones. We gotta get that chip out of Rex’s head.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the mission. Your personal matters and attachments could not intercede. As Maul caused his own chaos in the corridor, you worked with Ahsoka to fight off the clones and get out of here. Eventually, you made it outside, where after a messy battle, Maul was able to escape after a struggle with Ahsoka. 

The ship was gaining speed rapidly, and the clones were gaining on you. Ahsoka, Rex, and yourself fought back to back, blocking blasters and the increasing pressure from the clones. Ahsoka dropped the three of you to the lower level and covered you and Rex as you looked for an escape ship.

With a boost from Ahsoka, you boarded the ship with Rex, fleeing the wreckage. Ahsoka confirmed she would find her way and would work to defeat the clones. You steered to bring Ahsoka on board after she fled the wreckage herself. When it was safe, you landed on the moon’s surface, examining the wreckage behind.

You took a moment to yourself, finding a quiet space to allow yourself to feel the devastation. You had been through so much within the last day and this was time to rest. Tossing your lightsaber back and forth between your hands, you remembered your fondest memories while training. Working side-by-side with Anakin while you were both padawans were some of your favorite memories. The first time you sparred with him, you took him down practically instantly. 

With a knee on his chest, you leaned into his face, “what? Can’t keep up, Skywalker?” you chuckled, smirking.

“Oh, I can keep up, Y/N,” he smirked, shoving you off his chest.

You laughed while standing back up, “I thought Master Kenobi was supposed to be teaching you something.”

“Hush,” he teased.

You smiled fondly at the memory from your youth. These much happier days seemed so long ago now, both of your lives completely different. Anakin’s choice was confirmed; he had truly given up on the Jedi and on the light side of the force. Hope was lost. In an attempt to comfort yourself, your hand wandered to the charm on your belt again. 

Three clockwise, four counter. 

A tear fell from your eye as you pulled harshly on the charm, detaching it from your belt. You tossed it out onto the expanse of the moon’s surface. You’ve lost hope in redeeming Anakin. You could sense he was gone. This was your only chance for survival.

Following your unceremonial separation, Ahsoka wandered over to you.

“You ready to go?” she spoke softly.

Wiping your eyes, you stood and followed Ahsoka to the shuttle, leaving the moon for good to start your life over again. Your life away from the Order, and away from Anakin.

Vader returned the moon months later. There was a rumor that wreckage from the clone wars existed, rumor that possible Jedi have crept through the cracks of Order 66 and escaped. He searched the surface with a dedicated team of troopers. Through the snow, helmets from the 501st peppered the snow.

Vader knelt to the surface to brush some of the snow aside. In his efforts, a silver piece of metal was hidden under the snow’s covering, beside one of the helmets. He picked it up and recognized it instantly- the same charm he had given to you as a boy.

He took this as a sign of your suffering; the wreckage was brutal and there was no way you survived. Vader pocketed the charm; his own was left burned and charred on Mustafar. Perhaps there was hope and you were alive. Wherever you are, he tried to reach out to you, but the door was closed.

Vader repeated the ritual in his gloved hands.

Three clockwise, four counter.

tagged: @kenobee​ @hxldmxdxwn​ @smokahuntis​ @obiwkenobi​ @jbarnesss​ @takenbymyfandoms​ @ilovesupersoldiers​ @ahsxkaa​

[wickedobsessed101]

Fanfic Writer Asks

[SOURCE: criminal-minds-fanfiction: Most of the writer ask posts I come across are only like ten or so questions long so I thought I’d try to make a longer one because we like talking about our writing! Feel free to reblog!]

I’m answering all of these b/c I love Q & A’s about my writing, both for my fics and other things.

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction? It was 2013, so I was 14 years old. I’m now almost 23.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one? I’m mostly in the Wicked Musical fandom, but I like to read for other fandoms, like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Chronicles of Narnia, ect.

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer. OCs, but I’m more than willing to create an OC for someone based on characteristics they give me.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for? I love me some fluffy romance and hurt/comfort, but I also love some angsty drama.

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi-chaptered stories, which would it be and why? OMG, don’t make me choose! They’re all my babies! I love all my children equally! They all hold special places in my heart.

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why? Goodness, most of my stories prior to 2017, because I was in high school and had no idea what I was doing because I was just getting my feet wet with writing.

7) When is your preferred time to write? Anytime really. The latest I’ve stayed up writing a fic was 4AM. *Glares at ‘Threads of Truth’*

8) Where do you take your inspiration from? Where ever it happens to come up. I’m not picky. Movies, music, people I’ve seen on the street, random thoughts that enter my head, anything.

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote? In ‘Threads of Truth’, it’s a tie between Villy’s first date, and an argument that happens in an upcoming chapter. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind? In ‘Play The Game’, I liked the epilogue ending that I gave Elphaba with her family, even without Fiyero. I like writing her with kids. Another ending would be with the Fiyeraba still together, but I’m satisfied with the ending it has.

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it? I’ll go back and fix typos that are pointed out, but I don’t change plot stuff. Like, I wrote what I wrote and I will amend my technique in future stories.

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why? Other than my OCs, because I get to fully create them and my lowkey babies, I’d have to say G(a)linda. She has so much potential and she’s so much fun.

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why? Boq. Not because I hate him (I don’t!), but because I don’t normally know what to do with him. If he’s not with Nessa, he’s literally just standing there like a brick wall. No offence, Boq!

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories. [Ask me about a specific story(ies)]

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names? I usually change consonants and vowels to already existing names, or add unnecessary letters because... reasons.

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx? [Ask me about a specific story]

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on. “Hopefully, this will soak up any more leaks.” (Upcoming Wicked fanfic)

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them? Yes, 2. Both of them are a few years old and I’ve grown as a writer since then. Maybe one day, I’ll edit them and repost, but not anytime soon.

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to? Not everything can have a sequel, y’all! XD

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently? Yes! Around 60% of them.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire? @vinkunwildflowerqueen @raven-curls @mylittleelphie @weaselspeedfanfic Ultimate Queen of Cliffies

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it? This goes back to Question #6; most of what I posted prior to 2017.

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence? Silence. I need to focus.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes? I can’t write it. They’ll make out, and then be pregnant in the next chapter. Y’all can do the math for yourselves.

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story? YES! Yes, I have! Both sad tears and tears of joy. I’ve also cringed from second-hand embarrassment at the things the characters do and say. I’m not in control of their actions all the time. Sometimes they tell me what they’re gonna do, and I’m like, “Well, alright, then.”

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write? [Ask me about a specific story]

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow? I write bullet points of things I want to happen in a chapter on the Word Doc, or in the story as a whole, and I try to keep those bullet points in order. And the Notes App on my phone holds a lot of my ideas, and sometimes full scenes.

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction? That I’d become obsessed with writing and continue doing it for almost ten years, as well as expanding to writing plays and musicals.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like? Yeah. I’m not gonna say which one, but just know there’s one... or a few.

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at? Yes, and I’m still not gonna say which one(s). I want all the love!

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec, not the answerer) Yeah, sure!

32) Are any of your characters based on real people? Yes. Villy Doiir from ‘Threads of Truth’ is based on 4 people I know in real life, all mixed together into one wholesome, mother figure/ mentor. Perhaps that’s why I like writing her so much.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten? All reviews keep me going, no matter the length. But I love it when people review saying that they picked up on little references that were really just for me. It makes me feel like we’ve shared a moment.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten? A guest reviewer once said, “You tend to write Fiyero as an abusive person”. It wasn’t harsh, just... NOT TRUE. Especially for the story they were reviewing.

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest? Close to my chest. I’ll share it with the world when I’m ready.

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s? NOPE! You’ll just have to wait and see! LOL!

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written? I... really don’t know. My stories all have their funny moments.

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it. I’m very busy, and collabs aren’t really my thing, but I’m always willing to lend an extra pair of eyes pre-posting.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person? I’ve written one story in the first person and it was fun to get into the character’s head, but I love third person, cause I like knowing what everyone is thinking. Second person makes me feel a certain way and that don’t really like.

40) Do people know you write fanfiction? IRL, no. It’s not something I bring up over dinner. I’ll talk about my plays and musicals, but not fanfiction. I like keeping my fics for the online peeps and my more personal writings for the RL peeps.

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written? My OC, Princess Hannalyn, from ‘A Royal Romance’. She was so much fun!

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx. I haven’t done a song fic.

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it? Not fully, but they’ve had little inklings, but certain details were still a surprise. And I’m not mad about it.

44) What is the last line you wrote? “I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”

45) What spurs you on during the writing process? When I’ll have one idea, and it spirals into many others, and when the characters write themselves. It makes it so much easier for me. Sometimes they tell me that they’re about to make a bad decision, and I just go along with it. They need to learn and grow somehow.

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it? [Ask me for a specific story]

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about? [Ask me]

48) What’s your favourite trope to write? I love a good Royalty AU (not fully AU ‘cause of our princey-prince, but still) and Holiday AUs. And I’ve never written a Coffeeshop AU, but I LOVE reading them. I’ll read anything. I’m not picky, and I love to see what ideas others have.

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about? Yes, and both of them were Gelphies: 1 - “Easier Said Than Done” by mecelphie - It’s part of a long, wonderful series of Elphaba and Glinda together at Shiz and how their lives evolve together and has many lovable OCs. 2 - “The Thropp Diaries” by denpa wave chick saki - It’s first-person Elphaba POV of the book. It expands on lots of mentioned moments and we get to journey through Elphaba’s thoughts.

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? I’d have to say fluff, so I can get my escape from reality. But it’s hard to write pure fluff without a little bit of conflict.

If you wanna read my stories, they’re all right here: Fae’sFlower

[cpd5021]

Surveillance

Happy Wednesday!!!! One more week and I am screaming with excitement!! I’m also pretty darn pleased with myself for actually sticking to this challenge and getting out a one-shot every week. I may have one more to post next week before the true excitement begins, but we shall see. I also have a ton of multi-chapter fics outlined and ready to write whenever I can actually get the time again, so look for those in the hopefully near future. Thanks to everyone who has sent in prompts, given me ideas or the push to keep me going. A special thanks to @thetwit, @randers198 and @chilly7188 for all of the wonderful ideas and conversations we have had over the last few months. Also thanks to @fromiftowhen for writing your amazing story and keeping me in all the Upstead feels. This fandom truly is a little family and I can’t wait to explode with excitement with each and every one of you once Upstead is back on our screens. Hopefully you enjoy this little story and the rest of your week as we finish out this last week of waiting. Without further ado, here is this week's one shot. Based on the prompt:

“Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys” sent in by @thetwit

      Undercover operations, surveillance, and long hours were all part of the game when you worked in Intelligence. And frankly, Hailey enjoyed every minute of it. This was her calling, what she was born to do, and she was beyond grateful for the opportunity. She was even more grateful for having such an amazing partner, Jay. Although, as amazing as he was, he had his downfalls. Like spending hours in the back of the surveillance van? Not his thing. He was fine until the snacks ran out, which this time around, had been about an hour ago. It was well past midnight now and the pair were staked out in front of a hole in the wall bar, waiting for the off chance their suspect actually showed up. Everyone else in the Intelligence unit was long gone, probably at home or enjoying their time at Molly’s. Hailey and Jay had offered themselves up for this gig as it had been a while since they had run surveillance. It had proven to be a slow night so far but Hailey was thankful for the easy conversation that flowed between her and Jay. They bantered, laughed about the antics of Adam on their earlier scene, and then fell quiet as they munched on the various bags of chips and pretzels they had tossed into the back of the van before they got started. Now, Jay was leaning back on the bench, stretching his arms up above his head and causing his shirt to rise, exposing just enough of his toned abdomen to make Hailey’s cheeks flush. She quickly busied herself with her phone, hoping he wouldn’t notice in the dim light of the van and thankfully he was too preoccupied with complaining about the lack of food to notice her reaction. He let out a loud sigh and Hailey knew another stream of pleading was heading her way. 

“I’m just saying, we could run in, grab some food to go, and be out before anyone even notices we were there.”

Hailey laughs at him, shaking her head at his attempt at a pout. 

“We can’t risk blowing this just because you’re hungry. It’s only a few more hours and then you can have your food.”

She countered, sending him a stern look and letting him know she wasn’t going to budge. He let out another sigh but turned his attention back to the computer in front of him, mumbling something about harsh working conditions and strict partners. 

     Another hour and a half passed with nothing to report. Jay was beginning to stir again, the restlessness of sitting still for so long catching up to him. Without a word, he looked over at her with puppy eyes, earning a small chuckle from Hailey along with a shake of her head. A half hour later, in the silence of the van, Hailey’s stomach let out an audible growl of hunger and Jay’s eye’s instantly turned smug as he looked over to her with a smirk. 

“Bar burger and fries? Nothing better after a long night in the van…”

He teased, waggling his eyebrows at her, knowing he was playing dirty by mentioning one of her favorite foods. 

“If we blow this…”

She threatened, sending him another stern look. 

“It’s fine, I’ll order the food for pickup, we can run in real quick to grab it, and be back in a flash. Besides, I’m beginning to think this guy isn’t going to show.”

Hailey squinted her eyes at him, debating his plan quickly before finally conceding with a nod of her head. 

“Fine. But I’m totally throwing you under if this goes south.”

Jay smiled as he quickly looked up the number for the bar on his phone, dialing it and bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Deal.”

He agreed, just before they answered. 

     They waited the fifteen minutes the waitress gave them before quickly surveilling the street and jumping out. Hailey walked closely to Jay as they headed in, keeping her hood pulled up just in case someone spotted them that shouldn’t. Jay tightened his ball cap just before they entered and the two walked straight up to the bar, keeping their heads low. The bartender took the money and told them it would be just a few more minutes. Hailey settled onto a stool next to Jay, glancing around the small room and hoping this didn’t blow their cover. They started an easy conversation, hoping to not stand out from the crowd around them, most too drunk to even notice their presence. 

    The bell on the bar's entrance dinged and Hailey instantly had a sinking feeling. Jay risked a glance back and she could tell by his face that their guy had just walked in. He turned back around, pressing his elbows into the counter as they prayed the guy would just find a table. No such luck as their suspect sauntered up to the bar, just a few stools down from them. This was the type of place where new people stood out like a sore thumb and Jay and Hailey certainly fit that bill. Hailey could tell the guy was looking over at them, but kept her face glued to the tv behind the bar. Suddenly she felt Jay’s arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her mouth to attempt to play the roll. His eyes darted to the man beside them and then back to hers in a flash, he was trying to communicate something silently but she was struggling to keep up. It was only when Jay’s eyes dipped down to her lips that she put two and two together. Her cheeks instantly flushed at the thought of what was about to occur but she managed to send him a small nod, letting him know it was okay. Jay quickly closed the distance between them, his warm mouth pressing into hers and her heart threatening to explode. Hailey moved her lips against his, reveling in the sensation and hoping he couldn’t feel her pulse. She wound a hand up behind his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss and suddenly the lines between their cover and their actual relationship were blurring. Jay’s hand danced down to her waist, angling her closer to him and Hailey had to choke back a moan when his tongue darted over her bottom lip, seeking entrance. It slipped between her lips, beginning a dance with her own and the heat shot directly down to her core. The hand behind his neck tugged at the small hairs there as her other hand came to grip his shirt. She knew this was crossing so many lines but in this moment she never wanted it to end. It was only when someone cleared their throat in front of them that Jay pulled away, his eyes locking onto hers and a wild look dancing within them. The bartender set the bag of food beside them, turning back around with a scoff at their little show. Jay grabbed the bag with one hand and Hailey with the other and moved them both off the stools and through the exit. Hailey clambered into the back of the van, feeling her cheeks burning and her pulse racing. She kept her back to Jay as he climbed in, sliding the door shut behind them. She tried to focus on slowing her breathing down but was finding the task nearly impossible. 

“Hailey…”

His voice was low and husky behind her, not helping her to focus whatsoever. She took a deep breath and turned around to face him. He was closer than she thought and the proximity sped her pulse right back up. His eyes danced with a fire she had never seen before as he stared down at her. Despite their hunched positions in the van, he still loomed over her and she had to keep her head tilted up to look at him. 

“Hails...I’m sorry if that was crossing the line..I just figured…”

He stammered out his words before she raised a hand to stop him. 

“No no, it’s...it’s okay. I..that was..”

It was Hailey’s turn to stumble over her words as she tried to figure out what to say. 

“Good?”

He asked, a hopeful look on his face. 

“Yeah. Good. It was good.”

She replied, her face morphing into a smile, mirroring his own. 

“So, can I do it again then?”

Jay asked, raising his eyebrow slightly as the fire returned to his eyes. Hailey’s breath caught in her throat for a moment as she processed what he was asking. 

“Yeah.”

She breathed out when her brain finally caught up. He closed the distance between them once again, moving slower this time as he lowered his mouth down to hers, his eyes locked on hers watching her reaction. Hailey reached a hand up behind his head again, pulling him down to close the gap and holding her breath when his lips finally met hers once again. Their mouths moved against each other as if they had been doing this forever, each finding a natural rhythm as they molded against each other. Jay’s hands were on her waist again, his fingers dancing against the skin just below her shirt. His tongue danced over her lip again and this time she didn’t hold back the moan that rose from her chest. Her other hand joined the first behind his neck, pulling him even closer and feeling his chest press into hers as they both became breathless, their chests heaving into each other. Finally they had to come up for air, their mouths the only thing that separated. Jay looked down at her, the fire smoldering within his eyes and she knew he was craving the same thing she was. Whatever had just happened had changed the dynamic between them forever, but Hailey found herself feeling more hopeful than scared and she could only begin to imagine what the future held. 

[queenofthefallenangels]

Think Twice Part 9

“I am going to make sure you never even think of touching my girl ever again. I am going to make sure you wish you never even met her.”

Seth Rollins X OC X Jon Moxley/ Dean Ambrose

Tag Team: @sithstatlander​​ @xladyxfatex​ @awkward-teenaged-girl​@steadysuitcasepurseranch @themansbliss​@katelynirwinhemmingsclifordhood@strwbrryshrtckexo​ @bluedragonfly678​ @luleelurah @mohawkmama​@foreverthenerdprincess​ @aujenaeblaze​ @missnena2194​@suicidepanda07​ @kelseyann2002 @princessminjikwon​@nerdgirlsblog​ @multi-stan-kpop @redz0mbie @thebornalpha @acon1120​ @jonsmoxley​ @dayasvalkyrie​ @goddessofhardrock​@1dluver13xx​ @vampirepixi​ @dietwrestling @asktvhead​@moxslilangel2020​ @chynagirl13​​ @new-zealand-chic​​

Aria 

Seth had me in his arms, his legs wrapped around my waist as he pulled me close. He had kept a steady thrust taking me over the edge over and over again. My brain was fogged that all I could focus on was the pleasure that was going through my body. He pressed his sweaty head against my forehead. Both of us were breathing heavily. “It’s been a while  since we went on a marathon like that.” 

“It was the last time we broke up and you wanted me back.” I shook my head as I slowly pushed him off me. I was coming back to reality slowly. I almost hated it. “We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this.” I sighed. 

“There has to be a way I can prove of you that my word means business. I mean what I say when I say that I love you and only you. I made a mistake. It’s sometimes still hard with you not here. You had become so busy with Alexa.” 

“I only became busy, because you were busy.” I paused. “I know you hate this idea, but the only way I will think about it is if you go to couples therapy with me. We need to work through these problems instead of putting them on the back burner like we always do.”

He nodded,  “Whatever it-”  There was a knock on the door that stopped him. “Excuse me.” He said grabbing for his pants and shirt. I quickly moved to put my clothes on as he opened the door. “Buddy, I thought I told...Jon.”  He said with a pleasant smirk. 

My heart sank, what was he doing here? 

Jon 

I knew this was the exact opposite of what Alexa said to do, but I wanted to talk to the man and weasel out what Aria came to see him about. It wasn’t my place to ask questions to her, but I didn’t really give a damn about what the fuck Seth had to say about me prying. I knew him too well. Regardless of what happened, he would be gloating and cocky just at the fact he got her to come back. He would hold it over my head like a carrot trying to lead a horse. “Seth, I need to talk to you, but first I would like to talk to Aria,” I said looking between the two of them. Aria looked nervous, but of course, Seth wore the biggest smile on his face. He made me want to fuckin wipe it off his damn face. I couldn’t stand how his brown eyes lit up with glee that I had caught them. I didn’t wait for an answer. I took Aria by her elbow and led her into the hallway away from Seth. 

Once we were out of earshot or appeared to be. I was pretty sure Seth had followed and was lurking somewhere I couldn’t see. “I am not mad, I just need to fuckin know if last night meant nothing to you or something? He stalked us on our date. What about that screams let me get in bed and fuck this man?” I didn’t want to come off as mad, but I was. I was damn jealous of what I just walked in on. Alexa must have known something else up.

Aria had tears in the corner of her eyes. “I just…” She started, but paused. “I just...you are too good for me.” 

“I am too good for you? Me? The guy who makes money fixing cars and kicking people’s ass. I am too good for you?” I questioned her. Did she lose her mind back there?” I crossed my arms looking down at her. “Was this the point of this? Get back at Seth? Make him feel what you have felt before“Was this all a trick? To get Seth jealous to make him go crazy like how you feel?” 

“What? No, Jon. I would never do that.” 

“Did last night mean nothing to you?” I asked, repeating my question as I pinched my nose between my fingers. I was frustrated with her. I began to pace the floor trying to make sense of this all. She willingly had sex with Seth after everything. She still went back to him. 

‘It did, but --” 

I stopped her, “If it meant something why are you here with him? If it meant anything to you, you wouldn’t be here with him, fucking him and doing god knows what else.” 

Tears were in the brims of her eyes. I could tell she was doing her best to hold them back. “Look,” I sighed, rubbing my face as I took her face between my hands. I rubbed the pads of thumbs on her cheeks. “I know, we had one date and I shouldn’t be jealous. If you weren’t ready to move on. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because,” she closed her eyes as she let out a small sob. “Because, I don’t like that I am not ready to move on from him. I should be ready to move on. I should be jumping for joy at the fact that someone like you would want me, but I am stuck. I am stupid.” She cried. I took my hands off her face and wrapped my arms around her pulling her close. She was at least being honest.

“How about you just take some time to think about what you want? I won’t be mad with whatever you pick. Just go spend time with your roommate or your friends. Do something you love.” 

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Okay.” She hugged me tightly. “I know you probably don’t think you are much, but you are the sweetest.” 

My heart hurt when I heard her words. Would I still be the sweetest if she knew who I was? If she knew I was Dean would she even be hugging me? I held onto her for a bit longer just in case this was the last time. 

--

I walked back into Seth’s office a little bet later. “So, what brings you here, Grimes? Or should I say Moore since that’s what you go by now?” Seth asked with an eyebrow raised. He was back sitting at his desk. Everything I had been put back in order like nothing had happened. I wished nothing had happened. “Think it would just be so sweet for her to find out that truth.” 

“You already got her to come back. Why would you need to tell her who I am?” I snapped back at him as I closed the door. “You know better than to say my name around here. What if they find me?” I was ignoring his comments. I knew he had been watching. I didn’t care to know how. 

Seth rolled his eyes, “If they were looking for you, they would have found you. You don’t have much of a low profile.” I said handing him the papers. 

I shook my head, “You have to prove your loyalty and this was the way I did it.” 

“The death?”

“Was an accident,” I told him. “Shit happens when you fight all dangerous. You never had a real blood bath battle.” 

Seth took the papers. “I might have to have one with you.” 

“You are still trying to fight me. Why? Isn’t this a win on your side?” 

“Yes, but I am not ready to go all in yet.” Seth leaned back as he storked his beard. “I could see the way she looked at you. She has feelings for you. She seems conflicted.”

“She wouldn’t be if you just let her come back naturally like you are supposed to, but you don’t want to do that.” 

“Of course not. You know better than to think I would fight fair.” 

“I should have. I shouldn't have tried to be the nice guy. I am sick of it. You want to play dirty. Fine. I will play dirty.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure you want to do that?” 

“I ain’t scared of you. I ain’t scared of you showing her all this crap you got on me. If I can’t win her love then so be it. I will make it my mission to make sure she ends up with a real man like she deserves.”

[hobidreams]

Bloom | KNJ {M}

Family is who you kill for. Who you die for. In this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. But when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. That is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom.

pairing: assassin!reader x florist!namjoon genre: smut, angst, action, sprinkles of fluff words: 20.7k contains: descriptions of violence & blood, weapons, minor character death, fingering, dirty talk, oral (f), protected piv, multiple smut scenes, namjoon talks to his plants a/n: this piece challenged every ounce of my creativity (in the best of ways) & i’m so ecstatic to share it with you all! i tried my best with the floral research, please forgive me for any inaccuracies.

Night is coming.

With steady hands, you draw taupe curtains on windows that reflect the light of a dying sun, melting into the horizon to pave the way for the illustrious moon. The space now cast in darkness, you follow the trail of shadows to the full-length mirror that lines a wall in the entryway of this hotel room.

“Lights on, 60%.”

You tilt your head to a side, scrutinizing the dress that hangs loosely from your figure, done in a muted, subtle navy. With no loose threads to be found, you focus on your hair, on the carefully pinned bun and the solitary tendrils that weave their way down the side of your face. Just below, two earrings, diamond studs, add just a hint of distracting sparkle. But the most important accessory of your night will be the ring on your right hand’s middle finger, and the thin, imperceptible needle hidden inside, filled with exactly one dose of lethality.

From the designer purse that sits at your side, you extract your mini-communicator. A few taps has the hologram pixilating to life, bursting from the screen as you confirm the details of your mission. Tonight, you intend on making the acquaintance of one Park Siyeon. Multi-millionaire. Entrepreneur. Target.

Why Siyeon? That’s the one thing this file doesn’t mention. Nor did your brother Yoongi, when he issued your orders, though that’s been the trend for the last while. Tonight is the culmination of months of extensive planning, and Yoongi made it clear that this mission was not one you could afford to fuck up. Especially not after the last... incident.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It’s been a while since you were in action, but you’ve pored over the documents. You know Siyeon’s face, her habits. And this is not your first kill.

You drop the mini-com back into its home with your handkerchief and lipstick. The watch on your left wrist reads 7:31pm. The charity event downstairs started thirty minutes ago, and now you will be perfectly, fashionably late. Thoroughness (or perhaps paranoia) dictates you take one last look in the mirror. Then you slip into your nude heels before reaching for the door handle.

“Lights, off.”

By the time the steel elevator doors slide open to deposit you on the luxury hotel’s ground floor, the mingling is in full swing. Confidence radiates from your every step as you stalk to one of the men standing guard before the entrance. “Good evening, ma’am.” You offer a stolen invitation in response to his outstretched hand. “Thank you. Please enjoy your night.”

“Thank you.” You step inside, blending in effortlessly as you lift a flute of fizzy champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. You have less than an hour before the main event begins to make contact, to make use of the hidden syringe that will render Siyeon incapacitated exactly twenty minutes after injection. It will look like a heart attack, a sudden tragedy brought on by unfortunate circumstance (stress being the usual suspect). By then, you will be safely miles away, retreating into the shroud of your underground headquarters.

You return smiles and head nods to those who toss them your way, probably assuming you are another one of the countless business associates in this flood. Weaving your way through the crowd, you sip at the bubbly drink.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these events before. What’s your name?” A deep voice interrupts your search. You turn to find a pudgy man grinning at you. Well, more like leering. You rattle off a fake name. “That’s pretty. Which company are you with?”

You feed him another false tidbit. He starts rattling on about how his company knows yours, how he’s senior executive whatever, and would you like to get a “business” lunch sometime? You’re not actually listening, too busy landing eyes on the lady of the night. Siyeon stands near the front of the room, draped in exquisite Chanel and a glittering shawl. Though her back is turned towards you, you catch enough of her face when she turns to greet someone who approaches her. Perfect.

“Of course, I’ll have my office call yours.” All the creep gets is one perfunctory nod before you step away, ignoring his protests that you didn’t even give him a card.

It is just your luck that there are a few tables set up near where Siyeon stands. You pick the one slightly to her right, in earshot of her conversation with an elderly woman. You need the perfect opportunity to cause a quiet commotion, just enough to distract her from the slight pinch of inevitability.

“Oh, please, you flatter me! I didn’t start my company alone. I have a lot of people to thank for all of this, truly.”

Hearing Siyeon’s voice in person is somewhat jarring, as you’ve only listened to it in surveillance footage. But if it bothers you, it never shows on your perfectly-crafted face.

“Always so humble, Siyeon. That’s why we all like you so much. By the way, I hear congratulations are in order! How far along are you now, Siyeon?”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m about eighteen weeks in now!”

Your breath catches. No... Purposefully, you shift. You swivel just enough to catch a better glimpse of Siyeon’s body. Your stomach drops.

Looks like the file left something else out.

Siyeon has loosened her shawl. The midnight of her dress bulges over her stomach. It’s not too obvious yet; you perhaps wouldn’t have noticed at first glance. But now, you can’t ignore the growing swell, no matter how much you want to. Siyeon cups the underside of her belly with dreams in her eyes.

Damn it. You’re no expert, but eighteen weeks doesn’t sound like very much. In fact, it doesn’t sound like much at all. Medical advancements in the past century have been vast, but a tiny infant of eighteen weeks might just be impossible to save on its own.

...But that’s not your problem, is it? You were given orders. Orders that have to be carried out, or else.

You spot someone walking purposefully towards the pair from the other side, probably to pull her speaking companion away. This transition would provide the perfect chance for you to make your move. You will only have a few seconds, not enough time or space for hesitation.

This is what you’re supposed to do. This is what you’ve always done. You finger the ring on your hand as you shift in your shoes, moving just an inch closer. You find the activation switch, though you don’t press it yet.

“Siyeon, are you feeling alright, my love?”

You fight the urge to spin towards the voice as your thoughts are interrupted. You recognize the tone, one smooth and self-assured. It comes from beside you. The owner, suit-clad, slim, brushes your arm as he passes by. Kim Seokjin. Siyeon’s husband of a few years, another company head and one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

Through your peripheral vision, you watch Seokjin slide an arm around Siyeon’s waist to pull her in close. He presses a kiss to her cheek, turning her towards him as his other hand comes down, slides over her belly. “You’re not tired? Do you want to sit down?”

“No, no, I’m just fine, honey.” Siyeon beams at him.

“Ah, Seokjin! Siyeon was just telling me about the baby.”

Seokjin’s smile blossoms into utter bliss. “Our favorite topic! We just renovated the baby’s future bedroom, actually.”

“Jinnie here is going to build the cradle himself when we get to England. Can you believe it?” A burst of laughter, like chimes.

“Anything for my baby girl.”

You want to curse but hold your tongue. You press your eyes closed, squeeze in irritation at yourself, at Siyeon, at chance. You could still do it. Erase the light from her eyes and his. It would be simple. Too easy, in fact. But your thumb falls away from the ring like dead weight. It would take a strength far greater than what you possess to find the switch again, no matter what logic dictates.

The unknown guest reaches the trio to pull the older woman away as you predicted. But you stand rooted to the spot as you let them go, watch the opportunity slip away like sand through half-heartedly cupped fingers. Seokjin and Siyeon are still trapped in their bubble of pure joy, gushing about baby clothes or names or something you can’t stand to listen to any longer. You turn away.

Excuses whirl through your head, knowing there’s going to be hell to pay but there’s probably worse if you carry out the orders. You’ve found another damn line you can’t bring yourself to cross. Another line that reminds you that you’re weak, no matter how you try to hide it. Your footsteps feel too loud on the marbled floor despite the music and the chatter as you surge through the bodies in seek of the exit.

Then your instincts kick in.

The raise of a hand to an ear, from one of the suits standing against the wall: the telltale sign of a hidden ear-com. You whip your head around, spot another woman in a short dress speaking into a com that looks far too official for your liking. You don’t even make it ten more steps before you spot a man with a bulge in his jacket that can only belong to a holstered weapon. They would be invisible, well-camouflaged to the layman’s eye. But you’re a professional.

To make it to the exit, you have to pass the man near the wall. But now he’s on the move, seemingly headed to the same direction you are. Have you been made?

You reach for your communicator. Now you’re less than fifty steps away from the exit. He’s less than thirty from you. There would have to be something from HQ if they caught even a whiff of danger, especially from the NIS. The National Intelligence Service has always been a pain in your ass, trying their best to ruin what you and your family have built. But the mini-com you pull out is devoid of any new info. You fail to notice your handkerchief coming out with it, falling onto the floor as you shove the com back into your purse.

Close. Freedom is so close. You speed up.

“Ma’am?”

A man’s voice comes from behind, but there’s no way you’re going to stop for him. If you turned, you might have noticed him pick up the bit of cloth. Instead, you rush past the guards, keeping a pace that just looks like you have to run to the washroom for some emergency. But instead of going deeper into the hotel, you head for the automatic double doors that part quickly for you.

“Ma’am, you dropped something!” But the words aren’t loud enough to surpass the music to make it to your ears.

Onto the street, you’re hit with the last rays of sunlight. You blink, mind working overtime. You can’t outrun them; hiding is your only option.

You decide right instead of left. Two doors down from the hotel, you find a store overflowing with flowers in the storefront. You ignore the almost-sickly saccharine perfume as you yank open the entrance and throw yourself inside.

A glance at the counter tells you that any employees here are thankfully absent. Hidden behind several, giant potted plants, you watch as your pursuer runs out past the glass window. He looks around, turns a few times, but can’t find who he’s looking for. Afraid he’ll look into the shop, you turn as well, focusing on the table behind you. Which just so happens to be laden with flowers, delicate and exploding with color.

It occurs to you that you’ve never been in a flower shop before. While the scent of the blossoms was overwhelming at first, your nose is steadily becoming accustomed to the sweetness that is nature coming to life. There’s no harm in taking a few more minutes here, you think as you take steps towards the table. You have to wait out the man outside anyway. And curiosity has always been one of your vices.

The flower that catches your eye is circular in shape; its oval, almost-spikey petals are dyed in a soft pink. It sits elegantly in its pot, a single floret amidst a bed of green. You reach out for it with a palm, not wanting to crush or ruin anything as you cradle it in your warmth. You don’t notice the soft smile waning your lips as you memorize its curves. You haven’t the slightest idea what kind of flower it is, but you can’t remember the last time you saw something this beautiful.

“I see you’re fond of the dahlia.”

“Oh!” Caught off guard by the sudden voice, your hand jerks up. The pot shakes violently from the sudden movement. It spins, wobbling over and—

“Whoa!” All you see is a flash of dark hair and flying clothes as the speaker hurtles towards you. He catches the pot just as its about to tip over. Then he sets it back onto the counter. “Phew... That was close.” He’s squatting, tall enough to still comfortably reach the pot as he gives the dahlia a light pat.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” You hide both hands behind your back, not wanting to accidentally ruin anything else.

In response, he offers you a dimpled smile that does the opposite of setting your heart at ease. “No worries. I’m sorry I scared you. Are you alright?” He stands up, faces you.

“Yes, I’m fine. But is the flower okay? The, uh, dahlia?” You’re trying your best not to stare, but that’s a difficult task when he goes to brush his bangs back, taut arm muscles shifting along with it. His outfit is simple, a white tee and black jeans, with a stained black apron thrown overtop, but there’s something oddly attractive about it.

“She’s fine too.” There’s a fondness when he stares at the bloom, a tenderness that makes you feel more like the intruder you are in this precious space. “She’s been giving me trouble during growth so I’m a bit overprotective. Haven’t you, girl?” He chuckles lightly at himself, covering his lips with his palm as if he’s embarrassed.

“That’s cute,” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

“Is it?” That makes him smile again, and you swear your cheeks flush. He makes sure the dahlia is secure before he looks back at you. You follow his eyes as they rake across your outfit, taking in the formal dress and diamonds. “It can’t be comfortable walking around in that all day. Me, I prefer jeans over heels.” He laughs, and you can’t help joining him.

“No, no, I was at an event.”

“Oh, at the hotel?” You raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to know of it. “A few people came in to buy bouquets and wreaths for it earlier.”

“Ah, right. I remember seeing them. They’re beautiful. You did a fantastic job.”

“Thanks.” You’re beginning to realize it makes him shy to receive compliments, from the way he breaks your gaze to stare distractedly at the dahlia with lightly pinking cheeks. “So, why aren’t you there now?”

“I can’t stand those kinds of events.” It’s not technically a lie. “They’re always boring.”

“Why do you go then?”

“...Family obligation.” You cut this line of questioning short by focusing on another flower, this one multiple spheres of small purple blossoms. “What’s this one?”

“Oh, that one? It’s a hydrangea. If you look here...” He continues to talk as he closes the distance. A scent like fresh linen and soap cuts through the floral perfume, a summer’s day at its most stereotypical but you find yourself drawing closer for more. There’s something so soothing about his voice and the love weaved into every syllable as he gushes about the flower. Yet, you don’t even know his name. And it should stay that way for your safety, and for his.

When he takes an elongated pause for breath, you realize enough time has probably passed. You don’t see the NIS agent outside any longer, and the best course of action is to make your way back home as swiftly as possible.

Yet you find yourself asking, “why do you love flowers so much?”

He looks taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Then excitement glows in his warm eyes. “Stop me if I’m rambling too much, okay?” He smiles as if he already knows you have no such inclination. “At first, I was interested because there’s something so satisfying about watching a plant grow. About raising it from a tiny seedling or rescuing it from dying.” He reaches for a nearby pair of scissors to lightly trim off some greenery. “But the more I learn about nature and flowers, the more fascinated I am with how much they really understand and silently absorb from us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for example, if you talk to a plant every day, it’ll grow much better than a plant left in silence.”

You look absolutely bewildered. “Really? That can’t be true. There’s no way they understand us.”

“It is!” He’s becoming more and more elated as he talks, his entire face brightening at your inquiry. “Research has proven it. And I know the latest tech in 2105 is that self-watering, self-growing planter but I think that’s all bull. Those flowers will never grow as beautifully as these ones. Plants are just like pets, or people. They need care, affection, and interaction too.”

“Hm. I’ve never thought about it that way.” You’ve never thought about flowers at all before today, actually. But his smile and clear enthusiasm is infectious, making one of your own bloom on your lips. “I think you might just be right.”

Before either of you can say anything else, your phone buzzes. A succession of three pulses, like the quick-quick-slow of a dangerous tango. “Sorry,” you mumble, grin faltering as you pull out your com. Come back. Now. Three short words spell your doom. You let it fall into your purse, keeping neutrality on your face even though there’s disappointment in your heart. “Um, I should get going. It’s getting late.”

“Right.” Is it your imagination or does he look just as upset to let you go? “Wait, just a second. Let me give you something. A gift for letting me talk all over you.”

“Uhh, no, that’s alright. I was happy to listen.”

“Please. I insist.” He disappears for a few moments behind the shrubbery to the back room.

You stare at the door, feeling your communicator and the words on its screen spurring you to leave right now. You just walk out the door, and this florist will never find you again. That’s the logical thing to do. ‘Never get attached’ is practically lesson number one. Right up there with ‘don’t accept anything from strangers.’ But you’ve already broken one rule today. What’s another?

“Here.” The man returns with a small cardboard box, the top flaps yet to be closed. You tilt your head, look inside to find a tiny plant with rounded petals, almost like a lotus, but swathed in dirt instead of water.

“What is this?” You take the box though, mimicking how he held it – like something precious.

“A succulent.”

“I really can’t—”

“Just take it. It reminds me of you and... I get the feeling you need it.” There’s that smile again, the one that makes your heart weak, its doors pliable. “Take good care of it. I know it’ll be safe with you.”

“Ahh, fine.” You fold up the box, feeling like you’re standing on the cusp of something wholly new and rather terrifying. You’ve never been responsible for another living thing before, even if this is just a plant. “Thank you.”

“Joon. I’m Joon. And you?”

You purse your lips. “...Dahlia.”

That makes Joon laugh, and you half-expect him to question you over the obvious pseudonym but he doesn’t. He just nods his head. “I hope I see you again, Dahlia.”

You’re not afraid to return his grin before you push out into the fresh air, knowing too well that this meeting will be your first and last.

“Where have you been?” The second you plunge into the darkness that is the underground headquarters, your arm is grabbed. The voice belongs to Taehyung, one of the members of the family. “Yoongi hyung is really angry.”

“Shit.” You hurry through the dimly-lit hallway, familiarity trumping illumination as you head towards the meeting room. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

Another body comes up to join you on the other side, this one belonging to one of your younger siblings, Jun. “Hey, what’s that?” He indicates at the box in your hands. “Food?” He grins with cheeky hope.

“No. Uh, can you put it in my room?” You pass it over to Taehyung, careful not to jostle it too much lest the small pot overturn. “It’s fragile, okay?”

“Mhm.” Taehyung nods, taking it from you.

Jun’s eyes soften with pity. “Good luck.”

You know you’re going to need every ounce of that luck as you continue on alone. Rounding the corner, you’re a few feet away from the dark door of Yoongi’s office. You gulp, desperate for any sort of excuse to delay your entrance, but you know that reckoning is inevitable.

You knock. Twice. Short raps before you let your hand fall.

When the door opens, it’s Hoseok that greets you instead of your brother. His face is somber, betraying no thoughts as he backs up to grant you entry. Yoongi utters your name like a curse as he pushes up abruptly from his chair. It rolls backwards, colliding with the wall to rattle before joining the tense silence that follows as you walk inside. “Where have you been?”

“Out for the mission.” You gesture at your dress.

“Oh, right, right. The mission.” Yoongi’s fist lands on the desk with a crash. His old-fashioned fountain pen jumps an inch to the right and you’re seconds away from doing the same. “The one you fucking failed.”

You stay silent, because that look in his electric eyes says he’s not done yet.

“Park Siyeon is on a private jet as we speak. She’s not coming back. Not for years. Tonight was the only chance we had and you let it go.” You want to shy away from the anger in his expression but he rounds the desk to trap you in his glare. “Why didn’t you kill her?” The question sits in the stale air; you can taste its bitterness on your tongue. “Why didn’t you complete one of the simplest jobs we’ve ever had?”

“She...”

“She, what?” Yoongi leans in. You can see Hoseok in your peripheral vision, but he's not about to intervene. “Speak up.”

“The files. The case files...” You squeeze your fingers until they ache. “They didn't say she was pregnant.” Right now, the truth is the only thing you have. You cling to it like a lifeline. But it’s going to be the thing that drowns you.

Yoongi stops, as if frozen on a screen. You actually see mirth seep into his eyes, false as it is. “Pregnant? She’s pregnant?” His bark of laughter rings out like a bullet. It makes you jolt back, instinctively needing distance before-- "Who the fuck CARES if she’s pregnant? You had one task. One fucking task and you just cost us three hundred. Million. Won."

"B-But it's just money, Yoongi." Your hands twist together as you cast a look at Hoseok only to gain a frown of sympathy. "We can get it back with the next job, I promise! There'll be other contracts."

"Bullshit. Your promises mean nothing to me right now. We need the cash!" Yoongi scatters the stack of silver credits on his table with an angry swipe. "We need as much of it as we can goddamn get."

"Do we? Do we really?" You try to stand your ground, despite trembling legs. "We're all doing decently. Well, even! Isn't that enough, Yoongi?"

"No!" His voice surges. It’s an explosion in the taut space. "It's not enough! When will you understand it will never be enough if we want to be on top? Those damn Foxes have already been stealing clients and contracts from us, getting more powerful by the minute!"

"But when did it start being about who’s on top?” Frustration leaks through your every word as your pinned hair comes more undone by the second. “You never even told me why we have to kill Park Siyeon anyway! Is it really that important? What if she did nothing wrong? We have to punish her baby too?”

Yoongi makes a face so vicious that you know if you were anyone else, you’d already be violently punished. “We are not the police. We are not the fucking NIS. We’re assassins. It’s not our job to question why.” His voice has quieted but lost none of its intensity. You’d prefer the yelling. It’s this coolness that truly frightens you. “We just carry out the hit. And then we get paid.”

“But I—”

“I don’t have the time to argue with you anymore. Bottom line is, you fucked up the job. Again.” Yoongi pauses, inhales deeply. When he speaks next, he does so deliberately, enunciating every word. “If you fuck up one more time, you’re out of the family.”

“Wait, what?” You blink. “Yoongi, I’m your sister. Your blood sister, I—”

“Family is who you kill for. Family is who you die for. If you don’t understand that, then you’re out.”

He turns, forcing the conversation to come to an end even though you’re far from done.

Your voice trembles. “The NIS. They were there tonight too. They looked like they knew that someone, like they knew I, was going for Siyeon. If I had done anything...” You don’t even wait for an answer before you whirl on your heel. “Maybe I should have just let them take me.”

You steel yourself, managing to keep your head high as you stalk out of the room. Your pace quickens as you speed towards your room, heart pounding in your ears. You crave sanctuary, somewhere you can just wilt without witnesses. Somewhere along the way, you started sprinting. You don’t stop until you burst through your door.

Off go the shoes. Then the purse, tossed onto the floor. You unravel the rest of the bun, let your locks fall freely, haphazardly. Your fingers claw at the zipper of the expensive dress, uncaring if some seams are ripped apart in the process. You just need to get out of this. Out of this constricting fabric and out of this makeup and out of all of this.

The dress collapses into a puddle around the shoes. It’s joined by your bra, then the thin knife taped to your thigh. Your heart thrums, pulsing like a livewire that causes jitters to spark beneath your skin and they won’t stop, they won’t calm down because your mind is just as much of a mess as your breath and—

You spot the box when you whirl around to grab an old t-shirt.

A tiny box, inconspicuously perched on top of your cabinet. You pull the shirt on as you walk towards it, prying open the top like a gift even though you already know what’s inside. A succulent. Sitting delicately at the bottom, its teal leaves are gentle, soft.

With great care, you lift it out of its cardboard cradle. You force yourself to inspect it, your trembling hands stilling more with each ounce of care you pour into the action. You remember Joon, with his soft voice and kind eyes.

“Um... Hi?” You mumble at the pot, feeling a bit silly. You pat one of its leaves, and it wobbles a bit to the side. “Hi. Guess you’re mine now.” Of course, there’s no reply. But there’s something oddly cathartic about this whole process nonetheless.

Before you can do anything else, you hear three quick raps at your door.

“Come in.”

You know it’s Hoseok even before his face appears. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You manage a sort of shaky half-smile, meant to put that worried look on his face at ease. It doesn’t work. “Can I stay for a bit?” He asks, already settling himself on your bed.

“Yeah. Always.” You join him, the bed creaking under your weights.

“Boss was pretty hard on you.”

“He’s right though. I failed the job. I cost us a lot of money. I knew that when I walked away.” You stare at your hands. “But when I saw how happy she was... And the baby... I just couldn’t do it.” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. “Isn’t that pathetic? That lately, I can’t do something that I’ve been doing all my life?”

Hoseok says nothing. He just wraps his arm around you, lets his warmth and cologne comfort you.

“Hoseok, it... It never used to be about the money.” You have no qualms taking out a corrupt politician or a criminal set free by a failed system. What laws cannot govern, you take into your own hands. But just a few weeks ago, it was a nameless father whose life you ended. And it was that father whose three-year-old you spared, leaving a potential witness. Yoongi had found out about that too. Before the father, it was an inventor, a professor, an heiress. All these people. And you were given no reason for their demise. Only promises of deep pockets and the jingle of ill-gotten credits.

“I know.” Hoseok squeezes you tighter. “But we do as we’re told. Those are the rules. Those have always been the rules of being a Nightingale. You, of all people, know it best.” He frowns. “Besides... We can never escape death in this world. If we don’t kill, someone else will. That’s the way it goes.”

You bite your lip. You don’t think that’s good enough of a reason, but there’s truth behind it. Exhale. “You’re right, Hoseok. This family... You guys are all I have. You’re what’s important. I can’t lose you.” You’re not related by blood except to Yoongi, but they’ve been with you since you were barely two feet tall.

“Then you know what you have to do.” Hoseok’s eyes harden. “This is the legacy we have to uphold. Family is—”

“Who you die for,” you finish. “Yeah.”

“And for what it’s worth... We didn’t know about the NIS. There were no signs that they planned to be there, and no information leaked. Yoongi would never have sent you in if he knew about them.”

“I-I know. But these jobs just keep getting riskier. Our chances of getting caught keep going up and I’m worried that...” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. “Anyway, thank you, Hobi.” You slip easily into the childhood nickname you created when you first met him, when you were five and him a couple years older. When you knew nothing of this dark world, and he already knew too much. “Truly.”

Hoseok holds you for a few seconds more before he lets go. “I still have to scout a location tonight, so I can’t stay any longer. Are you going to be okay? Should I get Tae or Jun to keep you company?”

Instinctively, your eyes flicker to the succulent on the dresser. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking in on me.”

Hoseok follows your gaze. “That’s new,” he chuckles. “Never pegged you for a gardener. But alright. Whatever works, as long as you feel better.” He stands, pats your head. “Don’t forget to water it!”

You summon the strength to smile back. “I won’t.”

It is two weeks before you are sent on another contract, though you’re certain it is only because you are the sole member of the family with the right appearance and time for the job. Still, it’s a sign that Yoongi’s irritation with you is lessening with the passage of time.

Tonight, the plan is a seduction, leading to a sudden, fatal ‘heart attack’ in a locked hotel room.

You sip on a glass of wine as you watch the target pull up and park his car outside the bar. He looks like an average man in every sense of the word, a suit in tie corporate drone, and you wonder who would pay to have him gone. The ring on his finger glints in dull gold. His shiny oxfords look well polished, expensive. You finish the last dregs of your drink, setting the long-stemmed glass on the counter as he enters the bar. You compose your mask. Time to make the approach.

Hours later, the job is completed. Your escape is safely secured and executed. Everything has gone to plan. You return to headquarters with a desperate wish for a scalding shower because you feel utterly disgusted. Chiefly by the haste in which the target followed you into the hotel, then with how he made for you with his ring-clad hands without a trace of hesitation. Finally, it was how eager he had looked when you flashed him a bit of skin to distract him from the needle.

You need to wash the feel of him off. But first, you have a report to make.

“Yoongi, the job is done.”

Yoongi looks up from his computer. “Good.” He’s buried back in the work for about a second before he locks eyes with you again. “You okay?” Maybe he’s caught on to how much paler you look.

But what can you say? You just end up nodding, a few curt dips of your head. “Fine.” You close the door firmly shut behind you as you leave.

Back in the safety of your own room, you let the fatigue wash over you. Each contract seems to take more and more out of you, no matter how easy the actual task is. “Do it for the family,” you remind yourself as you strip from your dress. Each job fulfilled just solidifies the Nightingales’ position further, ensures that you will prosper for the years to come. This is bigger than you. This is what you have to do.

After the relief of a hot shower, you change into dark jeans and a hoodie.

As is your new nightly routine, you pad through headquarters in sneakers, making your way upstairs to the ‘house’ parts of the space that act as camouflage towards the rest of the public. You’ve been moving the succulent between these two worlds every day, for you figure it needs sun that your basement room cannot offer. But you can’t seem to sleep without it at night, without the comfort that there’s something growing, thriving in life just a few feet away.

“Time for your watering.” You fill a small cup with water, dousing the succulent until its soil is pooling, collecting the excess liquid before it sinks in. You watch the dirt suckle at sustenance, lips twisting into wistfulness. Joon was right again. Something about sustaining a life tugs so fondly at the pit of your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you end up whispering, an apology that the family of tonight’s target will never hear. You pour another splash of water in.

It is when you pick up the pot that you realize something is off.

The leaves on the side facing away from you are puffy. You capture one petal lightly between your fingers, but its squishy where it once was hard and sturdy. “Lights on, 80%.” You’re stunned when the room floods with light and the succulent’s once teal color has yellowed, becoming almost translucent. “What the...” When you nudge a leaf aside to check on the ones at the bottom, it falls clear off.

Even with your limited plant knowledge, this is one thing you can diagnose too well. It’s dying.

He trusted it to you and now it’s dying.

Strange, overwhelming panic douses you like a bucket of ice water. Instinctively, you grab a tote bag, nestling the plant inside. You swing the straps over your shoulder, one hand placed on the pot to ensure it won’t shake too much as you rush out the door. Your destination: the quaint flower shop you swore you’d never visit again.

It isn’t until you’re standing right outside the flower shop that you realize it’s half past ten, and no reasonable person would still be at work. All the shops around you are closed, neon signs turned off for the night. The streetlights blinking red and green and the cars flying over your head are the only illumination. You should probably just go home.

But you’ve come all this way. And your succulent needs saving.

Stubbornness and panic dictate you peer inside the glass door. The plants that are normally decorating the storefront have already been brought in for the night; they obscure your vision, but you think you can just faintly make out a light in the back.

You knock, biting your lip as you wait. When there’s no answer, you knock again, harder this time. Please. Please be here.

It’s another minute before a familiar face appears through the plants like a woodland spirit. You step back as the door swings open. “Hi, sorry, we’re closed...” Joon’s sweet eyes meet yours; recognition flickers. “Oh. Dahlia?”

You don’t blame him for the question mark. The last time you saw each other, you had a full coat of makeup on. Right now, you’re bare faced and a sweaty mess. “You’re still here!” you breathe in relief.

“You okay? Come in.” You follow him into the maze of flowers. “What’s wrong?”

You wipe away the perspiration coalescing on your forehead with a sleeve. “The plant. The succulent. I messed up somehow, I must have...” You’re almost ashamed to show him the pot, but you unwrap it from the bag. He takes it gingerly to place it on the counter, before crouching down beside it. “I’m really sorry! I’ve been trying to give it sun and water and I’m even talking to it, but it’s just...”  Your babble trails off as he inspects the leaves, then touch a finger to the soil. The poor succulent looks even more sickly in this light. “I know you’re closed. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

When Joon looks at you next, he’s smiling so softly it stirs your heart. “Don’t worry about it. I’m usually here working late anyways.” He straightens, dusts off his apron. “And the succulent is just overwatered.”

“Overwatered?” You repeat, incredulous. “Plants can be overwatered?” You were under the impression of the more the better.

Your surprise makes his eyes crinkle with a chuckle. “Yup, they can be. Especially succulents. They’re used to much drier climates. It’s my bad, really. I should have given you better instructions.”

“So... it’s not dead, then?”

“No, just weakened. If you dial back the watering and let it stay in the sunlight, it’ll become nice and healthy again. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing it’s summer! This little guy will recover quickly.”

“Wow... Thank god...” Your tired muscles finally relax as you lean against the counter, relief spreading through your veins. You never could have imagined feeling this way about a plant of all things, but there’s no denying that it’s become a sort of companion to you in the last few weeks. The only thing that listens without demanding, without commanding.

An adorable, low-toned chuckle makes you turn your head to him; Joon is all dimples with a grin so wide it makes you bashful. “Now who’s the one that’s all cute, fretting over a plant?” He doesn’t seem shy now, keeping the eye contact between you so steady you’re afraid he can see right through you.

“I just panicked, okay?” You mumble, playing with an errant lock of hair as you feel a heat on your cheeks. You wish he’d stop staring. “It’s my first time taking care of anything like this. Ugh, I really should have at least looked it up online or something. It was careless of me.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. Your heart was in the right place.” Joon pats the succulent fondly. “This isn’t easy.”

“No, it sure as hell isn’t.”

He laughs, his easy, pure-hearted mirth addictive. “You can ask me for help anytime. I live in the apartment above the shop, so I’m usually around. But try not to come out so late! It’s not safe. You never know what’s out there in the dark.”

The weight of the hidden blade taped to the back pocket of your jeans reminds you that you know perfectly what secrets the shadows hold. “Right. Thanks.”

Joon turns back to your succulent, snipping away a curled leaf you hadn’t even noticed was there. “Had a long day at work?” He asks.

“Mm, something like that.”

“What do you do, anyway?” It’s a casual question, but it sends you for a spin. Thankfully, he’s too focused on doing something to the soil to notice how you tense. “Definitely nothing to do with gardening, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “No... I’m in the family business.”

“Do you like it?”

It’s clear nobody could love their job as much as Joon does. You know you should lie to him, but somehow that makes you uncomfortable when he’s always been straightforward and honest with you. “It’s alright, I guess. I never really thought about doing anything else.”

“Why not?” Joon cocks his head to a side. “I mean, I know family obligations are strong, but it’s your life. You should live it how you choose.” He grimaces. “Not to be preachy or anything.”

“... It’s complicated. But my family needs me. Even though we may yell at each other or want to bite each others’ heads off, they’re still all I have.” You bite your lip. “And I owe them everything.”

“But what do you want?”

You stare blankly at Joon, mind searching for words that only come up muddled. When is the last time someone asked you that? All the letters, the languages that you speak yet there’s nothing coherent enough to be sent out on your heavy tongue. You’re barely aware your hands have clenched into fists, nails carving crescents into your palm. You don’t even realize you’ve begun to hold your breath.

Then your com buzzes.

[11:01pm] hoseok: where are u?

“Everything okay?” Joon asks as you shake yourself out of your stupor after reading the text on the tiny screen. Reality calling yet again.

“Yeah! Yeah. Sorry. I was just...” You slide the com into your pocket. You give an awkward laugh, not sure who you’re trying to convince more, yourself or him. “Anyway, I should get going. I shouldn’t be keeping you here this late.” You throw a glance towards the door.

“Hah, you had to leave early last time too. Are you Cinderella?”

“Can’t let my jeans turn back into a pumpkin. Is that how it goes?” You smile, turning back for your succulent. You weren’t expecting Joon to be right beside you. He’s standing so close you can feel his warmth, smell the scent that makes you think of home. Not yours, but what you always imagined the magazine depictions would be like in your childhood.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d look adorable as a jack-o-lantern,” he murmurs. Those sweet midnight eyes could hold a galaxy’s worth of stars within them, but tonight, they reflect only you.

...You could kiss him right now. It would be so simple for you to touch those gentle lips with your own and leave a trace of yourself behind in this oasis forever. But you know better than that.

Taking the succulent from his hand, you force yourself to walk to the door. At it, you bow, grateful for how he’s saved the life of the plant, grateful for how he listened to you ramble, grateful for him. “Goodnight, Joon.”

His eyes sparkle. “See you soon, Dahlia.” You don’t, can’t, respond.

It isn’t until you get home that you discover he slipped a dart of hardened paper into the pot, hiding just beside a petal. When you unfold it, ten numbers in raven ink stare back at you. And at the end, a single word: Anytime.

“Ugn! Hah! Yah!”

Sweat drips in rivulets down your forehead as you slam your glove-wrapped fists into a punching bag. You relish the bite of the friction, the soreness in your muscles as you whip around and kick the side to a satisfying thwap. Evening training has always been your favorite. Especially these days, when your body feels like one of the only things you have control over. Well, your body and the cute succulent you’ve named Moon.

“Hey, boss called a meeting!” Hoseok’s voice blares out just as you land another hook on the abused sandbag. He pokes his head into the training room, his expression carefully neutral.

You lower your fighting stance. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” You peel the moist gloves off your hands. Why a meeting? Weird.

When you walk out of the room and into the common area, the familiar faces of your family are already gathered. All fifteen of them look nervous as they mumble amongst themselves, probably trying to guess what this is about. You fill the open space between Hoseok and Taehyung. Yoongi stands at the head of the room, inspecting documents.

“Where’s Jun?” You quietly ask Taehyung.

“Mission.”

“Okay.” Yoongi straightens, drops the papers on the table before him. “Listen up, Nightingales. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’ve been losing contracts. To the Foxes.” He spits the name out like poison. “Those assholes have been taking what’s rightfully ours. The money that should be in our pockets. I found out today that we were passed over for the assassination of that visiting VP of GCF Industries.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.” Yoongi paces a few feet before he whips his cold eyes to behold his brothers and sisters. “We have to do better. We have to be faster. But we still have to be careful. As if the Foxes aren’t enough of a pain in my ass, the NIS have been poking their noses where it doesn’t belong again.” Yoongi rests a strained hand on the table. “If any of you are caught by them...” His gaze finds yours.

Slam!

The sound of a door being violently thrown open makes all your heads snap up.

Within seconds, Taehyung’s off, his lazer pistol in hand. You’re right behind him, extracting your switchblade. Nobody would be stupid enough to attempt an infiltration of your headquarters. But lately nothing surprises you.

This long hallway seems to go on forever.

You can’t see what’s right in front of you. Taehyung’s form blocks the bulk of your vision, but you trust him to be your eyes. You focus on silencing your steps.

“Jun!”

When you pool into the foyer, Taehyung bolts forward like a bullet. “Jun! Shit!”

You see the puddle of blood first. Then you see Jun at the foot of the stairs, clutching at his leg. His top is stained dark crimson, his breathing too haggard. That sweet face is contorted in pain, as if living itself hurts him more than anything else.

Rushing to the wall, you smash the hidden switch for the secret cache. You’re not going for the weapons, but instead the first aid kit. You drag the whole bag to Jun’s side. Immediately, you inspect the wound. A deep slash scars his thigh. Your thoughts sharpen into hyperfocus: you have to stop the bleeding.

“What the hell happened?” Yoongi bursts into the room, eyes blazing. “Jun?!”

Jun automatically tries to push himself up a little further. He’s so earnest, always trying to impress Yoongi, even at a time like this. It almost makes you smile. “Foxes... Park J-Jimin...” Jun takes huge shuddering inhales. You try to shush him, to tell him to conserve his strength, but he shakes his head. “Client must’ve given them the same contract. I got in his way so...” He waves a hand over his wound. “Fuck, that really... hurts...”

“No shit, you got stabbed!” You spit out as you clean the wound. Your hands are trembling because the energy is draining from Jun’s usually bright eyes.

“Let me do it,” Hoseok says, taking over. You acquiesce.

“Fuck!” Yoongi slams his fist into a wall. When his hand comes away, his knuckles are scraped and bloody. He hardens his jaw, clamping down so aggressively on his lip you’re afraid you’ll have to treat him next. “Fuck...!” For a moment, just a flicker of a second, you think you see the brother you once knew. Fearful, uncertain, worried.

But Min Yoongi, head of the Nightingales, is back just as soon as he was gone. “You. And you.” He points at Taehyung, then, surprisingly, at you. “Tomorrow... Tomorrow, you two have a hit to do.”

“On who?” You’re bewildered that he’s still thinking about contracts at a time like this. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“On that Park Jimin’s girlfriend. The one he thinks he’s kept hidden from all of us.”

“W-What?” You stutter in surprise, almost biting your tongue. “Why her?”

“You have to teach him a lesson. You have to teach him not to fuck with us. There are consequences for taking our hits. And hurting our men.”

If Jimin’s hiding his girlfriend, she has to be a civilian. An innocent. One who just happened to fall in love with the wrong man. “No, Yoongi, I’m not going to take his girlfriend out! There are other ways to send a message.”

“No, there aren’t. So just listen for once and do as I say.”

No, no, you’re not getting this go without a fight. Even if you have to resort to a low blow, a gutter punch. “Mom and dad would have never—”

“Mom and dad are gone!” Yoongi actually draws blood when his teeth sink into his lip this time. “They left the family to me. And I’ll be damned if I let it die in my hands!”

You fling yourself to your feet. “You’ve gone too far, Yoongi! Min Yoongi!”

“Just take a look at Jun and tell me if it’s too far.”

You don’t have to look. You don’t think you’ll ever forget Jun’s face, losing color by the second.

“Or what? Are you going to wait until they kill one of us next?”

Yoongi turns his back on the silence he’s created. You watch him stalk out, shoulders slightly hunched, cradling his bruised fist. It’s a sight you’ve become familiar with after all these years. But for the first time, it’s like staring at an utter stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to come.” Taehyung’s voice is doused in pity. “I could have done this alone.”

“No, you need backup just in case. And besides... Yoongi gave me the order.” In the darkness of your hiding spot, you offer Taehyung a tight smile. “I’m doing this for Jun.”

“I know.” Taehyung turns his attention back to the tiny, obscure café across the street, where Park Jimin’s girlfriend has the closing shift every Tuesday night. You had to travel quite a bit outside the city to get out here. He really tried to hide her well, though he should have known it could come to this one day.

The plan is straightforward. You are to approach when she is alone, and you are to activate the fast-acting poison that has none of the subtleties of the heart-attack mimic. No, this poison is one specially developed by the Nightingales. The traces of it left behind will let Jimin and the rest of the Foxes know exactly who carried out the hit. And they’ll ensure the police don’t catch a whiff of this, lest it be traced back to them.

You watch the girlfriend wave goodbye to her coworker with a sunny smile. “We’ll wait one more minute, then we’ll go,” you say. She’s already begun pulling the blinds down for the night.

“Okay.”

There are two exits to the café, which bodes well for escape. You and Taehyung, arm in arm, looking like a picturesque couple, take the one to the right when you enter. You pretend to be taking in the quaint décor, but you’re actually scoping out any potential hazards, any signs that the Foxes have put protective methods in place. You don’t see anything. Did Jimin hide her from his family too?

“Hello! Welcome!” She greets you both, grinning widely. “Sorry, we’re closing in a few minutes, but I can still help you until then.”

You force yourself not to look at the nametag pinned to her apron, because you don’t want to know. You don’t want to remember. Instead, you squeeze Taehyung’s arm twice before letting go. All clear. You hope he also gets the message to do this quickly.

“Thanks. Could you tell me about this cake here...this one in the display?” Taehyung chooses a dessert that’s not so easily seen from behind, forcing her to come around the other side. While she’s distracted, you flip the open sign to closed.

“Of course!” She leans down, bending to see what cake Taehyung’s referencing.

She never sees it coming, but you do. The quick flash of a silver needle.

“Ow!” A gasp. A squeal. Her doe eyes widen as she jerks back and stumbles.

You swallow guilt with a dry throat. “Let’s go,” you harshly whisper, grabbing Taehyung’s hand. You don’t want to stay here any longer than you have to. He nods.

You’re about to take the second exit when the door chime jingles again. Shit. A customer?

“Honey? Surprise!”

A voice that’s full of love rings out just as the woman crumples to her knees.

“What... What the hell?!”

The person that enters, you’ve only seen once before. Park Jimin. But you might as well be seeing him for the first time. Anger corrupts his face when he recognizes you. When he realizes who the hell you are.

“Nightingales!” He growls, his blade in his hand in an instant. You reach for your own knife, shifting into a defensive crouch. You’re sure he’s going to rush you. Certain he’s going to do whatever it takes to sink his own silver into your flesh in another twisted cycle of retribution. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Jimin takes five steps and falls beside her. His weapon clatters to the ground.

He reaches for the woman with desperate hands, cradles her close against his chest with a rough fragility, a brutal elegance. “No,” he sobs. “No, no...” It’s a wail. A carnal howl that claws at your shattering soul.

“Please, stay with me.” He’s dropping desperate kisses against her forehead, against her cheeks, anywhere he can reach as if to capture the last remaining warmth in her veins. But her hazy eyes refuse to focus. Refuse to acknowledge his existence even with the tears he weeps on her paling skin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please...!”

“Let’s go!” Taehyung’s yell yanks you back. He forces you out the door. Even though Jimin makes no effort to give chase, you’re running as soon as you hit the cool night air, sprinting at full speed towards the hidden car. You need to get as far away from this place as possible. As if that could make you forget.

You shiver in the front seat as Taehyung speeds away. This. This is why you’re taught never to stay. Never to see the aftermath. Because ignorance is such sweet bliss and now even that’s been ripped from you. And it’s your own damn fault.

It is no wonder you cannot find comfort in sleep later that night.

You don't deserve it. You're haunted by the images imprinted in your mind, stubborn and too real. You can feel the weight of them crushing your heart but you're more afraid of who you'd be if it weren't there at all.

The hour has stretched past midnight, and you are no closer to relief. Sick of staring at the concrete of your ceiling, you turn to a side. Catch sight of the space where your plant usually sits, except you've forgotten it tonight in your haste to bolt into bed. But your communicator sits nice and handy bedside.

Before you can stop yourself, you're thumbing through the screen for a certain number saved beneath the sole symbol of a leaf. And by the next second, you're calling it.

Brrrrng.

You should probably hang up.

Brrrrng.

Your breath is coming quicker.

Brrrrng.

It's almost two in the morning, he's not going to--

Click.

"Hello?"

The comfort that floods you is instantaneous, palpable.

"It's me," you say, before realizing that's not helpful at all. "Dahlia. I'm sorry, I know it's late..."

"Dahlia." He breathes the word. It's not even your name, but there's such a fondness in his tone that you can't help but flush. "I said anytime. I meant it. What's up?"

"...Can I come over?" You end up asking. "You can say no."

"I'm unlocking my door right now."

"Thank you."

"Thank me when you get here, yeah?" You can hear the smile on his lips.

It takes your hasty steps and a short Skytrain ride to deposit you in front of the floral shop less than twenty minutes later. There's a strange sort of anticipation, a thrill humming beneath your skin that makes you more and more nervous with each step you climb, up the stairs that lead to Joon's front door. Just as he promised, you find it unlocked.

It still feels like you’re intruding, even though he gave you permission. But you forage ahead. You knock on the door after you close it behind you to announce your arrival. Then you turn to catch your first glimpse of Joon’s apartment amidst the dim, muted lights.

It’s a simple space, sparser than you would have imagined. But the warm, earthy colors of the wooden coffee table, the couch, come as no surprise. The only decorations that Joon seems to have are plants, in all shapes and sizes as they scatter across every open counter, flourishing and well-nourished with their crisp greens and exploding scarlets. And among them, he stands, tipping a mini watering can over a succulent.

“Dahlia.”

“Hi.”

The light casts shadows over his handsome face, over the full lips you force yourself not to stare at. The white shirt and grey sweatpants fit his lean frame nicely, though you’re not sure if the top is half-tucked out of fashion or carelessness. “Is it too dark?” He asks.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s perfect.”

Joon sets the can down. He washes his hands as you inspect a nearby purple bloom. Then he beckons to you with a hand like one would a stray cat as he pads to the sofa in his slippers. “Come, sit. I made tea, if you drink that.”

“Sure.” You peel off your shoes.

You’re not quite sure what you’re doing here, really. But when you join him on the couch, when take your first sip of hot tea surrounded by his scent, overwhelming normality hits you. A feeling that’s familiar yet so foreign all at once. Like some ancient crevice inside you is being filled.

“Dahlia.” He waits for the tea to spread its way through your veins, heating your chilled system before he calls your attention to him. To him and to the doleful eyes that always behold you with such care. “What happened?”

“It’s just... Family stuff again. I know, I’m a broken record.” You pull your legs up onto the couch and rest your cheek on your knees. “But I just had to get out of there. I couldn’t sleep.”

You take Joon’s silence as encouragement to go on.

“It’s not like they were trying to hurt me.” Yoongi’s face floats in your mind. How ashen he’d looked when he saw Jun. How the doctor said he’d visited the infirmary more than a handful of times over the course of a single day. “They try to do what’s right for everyone. I just... I don’t agree sometimes.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And I don’t think I ever will. Not with some things.” You let your eyes trace the lines of the floorboards. “But that doesn’t matter, in the end. What matters is that I do as they say. For the good of everyone. How I feel about it... That’s just my problem.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

A small exhale that’s almost laughter escapes you. If only he knew. “No, to me, family... Family is who you die for.”

“But if they care for you, if they love you,” he whispers, “wouldn’t they want you to live?”

Your tongue finds naught but silence in response; you make no move to rectify that. The truth is, you don’t dare to search your mind for the answer. Like how a child fears what might lay beyond a closet door, beneath a four-frame bed. Not the monster itself, but the possibility.

“Dahlia.” You can’t bear to meet his eyes, to accept the intensity within their dark depths. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it’s the knowledge that you don’t have to lie for once, to say that you’re fine. Maybe it’s that Joon doesn’t need you to be strong or stoic. Or maybe you’re just tired of it all. But that question, so plain, so easy, is what breaks you.

You fight the sobs that surface, swallow them down with each stuttered breath. You have absolutely no right to let the tears fall, damn it. No right when they belong to Jimin as his grief, his sorrow. But still they choke you like hands wrapped tightly around your throat. Squeezing, squeezing until they’ve stolen every last vestige of oxygen from your exhausted lungs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you babble brokenly, closing in on yourself as if that would make you disappear.

You feel the weight of the sofa cushion next to you as Joon reaches for you, wraps his arms around you for the first time. Warmth. All-encompassing warmth that could rival the sun that you’ve spent so long hiding from. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry.”

Now you give yourself to the heat, let it melt away the fatigue that drips down your face as salty droplets of rain. You can’t recall the last time you let yourself cry, and in front of someone else, nonetheless. But now you can’t imagine why you’ve held yourself back, not when every tear you shed eviscerates another burden, at least until you’re made to leave this sanctuary. But for now, in this blessed now, you just let go. You memorize the rhythm of his breath against your skin, and you let go.

When you finally muster the courage to meet his eyes with your own, red-rimmed and watery, he just smiles. It’s a gentle smile to reassure you, and tell you that he can withstand anything. “I’m here for you,” he says without decorum, just a plain stating of fact as if anything else would be a ridiculous notion.

And before you can control yourself, you’re kissing him.

He’s so soft, lips tasting like oolong tea and promise as you drag him closer with hands carded through his hair. You shift. Your feet hit the floor in a bid to remove any obstacle between you. Why haven’t you done this before? Your mouths come together like miscolored puzzle pieces, never meant to belong but somehow sliding into place all the same for a perfect fit despite logical reasoning. He groans into the kiss, a delicious noise that stirs at your heart.

Here, you feel something different. Something so terrifyingly visceral that you can only describe it as being alive.

You want more.

But Joon is already pulling back, guilt in his expression. “No, Dahlia, you’re upset, we shouldn’t—”

“Please, Joon.”

He is the one secret that is yours, and only yours. That knowledge alone makes you want to be irrefutably selfish. Because you know damn well that he’ll let you. You know by fleet gallop of his heart and by the arms that hold you like precious blades of nightshade, blooming silently in this pensive dark. “You asked me what I want before,” you mumble against his lips, cupping his cheeks in your calloused palms. “It’s you.”

You can no longer register the tears that roll down your face for he whisks them away with his thumbs. All you want to focus on is the feel of him against you, his hands sliding down to find your waist. There’s a clumsiness to how he acquaints himself with your body, but you find it utterly charming. Nibbling on your bottom lip, he coaxes the first moan from your hoarse throat. You respond by tracing the outline of his mouth with the tip of your tongue, encouraging him to open and to let you in.

When he draws your hips towards him, you let yourself fall. Your back meets the plush couch, welcoming the weight of him on top. What you think is his cock presses fervently against your thigh, but he makes no move to seek his own relief. Instead, he trails his lips down your jaw, across the smooth column of your neck.

You pull him back to your mouth, seeking the warmth you’ve already become addicted to. Every kiss stokes the urgency in your veins further, turning it into an insatiable, impatient beast that cannot be reigned in. “More,” you exhale, afraid of what might come back if he stops. “Give me more, Joon.”

“More...?”

You guide his broad hand to the waistband of your terrycloth shorts. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He refuses to cross that barrier while he searches your eyes for hesitation. But he’ll find none. Only the desire to lose yourself in this moment and his touch.

“Completely.”

He swallows before he slides his hand inside for his first intimate contact. You arch into him when his fingers brush past your fabric-covered clit, testing the waters. That seems to give him confidence, as do the silken moans that drip from your tongue. He hungers for more, knowing every ounce of pressure he lavishes pushes you closer to the edge. Intentionally or not, the underwear becomes a kind of torture, dulling the friction of the fingertips you want against your bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice has dipped lower, gathered a husky quality that stirs you, rouses like no other. What poetry could that tongue could pen against your clit? “I’ve thought so from the first time you walked into my shop.”

“What if I never returned? You didn’t have my number.”

He chuckles. “I knew.” He nudges aside the cotton to find you soaked. “I knew you would come back.” He collects arousal with upward swipes, parting and teasing the petals of your lower lips until you can’t stand it any longer. You moan into his ear, feeling his hot breath brush against your neck in return.

“Liar.”

“You tell me.” And he plunges in a finger. Before you can become accustomed to the stretch, he adds another, curling ruthlessly against your walls. His digits are much longer than you thought as they fill you so, so well. You can only dream of how his cock must feel, but there’s no time for fantasizing when his thumb finds your clit again.

Even your shorts cannot staunch the soaked squelch of your cunt, made thoroughly subservient to his agile fingers. You haven’t any idea how he manages to find your sweet spot in seconds, dancing around only to suddenly zero in on it again. You’ve never been one for whimpering but it’s a natural reaction when he scissors in tandem with the relentless strokes. Every pump forces you closer and closer. All the while, his mouth makes love to your tongue, sucking hard as if to claim it as his.

You know you’re not going to last long.

Clinging to him, you scrunch his shirt in a tight fist as climax sweeps you away in its fury. You don’t know how noisy you are with the moans that burst forth, but you can’t control them. Can’t hold anything back as he thrusts through the pulse to elongate the high. Even your legs are trembling in their strain, but god, you’re purring with pure pleasure and delight.

When the peak finally wanes, it’s a tiredness that settles in, renders you immobile while you just let everything melt away. All your worries and stress that have built up seem to go along with it, a welcome change even if it’s only temporary. You just breathe him in, let his scent wrap you in ease.

He doesn’t push you further.

Perhaps he can tell that you are exhausted, not only in your muscles but your mind, weary of this long night and of thinking. Despite his own need, he just holds you until your breathing calms. Until you are truly spent, shuddering against him while the last throbs of your core peter out, but leave you so satisfied.

He wipes his fingers on a tissue then drops a kiss to your forehead. “Will you stay?”

You sigh. “No. I can’t.” You have to be home for the morning, before they discover you’re gone. In fact, you’re already probably late. Still, you take your time re-doing the tie on your shorts. “Joon... I’ll see you again.” Another rule now utterly broken. But one you don’t think you can bear to uphold any more anyways.

“Okay.” You don’t know if he recognizes that this is the first time you’ve promised a future possibility, but he smiles all the same. “I’d really like that.”

You stand, the soon-to-rise sun marking the end of this tryst. He walks you to the door, watches as you pull on your shoes. “Goodnight, Joon. Thank you for listening to me, again.” Your heart flutters as you can’t resist turning back for one last swift kiss on his full mouth. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight.” He leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression content as you start down the steps. “Be safe.”

From that night on, Joon becomes your most cherished secret, a treasure of which you are fiercely protective. For him, you slip the confines of your headquarters, of your family, and become simply Dahlia for a handful of hours. Dahlia, who is ironically more yourself than you have ever been. It’s a mask that you’ve grown comfortable in over the past three weeks; it and he are the only things that keep you sane through the contracts Yoongi sends your way.

“No, no, look there! See it?”

Lying on a picnic blanket, shoulder to shoulder, you follow the arm Joon points up at the midnight sky. “Mmm, nope. Still don’t.” You turn, snuggling into his side. “Just looks like stars to me.”

Joon turns too, but to plant a kiss on your cheek. Then he captures your fingers, laces them together with his own. “Here.” Raising your linked hands, he walks you through the trail his sleepy eyes have found. “They look like flowers, don’t they?”

You squint. “I guess... Is that even a constellation?”

“No.” Joon grins, never letting go of your hand. “I just wanted to give you a bouquet tonight.”

“How very on brand of you.”

Joon pops a grape into his mouth. “I’m always consistent, huh? Or maybe you just know me too well.”

“Not well enough, I don’t think.” That’s the truth. With Joon, you’d gladly become an encyclopedia of information, voracious for every tidbit you can uncover about him, about the entire world that he seems to treat with such fascination. Just last week you listened to him describe the allure of crabs with rapt enthusiasm. You, in turn, gushed about the facets of language, how interesting it was the way a tongue wrestled with a foreign sound and structure. Conversations that could go on for days but must end when the first rays of sun peep over the horizon.

“We’ll get there.” He holds up a grape to your lips.

“I hope so.” You open, drop a flirty kiss on his fingertips before biting into the exploding sweetness. “Let’s start with you telling me why you chose to go stargazing. Besides the opportunity to feed me fruit, that is.”

“Heh. While that has its own charms… I like to come out here at least once a month.” He runs fingers through his dark hair. “It reminds me that my problems aren’t as big as they appear to be. There are just so many stars and so many universes out there. It seems like a miracle I was even born in the first place. So, shouldn’t I try to shine the brightest before my time is up?”

You didn’t expect a less eloquent answer from him. You swallow his poetics, imagine them settling in the cavity of your chest, right next to your thudding heart. With wide eyes, you stare at the twinkling lights that wink at the two of you, wind-cooled and half-drunk on life. “I think I’m glad I was born in this galaxy,” you softly confide. Something you never thought you could feel. “In this world, that is.” In this world that has brought you to him.

Joon squeezes your hand as if he’ll never let go again. “Me too.”

You creep inside headquarters just as the sunlight begins to filter through the windows above ground. You’ve made it two feet past the stairs when a hand slaps down on your wrist. You whip your head towards it. You have the good sense to clamp your lips shut before any noise can betray you. A low voice mutters your name.

“Where have you been?” Taehyung’s eyes come into view in the darkness. They’re not filled with anger, but worry instead.

“Tae. Uh, I was scouting,” you lie. You hate to do it, but the truth is far too caustic to reveal. “It took longer than I thought.”

Taehyung’s fingers release you from the hold as he sighs. “Okay. You weren’t answering your com. So. I just. I got scared. Especially after…” He trails off, but you know what he means. It’s only now that Jun has really started to heal; the stab had been immensely deep, the blood loss great. But he had escaped with his life.

“I know. But I don’t think the Foxes have made any moves against us. And they probably don’t plan to. Not if it’ll lead to more death on both of our sides.” You can still recall Jimin’s face with startling clarity. It still comes to you in the depths of particularly quiet nights, when you are alone with your all-too-active thoughts. “Maybe we’ll be okay.”

Taehyung looks off into the darkness aside your ear. The gauntness in his eyes suggests he hasn’t been able to forget either. Biting his lip, he utters, “…I’m not so sure.”

You are so accustomed to seeing (your friend? your lover?) your Joon beneath the cover of night that it is almost startling when you run into him by pure chance a week later on your quest to fetch coffee. And to gather intel on a future target.

“Joon?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening with surprise, then delight. “Dahlia! What’re you doing here?”

“Just getting some coffee,” you say, holding up the cup. The target has settled in to eat his scone, so you have a few minutes. He’s practically beaming at you, and you imagine you look the same. You can’t seem to control the smiles around him. “You?” It’s then that you look beyond Joon and realize he’s sat at a table for two. There’s a young, bright-looking man on the other end, staring curiously at you. “Oh, sorry, I’ve interrupted you!”

“No, no, don’t worry, you haven’t. This is my friend.”

The man stands politely to offer you his hand with a sweet smile. Hm, he’s handsome, in an effortless, boyish way. “I’m JK. Nice to meet you.”

You take the hand, find his grip strong. “Are you a florist too?”

“Nah.” He sits back, relaxes in his seat again. “Personal trainer.”

Considering the muscles that bulge from beneath his dark t-shirt, it most definitely suits him. Maybe Joon catches you slightly ogling, because he cuts back into your field of vision with a subtle tilt. Too cute. He’s always cute, today especially in his blue jeans, a casual button-up thrown over top that’s just a little dressier than his usual tees. Impossible to resist.

“What are you doing later tonight?” You surprise even yourself by asking, but you seem to be riding on the instinct that you want to see more of him; this small run-in just reminds you of how much you’ve missed him in the past few days. Headquarters feels so empty when his presence is only in your mind, for you’ve been too busy even for your whispered midnight calls. Your outburst makes JK’s eyebrows raise in cheeky amusement.

“Well...” Joon ignores JK as a smile stretches across his plush lips, flashing you those dimples that have become your greatest weakness. “I usually go to the gym on Thursday nights with JK but...” He gives his companion a look. “I’ll stay in for you.” Joon trails his fingers lightly down your bare arm. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll try to make us dinner? Or order us takeout when I mess up the cooking?”

You laugh. “Okay. I’ll be by around eight?” The target has now scarfed down the scone, and is pushing up from his seat. Time to go.

“Perfect.” Joon gives your arm a last squeeze. “See you then.”

“See you. And nice to meet you!” You wave to JK before quickly turning away, feeling actually giddy, like the schoolgirl you never were. It feels like your first ‘official’ date instead of a stolen moment here and there. It feels like you’ve taken one huge step towards the realm of normalcy, something you thought was something outside your grasp. And you wouldn’t give that or Joon up for the world.

It is half past seven that night that you slip from your room, a dark trench coat pulled over the dress that you finally settled on after much agonizing. Normally around this time, most of your siblings are in the training room or in their rooms, working on their skills. Jun is among them now, recovering slowly but well. Yoongi has the habit of locking himself in his room immediately following dinner (or sometimes without it), so it shouldn’t be difficult for you to slip out. You’ve never left this early before, but you hate making Joon stay up so ridiculously late every time. You owe him at least this.

You chose flats tonight for the ease of movement. You move through the familiar halls silently, hurrying along because you are just too damn excited. You wonder what he’s attempted to make. Then you wonder what he ended up ordering after he burnt his attempt. Just the image of him standing over a smoking, charred pot puts a silly grin on your face.

“You’re heading out?”

“Eep.” You skid to a stop, emitting a noise of surprise. You turn to find Hoseok advancing from a side corridor, head tilted to a side. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Hoseok asks with a hint of a smile. “I just asked if you’re going out.”

“Oh. Yeah, I am. Just for a bit. Just… want to go for a walk and get some air. Clear my head.” Being with Joon does exactly that.

“Ah… Okay.” Hoseok doesn’t look too convinced, but that’s probably because you’ve never been one for walks. Usually, you prefer the sanctity of your room and the heaps of blankets. “I... won’t hold you any longer then.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

You hurry along, taking the steps up two at a time. You make sure to check on Moon before you leave. You give her a few ounces of water, watching with satisfaction as the soil eagerly accepts the liquid. “Grow up big and strong,” you say, eyes tender, full of hope.

You are unsurprised when a thin layer of smoke greets you from the cracks of Joon��s apartment when you get there almost right on the dot at eight. You snicker as you knock on the door, wondering just how much of a panic he must be in right now. Poor guy. He’s amazing at a lot of things, but anything in the kitchen sends him into a tailspin.

He opens it seconds later, sweating in a dark apron, his bangs falling down. “Hey! Dahlia!” He sniffs the air, watching as a small cloud of smoke billows out. “Oh god. Sorry about all of this. Come in.”

“What happened?”

“Turns out, making pasta is pretty hard.” Joon grimaces. “I managed to put out the fire though.”

“There was an actual fire?” That’s impressive, even for him.

“Uh… no? Nope. Definitely no fire at all…” He chuckles awkwardly, using a hand to break up the smoke. “I lit some candles to get rid of the smell.” He’s cracked open a window a few inches. And by ‘some’ candles, he means about fifteen, that all fill the space left by the plants he seems to have moved aside for the night. Joon clearly doesn’t do anything in moderation. “Good news is that we have takeout coming. So, we’ll still get Italian. Actually edible Italian.”

You giggle at how he flusters. Watching him run around, you leave your shoes by the door, then undo the knot of your coat to hang it up.

“How’s a glass of red wine sound?” He asks, rattling something in the cabinets.

“Sounds perfect.”

You make your way to the kitchen island. You slide into one of the barstools that faces the stove. Joon pops the cork, pouring crimson liquid into a tall-stemmed glass. It’s when he turns to give it to you that he gets his first good look at your outfit, at how you’ve dressed up for the evening. His hand jolts so much that he almost drops the glass entirely.

“O-Oh!” He (unusually) manages to catch himself at last minute. He sets the wine down on the table with a loud clatter. “Shit, sorry. I just. God.” He grabs a towel from the side to soak up the stray droplets that spilled. “Wow. You look amazing.”

You smile as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you.”

“No, seriously, like… wow.” He takes in the tease of a neckline, purposefully curved over your chest. Subtlety has never been his strong suit but now he’s abandoned it entirely as he practically drinks you in like the wine in his hands. You don’t mind. Quite the opposite really. It bolsters your confidence when he reacts like this, as if he hasn’t been knuckle-deep inside you while you cried out in release.

You lean forward under pretext of reaching for the glass, giving him a bit more to dream about. Joon almost chokes on his sip of alcohol. You just grin in response.

“A-Anyway… Honestly, I’m surprised your evil stepmother and stepsisters let you out this early.” He turns and effortlessly throws the towel into the sink.

“Hehe. I did an extra good job of cleaning the house.”

“I’m sure even the floors are sparkling.” He’s about to take a seat when the doorbell rings. “Ah, that has to be food. Be right back.”

Minutes later, he returns with takeout boxes in hand. “Give me a sec. I’ll make it nice.” He moves swiftly, moving like he has much practice with plating the food. That amuses you too, as you wonder what other ‘special’ skills he has hidden away.

Joon adds one last sprinkle of parmesan. Then he sets it down in front of you with all the flourish of a gourmet. “Tada. Dinner is served.”

“Why, thank you.” You take up your chopsticks. “You have excellent taste.”

“Ah yes. I cooked it with my credit card.”

You can’t help laughing along with him. “Well, my compliments to the chef!”

Between bites of creamy linguine and a soon-depleted bottle of wine, the evening passes quickly. Too quickly for your liking as the hours slip by, counted by peals of laughter and flirty grins. The plates have long been emptied, sitting messily in front of you both. The conversation has winded down to a temporary lull as you both drain the last dregs of wine from your cups.

You’re fairly certain you haven’t drunken enough to be tipsy, not that you’d allow yourself to become so inebriated in front of him, so you decide it’s not just your imagination that he keeps looking aside your ear at something behind you. The first two times, you just figured he was searching for the next conversation topic. But now, you’re seriously convinced it’s either a ghost or you’re boring him.

“Joon... Why do you keep looking behind me?” You ask as you turn. Your eyes fall onto the couch you became quite familiar with just a few weeks ago. Oh. Oh…

“Um, sorry,” he mumbles when you look at him again. He puts both hands over his lips, as if that could hide the slow blush creeping across his cheeks. “I, uh, can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened the last time you were here…” You decide he’s probably too honest for his own good. You stay silent, and he seems to take that in the worst way possible. “Is that awful? Oh god. I don’t want to make this night about that or anything. That’s not why I invited you over for dinner. Seriously. You don’t have to—”

“Joon.” You push your seat back and let your feet hit the floor. “It’s not weird. It’s not awful.” You feel more nervous than you have in ages with each step you take towards him. “I’ve been thinking about it too.” His hands drop at your words. You seize this chance and press your mouth to his.

He tastes like cream sauce and the dizzying sweetness of wine. By now, you’re no stranger to his lips, to the chaste kisses he drops like butterflies during your brief pockets of time together. But these kisses are more, much more as you push yourself up on your toes. Every cell in your body seems to be tingling, sparking to life to urge you closer to those plush lips.

You try to deepen the kiss but can’t shake the feeling there’s some hesitation on his part; he’s merely responding to you, not taking any initiative when you want the opposite. “Come on, Joon.” You rest your forehead against his, let your tone dip around his name. “What’re you afraid of?”

He knows he’s been caught. His large palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Sorry... It’s just, last time things were so strained and—”

“This isn’t the same. This time, I’m here because I want you.” You lick your bottom lip, torturously slow so he has to watch. “And I’m not as delicate as you seem to think.”

“...Fuck.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s finally, really kissing you. He’s half-falling out of his chair but it doesn’t matter when your tongues are moving in tandem, matched in desire. One hand finds itself in your hair, threading through the locks while the other stays on your cheek like reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere. That there is no place in heaven or hell he would prefer.

He moans when you coax his tongue between your lips, when you hollow your cheeks to suck. “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” he mumbles, “please.” The obvious bulge in his pants is convincing enough on its own, but you appreciate the need in his tone all the same.

“We should blow out the candles first. We don’t want to cause another fire, right?” You laugh, pulling away with all the grace of a fairy as you flit around the room, dousing flame after flame. He helps you out, too eager to feel you against him again not to.

When you blow out the last flickering candle, he scoops you into his arms. You take it a step further, daring to wrap both legs around his waist, trusting him to hold you aloft. He cups your butt securely as he maneuvers the familiar darkness to his room. All the while he can’t keep his mouth off your skin, tasting anywhere and everywhere.

Once inside, he kicks the door closed behind you with a little too much force; it slams closed before he’s pushing you against it. Neither of you bother with the lights, too enraptured in the feeling of the other, using touch to understand instead of sight. What soft moonlight drifts in the half-open blinds is enough to cast a glow upon your bodies, tangled in heat. You both seem to acknowledge that some things are better left to be experienced, like the lush of his lips against the crook of your neck, the need in every nuzzle ineffable.

When the hands beneath your ass squeeze with the excuse of finding a better grip, you grin. Then you grind against the clothed bulge you didn’t get to sample before. It makes him chuckle right back – a rich, delicious sound. “Like what you feel?”

“Very much.”

You squeal in delighted surprise when he spins around to make you both fall onto the softness of his bed. His weight on you feels so natural, so effortless that you could just cuddle here for a lifetime and be content. But the wetness between your legs longs to be slathered over his shaft.

“Mm, I want to feel more of you,” you whisper, pushing your hips up to meet his bulge.

“Patience, baby.” He gives you one more kiss before he shifts down to the edge of the bed, settling right between your thighs. “Let me have a taste first.”

“You’re still hungry after all that pasta?”

Joon flicks his gaze up and you instinctually swallow at the darkened lust in his eyes, lit by beams of moonlight slashed across his face.

“Starving.”

His nose indents your thigh as he breathes in your scent. You silently pray he won’t take his time nibbling his way up your legs, because you’ll be even more of a mess by the time he reaches your sex. Thankfully, he seems every bit as impatient as you. Too eager to even deal with your dress as he scrunches the fabric up. He exposes the dark lace that clings to your core, sticky with viscous arousal. He pauses at the sight, fingers stuttering to a complete stop.

That makes you nervous. You’ve only worn this set once before though it’s your favorite; you didn’t want to taint it with the hands of your targets, didn’t want guilt staining the delicate stitching. The sole other time had been for a hookup, just a quickie to sate bodily needs before you realized it didn’t matter what you wore because it wasn’t about you. It was only about what your body could offer. But Joon’s touch replaces your memories of that man with every stroke.

“…Is something wrong?” You whisper.

Joon shakes his head. “No. Of course not. You… You’re so damn beautiful.” He traces the fabric stretched across your mound. “You just keep drawing me in more and more.” He slips a finger into the waistband, crushes the elastic as if he’ll rip it off. “It makes me want to say things I shouldn’t.”

You can feel his breath swirling over your skin, making you whine in anticipation. “Like what?”

“Like how much I’ve been missing your pussy.” The word sounds almost too dirty for him but god, what it does to you is undeniable. Especially when he eases the underwear down, removes it entirely and you barely notice in the process because you’re too distracted by the infuriatingly gentle kisses he plants around your clit.

“Joon…”

“Mmm, like how I’ve been dreaming about you so slick, dripping around my fingers.” Perhaps it’s the wine that’s so loosened the tongue that hovers above where you need him most. You’re already drunk on the honey it produces. “You sang so prettily when you came. I want to hear it again.”

You obey with a heady moan when he finally dips his mouth enough to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit. You scrunch his bedsheets in tight fists, pushing the back of your head against the firm pillow as he follows up with long, reverent strokes, splayed like his calloused fingers across your quivering thigh. He smears your wetness across his mouth without care, only focused on the hitch of your breath, the guttural song wrenched from your parted lips.

Your legs jerk, tense around him when he drags the flat of his tongue against you again and again, sliding along down the folds to tease your cunt with a shallow dip. Then he’s right back at your clit, suddenly sucking so hard you whine. You automatically buck into him as the need for something to fill you eviscerates everything else.

“God,” you gasp when he releases with a noisy pop, leaving you breathless and wanting.

His eyes slide up the gorgeous canvas of your body, finding your gaze. He holds it with a certain, thrilling confidence as he gathers wetness on his finger, coating himself thoroughly. “God can’t help you here,” he teases. “So just cum for me, baby.”

You wait for the delicious stretch, but he turns those slick fingers on your needy clit instead. You’re still sensitive from his mouth but he walks the fine tightrope, instinctively knowing what’s too much by your spilled whimpers. His tongue teases what’s to come next as it plunges inside your cunt, lapping at the walls that contract so tightly around. His fingers just keep circling, the pressure building in relentless crescendo with the blinding pleasure between your thighs. You know you’re no match for him. Him and that mouth, those hands, fuck...! You let yourself fall with hands fisting his hair.

A sharp expletive and the sudden cinch of your walls mark your peak as everything skids to a standstill. You’re vaguely aware that he’s watching you cum but you haven’t the mind to care, not when you’re grinding into his mouth, deliriously needing his heat. Sweat pricks your skin, proof of the bliss that is white hot through your veins: merciless.

Finally, you drop back onto the sheets on a tremulous exhale.

Joon extracts himself lazily, a trail of saliva clings to his lip before he licks it off. “Just as incredible as I remember,” he groans, grinding his bulge into the bed as he indulges in the scent of your lost control. “Hope you don’t mind. I plan on giving you more.”

“Not without you inside me,” you say, still finding it hard to speak properly but you pull you up to kiss. You taste yourself on the tongue that tangles with yours.

“Your wish, my command. Let me get this dress off you first.” He rocks back on his haunches after a nibble on your bottom lip. “It’s gorgeous, but right now, it’s in the way.”

Gladly. He could ruin it for all you care. Still, you spin around to expose the zipper holding the outfit together. You stretch out upon the sheets that are drenched in his scent, fleetingly wishing you could stay here forever. Then you’re distracted by the broad hand that finds the steel clasp and starts to pull. His bangs tickle your skin as he leans down, kisses every inch of skin he exposes in a languid, mesmerizing trail down your spine.

You feel the cool air fan across your body when the last of the dress falls away. His broad hands cup, then part your ass cheeks, admiring the bounce, the glisten of your soaked cunt. “Do you even know how wet you are?” He mutters. “So ready to be taken.”

“Mmm... Fill me, Joon.”

You hear the thump of his clothes landing on the floor, then a rustle, a hurried rip of a package. Then his weight advances, knees on either side of your legs as he slides his hands down your waist. His thick cock presses against your cunt with such firm urgency you moan at the expectation alone. He drops one kiss on your back and plunges his cock inside.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans the second your walls accept him, squeeze him for all he’s worth. You sink deeper into his pillow, but it can’t staunch your moans from the stretch. Incomparable to anything you’ve ever had before, you can only tremble with pleasure as need builds in your stomach again.

“Fuck,” he swears again, unable to even form words with how good you feel around his cock. He feeds you well, sinking in deeper with every thrust until his crotch presses firmly against your ass. Length translates to him nestled right against your cervix, nudging against your deepest core. And his first full thrust makes you cry out, not expecting the jolt of pain when the head smacks roughly against the tight nerves. He pauses. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“No, no, never.” You feel him shift, the friction tantalizing. “Joon, I don’t think it’s ever been this good.”

“For me too.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.”

There’s no more time for speaking, only fervent moans when he falls into the pattern of brutal pumps, drawing your wetness every time he slams into you to the sound of a fresh slap. His hands can’t keep off you; they caress the slope of your back, the curve of your waist, finally finding home over your breasts while his breathy groans define the nape of your neck. You’re addicted to him in this form, unrestrained and desperate like you’ve never seen him before.

Every stroke of his cock is devastating to your cunt, carving the shape of his cock into your walls as you spur him on for more. You want him to ruin you until you can never forget the feeling of him even if it’s deep, too deep it hurts, because that’s the ache of being so fiercely alive. You throw your hips back, forcing him further still.

“Mm, I really want to see your face.” That’s all the warning you get before the pressure disappears, and he rears back to give you space to flip. You’ve barely been on your back for a second before he’s between your thighs again, grinding the entire length of himself against your sodden slit.

“Are you teasing me?” You laugh, knowing he’s torturing himself in the process too. You reach down, capture the swollen cock head between your fingers and pressure his frenulum enough to wrench a heady gasp.

“Not half as much as you tease me with those little moans.” He lets you guide him back to your cunt, dips himself in your ambrosia.  “So,” a thrust, “fucking,” a delicious stretch, “hot.” He palms a breast while his mouth finds the other, tongue toying with your taut nipple while his hips work ceaselessly.

He’s forced to let go when his pumps become too rough, too frenzied in their lust for him to stay bent. He’s slamming himself into you, hooked his arms beneath one of your knees to give himself the space to fuck against your core. The bed is practically vibrating beneath you from the sheer strength of every plunge. He drags over your upper wall every time, ensuring you haven’t a second’s rest. Not that you’d want it.

You are reduced to mewls by the time his rude fingers find your clit to rub. “Too... Fast... Joon...!” You can already feel your undoing rising but he doesn’t slow even though you want this to last. Thank god he lives alone as your voice climbs in volume, feet curling, back arching—everything is heat and everything is him.

“Let go, baby.”

He forces you into climax before you know it, cock battering against the sweetest, most wanton spot as the ultimate thrill rushes through you. His fingers never relent upon your clit because he’s high on how you sing for him, how your throbbing cunt accepts him whole for a perfect, damning fit.

Your orgasm drags him into his own, one so blinding he hardly recognizes his own voice as he drops down over your body. He gives you his deepest thrusts yet, shoving himself as far as you’ll allow and then some more. His groans come out choked as he empties his cum inside your walls, wishing there wasn’t this flimsy plastic in the way so you could truly feel him. But you squeeze him all the same, clutching him close so your heartbeats match and his mouth never leaves yours, not even for air.

“Joon, god, Joon,” you mumble, palming his cheeks and returning every kiss until the crest has ebbed into lazy waves of bliss that lap at your shores. You are exhausted and sated, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He flashes the dimples at you as he straightens, wipes a few droplets of sweat from his brow with the back of his head. He disposes of the condom with haste, so he can collapse at your side seconds later, breathing deeply to quell his thrumming heart. You smile deliriously as you turn to face him, to slip yourself into his embrace again despite the sweltering heat. Satisfaction and fatigue pull at your eyelids, but you fight their siren call. You need to savor every last moment you have in this space where you are naked—wholly, completely so in every sense of the word.

“Hey. Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, tracing your cheekbone with the backs of his fingers as if he knows what he’s asking for is too much. “I think... I think I need you by my side.” They are words like glass, so fragile it is as if they’ll disappear if he dares to utter them any louder.

“Joon, I...”

The arms that shelter you tighten, longing in every flex. “Forget your family. Your curfew, the rules. Just—everything. Please. Forget it all, at least until morning comes.” Intimate kisses brush across your forehead. “Then... I promise, I’ll let you go.”

You can find no argument. You never could against those sombre eyes, their darkness alight with the moon, betraying just how deep his affection runs. Though you’ve never said it aloud, you are certain your gaze reflects the same. Something you’ve been afraid of feeling all your life, but now you can’t imagine why, when it’s so precious.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” For tonight, one single night, you’ll pretend that the rest of the world has disappeared.

He grins, the dimples making their appearance as if to reassure you that you made the right choice. He presses one last kiss on the tip of your nose. Consequences are a problem for tomorrow. You watch his eyelids droop and his breathing slow. Smiling, you lay your palm over his chest to feel the strong beats of his heart. Your own vision blurs, slumber finally coming easily against his steady rhythm.

The next thing you register is a clatter.

Instantly, you’re alert.

You didn’t hear the front door open, but that could have just been a symptom of the sleep working its way through your body. You quiet your breathing and listen. The walls shake almost imperceptibly in time with silent, foreign footfalls, undetectable to anyone else. It’s an intruder. And they’re a professional.

You need to get to your dress. A hidden pocket sewn inside contains your knife. It’s not the best, but it’s better than no weapon at all. Thank god the candles are out. It has to be the Foxes. You were a fool, really, to think they wouldn’t try something. You just... never thought they’d find Joon.

But that’s what Jimin had thought too.

You untangle yourself from his arms as subtly as you can, but he stirs the second you move off the bed. Damn it. “Dahlia? What’s wrong?” Joon’s voice is hushed, sending goosebumps up your spine.

You swallow with a dry mouth. “I heard something.”

“A noise...? Let me go check it out.” He rubs at his sleepy eyes.

“No!” You snap it, a harsh whisper that makes his eyes widen. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’s just the wind...”

Joon’s already moved the blankets off, dropping to a crouch like you are. “Well, if it’s just the wind, then I’ll just close the window. I am taller than you.”

You roll your eyes in mock amusement. “That means nothing to me.” You pull the dress on, then fumble through its fabric. You slip the switchblade into your hand, one finger on the trigger.

“Just stay back, Dahlia.”

Damn him and his heroics. Still, there’s no use fighting him. Not when that increases your chance of being heard. He creeps towards the door. You shadow him; he doesn’t have to know you’re ready to fling yourself in front of him at moment’s notice.

You hold your breath when he reaches for the doorknob.

He knows how to turn it silently. The wood doesn’t betray him as he eases it open a sliver. You can hear the footsteps clearer now. They’re roaming through the kitchen. What the hell are they searching for? Is this not a hit but a heist instead? You stay carefully out of view.

Before you get any answers, Joon suddenly straightens. He whips the door open. It slams into the wall with a thundering crash. “Whoever the hell you are, get out!”

Your heart stops. What the fuck—

You catch the glint of steel in Joon’s hands.

A shot rings out before you can react. Is it coming or going? All you know is there’s an enormous clatter, like all the pots tumbled to the ground in the intruder’s unfamiliar haste. What the fuck is Joon doing with a gun? He holds it with practiced fingers, a proper grip.

Another shot. Definitely going. You recognize the telltale muted snip of a modified pistol; one with an excellent silencer. The kind those in your business routinely use. The kind Joon has pointed right at your uninvited guest.

“Get out!” Joon roars. He turns, using the doorframe as leverage. He uses practiced point swivels to keep his advantage. One more shot. This time, it results in a strangled choke of a noise. The shadow hurtles towards the front door in the moonlight. The door is yanked with so much desperate ferocity it almost rips off its hinges. Seconds later, the shadow is gone, disappeared into the darkness of the night.

When Joon looks back towards you, he finds himself on the business end of your knife.

“Dahlia, I—”

“Save it.” You’re trembling. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever been. You despise the worry on his face. You hate the fact you still feel the ache he left between your thighs. “Don’t fucking say a word to me.” You don’t know who the hell that person was, and apparently you don’t know Joon either. Assassin that he is. The Fox has been by your side all along.

“Why didn’t you just kill me when we first met?” You circle the room. Blood pumps hot through your veins. “Why? You wanted intel on our family? Is that it? Is that why you asked all those questions?” You’re moving towards the door like a caged beast. Were you the one that lead to the stolen contracts? Has it been your fault all along?

“I’m not trying to kill—”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit! You just shot at whoever the fuck that was, and you...” You blink away a hot tear, wishing it’s from fury, not grief. “You just...” Even now. Even now you can’t understand why the hell he doesn’t just shoot you where you are.

You’ve reached the bedroom door.

One quick sprint and you’ll find the freedom from him you never thought you would need. You take one last eyeful of his frame, frozen solid like ice. You can’t bear to look into the false constellations in his eyes. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

You turn.

You run.

You burst through the doors of home like a mess, hair wind-blown and feet blistered, jacket pulled tight around your body. You’re afraid you’ll definitely be caught this time. Excuse after excuse pop in your head, none of them sticking or coherent as you rush down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you realize that didn’t matter at all.

Headquarters is in an uproar.

“What’s going on?!” You ask one of your sisters, who seems to be rushing from the infirmary.

“Hoseok. Hoseok was shot!”

“Badly?” You ask, but the look in her eyes is answer enough. “Got it.” You head right towards the storm.

First thing you see: Hoseok lying prone on a white bed, blood staining his stomach and sheets. They didn’t even bother to undo the harness strapped across his chest. His black turtleneck is yanked up to give your in-house doctor space to work. Hoseok groans, sweat dripping from his pale forehead and matted bangs.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi’s eyes blaze as they take in your dishevelled appearance.

You ignore him. Your shoes clatter on the tile as you speed to Hoseok’s side. “What happened? Where were you? What did you send him into?” You glare at Yoongi, certain he took another unnecessary risk. Another gamble with someone else’s life.

“Not his fault...” Hoseok breathes out. “A scout. Supposed to be... empty...”

“You got shot scouting? Where?”

“Stop talking if you want to live through this, Hoseok. Save your energy.” The doctor holds up forceps. “We have to take it out. It’s a modified bullet. Can’t leave it in, you’ll get poisoning.”

“Fuck.” Hoseok leans back, squeezes his eyes shut.

You look away, not wanting to watch the doctor work. “Where, Yoongi? Where did you send him?”

Yoongi grits his teeth. “Where else? To find one of those NIS dogs that’ve been on our ass.”

“NIS?” You repeat. Your brow furrows. Not the Foxes?

Hoseok fights for strength. “Asshole had... pistol. Nice one. With a silencer.”

“Hoseok, shut up!” The doctor is terrifying in his own right, and Hoseok finally falls silent.

You, on the other hand, want to scream.

Because this is too much of a coincidence.

Because you just saw the dull light of a silenced pistol thirty minutes ago.

No. Your mind instantly rejects your next thought as you stumble, reaching behind you to grasp desperately at anything to support your falling weight. Joon... There’s no way. He has to be a Fox. Or someone from another family. Not a NIS agent. Anything but. No. No. No—

“What’re you doing?” Yoongi snaps.

You whip your eyes up, then bolt in lieu of answer out the door. The room is too suffocating despite your aching feet. You need time to think. You need to figure out what the hell is happening. You need to know the truth, god damn it, and not just the twisted mess your mind is making of every little piece of evidence that just seems to lead to the worst conclusion.

“Hey!” Taehyung calls, but you blow past him.

You finally find safety in the form of your room and a slammed door. You slide down against it, cradling your drooping head in your arms. Don’t be stupid. Think! You force yourself to focus on the evidence, on the knowledge that you know for a certainty, not the way he smiled into your kisses with lips lethally sweet. Or how he held you close as if he could be your safety, your world instead of the very knife that slices across your heart. You close your eyes.

One fact remains absolute.

He has betrayed you. No amount of feelings, regardless of how complicated and intense, changes that. He is your enemy. He has always been your enemy, even if you only feel alive, truly alive in his arms.

“...I have to tell Yoongi,” you whisper to yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to move, unknown whether from sorrow or fatigue. Your breathing slows. “He needs to know.” But sleep is heavy on your body, refusing to release its hold. You don’t fight it. You let your head fall another few inches. You’ll tell Yoongi in the morning, in a couple of hours. The settling darkness decides this for you.

This is the last shred of kindness you’ll give to Joon.

You wake to cold steel pressed against your forehead.

It is crammed with enough strength to leave a pink indent, a painful swell that you instinctively shift away from. You are still disoriented from slumber, blinking, trying to gather yourself. But the tapered end chases you down like a relentless hound.

Something shoves your arm. You wince when you hit the floor, forced from the door. Your instincts finally kick in, and you propel yourself away, as far away as you can. Who the hell... You let out a strangled noise when you see.

Yoongi stares down at you, ice in his eyes, a gun pointed squarely at your head.

“Yoongi, wh—”

“You betrayed us.”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I haven’t!”

“You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out?” Yoongi takes a step, bringing his gun closer. “Creeping around like a rat.”

He... knew? You made sure you weren’t being followed each and every time. But did you slip up in your haste?

“I let you go. I know you’ve been having issues. But tell me, is it fun to spill all our secrets to your friends at the NIS?” A delirious grin is stretched across Yoongi’s lips. Your quivering eyes shift between that and the barrel of the gun. “Is it fun to watch the rest of us flounder in the dark? You hate what’s been left to us so much?”

“No, Yoongi, please, you have to believe me, I didn’t—”

“Then how did the NIS know Hoseok was coming?!” Yoongi shakes the pistol, tilting it on its side. “Every Thursday, they have a meeting. A mandatory meeting. Yet there he was, waiting for OUR MAN to appear.”

Your tongue is fat in your mouth. He said he was free. He said he was going to the gym. He— Oh god, it’s your fault. It’s your fault Hoseok was shot.

“No answer, huh? Just as I fucking thought.” Yoongi snorts. “Maybe you should be more careful the next time you talk to ‘Joon’.”

“H-How...”

He holds up your com, the triple lock utterly bypassed. “Or should I say Kim Namjoon. Agent of the NIS.” Your stomach lurches. “I told you not to trust anyone outside of the family, and look what you’ve done! You’ve compromised all of us. You’re out, sis.” Yoongi raises his hand and he cocks the gun.

Do you knock it out of his hands? Do you run? Or do you just take the punishment you deserve?

You suck in a breath that could very well be your last one.

“Get down!”

A scream hurtles through your open door. “Get the fuck down!” Explosions like fireworks blast from far away, sounding like they’re coming from the foyer.

A body dashes past your room. “What’s going on?” Yoongi yells as he turns, his hand faltering. “What’s happening?”

You see your chance. You lunge forward and wrestle the gun from his grip. “Hey!” You twist your body to avoid a shot but none goes off as you shove Yoongi to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” You gulp as you speed past him in bare feet. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise!” You can’t die yet. You can’t die here. You know Yoongi has other weapons on him. He’ll be fine if it comes to that.

You run towards the source of noise, staying in the shadows of corners, of tiny hideaways. The shots just keep firing, peppered with yells and cries so muddled you can’t recognize any of them. You are a turn away when you spot Jun in the foyer.

“Ju—”

“Aaagh!” Jun crashes to the ground, skids. A suit has one knee on his back, yanking his arms behind him to slap steel handcuffs on. NIS. So clearly NIS with that uniform. How did they find you? How did they get here?! You’re rooted, your face half hidden in the dark, half lit with the bleary, unchanging light. You desperately want to save him, but you only have one gun.

The agent on Jun suddenly whips his head up. His eyes connect with yours, and you recognize him. JK. Joon, no, Namjoon’s ‘friend’. They really played you for a fool and you ate it all up. But now JK’s arm is coming up, about to betray your location.

“Get out!” Jun screams at you before his cheek is forced to the concrete again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing your voice is too quiet to reach him. Then you go.

The agents swarm your headquarters, spreading like flies across the space. You spot them down the corridor leading to the infirmary. Hoseok must be compromised too. You keep running.

There is one exit deep within that is bound to be safe. There’s no way they’ve penetrated so deeply. Not yet. It’s hidden in the office that used to belong to your parents: a tiny tunnel. You just have to get past the dining hall first. A wide open space.

“Get the fuck back!”

Yoongi’s voice cuts across the hall as soon as you reach the doors. You duck, taking shelter behind a wall. Yoongi is locked in a stalemate, staring down an agent with his lazer pistol. They’re taking steps back, slowly moving closer to where you are. He’s trying to get a vantage point, knowing this space much better than the NIS.

Then you see the agent coming from his blindside.

No! You leap out, instantly aiming your gun at the agent’s arm. You pull the trigger.

No shot comes out. You desperately pull it again, but it’s too late.

“Fuck!” Yoongi finally spots the suit but by the time he spins, an electric shock pulses through the air from the agent’s immobilizer. It smacks Yoongi right in the side, coursing through his system as he shakes uncontrollably before collapsing. And he stays down.

You blink away the tears as you rip yourself from the scene. The breaths come up in great shuddering gulps as you try to keep calm but your hands just keep shaking. They shake so badly you can barely pull the bullet chamber out. It’s empty. God damn it. God damn your brother and his bleeding heart.

You claw at your coat collar, trying to loosen what feels too tight around your constricting throat. Adrenaline makes your head pound, and you know you have no more time to spare. You have to go. You have to leave Yoongi behind.

The dining hall is out, but there’s one more pathway to the office. It’ll take longer, but you have no other choice. You change directions, tucking the gun into your pocket like a safety charm.

A handful of excruciating minutes later, you find yourself in front of the office door. You haven’t been here in years, unable to bear the emotions that surface but you’re already so frazzled it doesn’t matter anymore. You slip inside.

The entrance is only accessible via fingerprint, built into the wooden desk that looks so ancient no one would suspect the technology it holds. You approach, instantly swept with relief. Thank god. On the desk, you see a tiny V drawn in red. Taehyung was here. Taehyung is safe. Three dots are haphazardly smeared next to it. Three others made it out with him. You’re going to be the fourth.

You flip the cover and press your thumb to the scanner.

Then someone calls your full name. Your real name. The voice is a rich baritone, one you could never forget. “Please. Wait.” The door shuts again with a click.

You face him, hoping every line of fury is carved in your expression. “Kim Namjoon.” Your hands curl into fists. “NIS agent.”

“...Yeah. That’s me.”

Namjoon stands before you in one of those tapered black suits that look so odd on him when you’re used to the slacks, the baggy tees. His hair is slicked back, and he holds that same pistol you saw in the darkness of his apartment.

You scoff. “I have nothing to say to you, Namjoon.”

“What about to Joon?”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Neither does Dahlia.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. “What do you want with me? I’m useless to you now, aren’t I?”

“No. Never.”

You rake an exasperated hand through your sweaty hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, really.” You want to scream at him, to let out every ounce of frustration but you just feel exhausted. “I fucking slept with you, Namjoon. Meanwhile you and all your buddies were probably laughing your asses off at how stupid I was. I broke every rule to be with you and you were just lying to me. About everything.”

“Well, I broke protocol too! It’s not like I went in there trying to sleep with you. I would never use you like that.”

You scoff. “Forgive me for finding it hard to believe you right now.”

“Please.” He tries to step closer, but you shake your head, glare at him to keep his distance. “Tonight and every night we’ve spent together. It meant something to me.”

“It meant you were getting the info you wanted.”

“No. My duties as agent ended the second I kissed you tonight. What came next was all me. It’s always been me with you on the drives. The picnics. Watching the stars.” You have to give him credit, he actually looks apologetic. Maybe ‘actor’ should be on his resume too. “Please.” He repeats your real name, and it sounds so foreign in his mouth you almost want to recoil. “You felt something tonight too. You can’t deny it.”

“Don’t talk like you know me.”

He shakes his head. “But I do know you. I know how your eyes sparkle when you talk about all the things you want to see, all the world you still want to explore. I know that you laugh at stupid puns and that you love the smell of stale movie popcorn like a weirdo. And I want to know so much more. I always do.”

You swallow the emotion that you can’t make entirely disappear, hating that he’s so goddamn right. “Look, Joon, Namjoon, whatever. None of that matters anymore. I... I have to go.” The trapdoor in the floor is still open, standing by. And the longer you wait, the more agents infiltrate your family, corrupt this space.

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs, and you think he’s going to arrest you. But instead, he just looses his grip on his gun. “You can leave. I’ll let you. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, that I was too late.” He lets the pistol fall. It hits the floor with a dull thud. “But just know that you’ll be running forever.”

He suddenly extends his arm to you, palm up. “Or you can come with me. And you’ll have to face the consequences, but I’ll fight for you. I promise, I’ll fight damn hard. And at the end of it all... It might take months, it might take years, but you’ll be free.”

You stare at the pitch black of the tunnel.

Taehyung is waiting for you on the other side with your family. The people you’ve grown up with, the people responsible for giving you life. Or at least, the façade of life you’ve lived up until now. How much do you still owe them? When will it be enough?

On your exhale, you find Namjoon’s eyes. See the flicker of light reflected in their depths.

Trembling, you place your hand in his.

a/n: thank you for reading. truly. this is my first time writing something so ambitious. i wanted to present a world where things are all various shades of grey, where there is never a right answer. some characters were so difficult to write, but i hope their reasons for their actions were clear enough in the end. i would love to hear your thoughts on the piece & any feedback is always greatly appreciated! 

special shout out to @jeonshome who fed my insanity throughout the writing & kept me from imploding. please send her tons of love. i would give her all the star flower bouquets in the sky if i could ✨

p.s. you can find extra drabbles for this AU on my masterlist!