#'what should i do' is left purposefully vague at the end as though to show that akane--just like the reader--is uncertain where to look

[bataranqs]

.

[imtotallyokandnormal]

Hello!! May I request Sal Fisher x reader who is severely afraid of physical touch? Like to the point where it takes them a while to even touch someone with a piece of fabric in between their hand and the person. Also if the reader is seriously sarcastic, teasing and the type who laughs everything off but easily gets flustered at any sort of romance?

Maybe even the first time they touch Sal without some sort of fabric covering their hand.

Thank you!!

AH YAY MY FIRST SAL REQUEST!!! I'M SO EXCITED- okay so disclaimer first and foremost I am definitely not gonna pretend like I know what it's like to be afraid of physical touch, so I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. And if there's anything you'd want me to correct in this please let me know!

Reader: gn reader

Warnings: mentions of fears regarding touch (purposefully left vague), but don't worry it ends up in fluff, also sex joke I dunno if that counts for a warning

Image link: tell me about your guys' favorite holidays!

》☆Sal Fisher Dating a Touch Averse Reader☆《

- Sal hasn't ever seriously questioned why you didn't like to be touched. As far as he knew, whether it was a dislike or genuine fear or hatred, it wasn't his business and he didn't ever want to push you.

- One thing that drew him to you was your ability to take what you dish out. The way your sarcastic remarks could be met with the same intensity and it'd be laughed off and continued, an easy flow of lighthearted jabs. He liked that about you. There wasn't any malicious intent in the way you both joked, and you both understood.

- Though, this attitude you have always seemed to be a possible double-edged sword. You may be able to laugh things off, but he knew it could be a curtain for you, to hide how you really felt about certain things. Especially when it came to touch. He always had a feeling there was something more to it than you were expressing. He knew those feelings all too well.

- So, he worked around it. Whenever you came over to the house he made sure everyone else knew you were coming, just to be sure any possible touchiness would be kept to a minimum. He gave you your own designated spot on the couch, or even your own chair to yourself.

- One thing he learned was that doing things for you felt just as good as any touch that he could give you. Making you a nice cup of your favorite drink, giving you dumb things that reminded him of your inside jokes, small things to show he cares. And trust me, he thinks it's very cute when you get embarrassed about it (he teases you lightly about it).

- It'd be a surprise if one day you wanted to try physical affection with him. Whatever your reasoning might have been, Sal would ask if that's really alright with you and it's definitely what you want. The last thing he would want is to cross a boundary.

- He'd suggest starting out slow with touching hands, maybe getting a pair of gloves for you both to wear. He figures from what he's learned about you it might be easier if the contact wasn't direct and had sort of a shield. He'd also suggest a kind of safeword (not the sexual kind, but you should totally pick on him for that).

- Oh, don't you worry about any reactions you might have during this either. Strong reactions, subtle, whether you flinch away slightly or start having big physical reactions to it, he'd be patient. No matter what it was, he spoke to you softly and drew away if it was too much.

- If you were alright with it, he'd gradually let you get used to his touch. This is only during times where you're prepared and he makes sure you can back out any time. Eventually, if you felt good about it, he'd ask you if you wanted to try touching hands with the gloves off.

- It didn't matter how much time it took. It didn't matter if it took forever. In every way, at every step of the way, Sal was so deeply proud of you. As soon as both of your hands met for the first time he couldn't hold back his smile, knowing that he'd earned your trust enough to do this with him.

- No matter how much physical contact you can handle, Sal makes sure to work with you every step of the way.

[tangledinink]

New chapter of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is up! The Hamatos are finally back home, but things still don't feel quite normal. Eventually, emotions, tension, and conflict come to a head. Leo dies in a glue trap. Sexy pigeons will be discussed. Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

They had been back home for twelve days now. And every day that they had been home, they waited for their dad to explain things to them. At first, they were patient. Then they prodded gently. Then they asked. Then they demanded. But every time, there was no real answer.

I mean, he did answer, technically, every time, but not… really. He’d always sort of freeze up and get this far-off look in his eyes and nervously pick around the topic, explaining but not actually explaining at all, and then at the end of it all they’d discover that none of their questions had been answered. They’d ask him to tell them about the Hamato destiny, and he’d tell them that he had ceased contact with the Hamato Clan a long time ago. They’d ask him why he wore a bracelet, and he’d tell them that the existence of yokai was meant to be kept a secret. They’d ask him about the deal with Big Mama and his relationship with her, and he’d clam up and tell them that they had known each other a very long time and it was difficult to talk about. In the end, they’d always only be told things they already knew. And Leo got that it was hard and that he was stressed, and he understood-- he did. But didn’t they deserve to know at this point?

Mikey, of course, was the most patient with him. But, to his surprise, Raph was by far the least.

“Pops. We gotta talk about this.”

“Red, now is not a good time…”

“That’s the fifth time you’ve said that, Dad! When is a good time?! You can’t just keep doing this!”

“Raphael, please…”

“No, Dad! This isn’t fair! We need to talk about this! You can’t keep just dodging all of this, we deserve to know--”

This was their third day going back to school now, slowly attempting to get back into the swing of ‘normal,’ and Raph and their father had had this conversation every morning over breakfast since they started. And it wasn’t like Leo wasn’t on Raph’s side or anything-- he was. And typically, he’d be right in there with him, getting on their dad’s case and making an argument, but, lately, he was just…

Exhausted.

He shoveled mouthfuls of cereal into his mouth, scowling slightly and slumping over the table as he listened to his dad and his oldest brother do their usual back-and-forth, with Mikey occasionally jumping to play referee. He found it annoyingly ironic how much their morning routine had changed, and yet, at the same time, stayed the same. It was still chaotic and loud, with voices overlapping over each other, and a slight air of frenzy overlaid over everything… but for entirely different reasons now. 

Thank god that April still showed up every morning. Though with a bit less mojo than she usually did.

“Oh, look, April is here,” Leo announced loudly as soon as she slipped her way into the apartment, getting up to his feet with a purposefully dramatic scrape of his chair against the floor. “We should probably get going, or else we’re gonna be late, or whatever. You guys ready?”

The conversation stuttered for a minute before Raph huffed, getting to his feet as well. The rest of his brothers followed suit, with everyone beginning to clean up and gather their things so they could make their leave. Leo grabbed his backpack off the back of his chair, pausing for just a moment to double-check its contents and wrinkling up his nose.

“Hang on. I need my laptop. You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Leo muttered, getting a chorus of vague acknowledgments in return as he looped his way out of the kitchen, jogging up the stairs. 

Right, laptop, laptop-- exactly where he had stupidly left it the night before, charging on his desk, rather than in his backpack like it was supposed to be. He yanked the charging cord out so he could tuck it into his bag, rushing slightly, not wanting to get left behind, and the whole trip wouldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds, tops, if he hadn’t made a critical mistake.

Looking slightly to the left and catching his own eyes in the mirror.

His hurried steps immediately ground to a halt. It felt like getting caught in a glue trap, and he just… stopped. A little voice in his head told him that he was in a hurry, remember? But the voice was ignored.

He stopped and stayed, and examined his reflection. 

Even as he was doing it, he felt stupid. But he did it anyway-- very slowly swaying from one side to the other. Turning himself to the right, and then to the left, his gaze roaming up and down himself. Taking silent inventory. Making quiet critiques. 

He hated this new habit he had formed. He hated hating himself. He had never hated himself before. Even when things had been awful and frustrating, he had never hated before.

He couldn’t even understand why things had changed like this. Just because it wasn’t real? Because it had been worse two weeks ago? Because he wasn’t sure what the future would look like anymore?

He had had better reasons to hate himself before now.

[ April: leo youve been typing at me for ten minutes now.

April: whatever it is just tell me already ]

Leo whined loudly, laying his head back down flat on the cold tile floor, burying his face in his hands. Okay. This was it. The worst moment of his life. Literally the epitome of misery and humiliation. His life would never get worse than this! He had peaked at twelve-- could you believe it? That had to be a new record. He would call the Guinness people if the circumstances were different, and it wouldn’t just immediately make his head explode from mortification.

He stayed just like that, laying flat on his back in the bathroom, his phone providing a steady weight on his sternum as he considered the cruel joke that was his life for just a bit longer. It took about three more minutes before he finally got up the nerve to text her back.

[ Leo: ok look

Leo: i need ur help

Leo: but if you tell anyone else abt it ever then ill immediately die and also kill you. got it?

April: i know youre not threatening me right now leonardo

Leo: OK SO YOU KNOW HOW SERIOUS I AM

Leo: PLZ?????

April: fine. what??? ]

Leo groaned loudly, pressing his phone up against his forehead, and, for the millionth time, considered just figuring this out on his own somehow. But he had been attempting that for a while now, and it was not going near as well as he had hoped. There was a decent chance that these jeans were beyond saving.

[ Leo: can you bring me pads or tampons or whatever the fuck. please. ]

April’s response was near immediate.

[ April: omw. are you home? 

Leo: yeah. 3rd floor bathroom.

April: ill be there in like five minutes. ]

Leo sighed softly, rolling over onto his front to shove his face against the floor. He had a hard time feeling any sense of accomplishment because this just meant that April was gonna show up. This sucked. This wasn’t fair. Why did he have to deal with this? 

He marinated in his misery until he eventually heard a very soft knock on the door. He willed the universe to end his life but was ignored, so he kind of mumbled gibberish in response, and after a moment, April poked her head in. She scoffed at the sight of him, rolling her eyes as she slipped her way into the room, closing the door behind her.

“Leo, why are you on the floor?”

“Because my life sucks,” he grumbled in response, not picking up his head.

“Dude, you’re gonna be fine,” she sighed, kneeling down next to him and slinging her backpack off. “Look, I’ve got you! I just kind of grabbed some of everything ‘cause I wasn’t really sure what you needed? Do you guys not have anything in the house?”

“I don’t know!” He sighed. “I mean. Maybe? I think there’s some emergency stuff tucked away, like… somewhere. But I don’t know where. And there’s no way I’m asking Dad!” He hissed. “... This is so unfair. The people at the clinic said I wasn’t gonna have one!”

April frowned. “Are the blockers not working…? Leo, if something is wrong, then we gotta tell someone--”

“Nooooo,” Leo groaned, picking his head up just enough to scowl, his face scrunched up. “Technically,  they said that… I probably wasn’t gonna have any. But that I might have… like… one, ish, before the blockers kicked in all the way.” 

He whined softly, letting his head drop back down.

“... I was just really hoping that I wouldn’t. This sucks. I think I’m dying from blood loss, by the way. How much blood can you lose before you die? I think I’m approaching whatever that limit is!”

April scoffed as she settled down to sit next to him, leaning over so she could rub his shoulders a few times.

“Well, then, you just gotta do this once! And then you’re all done! That’s not too bad of a deal! I’ve gotta deal with it all the time.” 

“Yeah, but you’re a girl!”

April sighed deeply.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “But there are guys who deal with periods all the time, too! You’ll be okay. You just gotta get over this hump and you’re home free.”

“This is so unfair,” Leo grumbled bitterly.

“I know,” April relented.

“I hate this.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I’m gonna lay here and wait until I die.”

“No you’re not.”

“It hurts.”

“Well, here. I brought you some Midol. And I can go make you some tea, too, if you want. That usually helps.”

“... Okay.”

“Alright,” April sighed, getting back to her feet, leaving the backpack behind. “I’ll go grab some new clothes for you and start the tea. I’ll be back in, like, five minutes, okay? Don’t die on the floor while I’m gone.”

“No promises...”

“Seriously, Leo,” she sighed, her hands on her hips. “Chill. I know this, like, super sucks. And it’s not fun. You’re allowed to hate it. But you’re gonna be fine, okay? I promise.”

He had been alright, actually. It had sucked, but then after a few days, it was over, and it hadn’t happened again since. And he had hated every minute of it.

But even then, he hadn’t hated himself. It wasn’t like this.

 Distantly, he heard Raph yelling for him from downstairs. Frowning, he spared a final glance at his own self in the mirror before he shoved his laptop into his bag and left the room.

---

That first day they had been back after everyone went back to their rooms and pretended to be able to fall asleep, their dad had eventually tempted them all out with breakfast. And once they had eaten, Dad migrated to the living room, putting on a movie, and they had all followed after him. Usually, Dad always sat in his easy chair-- an old, but beloved and reliable pillar of the home, the fabric worn away from years of use. But that day, he hadn’t.

He had sat on the couch. And Mikey had sat on the couch, too, tucking himself up against his side and laying his head down against his shoulder, and their dad had wrapped his arm around him. Leo had ended up on his other side, likewise held close by their father’s arms, and then Raph had piled in, too, and even Donnie joined them, all five of them squished onto the couch together, not really watching the movie playing on the TV, but really just… taking comfort in each other’s presence. Allowing themselves to feel that, yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they all had made it. Everyone was here and accounted for. They had made it back home. Everyone who was supposed to be here was.

After several days of hounding their father for answers and receiving no reply, however, Raph had stopped joining them on the couch. Leo stopped a bit after that, too, and then so did Donnie, until it was just Mikey and his dad, curled up in silence in the living room each day, watching old Lou Jitsu films play, the soundtrack filling the space with white noise.

“Dad,” Mikey had said one day while the credits rolled, his voice soft, just barely above a whisper. “You have to talk to us. We can’t… we can’t just keep pretending like things didn’t happen.”

“I know,” their father had sighed, his voice drooping with exhaustion. “We… will. I just… I am trying…”

“Okay,” Mikey had replied, and they hadn’t said anything after that.

That had been almost four days ago. And Mikey was still waiting. 

He knew his brothers were having a harder time, though. He couldn’t blame them, either. That was the worst part.

“Raph, we need to be patient with him. He’s really trying…!”

“We’ve been patient!” Raph hissed. “We’ve been patient our entire lives! How much longer do we gotta be patient with him? Mikey, come on! This isn’t okay! I mean, he could have-- Leo could have--” his protests died out, and he grit his teeth, turning to glare out the subway window instead. “We can only wait so long, Mikey. You gotta be reasonable.”

“I know, but…”

“It’s like nothing has changed,” Leo muttered, his lips curved into a frown.

“That’s not true!” Mikey insisted. “He wants to tell us! He does! I just think this is really hard for him, okay?”

“And it’s not hard for us!?” Raph huffed.

“Look, I know that it didn’t exactly go that well last time, but… maybe if you guys talk to him together?” April suggested weakly, gesturing to the group, looking hopefully between them all. “Like, if you sat him down, and all of you tried to talk to him… I mean, like, everyone this time…”

April didn’t even touch Donnie, but as soon as she so much as turned towards him, he pulled away sharply, curling his lips and signing very definitively ‘NO TOUCH.’

“Okay! Okay, that’s fine, I wasn’t--”

‘NO TOUCH.’

“I got it, Dee, chill! I’m not gonna touch you!” April huffed. Donnie all but glared at her, absolutely bristling, before he curled back up on himself, staring out the window again. April glowered, rolling her eyes as she slumped down in her own seat, arms crossed over her chest.

Mikey frowned a bit. Okay… Note to self. Check on that later.

“If we corner him, it’s just gonna freak him out more,” Mikey insisted. “And us arguing with him every morning isn’t helping! If we wanna sit down and talk with him, we have to be cool about it. Can you guys please just let me lead on this?”

“Mikey, it’s not your job--”

“It’s not your job, either!” Mikey immediately snapped. “I can handle this, okay? And you guys are just making it worse! Can you please just trust me, for once, and let me handle something on my own instead of trying to take over!?”

There was a long beat of silence, and Mikey winced a bit. Ooh, had he said all of that out loud?...

“I just… I think I can do this better on my own,” he said after a moment, forcing his voice down into something more level, more calm. There had to be something he was capable of doing on his own-- something helpful. Anything. Surely this was it? “I really can. Please?”

Raph frowned. And he sighed very softly.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever you say, Mikey.”

---

It had only been, like… two weeks. Just two weeks away from his locker, his own damn locker. That was hardly any time at all. He had been doing this multiple times a day for two semesters now. Even just two weeks ago, with everything he had going on, he knew the combination right off the top of his head, no problem. Yesterday, even, he had known the combination.

And now his mind was completely blank. 

Raph hissed in frustration, spinning the lock around for the fifth time, resetting the damn thing so he could try again. Okay, so, it was 12-18, and then… What? 03? Was that right? That felt out of order. How could he not remember this? It was just three numbers. It was his locker combination, for god’s sake, he couldn’t have just forgotten.

He yanked at the lock, and it didn’t give. He groaned, his head falling forward to smack against the cold metal surface with a solid thud.

“... You good?” April questioned from his left, leaning over slightly to give him a curious look.

“Leo and Donnie were right,” he grumbled, his face set in an absolute scowl. April paused, raising a brow slightly.

“Right about what?”

“I beefed it.” 

“Raph, I’m gonna need you to elaborate a little.”

“With Dad!” He hissed, pulling back, lifting his head from the locker just so that he could scrub his palms over his eyes angrily. “When we talked, that time, on the train-- I knew somethin’ was wrong! I knew that there was somethin’ goin’ on, and I just… I just let him not tell us! I just let him keep his damn secrets and deal with everything on his own instead of steppin’ up! I choked!” 

“Raph, come on, that’s not--”

“Yeah, it is!” He insisted angrily. “If I had done somethin’ then, if I had actually pushed and gotten him to talk to us, maybe none of this would have happened in the first place! I knew there was somethin’ wrong, and I just ignored it and let it go instead of mannin’ up and dealin’ with it head on, and now everyone is completely miserable, and I can’t figure out how to fix any of it, now everythin’ is just-- it’s all completely--”

“Raph!” April hissed, cutting him off. “Dude, stop it. You’re spiraling.”

Raph bristled, turning to scowl at her, thinking about arguing for a moment. But eventually, he just grumbled, looking back down at his feet and stiffening slightly. 

“So what if I am?”

“You and I both know that if you pushed Yoshi then, he just would have pushed you back. I mean, jesus, dude, we were all literally held hostage by a spider, and he still doesn’t wanna talk to you guys! You think if you had just played your cards a little differently during one conversation, things would have actually changed?”

Raph frowned, shrugging a bit. “They might have,” he finally said. “At least then I would have tried.”

Maybe if he had pushed then, at least now, he wouldn’t have to see his baby brother plummeting through the air every time he closed his eyes.

“Raph, you did try! You all tried! You’re still trying! But it doesn’t all fall on you, okay? I mean-- you’re sixteen, for god’s sake!” April hissed, her voice cracking slightly, this small, unspoken pressure pushing up the edge of it-- wobbling in such a way that had Raph’s head picking up, his brows furrowing. “You can’t be expected to deal with all of this! I mean, this is all-- this is all-- a lot, and, and a lot happened, and things could have gone really badly, and everyone is scared, including your dad, and us, and--”

“Okay. Okay, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, idiot! Just-- just stop blaming yourself--”

“April.”

“This is all--”

“Hey. April.”

She didn’t respond right away, hunching her shoulders and gritting her teeth. He could see her jaw tense from here.

“You’re spiralin’,” he said, but she didn’t laugh the way he was hoping she might. Well, it had been a long shot. He sighed a little bit, leaning over slightly, his eyes roaming over her face while she glared off to the side.

“Apes, are you… okay?”

---

[ Raph: sound off

Mikey: yo

Leo: wut

Donnie: Present.

Raph: me and april are over in the north stairwell on the second floor. forget classes. let’s get outta here

Leo: im sorry are u telling us to skip class rn

Raph: yes

Leo: who are u and what have u done with our brother

Raph: cut the sass or we’re never doin this again

Mikey: okay!!! :D 

Donnie: Why are we skipping class, praytell?

Raph: we’re gettin manicures

Mikey: OHMIGOSH YES

Donnie: I would like to request we go to the establishment on 83rd.

Leo: dude duh thats where we always go

Raph: were goin to the place you like dont worry

Leo: say no more, omw ]

---

“What color are you gettin’?”

“Blue,” Leo hummed.

Raph had honestly been a little bit worried it would be difficult to get them out of the school and make it over here without any trouble, given how recently they had pulled almost the exact same move (he was pretty sure the only reason they hadn’t gotten in massive trouble was because, you know, their whole situation,) but it had been just as easy as the first time. Damn, maybe their school needed better security. 

Once he had gathered up all of their siblings, they made a beeline for their preferred nail salon. They had all been coming here since they were still new in the city. It was comforting. Familiar. Not much had changed over the years, with the same dim neon advertising out front and the same worn, padded chairs and tables inside, the same wall of nail polishes on display by the front for them all to peruse at their leisure.

Even just the air of this place held comfort, oddly enough. 

“Of course you are,” Raph chuckled.

“That’s his life color,” Mikey chirped, and that made Raph smile a tiny bit.

“Yeah, Raph. It’s my life color,” Leo said, turning just enough to give Raph this absolutely shit-eating grin, to which Raph rolled his eyes in response.

“You always get blue!”

“Yeah, and you always get red.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Red or black.”

“I look good in red!” Raph defended.

“And I look good in blue!” Leo said, shooting him a look and a cocky sort of smile. But there was something about it that kind of made Raph squint a little. There was just sort of this corner of his eyes where the smile didn’t quite touch, like a shadow, almost--

“What about you, April?” Mikey questioned, turning to glance at their sister with a curious look. She hesitated for a second, looking sort of thoughtful.

“What’s my life color again?”

“Green,” Mikey reported proudly, absolutely beaming at the question, more than a little excited at the chance to share. Raph quietly thought that he’d have to make a point to ask more about it later, just so he could get that look on his face again.

“What kind?”

“Like, uh…” Mikey paused a moment, examining the wall of nail polish bottles, looking from the selection to April and back again a few times before he settled on a bright shade of chartreuse that reminded Raph of new spring leaves. “Like this!”

“I’ll go with this, then,” she said, smiling the tiniest bit as she took the little bottle in her hands. Raph thought to himself that she still looked… tired. But a lot less spiral-y than before.

He felt less spiral-y, too. 

“This way we’ll all match,” she explained. “We’ll all have life color fingers.”

“You gettin’ purple, Donnie?” Raph questioned, leaning over slightly to glance at his brother, who stood off to the side. The question was really just a formality. He knew Donnie would get purple. He always got purple, and, just as expected, Donnie nodded, holding up a little bottle of vibrant violet varnish in reply. 

They always went to this place on the rare occasion that they did this because this place didn’t mind if Donnie just used their supplies and did their own nails instead of being touched by any of the nail techs. Whatever made his little brother happy-- Raph didn’t mind.

So long as they were all happy.

And safe.

He clenched his jaw for a moment, glancing over at Leo from the corner of his eyes, where he was debating between a neon cyan and a glittery cerulean with April and Mikey, trying to gather votes as he weighed the pros and cons.

So long as he was safe.

“Leo, didn’t you get the glittery one last time we came here?”

“You remember that?” He muttered, not even looking up. “I mean, yeah, probably, but Mikey said it matches my life colors…”

“Of course, I remember!” Raph scoffed, leaning over slightly to look. “... Well, the glitter is very you.” 

“Is it?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re, like… you know! Sparkly!” Mikey teased, grinning a bit, nudging the other, and Leo laughed, but in this way that felt ever-so-slightly left of normal, hip-checking Mikey in return before placing the two bottles back on the shelf. 

“Well, if I got that one last time, I should probably get something different,” he said, picking through the selections for a moment before settling on a more understated navy. Raph didn’t think he had ever seen Leo pick out a color so dark before.

“That one?”

“Yeah. It’s classy,” Leo insisted. “You know. Elegant and all that.”

“Psh. Who needs class when you can have razzmatazz?!” Mikey argued, gesturing to the absolute collection of bottles he had bundled up in his arms, ranging from neon magenta to metallic orange. “Variety is the spice of life, baby!” He did this every time.

“You’re lucky all the nail techs always like you,” April remarked with a scoff.

“For some reason,” Leo added.

“Remember that time he tried to do a cartwheel and he nearly knocked over the entire acrylic display?” April laughed. Mikey flushed.

“That was one time!” He argued. “And I was only ten! Plus, nothing got broken!”

“Nothin’ got broken?” Raph echoed.

“Well, not many things!”

“Aw, come on, guys, he felt bad!” Leo defended, even though he was smirking, slinging an arm over his baby brother. “And it was an accident! It wasn’t as bad as the first time we came here--”

“Hey--”

“-- and Raph drank one of the nail polishes.”

April cackled.

“He what!? How have I never heard this before!”

“It was our first time! I was only, like, six!” He cried. “It was bright red! Like candy! I thought it would taste good!”

“So you drank the entire thing!?”

“Everyone freaked out,” Leo laughed. “We had to call poison control.”

“I was fine.”

“And that was our first time here,” Leo clucked his tongue. “What an impression we made… Remember?”

“Dad was so embarrassed,” Mikey giggled. “He had made it this whole thing, too, us ‘going out’ in the city and having a family day to see all the things in New York.”

“And we went up to the zoo beforehand, right? And then Mikey got lost when we were looking at the cheetahs, and Dad was freaking out because that place was packed and we couldn’t find him anywhere,” Leo remarked.

Raph scoffed loudly. “I remember! It was so busy, no one even realized he was lost or anything! Everyone just assumed he was with someone else,” Raph sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Mikey always wandered off, and then he never freaked out when he got lost. At least when Donnie wandered off and got lost he’d cry about it so someone would notice and help,” he tsked. “Mikey would have gone ‘round that whole zoo by himself for the entire day and not even cared,” Raph said, and Mikey snorted.

“I don’t remember that!”

“I do!” Raph huffed. “No one even realized you were some sad little lost kid ‘til you tripped and fell down eventually and started cryin’. And then that finally clued some people in and they found one ‘a the employees to help you out, and that’s how we found ya’. And I remember when we finally did go and get you, they gave you this little flower clip from one of the gift shops for your hair to make you stop cryin’ and you were happy as a clam! You didn’t even care you had been lost, you were just happy you got a flower. And Donnie and Leo were so jealous. Dad had to buy us all hair clips before we could go home because you guys carried on so much.”

“Okay, that I remember,” Leo snickered. “I think we still have those. Or I have mine, at least, somewhere in my room… And we went to get lunch at that one place up in Manhattan after that, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. Uhhh… Rakken Ramen!” Mikey said, his eyes lighting up with the memory. “I remember because Leo kept making puns about rock-and-roll and stuff.”

“And we had edamame for the first time. And mochi,” Leo hummed.

“That place was so good,” Mikey sighed deeply. “We haven’t been there in forever… we should go back…”

“We should,” Leo agreed. “And maybe this time Raph won’t eat anything that’s not food.” 

“You kinda had a habit for a while, huh?” April remarked with a grin, giving the other a look. Raph scoffed.

“Right, like I was the only one. We all put shit in our mouths.”

“Yeah, but you were the worst,” Leo challenged.

“You’re still the worst,” April laughed.

“I am not!” He protested. “If anything, Mikey’s the worst. Remember that time he swallowed a penny?”

“Lots of kids swallow pennies!” Mikey whined. “It’s common!”

“Five different times, Angelo!? Why did you keep eatin’ pennies?!”

“I dunno! They looked good!”

“Y’all are menaces,” April laughed softly, shaking her head. “Can’t take you anywhere…”

“Okay, but what about the time at the craft fair when April--”

“Not another word, Leonardo!”

---

“DONNIE!”

Leo rarely actually knocked and waited for his twin brother to allow him access to his room, instead just preferring to throw himself through the door with wild abandon and panache for extra dramatic entrances. He definitely wasn’t gonna knock and wait today. Donnie looked up from whatever he was working on at his desk, huffing loudly and rolling his eyes.

“Leo, I said to--”

“Guess what!!!” Leo did not have time to listen to Donnie’s lecture about ‘privacy’ and ‘boundaries’ and ‘basic manners’ right now. He was way too excited. Donnie sighed, his brows furrowed as he glared at the other.

“... What?”

Leo paused, looking his brother up and down, and then scowled, placing his hands on his hips.

“Well, if I tell you, are you going to be actually excited?”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna tell you if you’re just gonna be all…” He gestured to the other. “Donnie about it. It’s really cool. So you’ve gotta be excited. Got it?”

Donnie blinked slowly, staring his twin down with an unamused expression.

“Yes, dear brother. I promise to express sincere joy and excitement at whatever news you’re about to impart upon me,” he deadpanned, glaring at the other all the while.

“Okay okay okay,” Leo backed up a bit in order to pose. “Me and Dad just talked. And he said!... That I can start taking puberty blockers!”

Donnie blinked in surprise.

“Oh. That actually is cool. Like… genuinely. Congrats, Nardo”

“I KNOW!!! I’m so excited!” Leo cried, moving to flop down on his brother’s bed in sheer delight, kicking his legs. “This is so freaking cool! Eat it, puberty! Good luck ruining my life now!!! I’m not gonna have to do any of that stupid nasty girl stuff!!!”

Donnie frowned just the tiniest bit, rolling his eyes.

“What’s wrong with girls?”

“Nothing! But their girl stuff is gross,” Leo responded with a huff.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is too. We went to the same health class. I know you think that stuff was nasty!”

Donnie visibly shivered, but huffed a bit, holding his ground.

“I dunno,” Donnie mumbled, shrugging a tiny bit, his eyes still glued on his phone. “Being a girl doesn’t seem that bad.”

“What?!” Leo scoffed loudly, sitting up to give his twin an incredulous work. “Yeah, it does! Being a girl is the worst!”

“Well, how would you know?” Donnie challenged. “You’re not a girl.”

Leo opened his mouth and then closed it again. Huh. He supposed he had a point.

“Yeah… Well. You’re not a girl either,” Leo huffed in rebuttal.

When Donnie didn’t respond right away, and Leo paused, his brows knitted together. Oh, hey. Wait a minute. He narrowed his eyes.

“... Why?” He pressed, leaning forward a bit, trying to get a glance of his twin’s face, though they remained firmly facing away from him. “... Do you wanna be?”

“No!” Donnie scowled, and then hesitated, leaning their head back. “No. Not… really.”

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“Not really. That’s not the same as not wanting to be a girl.”

“Well. I don’t--”

“If you wanna be a girl you can just be a girl.”

“I don’t want to be a girl!”

“Then what’s the issue, dude?”

“I don’t wanna be a girl… all the time. Just. Kind of. Some of the time? Ugh. Nevermind. This is stupid--”

“Well, just do that, then,” Leo said. “Just do the some of the time. What’s stopping you?”

Donnie paused for a moment, frowning a bit and sort of examining his feet.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

“Well, then, we should just do it,” Leo announced, crossing his legs. “If you don’t like it, we can just stop and go back. It’s easy.”

“I don’t even know how I would accomplish that!” Donnie protested.

“Well,” Leo said, tilting his head to the side, considering for a moment. He supposed he wasn’t completely sure either, since he had come out at the ripe age of five, but he had certainly picked up a pretty good idea over the years from friends, peers, books, and of course, the internet. “Do you wanna change your name?”

“No. My name is fine.”

“Okay,” Leo said. “... Do you wanna be. Like… my sister?”

“Not really,” Donnie said. “I mean. I still want to be your brother. You guys can still call me your brother. I don’t…” He frowned. “I don’t want to be not your brother.” 

“Oh, okay.”

“And I still want to be Dad’s son.”

“That’s fine. Uh. Is there anything you do wanna change, then?”

Donnie shrugged a little, picking at the edges of their sweatshirt thoughtfully. “No. Not right now,” he finally said. “I guess just… you knowing is sufficient. For now.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Cool.”

Donnie sighed very softly, letting out a long breath, and Leo watched as his brother’s frame slowly untensed and relaxed.

“Okay. Cool.”

---

“You already chipped it,” Raph remarked, leaning over his shoulder gently to look at his nails. Leo resisted a sigh, leaning away in turn, pulling back from the contact.

“Yeah. Bummer. I’ll probably just take it off later,” he said with a hum, looking back down at his phone-- trying to act casual.

“Take it off? But we just got ‘em done!” Raph protested.

“Yeah, but it’s chipped,” Leo said, shrugging. “I dunno what you want me to do. I must have done it while skateboarding or something.”

“When did you go skateboarding?”

“The other day,” Leo said, noncommittal, leaning back in the seat of the train slightly, glancing out the window. “Hey, do you think pigeons are gonna evolve to be, like, sexy?”

“What.”

“Well, like. Half the pigeons you see are boring, right? Just… Regular pigeons with the boring, standard pigeon affair,” he quickly launched into an explanation, gesturing out the window as he spoke. “But then some of them are, like, crazy. Like, white with black spots or brown or whatever. Like. Some of them look super cool. Do you think New Yorkers will develop a preference for the cooler pigeons, and give them more bird seed, and therefore effectively breed out the normal ones? Like. Artificial natural selection? But for birds looking cool?”

“... What?” Raph repeated.

“That would be so horrible!” Mikey protested. “You can’t just feed birds based on who’s the prettiest!”

“Plus, like, would it even work? ‘Cause, I mean, maybe the regular ones are, like, scrappier, so even if people were givin’ the other ones more food…”

And off they went. Leo sighed quietly in relief as his brothers easily took the bait, spiraling off into a pigeon debate and leaving him in peace. Thank god.

He settled into his seat, shifting just enough so he could watch the world fly by in a blur. If he didn’t focus his eyes on everything, it all just blended together, as though someone had taken a palette knife over reality. The train hummed and rocked as they went, and the corners of his lips twitched slightly as he watched.

It had been, what-- a month since they had last attended a martial arts tournament? But it felt like a goddamn lifetime. The world was so different now, and, once again, no one even seemed to realize it. 

There had been several long arguments about whether or not they would attend, just as there had been several long arguments about whether or not they would go back to school or whether or not they would return to sports and other after-school activities. Long, lengthy debates about whether or not it was safe, whether or not it was too soon, or if just sitting at home and waiting was doing more harm than good, etc etc, with no one on any one clear side, everyone just worried and anxious and upset each time, all smeared together into sludge. Leo still wasn’t sure if it was the right move, but he didn’t think that sitting at home, with everyone locked away in their own rooms or arguing with each other, was a good idea, either.

Back when their dad was still missing, he had thought, pretending like everything is normal is so stupid. Why are we doing it? But now it was all he wanted to do. He wanted so desperately to pretend like everything was normal. He wanted so badly to act as though the problem wasn’t there. If he didn’t look at it, maybe he wouldn’t have to feel it. If he didn’t look at it, maybe no one else would, either.

The rest of the train ride was pretty quiet, aside from Mikey and Raph chatting about pigeons. It was odd. Usually, they would all talk. Their dad would chat with them, Donnie would chat with them… Usually, Leo had things to say, too. 

But not today. The train ride seemed long.

And yet, no time had passed at all before they were there. Leo liked the familiar buzz-- the bustle and shuffle of the people, the hum of excitement in the air, the promise of competition. At least this hadn’t changed. His family stuck close as they went through the usual routine, getting signed in and finding a spot in the bleachers, just like always, and they all played their usual parts-- Mikey thinking he forgot something before their dad revealed that, no, he had remembered, and it was in the bag, their dad taking the time to try to hype them all up, and Leo informing Donnie that he was gonna wipe the floor with him, (now that he no longer had any kind of head injury… He found that some of the usual joy of threatening his brother with bodily harm was gone now that he had watched them be beaten into unconsciousness by a stranger.) However, he did not receive the return banter he would usually expect, bringing the sense of familiarity coming to a grinding halt. Leo frowned a bit, trying not to sulk as the group made their way to the locker rooms. He hated the way things felt… wrong. Would it really kill Donnie to just play along?

“Hey,” Raph leaned over slightly as they walked, shifting the pace slightly so they were just a few steps behind Donnie and Mikey. Already, Leo didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Are you good?”

Leo’s brow twitched a bit, and he resisted the urge to huff. Oh, great, now Raph, too? He had already gotten the exact same question from Mikey at least eighty times over the past week. He swore his baby brother must have a timer on his phone for how often he came sidling up with those big eyes, trying to see if he was ‘okay.’

“Yeah, Raph. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checkin’!” Raph immediately said, looking a bit nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. “You just. Uh. I dunno. You seem a little… off. That’s all.”

“I’m fine, Raph,” Leo dismissed, rolling his eyes.

“You sure? Because lately, I know, uh, things have been a little…”

“Raph. Seriously,” Leo cut off, bristling a bit. “I just said I was fine. I’m fine, okay?”

And he was! Seriously. He was… fine. It wasn’t a big deal. None of this shit was anything he couldn’t handle on his own. He scowled at the way his brother was looking at him, hunching his shoulders slightly and picking up his pace, following Mikey and Donnie into the locker room with a tiny grumble. Ever since the Battle Nexus thing, everyone just looked at him all the time like they thought he was gonna break, and Leo didn’t even get why. He was fine, wasn’t he!? Everything had worked out, so what was the big deal? They were all home now.

Whatever happened, happened. Leo, for one, was keen to get over it and move on. It wasn’t like anything had changed.

He already couldn’t sleep at night before all this. So it’s not like anything was really different.

He could tell that Raph had more he wanted to say, but thankfully, he didn’t, and the group busied themselves with getting changed into their gi, shoving bags into lockers and making sure everything was all prepped and ready. Leo fell quickly into the familiar routine, a soft sigh escaping him at the blissful relief of it, letting himself sink down inside. It was like ice water on sore, hot muscles, and he thought, god, didn’t they think this was better?

Wasn’t it so much easier to just go back to what they knew instead of lingering over everything that went wrong? Everything that hurt?

And he, himself, hadn’t been intending to linger. He had planned to head out into the main tournament area with the rest of his brothers, once they all had their shit ready and were making their way.

But they had walked past the long row of sinks in front of the bathroom stalls, and he had seen himself.

And goddammit. He was stuck again.

His breath kind of stuttered for a second and then stopped, staying nestled up in the middle of his chest for a moment. He paused, stopping, staring, examining for a moment and scrutinizing. His hand moved on its own, brushing against his own jawline, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. But every angle looked the same to him. 

He felt stupid doing this. Bobbing his head from side to side, expecting that to be enough to change anything. 

It wouldn’t. 

He already knew.

He finally tore his gaze away from himself, feeling grateful that he was alone in the locker room until he realized that he, in fact, wasn’t. Mikey and Raph had gone on ahead, not noticing him stop and stay behind. 

But Donnie hadn’t. 

For one long, heavy moment, the two of them stood there in silence, staring at one another. It wasn’t until Donnie began to move that Leo did, too, immediately and knee-jerkingly reacting to the threat of his brother signing to him-- or worse, speaking to him-- and potentially saying the same shit that he had heard a hundred times before over the past week-- the past four weeks-- and did not want to hear again.

“Don’t,” Leo spat, his reaction time leaping to the forefront to show itself off, shutting Donnie down before he had a chance to do anything. “I’m fine, got it? It’s not a fucking crime to look in the mirror. I am fine. I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t want you to ask, I don’t wanna hear any of this stupid emotional bullshit right now over nothing. Especially not from you.” 

Donnie didn’t really respond, at least not right away, and Leo was bothered by the fact that his twin brother’s expression was unreadable. Donnie wasn’t always especially expressive, and he tended to wear his ‘resting bitch face’ more often than he didn’t, but it was never unreadable to him. Leo had long ago mastered the art of being inside his brother’s head. He had always been able to catch on to what Donnie was feeling if he looked long enough.

He couldn’t right now. Had something changed with Donnie? Or had something changed with him?

Both of you. Neither of you, something cold and stinging hissed dramatic prose inside his ear. All that’s changed is that you know the fact of the matter now.

You didn’t come into the world together. That connection you’ve always touted is fabricated. There’s no special bond. There’s no unbreakable link.

That is not your twin.

(And he had known this for a while, hadn’t he? He wasn’t stupid. He had realized long before now that they could not possibly be biological twins. But the identity had still stayed on his person up until this moment, and now he felt it falling out of his hands. It only made him angrier.)

Rolling his eyes, though he wasn’t even sure at who, Leo brushed past the other, making a beeline for the exit. “I’m in the first match,” he said, roughly, as if that were a good explanation, as if that was a good excuse for him to take his leave, shouldering his way through the door and leaving Donnie behind. 

His throat felt tight. He couldn’t have this conversation right now. 

The gap had grown so wide.

He didn’t dare to reach out an arm to check, but he wasn’t sure Donnie was within his reach anymore.

That sucked.

He ached for the familiar to come back.

Reaching his legs out long to build a hurried stride, he focused on pushing everything back down into his stomach and catching up with Mikey and Raph, entering the tournament space and feeling all the chatter and cheers of the fray creep up quickly and crawl into his spine. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was in the first match. 

“Yo! Leo. There you are,” Raph turned to face him when he approached, joining the other two at their little corner of the meet. Some of the other kids from the Lou Jitsu School of Ninjutsu dojo were there, too, and Leo made it a point to ignore all of them. “You g--”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, giving his brother an absolutely dangerous glare. Raph and Mikey exchanged looks, just for a second, but thankfully dropped it.

“... Alright. Where’s Donnie?”

“I dunno,” he dismissed, tossing his stuff down into a heap, kicking his shoes off and beginning to pull his hair back properly, wrinkling up his nose as a few clumps of curls brushed against his cheeks, escaping his grip and falling back down into his face. Goddammit.

He had always loved his hair. He spent hours on his hair. He lovingly bleached it, never allowing his roots to creep up too far, and religiously maintained the red streak framing his face. He adored showing off the coily ringlets, tossing them around and flipping his hair dramatically whenever he got the chance. But lately, it was getting on his nerves. He was thinking about chopping it all off. 

Raph knelt down next to him, silently taking over, pulling his hair back in an easy, practiced swipe of his large hand, untying the baby blue ribbon from his half-up topknot and calmly beginning to wrap it all into a ponytail instead. Leo frowned, but he let him. 

He tore off a long piece of sports tape with his teeth, wrapping it around his wrist with one hand. He had done this a million times, but now his heart clenched anxiously as he wound the tape over the silver bracelet on his wrist, the tiny blue crystal tucked away out of sight and out of reach. His brothers helped him shrug on any required padding, wriggling into sparring gloves and boots.

This was a larger meet, and usually, Leo preferred those, because there was stiffer competition and more events to partake in, but today it made his nerves tremble, squirming up and down his body, pressing against his muscles. Across the mat, Leo saw his opponent doing the same as him, preparing for the coming fight, some of their teammates hyping them up. A man who Leo assumed to be the coach bent over him, speaking fervently, likely giving some last-minute instructions and pointers. For some reason, it made Leo’s stomach turn, even though he knew his Dad was nearby, tucked into the front row of the bleachers amongst the many other parents and spectators and watching. Though their Dad was the one who, truly, taught them martial arts, he had long since retired from ‘officially’ coaching at the dojos, making way for other senseis to take his place. And Leo really liked their coach. But right now, he wished that it was their dad instead. 

It wasn’t, though. 

“You got this, Leo!” Raph encouraged as he stepped up to the mat, rolling his shoulders a few times, getting in a few more last-minute stretches as he approached. 

“Yeah! Kick his butt!” Mikey cheered from the sidelines, and the rest of the team was following suit, rallying behind him as the event began, just like they all did for every match, just like the other kid’s team was doing for him.

Leo didn’t really know the kid on the other side of the mat, though he recognized him vaguely. He knew the opposing dojo, having crossed paths with them at these events before, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be able to recognize other competitors in he and Donnie’s weight class. He didn’t know his name or anything-- didn’t know a damn thing about him, just had vague recollections of facing him before in the past and taking him down with ease. 

He breathed in slow and deep, and then he let it out again.

He would do it again today. 

He had done this a million times before. He zeroed in on just this little pocket of the world; just this other kid and him. Everything else faded off as he closed the curtains on it all, coaxing his brain and body together and into focus, stringing them together and aligning his head, his torso, his limbs, and his will.

The boy across from him bowed, and Leo did too, bobbing his head forward stiffly.

“Stance!” The referee’s voice rang out.

Leo’s left foot slid forward, twisting slightly to find a firm hold on the ground. His right foot, in turn, moved back, and he shifted ever so slightly, allowing his center of gravity to sink just a bit lower, holding parallel to the ground. And though he took care to keep his body loose and fluid, all his muscles tensed, bunched up ever so slightly in preparation. 

The boy across from him did the same.

“Fight!”

Leo had always relied, to some degree, on his speed. He had a balance-- of course he did, their dad had taught them himself. He had strength behind his blows. He had dexterity and agility, he could think on his feet. But his greatest merit had always been that he was fast. He could endure a hit, but he didn’t have to if he could get out of the way first, and hit back. He was good at it. It was what he did.

He had done this a million times.

The other boy-- his stance was solid, Leo noted in the back of his mind. He was fast, too. He clearly knew what he was doing, was clearly good. He always had been. Why was he just noticing now--?

He was fast, too, but not faster than Leo. At the ref’s wave, the boy leaped forward, taking the offensive, rushing his opponent with an aggressive lead. And it should have been easy for Leo to dodge.

Leo was faster than him. He knew he was faster than him.

But for some reason, he didn’t move. His legs knew what they needed to do, and he knew what he wanted his legs to do.

But it didn’t happen.

Leo hadn’t been expecting a collision.

He hadn’t expected pain. He knew, even as it was happening, that he could dodge this and counter. He was in the middle of a tournament. It was familiar. He had done this a million times. 

What was wrong with him?

His legs didn’t listen. He didn’t move… and he was fully expecting to be punished for it.

The impact came and he went down hard.

---

“Leo, honey…”

Inwardly, Leo cringed, suspicion crawling up through his spine as he braced himself for an unpleasant conversation. He already knew what that tone of voice meant. Grown-up’s don’t just go, “Leo, honey…” for nothing.

He reluctantly turned to face the camp counselor who was addressing him, folded at the knees and leaning over slightly, as if she were talking to some little kid, which he was not, thank you very much. He was going to be starting the fourth grade in the fall, as a matter of fact, which was quite relevant, as it would so happen, to his current situation. 

This milestone meant he was finally old enough to participate in the day camps overnight event. He and Donnie had long anticipated this occasion, looking forward to this day for months now-- especially since Raph and April had gotten to do the sleepover last year and told them all about it. He and his siblings had been coming here during the summers for nearly as long as Leo could remember. Yeah, sure, they did other stuff, too. Donnie did his space camp, Mikey did his art camp, etc. etc.… But they always wrapped the season up with Camp Laurelwood during the month of August, all attending together. And Leo always had a good time, but he had been especially eager to attend this year. Not just because he was finally deemed old enough to sleep overnight. But because he and Donnie were and Mikey still wasn’t, which brought a whole other unique sense of joy and accomplishment to the entire situation. They hadn’t even technically started the overnight yet, and Leo was already so excited to brag and tell his little brother all about it tomorrow.

But suddenly, he was feeling a little less excited. 

“Don’t you think maybe you’d like to set your stuff up with April? In her tent?” Rosie suggested, gesturing slightly across the way, where April and a few other girls were getting settled, sorting through backpacks and playing rock-paper-scissors over who got which cot. Leo glanced over at his sister and scowled, hugging his sleeping bag to his chest.

“No,” Leo immediately responded, his face scrunched up into a prickly glare. Typically, he was all for hanging out with April. He liked April! But how dumb did this counselor think he was?

Did she really think she could trick him that easily?

The corner of Rosie’s lip twitched slightly. “Are you sure? I bet April and her friends would be really excited to have you join them,” she pressed, and Leo bristled. He knew full well that his Dad had already talked to the camp director about this. He already knew he was allowed in whatever tent he wanted. And he knew that every other camp counselor that he had worked with this year so far-- they were all really cool! He never had any issues with anyone else up until now.

He had thought Rosie was cool, too. Up until now. 

He was confident that if he put up a fuss, he could resolve this pretty quickly. He was really good at putting up a fuss. He had long ago learned how to fend off the occasional dumb adult who tried to nudge him in the wrong direction like this. He had found some time ago, under his father’s guidance, that he could shut down most situations like this by simply declaring (as loudly as he possibly could,) that no, he didn’t want to talk about his private parts with them, can you please stop asking? to whichever random adult was pestering him. They’d usually back off pretty quick after that.

And it was almost always adults, too. It used to baffle him when he was little, but now it just got on his nerves. 

He could kick up a fuss, yeah.

He just really wished he didn’t have to. 

“I don’t--”

“No, Leo has to be in my tent. With me.”

Leo glanced over in surprise as Donnie planted himself firmly by his side. 

“If he’s not in my tent with me, then I’ll cry,” Donnie reported, quite calmly, pursing his lips slightly as he glared up at Rosie. “And scream. The whole entire night long.”

Rosie floundered, just for a moment, before she forced a tiny laugh. “I’m sure you’d be fine in separate tents for one night. Plus, don’t you think it’d be more fun if you both got to hang out with some other kids for a change--?”

“I assure you I would not,” Donnie responded immediately, barely even letting the words leave her mouth, crossing his arms over his chest. “You see, I’m only nine, and this is my first time ever sleeping out in the woods. And Leo is my twin brother,” he added, pressing just a bit harder than he had to on the last word. “So there’s obviously a lot of potential for tonight to be very scary for me. And different. I’m sure you have notes on the clipboard you carry around all the time about me. So if you make me and my twin brother sleep in different tents, I’m gonna freak out. I’ll stay awake the entire night. And I’ll come into your tent to scream,” he said, very-matter-of-fact like he was making a promise. “I might even throw up, that’s how hard I’ll cry. And then I bet other kids will get scared and start crying, too. They definitely won’t be able to sleep, at any rate. So then the whole entire camp will be up. I bet they’ll have to make the camp director come down, eventually, ‘cause I’m gonna freak out so bad, and she’s gonna ask why you made us sleep apart from each other in different tents, and why you’re making Leo sleep in the girls’ tent, ‘cause I know your clipboard says--”

“Okay!” Rosie hissed, her face flushed slightly as she got back up to her feet-- rising up to her full height. “Alright, Donnie. That’s enough. It was just a suggestion. You and Leo can be in the same tent.”

Leo gaped slightly. Donnie grinned the teeniest, tiniest bit. And they both watched as Rosie walked off, suddenly finding something on the other side of the clearing that desperately needed her attention right away. And then Leo grinned, too, whipping around to face Donnie and laugh.

“Dude, that was cool!”

“I know,” Donnie said.

“Did you see her face!?”

“Yes, I did,” Donnie confirmed, and his grin grew a little wider. “... what a dum-dum.”

“Seriously,” Leo muttered, rolling his eyes, sighing a bit. “... Thanks, Dee.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Donnie said, though he seemed quite pleased with himself. “Obviously, I can’t just sit idly by and allow people to pick on my little brother.”

“We’re the same age!”

“Yes, but I was born first,” Donnie insisted, grinning widely, and Leo scoffed, shoving him gently. Donnie shoved him right back, but not hard.

Yeah, Leo could have handled Rosie by himself. He knew how to. But it felt… really good to not have to. And that was the cool part about Donnie, Leo thought to himself. He always kind of seemed to know when Leo didn’t want to. He even knew when Leo couldn’t handle it himself, even when Leo himself hadn’t realized yet, and he’d step in then, too. 

They had always done that. The back and forth. When Donnie was struggling, Leo would jump in and he’d fix it. And when Leo needed help, Donnie would put himself between Leo and the problem, and he’d fix it, too. That was just how it worked. Of course, Raph, April, and Mikey would do the same for either of them and had, in fact, done so plenty of times. They’d all gladly jump to each other’s aid whenever they needed it.

But it was just a tiny bit different when it was him and Donnie. They were twins. The world was just set up in such a way that they tended to traverse it in tandem… which meant he always had someone to lean back into if he needed it. Steady. Reliable. Comforting. And it had just always been that way. They had always done this.

“Whatever. Come on, let’s go put our stuff in the tent before all the good spots are taken!” Leo encouraged, grabbing his bag and shoving Donnie’s into his arms.

“There are good spots?”

“I dunno. Maybe!”

---

Of course, he had seen Leo get hit before. He had seen Leo get hit lots of times. I mean, it’s martial arts, of course people are gonna occasionally land hits on him. Quite frankly, it was usually one of them-- either Donnie snagging him during an event, which was not at all uncommon, or him and Raph getting him during training. Or, you know, just good old-fashioned brotherly banter.

But Mikey hadn’t ever seen him get hit like this before.

He just fucking crumpled.

And it was horrifying to watch, not just because of the sight of his brother slamming down onto the mat, his feet splayed out beneath him, and not just because of the sound, seeming to echo through the stadium over everything else-- but because he watching it happen and he felt so guilty, and he wasn’t even sure why. He wasn’t the one who took him down. It had nothing to do with him. But still, this bright, fidgeting lump rose up into his chest and lodged itself into his throat, pulsing dangerously there like a spark to kindling. Mikey quickly shoved it back down, forcing himself to settle.

Not now. 

He watched Raph jerk next to him, and he reached out to grab his arm, because he wanted so desperately to run over to Leo’s side right now and check to make sure he was okay, and he knew Raph did too, but they both knew better. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see their dad getting to his feet. 

Being here suddenly seemed like a really bad idea, actually.

It took him a second, but Leo began to sit back up after a moment, seeming dazed. Relief flooded through Mikey’s entire body. Logically, he knew that Leo couldn’t be injured that badly in a high school tournament, they were both wearing safety gear, the floor was padded, but it just-- it just felt--

He clenched his jaw, tamping it down again. 

The referee and their coach alike moved to check on his brother, and Mikey couldn’t hear from here, but one of them waved down one of the medics that always lingered around at the events. He could see from here that Leo was shaking, but trying to get to his feet anyway, his body moving in this stiff, painful way that looked out of place on him. It wasn’t what he usually wore. And after a bit of fussing, some examining, and what looked like some arguing, Leo was up again, testing each leg, taking a few steps, as if to prove to the adults clustered around him he could, in fact, walk.

There was a bit more debate, and he was allowed off the mat (or perhaps dismissed from it.) Mikey felt like he was a caged animal waiting to be fed for how he was pacing, bunched up and quivering with anxious energy, wanting to throw himself at his brother as soon as he got back to them and see if he was okay, check on him, help him, just be near him--

 But Leo walked right past them, all but pushing Mikey away when he reached out to him.

And. Okay. That… hurt, a little. Mikey swallowed, trying to dismiss the sting. He was sure Leo was embarrassed, and probably in pain after taking a fall like that. Plus, clearly something was wrong, for him to get taken down in the first place. Maybe he was sick? Maybe something happened?... Don’t take it personally, don’t take it personally…

He chased. He knew that Raph was, too, and their dad was no doubt right behind them, and the Hamatos returned to the locker room that they had just come from not too long ago.

“Leo!” Mikey cried, hurrying to catch up. Leo didn’t respond.

“Leo, are you--”

“I’m fine, Mikey. Can you just give me a minute?”

Raph scoffed, bristling behind him. “Uh, clearly you’re not fine! What happened back there? Are you hurt--”

“If I was hurt, then the medic wouldn’t let me walk away, obviously,” Leo spat in return, but Mikey could see from here that now that they had retreated to the locker room, away from the prying eyes of officials, a limp that hadn’t been there before had begun to color Leo’s gait. 

He heard the door open and close, and he was right. Their dad was right behind them.

“Blue!” Dad fret, moving to join them as Leo plopped down on the nearest bench, wincing slightly at his own harsh, careless movements, beginning to yank off his gear and toss it to the side. “Are you--”

“If anyone,” Leo hissed, his shoulders tensing up sharply, “Asks me one more time if I’m okay, then I’m going to lose my mind! How many times do I have to say it!? I’m fine, okay!? I’m fine! I just got hit in a fight, alright!? It’s a fight! It happens! It’s not the end of the world! Can all of you please find something else to fuss over?! I’m fine and I don’t want to talk about it!!!”

Mikey blinked in surprise with the venom in his brother’s voice. This was so… unlike him. Yeah, he knew that Leo didn’t like attention, at least, not attention like this. He didn’t like people to worry about him. He was independent. He wanted to be the caretaker, Mikey had noticed long ago, even if Leo hadn’t yet, rather than the one taken care of. He was too proud to always accept help when he needed it. But he didn’t act like this. He distracted, he made jokes, he dodged questions and, yes, okay, he acted like a brat sometimes.

But he didn’t treat people like this.

Mikey narrowed his eyes, and he set his jaw.

“No.”

Leo groaned loudly, tipping his head back slightly. “Mikey--”

“No. Leo, stop it! Just stop, okay?!” He hissed, his own hackles rising to meet him. “Do you think we’re stupid!? You’re not fine! You’re clearly not fine! Obviously, none of us are fine, okay!? Can we please just admit that things are bad right now so that we can try to fix it and make it better instead of just… pretending like nothing happened?!” He seethed. “I have tried so hard to be patient with all of you, but this sucks and it’s not fine. We need to talk about this! About-- everything! This clearly isn’t working! I’m-- I’m trying to be patient, and I can’t--”

Some tears rose up in his throat, pricking the edges of his eyes, and he grit his teeth with frustration, trying to will them away but finding very little success. 

“It’s not gonna get better unless we do the work and fix it, okay? Just admit that things suck right now, Leo! Please. I know it’s not fine and I don’t know why you’re trying to trick us i-instead of, of t-trusting us! I trust you! Why don’t you guys--”

He hiccuped a bit, squeezing his eyes shut and balling his hands into fists, setting his jaw slightly. He shifted ever so slightly, edging his feet apart to try to stabilize himself and fight against his shaking knees. Raph sighed softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Leo, come on. We’re just worried about you…”

Leo drew his arms around himself, looking sharply to the side. “I’m not--”

“Blue.” 

It was their dad who spoke up this time. 

He moved to Leo’s side, sitting down next to him, a hand resting on his shoulder. It was quiet for a moment.

“Do not take this out on your brothers. This is my fault,” he said. “If you’re going to be angry at someone, be angry with me. I-- I know I have let you all down.”

Mikey could see Leo swallow from here. And he could see Dad swallow, too, his brows furrowing together as his fingers traced a slow, gentle back-and-forth trail across Leo’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Dad continued, and Mikey could hear this little pinch to his words like he was trying not to cry, but refusing to let himself do so. “I know that… I know that things are difficult right now. And they have been for a while. And I know it’s… it’s because of me and my actions. And I-- I have not been there for you the way you need me to.”

He stopped and Mikey suspected it was to get a handle on himself again, to get control of his voice.

“I’m sorry. I am… afraid. But that is… That is not a good excuse. I-- I don’t want--”

He broke off again, and this time a tear escaped, making a break for it, tracking its way down his father’s face. Their whole life, Mikey could count the amount of times they had seen their dad cry on one hand. But lately, the number was climbing rapidly, and though Mikey had already tried and failed to keep tears off his own face quite some time ago, now they only came faster. He swallowed a sob.

He was almost surprised to hear Leo sob, too, shifting just enough to hide his face against their dad’s shoulder. And in a second, their dad’s arms were around him, and Mikey couldn’t stand to be so far away from them anymore-- a whole foot away. Their dad opened an arm to make room for him right away when he approached, and then for Raphael. There wasn’t enough room for them on the dumb little locker room bench, but they made it work. It wasn’t about settling in and getting comfortable. It was just about hanging on.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Leo wept, his voice muffled by their father’s robe.

“I know. You deserve to be,” Dad whispered.

“You-- you’ve sucked since we got home.”

“You’re right. I have sucked,” he murmured softly.

“How could you leave us alone like that?” Raph said, his voice wrenching its way from his throat like a gasp. “We worked-- we worked so hard to find you. And everyone was so scared. I worked so hard. And you were just-- you were just gonna leave. How could you do that?!”

“I’m sorry,” Dad bit out. “I’m so sorry, my sons. I thought-- I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m sorry.”

Mikey hiccuped softly.

“You have to talk to us.”

“I promise I will.”

“We can’t-- we c-can’t do this if you don’t trust us and, and explain, this is... Dad, this is so scary.”

“Everything really sucks right now,” Leo added in, his voice absolutely shaking. “Everything sucks and you won’t h-help us. Y-you’re not--”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’ve… I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” Dad said, his grip on them tightening slightly, pulling them even closer like he was afraid to let them go. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’m sorry. I will-- I will do better. You don’t have to-- to forgive me. But I will do better. I swear I will do better.”

Mikey sobbed, absolutely burrowing his way into his father’s embrace as deeply as he could. His back and his knees hurt from the position he was in, and the posts of his earrings were digging uncomfortably into his neck, but he didn’t care. The entire world felt so cold and right here felt so warm. And so for a while, they all just stayed like that, quiet and close, until Mikey finally began to run out of tears, all wrung out and exhausted.

Having emotions was so goddamn difficult sometimes. He never realized how heavy they all were until he started trying to hold them all down. He thought to himself, jesus, is this what Donnie feels like all the time?

… Wait.

Mikey pulled away just the tiniest bit, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the locker room for something that he already knew wasn’t here. 

“Where… where did Donnie go?...”

---

It was dark here. There was no moon or sun here. No stars or sky above.

Donnie supposed that, logically, that made sense. The Hidden City was underground. He supposed he was aware, but it hadn’t sunk in properly until now, examining the skyline off in the distance. He could feel the echoed thrum of the city even from all the way out here, but it felt removed, as though it were secondhand. 

Everything was painted in this soft, barely-there blue glow of the towering mushrooms that grew in abundance here, providing the only lighting for him to see by. He had thought about taking out his cell phone to use the flashlight, but he didn’t want to see the missed calls and texts that he was sure were there by now. Under different circumstances, he imagined that he would be excited by the foreign fungi, thrilled for the chance to study them, to take samples and field notes… but he wasn’t now. 

For a long time, he had relied on facts and reason. They had always held him up, providing a reliable and steady basis for his life. But now, all of a sudden, they weren’t there anymore. He didn’t know where they had gone, but he knew he had been left behind. 

It had taken him a long time to get here-- wherever the hell he was. He didn’t really know, actually, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he had come here. It was an obnoxious labor to retrace their steps from back when they had first attempted to find the secret door Sunita had told them of, operating purely off of memory and uncovering it on his own. He was sure that at least a few hours must have passed, and for all this time and effort, he was now simply in the middle of nowhere. He just didn’t know where else to go. 

They didn’t recognize the plants that brushed up against the edges of their hands, but they thought quietly to themself that they reminded them of ryegrass. Perhaps if ryegrass were taller and bluer. 

They wished they could feel excited about that.

They didn’t.

Their steps faltered, slowed, and stopped. For a second, they stood still, listening to the deafening quiet of this place. Standing alone in an empty field, staring off at nothing. And as soon as he stopped moving, it all caught up to him.

An unbidden, furious sob clawed its way painfully up his throat. And then a second, and a third, and his skin crawled at the unpleasant sensation of tacky tears dripping down his cheeks, which only worsened this already horrible moment. Why did people always say crying was cathartic? Crying was horrendous. Crying was tortuous. He swiped desperately at his face, trying to remove the offending liquid, but they kept coming, and the more frustrated he became, the more tears fell.

Gritting his teeth, a short, resentful shriek escaped from his mouth, and his hands were shaking bad enough that he was almost unable to tear his bracelet from his wrist, clawing the jewelry off of his body with frenzied yanks of his trembling hands. But he still managed. 

The sensation associated with the complete transmutation of his body was still just as awful as before, and he gagged several times, bent over and heaving for a moment as dizziness briefly overtook him. But there was nothing in his stomach to bring up to begin with. He sobbed angrily, steeling himself and forcing himself upright again.

He reared back and threw the bracelet as hard as he possibly could. 

Logically, they knew that this was foolish. The cloaking crystal was highly valuable. This was a rash decision based entirely on emotion, and there was a chance he may regret it, given enough time. But logic had failed them. Logic wasn’t here. They had held onto it so desperately, but their steady presence was gone, and the comfortable cloak of numbness that they had worn as a shield for the past week was suddenly gone, too.

It was an emotional decision. And these were emotional thoughts, he knew. But they were all he had right now.

[ next ]

[mustyrosewater]

• 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧 || 𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙞 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ↠ NSFW

warnings  ↠  swearing, bratiness, nsfw activites, s e x, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids) niki being a bit rough

word count  ↠  8,045 (i know right?)

synopsis  ↠  after being caught in a restricted area during a race by niki lauda, he intends to make your life a living hell

                                                                                                                                your body flops onto the couch of your fathers study, your father who despite clicking away on his typewriter, still manages to look up at you and scrunch his face up at the sight of what you'd chosen to wear. even if he didn't say anything, you could tell by the look on his face that your clothing of choice was the reason. 

looking up at the ceiling of your fathers study, delicate patterns painted into the white surface, providing a rather beautiful picture for you to stare at as you waited for her father to finally finish whatever work he was doing; eager to get on to the activities your family had planned. with little to no warning last night, your mother had poked her head into your room to let you know that you were being dragged along with your father and mother to the races tomorrow, the formula three out in london to be precise. being given little to no choice as to whether or not you'd be accompanying them, you thought it only fair you ignite your own small personal resistance by making sure to wear an outfit you know your father and mother would detest to no end. a lovely minidress, with earthy tones and patterns, accompanied with a dark brown of leather knee high boots, all topped with one of her most favorite fur coats. with an outfit like this, you knew your parents would be embarrassed to no end. they'd long given up on trying to control your behavior, quickly realizing that their daughter's continuous spouts of acting out were something they'd rather ignore than put effort into; a mindset that seemed to encourage you, while your parents only ignored you more.  you'd be lying if you said that races didn't bring you a sense of wicked anticipation; it wasn't the sport that excited you in of itself, but the people you would encounter. you knew you had little interest in watching cars speed around in a circle over 70 times, you did however, have a very keen interest in racers and the people they encountered.  it had not taken much longer of annoying your father before he caved and picked up his coat, eliciting an excited grin from his daughters face as you jumped up from the couch and practically skipped out to the car where your mother was already waiting for you both, applying powder to her face. perhaps in another world, a world where your parents weren't socialites who cared for nothing but the way they appeared to others, you wouldn't have been swept under the rug as the disappointment. maybe you would have gotten the attention you so craved as a child.  swept out of your own thoughts as the car's engine sprung to life, it was not long before you were driving out of the painfully long driveway of the estate and in the direction of the location of the formula three race track. - the moment you opened the car door and exited, you could hear the sound of conversations and laughter within the crowds, accompanied by the sound of drills and tools in the background, no doubt racers making any last minute adjustments to their cars before it was time to go out onto the track.  it hadn't taken long for your mother and father to begin mingling with friends of theirs, all while you stood on the sidelines, occasionally smiling politely and shaking hands of people who insisted they'd met you before at one of your parents many dinner parties, yet there were too many for you yourself to keep up with, especially when you normally spent them hulled up in your room desperately trying to escape any and all interactions.  it was drawing on and on, slowly driving you crazy, you hadn't even been able to go to your seat yet, purely because your father was constantly getting distracted by people he knew, that or business partners.  surprisingly enough, it was easier than you thought to slip away from your parents radar, simply taking a skillful hard left turn as they continued walking further into the crowd of people for them to converse with. a fate you were more than happy to avoid. looking around, you adjusted the brown tinted sunglasses hanging on your nose bridge, pushing them slightly further down so that you could scope out the area you'd managed to find yourself in. to be fair, you hadn't exactly known where you were going when you took that sudden left turn, only that you wanted to disappear from your parents view, a goal you had succeeded in, only to be set with another. find out where exactly you'd ended up.  continuing further, you very quickly realized you'd turned directly into the racers area, hearing the sound of drills and tools in the distance, as well as the occasional chatter as men walked past you, offering no investigation as to who you were and why you were in this area. this didn't exactly surprise you, seeing as it was nowhere near abnormal for racers to gain a plethora of groupies. walking around all of the trailers, you couldn't help but peer your head around to stare at the cars within, your curiosity getting the better of you.  it didn't take much longer before your snooping led you to a particularly interesting sight, a beautiful red formula vee, an expensive one at that. whoever it was who owned this machine most certainly did not spare any expense when it came to upgrades.  reaching your hand forward, you hesitated, taking a moment to look left and right, ensuring that there was nobody around before you threw all caution to the wind, biting back a borderline shit eating grin before leaning forward to run your fingertips on the cars smooth surface.  though expensive, you had to admire it, it was indeed a beautiful car, very well looked after. every gear was polished to perfection, it was clean as a whistle and every part of it was up to date; whoever owned this car wasn't just well off, they knew about what made a good working car. you were prepared to have the question of the cars owner remain one that was unanswered, you should have gone back sooner, even if your parents most certainly weren't missing you, the race was bound to start soon.  "would you mind telling me what you're doing?" you never truly understood the phrase 'scared half to death' until now, feeling your heart jump to life, beating rapidly as you spun around to see the culprit to your near heart attack.  quickly trying to gain your composure, you reached a hand to pull some of the hair that fell forward out of your face, steadying yourself and raising your eyebrows in some poor attempt to appear cool and collected despite the fact that the smirk this stranger wore most certainly met that he knew he had scared you and found it amusing.  already drawn in by the appeal of the challenge her was proposing, you tilted your head and only mirrored his smirk; letting your head turn back down to the car, only just now noticing the name written on the middle in white writing. "niki lauda i'm guessing?"  his response was only to raise his eyebrows, tilting his head and raising his arms out to gesture to himself in a way before crossing them promptly, only returning to the vaguely unimpressed look he was first wearing. you couldn't stand that look, it reminded you far too much of your father. "i can't imagine how you could have guessed."  sarcasm dripped from his voice, along with an accent you couldn't quite pinpoint, you knew it was german, but you were unable to guess exactly where in germany. you wanted to pretend you were surprised that the person with one of the most well looked after cars was in fact german, yet you just couldn't.  the fact that you'd been near his car without his permission or knowledge was definitely the main reason he seemed annoyed by your presence, however, it probably didn't help that you only let out a small chuckle and shrugged your shoulders, only seeming to antagonize him more. letting out a sigh, you took a moment to push your sunglasses back in front of your eyes, looking out back in the direction you came from before back at lauda, smirking and turning around without another word, making sure you made a show of flipping your hair back around.  "where do you think you're going?" his tone didn't so much give off the vibes of authority, it was more of an actual question, as if he were in disbelief that after being caught red handed touching his car, you would just walk off.  not bothering to turn around, your grin remained unseen by lauda as you held your hand up in a wave. "i'm going to watch the race." you said it as if it were a fact he was too ignorant to be aware of, stating it as if it were the obvious all in an attempt to annoy him more.  "good luck out there!" you called, disappearing back around the corner before he could even have time to make up some smart comment.  your quest to annoy lauda had very much succeeded, probably more so than expected as he shook his head watching you leave. and yet, the one other thing you'd done without even meaning to, was peak lauda's curiousity. - it wasn't difficult to find your parents again, they had finally made their way to their seats, and despite the amount of time you'd spent away, they didn't even seem to acknowledge you as you sat down beside them, eager to watch the race, which was only now beginning to get underway.  you hadn't meant to, yet you found yourself looking out for that same red formula vee that you knew was lauda's. some weird interest you'd found in the man, especially the way he'd reacted to the way in you more than purposefully had been annoying him previously.  it hadn't been much longer before the race had officially started; with a wave of the checkered flag, the cars were immediately off, speeding around with sharp sounds invading your ears each time they passed you and your family.  by the time the fifth lap had gone by, you were well and truly bored. reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your saving grace, your packet of marlborough cigarettes; opening said packet and pulling one out to place it between your lips, reaching into your pocket to search for the lighter you were almost certain you'd placed in your pocket earlier. to your surprise, it was strangely absent from your pocket, only producing an annoyed sigh as you rolled your eyes.  without a word, you reached for your fathers pocket, who either didn't notice you pulling out his lighter, or simply refused to acknowledge you; either way, you didn't complain as you finally lit up your cigarette, sucking in the ashy taste and holding it within your mouth as you pulled the cylinder away from your lips, blowing the smoke out in a small cloud in front of you which soon drifted off. -  despite a major incident involving spinning cars and a few very close calls, you'd managed to sit through the rest of the race without any other distractions.  you hoped that your wish of good luck to lauda was not the cause for him spinning out of control and ultimately losing to james hunt, yet you could never be too sure; though you hated to admit that the thought brought a chuckle out of you.  even though you'd had fun teasing lauda, you were more than grateful that the race was finally over and that people were beginning to leave, meaning that hopefully soon, you would be as well.  once again you found yourself standing behind your parents, taking little care to be subtle with your boredom, openly sighing and tapping your boot against the gravel in the hopes that this would speed them up; though this proved to be futile and frankly, you should have known better seeing as they had become impressively adept at ignoring your presence.  the noise of their conversation seemed to slowly fade into nothing but muffled sounds in the background as you crossed your arms and looked around, taking the moment to begin people watching, even noticing as james hunt celebrated his win, briefly passing by just as him and his group popped open a bottle of champagne.  as much as you saw the lifestyle racers seem to lead as a novelty, the accident that occurred today only reminded how dangerous of a sport it really was, men choosing to put their lives on the line for the sake of peoples entertainment? it was hard not to admire them, there was no arguing that they were good at what they did.  you definitely didn't regret not seeing said accident produce any gruesome results; you'd only ever heard what had happened to racers in the past, men that were considered lucky to make it out with crippling injuries, because surely that was better than losing your own life right? that was a point that could be argued profusely; was the loss of quality of life really better the loss of a life all together? while you would have been happy to continue this solo conversation of ethics and virtues of life in your own head, you were ripped out of your own thoughts by the sound of your father once again noticing somebody he knew, yet this time, you could very proudly say it was somebody you yourself also knew, albeit you'd only known him for around three hours.  "niki lauda! look at you! still going strong after a spin!" 

your first instinct was to immediately turn your head sideways, hoping that he wouldn’t notice it was you, a feeble attempt to be honest, now you were suddenly finding reason to regret wearing such an eye catching outfit.

you could only just see out of the corner of your eye as lauda greeted your father fondly with a handshake, so far not looking over to you much to your relief.

continuing to watch as he also greeted your mother, any and all hopes of getting away from this without greeting lauda was squashed the moment your father gripped your upper arm, yanking you forward to come face to face with lauda.

“have you met my daughter, lauda?” 

finally looking back ahead slowly, your eyes, covered by sunglasses thankfully, made facing lauda only slightly less intimidating. 

in a moment of silence, the look on lauda’s face gave away the fact that he re’d recognized you instantly, the slight smirk on his face only you were able to catch as he looked at you as if to say “caught you.” 

and yet, you had no idea why he suddenly looked back to your father, shaking his head and smiling. 

“i can’t say i have.” 

looking back at you, he leaned forward to grip your hand firmly, shaking it and stepping back as if you were poisonous to the touch. to be fair, you didn’t exactly blame him. 

it seemed you weren’t the only one itching to end the interaction between the two of you, you father quickly grabbing lauda’s attention once more with a satisified hum, beginning to walk alongside lauda.

“you should come to my estate tonight for a drink, celebrate your close call eh?” 

even you had to cringe at your fathers poor excuse to invite lauda over, you doubted he was feelign particularly good after that loss, yet any excuse for your father to mingle with those that could held him climb the social ladder.

once again trying your best to tune out the conversation as you walked behind them, your hearing still managed to pick up the result of your father pestering lauda despite his first three kind refusals. 

with a sigh, seeming to actually put an effort into hiding his distaste with your fathers attitude, lauda offered a thin lipped smile. 

“i suppose there’s no refusing this, is there.” 

with an outright lack of awareness to lauda’s tone and even the way he was already treating this invitation like a chore, your father grinned and patted lauda on the back firmly with a laugh. 

“no there is not my boy.” 

as desperate as lauda seemed to get away from the conversation, he still took a moment to turn around, offering you and your mother an awkward smile, only to turn his attention briefly towards you and only you.

the look on his face couldn’t be described as anything but smug as he offered you a polite nod before walking off in the other direction without another word, leaving you standing there in an almost stunned state. 

only to be taken out of said state as your father ordered you to get back in the car so that you could head back and be certain that the estate and ensure that i was prepared for lauda’s arrival. 

-

as much as you’d protested against your father and begged your mother to let you just stay in your room for the rest of the night, you ultimately failed.

not even trying to hide the sour look on your face as you stood beside your mother at the entrance of your large home, you watched as the gate was opened for lauda’s car, which came running into the driveway slightly faster than you thought was reasonable. 

you would have been content for the incident with the car to be and you and niki lauda’s interactions, if you had known you would be forced to sit in his company with your parents, you most definitely would not have been so snarky about touching his car. especially not walking off without a word. 

no doubt firm on keeping their image at least slightly reasonable, your previous outfit had quickly been abandoned, instead being forced to change into a simple mini dress with black stockings and shoes. a painfully simple outfit. and an uncomfortable one at that. 

this was made clear by the way that you were constantly shifting in the dress, attempting to roll your shoulders and cringing when the fabric allowed little to no movement. this was only responded to by your mother scolding you under her breath as lauda exited his car. 

no longer in his baby blue racing suit you’d seen him in up to this point, he had abandoned it for a smart looking button up shirt and blazer, paired with jeans and dress shoes.

it was admittedly an odd sight, not just for lauda, but in general it was an odd sight seeing racers in normal clothes compared to the suits they so often wore. 

watching as your father greeted lauda enthusiastically, then your mother, you could hardly hide the fake nature of your smile as you once again extended your hand to lauda without a word. 

in some odd way, lauda seemed to be amused with your nature towards him. after all, he knew full well that he’d well and truly caught you out. now it was the two of you playing a waiting game to see who was going to break first.

-

the drink that your father mentioned passed by smoothly enough, all four of you in your fathers study as lauda and your father sipped at scotch and spoke about a multitude of boring topics that you couldn’t bother to engage yourself apart from the occasional hum of acknowledgment when your father briefly included your opinion into the conversation.

choosing instead to actively depart yourself from their presence, you pretended to be enthralled in a book as you sat across from lauda, a large coffee table separating the couches you sat on.

every now and then, your curiosity would gain the upper hand as you found your eyes flashing upwards to try and catch a not so sneaky glance at lauda.

every single time without failure, lauda’s eyes were on you, staring you down as if you were a deer in headlights. 

his stare was similar to the feeling you got when sitting in front of a fire for a little bit too long, uncomfortable and making you feel far too warm. it was as piercing as the rest of his personality was. 

you had thought yourself to be a tough person, you’d gotten in scuffles with other kids as a child in school, and you’d been the type to graze your knees and get up as if it were nothing; but niki’s stare glaring upon you constantly eventually proved to be too much for even you to handle. 

finally unable to take it any longer, you stood up without a word, seemingly alerting niki as you could see his eyes widen slightly before maintaining his poker face. 

your parents were also visibly surprised as your mother jumped softly, placing a hand daintily over her heart as your father turned away from niki to look at you, a brief warning expression lacing his features, as if to say

 “don’t you dare ruin this for us.” 

you seemed to almost relieve him with your next question, not being able to bring yourself to look over at niki as you held your arms firmly to your sides.

“may i be please be excused, i’m tired.”

the warning previously on your father shifted into an odd look of surprise as his brows furrowed; you had no doubt this was due to the fact that not only did you ask something politely, but that your tone had no inch of sarcasm whatsoever.

the shock seemed to take his voice away as he only nodded, watching as you turned and began to walk out of the study. 

“don’t be rude, aren’t you going to say goodnight to our guest?” 

you wouldn’t be surprised if the way you tensed up at the sound of your fathers words was visible to all in the room; this was confirmed even more so when you turned slowly and saw niki’s expression as he still sat on the couch smirking once more.

only nodding your head, you took a few steps and held out your hand awkwardly for him to shake. 

“goodnight, mr lauda.” 

the stiffness of your voice only made the interaction more awkward as you stood there waiting for him to shake your hand.

you were unable to see your parents in the corner of your eye, but you held little doubt that they were cringing as if at any moment your real personality was going to jump out and ruin any chances they had of getting into lauda’s good books and they would have lost an influential friend. 

rather, they, your mother especially were shocked, yourself included when rather than simply shake your hand, niki gripped it softly, bringing it towards his lips to kiss the back of your hand softly, his eyes never leaving your own. 

you were unsure if this was his odd version of rubbing it in, or he simply wanted to embarrass you in front of your parents as he pulled his lips away, running his thumb along your knuckles slowly as he smirked up at you.

though anybody not aware of your current little game (if you could even call it that) would perceive it as a friendly smile of niki’s part.

“please, call me niki.”

you could strangle him right in that moment, god you wanted to, wipe that stupid little smirk off of his face if your parents were not watching your every move.

as soon as you felt his grip loosen, you were unable to stop yourself from ripping your hand from his own. god his hands were warm.

“goodnight.. niki..” 

you hadn’t meant for your voice to shake, but it still did, and it annoyed you to end as his smirk only widened at this.  you'd be lying if you said that the moment you turned you hadn't looked like you were practically running away. even as if walked down the hall and up the stairs towards your bedroom, you could hear your father apologizing profusely for your rudeness, only to hear niki brushing it off politely.  -  that had happened a week ago, and as much as you wished you could say that was the last you'd seen of niki lauda for a long while; that was hardly the case. in fact, it was the polar opposite.  you couldn't tell whether or not he was doing it to annoy you or because he actually enjoyed the company of your father, but if you weren't aware enough of your fathers skill when it came to hosting guests, you would have actually been dumb enough to say that it was indeed the latter. it was in fact painfully obvious to you that lauda's continued appearances within your household as a guest of your father were done with nothing other than the intention to spite you.  though what was finally the cherry on top, what was starting to make you wonder if he actually did find genuine enjoyment in spending time with your parents or if he just really, really enjoyed making you suffer. he had invited your parents to a party to celebrate one his most recent wins which they had also dragged you along to come and watch. and of course, he made sure to extend the invitation to you. "should she wish to come along." he'd said, as if he didn't know that your parents were going to drag you along anyway.  it was for that reason now you were sitting in front of your vanity, trying not to cringe as your mother pulled and teased your hair, styling it into a small beehive, seemingly at the request of your father, no doubt wanting all of you to look your very best, considering this was yet another chance to mingle and make new, rich friends.  sat in a mini dress with long bell sleeves, its paisley patterns reminding you of so many other items in your wardrobe; all finely paired with a pair of brown platfrom knee high boots and a fur coat.  it was fucking uncomfortable. your feet were already hurting, and the length made you second guess how much of your ass could be seen every second and this hairstyle was going to be a bitch to take out later.  as much as you would have been more than happy to outwardly complain, you were simply too sick of it to even try. sick sick of your parents, sick of it all.  maybe tonight you could even do the mature thing and finally apologize to lauda; yet, you couldn't tell whether or not it was actually going to bring an end to lauda's games with you, he seemed to be enjoying it too much.  - after a vaguely long car ride, you finally arrived at what you quickly realized was lauda's house, you could already see people on the balcony chatting away and you could hear music playing from inside. exiting the car and shutting the door behind you, you quickly trotted to catch up with your parents who were already walking over the door by the time you'd gotten out; in the back of your mind, you gave a silent prayer that you'd be able to sneak away at some point and find your own space, hopefully even get a chance to have a smoke if you found a quiet enough corner.  opening the door and heading inside, your parents were instantly enthralled with the music and sheer amount of people in lauda's house, all nursing champagne and chatting away; already you could tell they couldn't wait to join. keeping your eyes peeled for lauda, it didn't take long for your parents to lose you in the crowd; you would have laughed if it didn't happen so often, and you couldn't exactly say you minded anyway. it only took another minute or so of moving through people to find the balcony you had seen upon exiting the car. making a beeline for it, you stepped out and enjoyed the slightly fresher air, breathing a sigh of relief as you were no longer squished in between groups of people to such an intense degree.  reaching for your packet of cigarettes and taking one out to place in between your lips, you had only just begun to reach for your new lighter when you had to cut your relief short. "that's quite a sour face to wear at a party, no?" you didn't even hide the disappointment on your face as you turned to face lauda, rolling your eyes. you were well past hiding your distaste for him. now you'd had more than enough time to realize it was very much your own fault, you'd given him a reason to annoy you when you'd not only leaned on his car and then given him an attitude, but had you known that wasn't the only time you'd see him, you would have at least been nicer about it. noticing your expression, he placed a hand over his heart mockingly and let out a hurt sound. "if looks could kill."  his smirk was ever present, digging into your nerves like nails against a chalkboard as you placed your hands in your pockets, not saying anything as you kept your cigarette placed between your lips, hoping that just maybe, you'd have a break from him, obviously a stupid hope.  only raising his hand, you quickly noticed the lighter in his hand, ignited and placed at the end of your cigarette. out of reflex, you inhaled, reaching up to place the paper cylinder between your fingers and pulling it away from your lips, blowing the smoke out of the side of your mouth. it wasn't until you took a slightly closer look at the lighter that you realised. your lighter. he had your lighter, the one you'd lost the first time you met.  you wanted to mentally slap a hand on your forehead then and there, of course you'd left it, only for him to find.  holding out your hand expectantly, he pulled it away before you could grasp your lighter, going so far as to mock you as if you were a child with a small "ah ah ah"  painfully reminded of your time in school as a small child, you huffed and rolled your eyes, reaching for it once more only for it to be pulled from your gasp once more.  "come now, you know the magic word, yes? you learn this in school, little girl?"  his mocking toned was worsened as he leaned down slightly to talk to your at your level, only resulting in you placing a hand on your hip an glaring up at him.  this look only worsened his stupid grin as he raised his eyes brows, waiting for you to say said magic word.  putting on your best sarcastic smile, you made your voice as annoying as you could possibly muster, shaking your head as you spoke. "please?" you extended it slightly, as if you were a child asking for their toy back. and as laced with sarcasm as it was, he still responded with a loud "wunderbar!" raising his arms up slightly as if he were celebrating. finally handing you your lighter, you snatched at it, placing it back in your pocket and reaching up to take another inhale of your cigarette as you glared up at him. shaking his head, lauda's gaze paired with that signature smirk stared down at you as he looked at you almost in an odd sort of admiration. "you're a real brat, you know this?"  you most definitely couldn't lie, that was not the first time you'd been given that title; countless times actually, school teachers, your parents, relatives, even ex partners. it was now your turn to wear a smirk as you raised your eyebrows, raising your hands up in defense.  "i can't lie." you spoke, tilting your head and shrugging your shoulders. your response, for the first time, seemed to catch lauda off guard, possibly expecting you to have defended yourself rather than embrace the title. "maybe i like being a brat, lauda."  you narrowed your eyes, proud of yourself for finally seeming to put a chip in this mans ego. his eyes only narrowed in return, his face taking on a new expression that couldn't quite be place as you took another drag of your cigarette, really nailing in your point hard as you blew the smoke right in his face with no hesitation and a smirk as you placed your thumb between your teeth, grinning. "how many times have i told you to call me niki?" his tone was darker this time, more authority slipping against his words. you wanted to blame being caught up in the moment or finally being able to break this mans cocky exterior, but something about the tone of his voice and the way he spoke to you, it produced butterflies within your stomach that you tried with all of your might to ignore.  tilting your head, you took a step forward to ensure he would hear you over the music as you lowered your voice, leaning in slightly. "or what?"  even if somebody were unable to hear your expression, they'd be able to hear the smile in your voice. shifting your weight from foot to foot, you kept eye contact with niki as you leaned back, his eyes not leaving yours for one moment, narrowed at you, making you think for a solid moment of two that he was genuinely angry at you.  without any sort of warning or sign, lauda's hand lurched forward, gripping your wrist, not so tightly that it hurt, but most certainly enough to get your attention as he pulled you towards him, so close that your chests were touching as he looked down at you.  "watch that tone with me."  his growling voice was most certainly affecting you as he seemed to recognize that the both of you were getting very invested in whatever the fuck dynamic you had created.  as invested as he was, in an odd way, you could still see in his eyes he was watching for any signs of making you uncomfortable, almost as if he was telling you he'd stop the moment you were uncomfortable.  "and if i dont? are you going to bend me over your knee?" you leaned in slightly as you teased him, so much so that you bet he could smell the smoke on your breath as neither of you broke eye contact. whether it was the image of you bent over his knee or the fact that you had only continued to tease him you didn't know; what you did know however, was that that was the last straw for him as he kept his grip on your wrist.  wasting no time leading you back inside, barely giving you time to flick your cigarette off of his balcony before you were weaving through crowds of people, almost tripping over your own platform boots as you were led wherever he was planning on taking you.  obviously knowing his own house like the back of his hand, it didn't take long for the two of you to arrive where you were heading. his bedroom. quickly opening the door and shoving you in lightly, he shut it behind him, not even hiding the slam as he turned to face you, his eyes still dark as you stood there, still smirking and biting your lip.  "wasn't sure whether or not i'd be able to get a rise out of you, glad i know no-" your words were cut up by him quickly walking towards you and gripping your chin with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks together slightly as he other hand gripped your wrist once more.  "you've been nothing but a little brat since the moment i met you, it seems to me you must like pissing me off. is that it? you like knowing how much you make my cock hard when you prance around in those little skirts and give me backchat?" his tone alone was already enough to only widen your grin, but the things he was saying were adding to the butterflies in your stomach. determined not to give up your attitude just yet, you let go of any and all control you'd been holding onto, reaching forward to clamp your hand onto his thigh, dangerously close to where you could already see an outline forming. his only response to your touch was a sharp intake as his eyes closed momentarily, only to snap back open as he shoved you backwards, briefly scaring you before you fell back onto his bed. looking up at him as he stood above you, his legs touching your knees, you could see how his chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took. his eyes raked over your body, observing every part of where your dress rode up, and then back up to meet your gaze, only to begin undoing the statement buckle on his belt, once again watching you for any signs of being uncomfortable as he continued. only widening your smirk, he seemed to get the message as he completely discarded the belt on his rug floor.  as he began to fiddle with the button and zipper on his jeans, he leaned forward to land on his knees on the bed, above you and staring you down. "as much i'd love to play with you until your crying and screaming my name, i need to bury myself in that pretty little pussy of yours." his voice was breathy as he leaned forward, using his knee to push your legs apart, your mini skirt already riding up enough for him to get a full view of your underwear.  you couldn't find it in yourself to say anything else, already convincing yourself that this was all some sick dream of yours and now you were going to wake up no longer able to look niki in the eye.  his lower half disappeared from your view as he finally put weight on top of you, through you could still hear the fabric of his jeans shifting as he settled in between your legs. even through the fabric separating the two of you, you both shivered when you felt your hips make contact, letting out shaky breaths as you looked up at him and he looked down at you.  as much as you expected him to take things at least slightly slow, he did the opposite, wasting no time as he moved your own fabric to the side, only sliding his tip along your entrance softly in order to brace yourself and give you another chance to stop him if you had changed your mind.  only placing a hand on his cheek and nodding quickly, did he respond with a similar nod before entering you quickly and with little no mercy.  you were unable to stop yourself from leaning for head back and crying out loudly, only for niki's hand to clasp over your mouth as he looked down at you. "i know the music is loud, but i need you to, oh sheibe-" he cut himself off by inhaling sharply, groaning softly and shutting his eyes as he began to move inside you, his hips rotating ever so slightly as they moved back and fourth, only resulting in you moaning into his hand. "i know the music is loud, but i need you to be quiet for me, can you do that?" his voice was so low it was almost coming out as a growl as he continued to thrust into you as he spoke, trying not to keep groaning in between his words as he shut his eyes tightly and cursed in german once more.  you couldn't like, he was a stretch for you, there was pain at first but it had quickly begun shifting into pleasure as he continued and you became more used to the way he felt inside you. you knew there was an element of time involved lest he be missed at his own party, god forbid one of the guests go looking for him especially seeing as you were almost certain that door hadn't been locked. continued to thrust, his hands found there way on your back as he rose to his knees, taking you with him and sitting you on his lap, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck for support as he effectively began to bounce you on his cock. the only thing you were able to do to stop your whimpers and moans from being heard was to bury your head in his neck, his head turning slightly to the side to bury itself in your hair.  beginning to help him out slightly by bouncing yourself on his lap, you felt your hips beginning to cramp and ache but brought yourself to ignore the pain as it was currently outweighed by the sheer amount of pleasure you felt as he fucked you.  growling into your hair, you felt his head move back so that he could begin leaving love bites on the parts of your neck that weren't covered by your dress; you couldn't even pay attention to the fact that you would have to walk back out into that party with love bites for all to see, your parents especially. part of you just hoped there would be no way to link them back to niki.  picking up speed, you began to bounce faster on niki's lap as he too began to go faster, feeling the muscles within your stomach starting to tighten as rationality left your body and adrenaline took over. in that moment, nothing felt more important than chasing your high, knowing it was only on the horizon.  it seemed niki was feeling the same way as he growled deeply, pulling his head away to look into your eyes as he gripped your hips and slammed them against his own with little to no mercy, caring little for the bruising that would no doubt be left over the next day.  it hadn't taken much more of this for you be a whimpering mess, feeling yourself tighten quickly around niki's cock, only to begin hearing the sloppy sounds of your wetness slapping while niki still continued to essentially jackhammer into you, still chasing his own high. as you began to come down from your orgasm, the sensitivity of niki still fucking you relentlessly had you whimpering and panting as you once again buried your head in his shoulder, trying to remain as quiet as you could, though this was proving to be a difficult task.  it wasn't long before you felt niki twitching from inside you, only to followed by the hot feeling of him cumming deeply inside you, his own deep and guttural moans releasing from his throat, cutting themselves off occasionally as he twitched and leaned his head back, his mouth hanging open as he shut his eyes.  collapsing backwards, niki fell on top of you, panting with his brown curly locks sticking to his forehead as he laid his head on your chest. post orgasm high, you both seemed to let reality hit you as you looked at each other, realizing you'd both been missing from the party for longer than you thought, exchanging no words apart from a few worried sounds of alertness as you scrambled off of one another, quickly righting yourselves.  it had only taken another two minutes or so to appear semi inconspicuous as you finally made your way back to his door, bracing yourselves before opening it and stepping out, only to see your parents walking towards you, quickly spotting you and calling your name. "where have you been? we've been looking for you everywhere, have you seen niki? he went missing an-" before you could even try to find a valid explanation, through they hadn't seemed very concerned for you and more so for niki's whereabouts, you felt niki walk up behind you, leaning against the door frame and greeting your parents. "she got lost." he began, placing a hand on your shoulder, cool as ever, as if minutes ago he hadn't just been fucking your brains out. "i was showing her photos from past races. lets get a drink, yes?" quickly deflecting from any questions they may have as to why you both just exited his bedroom, niki began to lead them to where they could get a drink, leaving you, shaking your head at the fact that they actually fucking bought that. - it was hours later that the party was actually beginning to wrap up, drunken people being led back to taxi's and niki saying goodbye to guests as the music had now stopped and there had been one to many neighbourly complaints.  you were unsure whether or not you should try to go and say goodbye to niki, post sex clarity was no proposing a very awkward question as to where the fuck that had left the two of you now; you weren't even afraid to admit that the idea of having any other interaction with niki from this point forward scared the fuck out of you.  one could argue that it was all spur of the moment, and you hadn't really had time to communicate whatsoever afterwards, distracted by the fact that you were scrambling to get your clothes back on. you weren't even sure yourself what you wanted it to be, it felt more like a situation of you didn't want to find out.  and yet, once again, your wishes were ignored by whatever higher power was controlling things, because as you were walking back to the car with your parents, still trying to make any sort of sense of what had transpired, you heard the voice behind you calling after your parents.  turning, you placed your hands in your pockets as you watched niki wish your parents a goodnight, letting your mother kiss him on the cheek as well as let your father give him a firm handshake as thanks occurred. he looked over at you only briefly, his eyes and expression next to unreadable as he quickly looked back at your parents, offering to walk them to their car.  turning around quickly, you began to walk quickly to the car, unfortunately slowed down by your boots as your parents soon overtook you, leaving you and niki almost side by side behind them.  though neither of you said anything, your eyes widened when you felt his hand fall on your lower back, then soon to your backside, giving it a squeeze that made you jump slightly, turning your head to look at him with an annoyed and wide eyed look, only to once again be met with that same fucking smirk.  as you finally caught up with your parents, they only turned as niki pulled his hand away, thankfully missing the fact that he'd done that as they thanked him for a good night. opening the car door, you were immediately met with a sharp look from your father.  "maybe you should say goodnight to niki, seeing as he was so generous as to extend the invitation to you." your father said slightly under his breath in a warning tone, only to turn back to niki. "sorry, she can be such a little brat sometimes." by the look on niki's face, you could see him holding in a smirk as he shook his head dismissively and waving his hand. "ah, its fine. i don't mind at all." he finished his sentence by wishing you a goodnight, only now extending the smirk to you as you stared back at him for a moment, slightly still in shock that your parents could be just that clueless.  "goodnight, niki." you finally said, wasting no time getting in your seat and shutting the door. 

[voiceless-terror]

I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat. 

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks. 

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked. 

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it. 

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing. 

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up.  He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be. 

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant. 

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it. 

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is. 

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice.  He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him. 

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.  

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t. 

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

[glimmerglanger]

maybe not the most inspiring of prompts, but for a potential spicy sunday, could we see some codywan with Obi-Wan’s manhandling kink in full force? I know you’ve mentioned it a few times but I’d love to see Cody pick him up and hold/pull/twist/carry Obi-Wan around in all kinds of ways without breaking a sweat 🥵

!!!!!!!!!!! I am so very, very weak for Obi-Wan’s manhandling kink. ALSO this decided to be about a lot of FEELINGS in addition to the spicy.

Have some post-war (everyone lives, nobody dies) Codywan fic this fine Tuesday morning. NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. Very Spicy. Happy domestic times. Soft and sweet, for all the spicy.

~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan knew he was heavier than he looked. Years of training - of war - had turned him mostly to muscle and bone. Which made it something of a surprise, the first time Cody bodily hauled him along in the middle of a fight, without any apparent signs of difficulty.

Obi-Wan had gone down hard when a shell detonated only a few feet away; he’d been more worried about deflecting the force of the blast away from his men than remaining on his feet. He’d been prepared to scramble up when Cody just grabbed him - hands gripping tight at his arms - and yanked him back to his feet, dragging him along until Obi-Wan’s legs started working again.

And that was...interesting, he registered through the dizzy haze in his head.

But there hadn’t been time to consider it more than that. And he didn’t allow himself to consider it, later, after the campaign, when he was back in his quarters on the Negotiator. That would have been...inappropriate.

He didn’t allow himself to think about it, even though it kept happening. As the war progressed, Cody developed a habit of shoving or pulling him out of the way of a hazard, as though that were - somehow - simpler than just yelling at him to move. 

It grew more difficult to ignore after Ventress threw Obi-Wan off of a building and Cody - somehow - caught him on the way down, yanking him out of a freefall with little more than a grunt and setting him down again.

But ignore it and set it aside Obi-Wan did, focusing on keeping his voice steady and his heart from racing inappropriately, clear through his defeat of Grievous, through receiving word from Coruscant that Anakin had discovered that Palpatine was a Sith lord, and fought him, and--

And the end of the war.

And it was a surprise - a delightful one, to be sure - when Cody showed up at Obi-Wan’s quarters in the Temple, one evening, after the Senate declared the war over and said, “General, Obi-Wan--I wanted to--”

Cody kissed him soft instead of finishing the thought. Unsure, that first time. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure that Cody had ever kissed anyone before and eased into it. They went slowly. They had no reason to go quickly, and, afterwards, Cody asked, “Should I...go?”

And Obi-Wan tugged him back to the bed and said, “You should stay.”

They fell asleep like that, woke up like that, and Obi-Wan expected, when they woke, that perhaps Cody would pull him closer and--

And Cody pressed close, indeed, after he woke up. But he was ever so careful with each movement. He handled Obi-Wan as though his bones were wrought of spun glass, as though the thought of leaving a bruise or a mark was not even to be considered.

Obi-Wan felt his warm joy, his pleasure, his contentment, and so he ignored any of the itching little desires that had lived in his head for years, by then. He, too, felt overfull of joy, leaning closer and kissing Cody’s mouth, taking him apart and putting him together again.

#

Perhaps they would have gone on like that indefinitely, if Obi-Wan never took an injury while handling a simple mission on Ryloth. He was still hurt by the time he made it back to the Temple, aching all down his left side, even after the healers looked him over and released him.

Cody was waiting for him, outside the door to the healer’s wing, a frown on his face. He said, “I let you go on one mission alone, and look what happens,” tone full of worry and chiding concern.

Obi-Wan gave him a smile and said, “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” 

Cody flashed him a disbelieving look and dragged one of Obi-Wan’s arms over his shoulders - soft and strong and warm - turning him towards their quarters without another word about it, and Obi-Wan’s gut kicked over, hard.

He felt like he was buzzing in his bones by the time they made it back to their rooms. Part of it had to be the pain-killers the healers had given him. It didn’t help that he missed Cody terribly. They’d been apart for the better part of two weeks.

Obi-Wan had gotten used to waking up beside him, going to bed curled against him.

It made his breath catch when Cody tugged him through the door and said, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned off,” and just headed for the fresher. 

Obi-Wan had been perfectly willing to pass out in his current condition. But he said nothing in complaint when Cody brought him into the fresher and then leaned him against a wall, reaching for his belts with a determined look on his face.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, after a beat, shoving Obi-Wan’s outer tunic down, dark eyes glancing up, some worry reflecting in them.

Obi-Wan shrugged, shivering when Cody’s hands skimmed over his skin, over bruises and aches. He said, half out of his head, “Just thinking I need to get banged around more often.”

Cody went still, hands on Obi-Wan’s belt, expression freezing into place. He said, confusion making his voice gruffer, “What -- why?” 

Obi-Wan hummed. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, the healers had missed a concussion. It happened, sometimes. He felt as though he were floating and had definitely lost some measure of control over keeping his thoughts from spilling out of his mouth. “So you drag me around,” he said, breezy, and Cody just--stared at him, before something darkened in his eyes.

Cody looked to the side after a beat, hands still so close to Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan wished he could enjoy that state of affairs properly, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get hard. Not with the way his head felt. Cody cleared his throat, while Obi-Wan was thinking about things they could do even if he weren’t hard, and said, “You want to be dragged around, Obi-Wan?”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan said, leaning against the wall and feeling content to stay there as long as Cody desired. “Yes. But don’t worry. You don’t have to.”

Cody sucked in a little breath, held it, and then swore quietly before shaking himself. “You need to get to sleep,” he said, and started moving again, dragging down Obi-Wan’s slacks and turning on the fresher.

Obi-Wan groaned softly when Cody tugged him into the fresher. He let Obi-Wan lean against him as the hot water came down, as he rinsed off Obi-Wan’s skin, and, eventually, dried him off. And, somehow, they ended up curled up on their bed. Obi-Wan was starting to fade out, losing track of time, but that was alright.

Cody was there to keep track of it, for him. He could just...ease down into sleep. 

He was almost there when Cody asked, soft against his shoulder, “Why?”

“Why what, darling?” Obi-Wan asked, so drowsy the words blended together, nearly a slur.

“Why do you want dragged around?”

Obi-Wan hummed, pushing back a little against Cody’s warm, welcoming form. He almost shrugged but lacked the energy for it. “Just like it,” he said, yawning so wide that his jaw popped and then closing his eyes. “The way you do it.” And he didn’t know if Cody asked any further questions, because he fell asleep.

#

By morning, Obi-Wan vaguely remembered that Cody had insisted he take a shower and that they had spoken about….something. The details were a smeared blur, but he was used to that sensation. There were entire days he barely recalled, his memories all faded away from injury or exhaustion.

He noted it when Cody pulled him close to kiss him, before they left their quarters. It put a shiver down his back, but they had things to do, and so he set that aside. Cody watched him, though, gaze searching Obi-Wan’s expression before they stepped from the room.

And, later, when they were finally finished and able to snag some time to themselves, Cody tugged him through the door to their quarters, kissing him, hands everywhere. Obi-Wan groaned, pleasure jolting down into his gut, falling into the embrace.

And he groaned, unintentionally loud, when Cody pushed him a step back and then another, until his shoulders hit the wall. Cody made a thick sound in response, pulling his clothes off, and sliding down.

Obi-Wan swore, already hard by the time Cody tugged down his pants and stroked a touch over his cock. He bit his bottom lip, staring down, and then made a strange, ragged sound when Cody purposefully licked across his cock and slid his hands out to Obi-Wan’s hips, pressing him hard against the wall, staring up the entire time.

Obi-Wan shifted, as best he could, and gasped when Cody just tightened his grip, holding him just so. He could have used the Force to pry Cody off, if he wanted. But, fuck, he didn’t want. He wanted to just - just be held tight, to squirm fruitlessly while Cody bobbed his head and sucked and rolled his tongue and--

And swallowed, when he brought Obi-Wan over the edge.

Obi-Wan clenched fingers into his hair, breathing hard, groaning when Cody slid his mouth off slowly. “Like that?” Cody asked, and Obi-Wan jerked out a nod, pleasure still throbbing within him, feeling Cody’s desire still pulsing in the Force.

“Good,” Cody said, and shifted, and Obi-Wan made a startled sound when Cody put a shoulder against his hips, wrapped an arm around his legs, and just stood, hefting Obi-Wan over a shoulder as though he weighed nothing.

Obi-Wan gasped, “What?” because it was so - so unnecessary. Their bed was hardly a dozen steps away. Muscle shifted under him as Cody crossed the floor, one of his hands closed on the back of Obi-Wan’s thigh, before they stepped through the bedroom door and--

And Cody dumped him down onto the mattress, so hard he bounced, gut getting tight again despite the fact that he’d just come, because, Force--

He started to reach for Cody, wanting him closer, immediately. Cody’s eyes were so dark. He was radiating lust through the Force, so thick that it made Obi-Wan shiver. He brushed a hand over Cody’s side, and then Cody was leaning over him, grabbing his shoulder and yanking and--

And rasping, “This what you want?” as he pulled Obi-Wan over onto his stomach and crawled onto the bed, pressing down over him, solid and warm and steadying, sliding his hand down Obi-Wan’s body to grip his thigh, pulling his leg to one side.

Cody settled closer against him, and Obi-Wan gasped back, “It’s very nice,” unthinking.

He had no idea what had brought any of this on, but that was a puzzle to solve at a later date. Sometime when Cody wasn’t humming and shifting, grabbing Obi-Wan’s hips and pulling them up, just moving him where - where Cody wanted him to be, his voice thick when he said, “Oh, I think we’ve got to do better than ‘very nice.’” He heard the click of a bottle opening and shivered down his back, his cock twitching already, Force-- 

“Cody--” Obi-Wan strangled off when Cody brushed slick fingers over him - once - and then pressed the tips of two fingers inside of him. He jolted, groaning, and Cody tightened his other hand on Obi-Wan’s hip, gripping hard and sure.

“Fuck,” Cody panted out, working his fingers in and out, going a little deeper each time, spreading them inside, stretching-- “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to - to hold you just like this? To just--” He twisted his fingers, pulled them out, came back with a third--

“How--” Obi-Wan gasped, looking for enough air to speak, feeling -- dizzy and good and -- “How long--?”

“You were--” Cody broke off, swearing, fucking his fingers in only once, perhaps twice, before dragging them out, his hand making a slick, wet sound when he stroked himself. Obi-Wan made a ragged sound in anticipation, trying to shift his hips to be more encouraging, and Cody tightened his grip again, panting out, “You were--on the bridge of the Negotiator. Bent over. Some star chart. And I wanted to - to push you forward--”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan panted out, wondering, fleetingly, exactly how long ago that had been, it could have been at any point during the war. It could have been the first time they met, that had been on the bridge of the Negotiator, but surely--

“And hold you, just like this,” Cody went on, leaning forward, the head of his cock pressed slick against Obi-Wan’s body, and-- “Get my cock in you,” he panted, rocking forward, Obi-Wan just stretched enough that it didn’t hurt but, oh, fuck, it ached. He felt it, each inch driving into him. “Just like this,” Cody panted, bottoming out, as Obi-Wan’s cock twitched against his stomach, hard so fast against it almost hurt.

“You want -- want me to fuck you like this?” Cody asked, apparently deciding to wait for an answer, buried so deep, holding Obi-Wan just so, letting him feel how full he was, how-- “However I want?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasped out, trying to shift forward enough to fuck back on Cody’s cock, and Cody grunted, putting his other hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, pressing down, holding him, and--

And Cody didn’t make him wait, after that, fucking into him hard and deep, breath punching out across Obi-Wan’s back and shoulders. Holding him just so, just how Cody wanted, and Obi-Wan was stuttering out nonsense words by the time Cody finally lost his rhythm and swore.

Obi-Wan expected Cody to fuck him harder, to shove him down, to come like that.

Instead, Cody leaned over him, curled an arm around his chest, and - with a grunt - rocked back onto his heels, dragging Obi-Wan along and--

And it drove his cock in deep. Obi-Wan felt speared open, crying out dazedly, Cody’s arm a band around his chest, Cody’s other hand sliding down his stomach, fingers curling around his aching cock, Cody grinding out against his ear, “Give it up for me, then, come on.”

Obi-Wan yelled something - it might have been Cody’s name - when he came, head dropping back on Cody’s shoulder, feeling his body squeeze around Cody’s cock and shivering when that was what brought Cody off, feeling the hot spill of him and hearing the noise he made as they sagged there together in the middle of the sheets.

“Force,” Obi-Wan rasped out, eventually, boneless in Cody’s hold. Cody made a thick sound against his shoulder and nodded, shifting so they collapsed sideways onto the mattress, just holding one another as their heart rates slowed down.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing. 

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.  

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.  

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.  

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

[robininthelabyrinth]

What would happen if Jiang Cheng found A-Yuan hiding in the tree stump at the Siege of the Burial Mounds and decided he's going to take in this toddler Wei Wuxian's was raising and raise him, in the memory of what WWX promised to be for JC?

sequel to this aka Delight in Misery (ao3)

--

“Sizhui?!” Jiang Cheng roared as he stormed into Lan Wangji’s room. “You named him Sizhui?”

Lan Wangji had already long ago become inured to Jiang Cheng’s huffing and puffing. Anyway, Jiang Cheng had medicine in his hands when he stormed in, which meant that he wasn’t bothered enough by it to come yell at him outside the usual time - and that meant that whatever it was, it was no big deal.

Accordingly, Lan Wangji didn’t give the yelling any more thought than it required, opting instead to turn onto his stomach in silent invitation.

Sure enough, Jiang Cheng came over to sit on the bed, grumbling the entire time he undid the bandages on Lan Wangji’s back and starting to spread the soothing balm onto the slowly healing wounds.

“I can’t believe you picked ‘Sizhui’ as a courtesy name for A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding thoroughly disgusted and more than a little disgruntled as well. His hands, however, were as gentle as his voice was harsh. “Sizhui. Was carving ‘Lan Wangji loves Wei Wuxian’ into the woodwork too subtle for you?”

Being face down made it easier for Lan Wangji to hide the way his lips twitched.

At first, he had been disturbed at the notion that his grief for Wei Wuxian’s loss – an endless well of despair, an injury that would never heal – might in some ways be balanced with instances of joy, and yet, in time, he had slowly come to accept it. After all, Wei Wuxian himself had never remembered pain for more than a moment; he would not have wanted Lan Wangji to deny himself the pleasures of A-Yuan’s cheerful presence, the peace of being surrounded by Wei Wuxian’s belongings, the amusement of Jiang Cheng’s sarcastic commentary that was so thoroughly ungracious it could only be laughed at.  

The adjustment had not been easy. Lan Wangji was broken in both body and heart, lingering too longer in regrets of the past, while Jiang Cheng had walked a fine line on the verge of true madness, periods of calm interrupted suddenly by grief so intense it manifested as hysterical anger and furious lashing out, his own servants trembling to see it - it was only when Jin Ling had ended up with them, a safe haven for him in his younger years while Lanling Jin sorted out its own internal issues, that Jiang Cheng had started to calm down. His nights were still full of nightmares, brutal soul-shattering screaming ones that Lan Wangji suspected matched his own, but there were now entire days in which the man who kept him company (because apparently “seclusion” wasn’t considered a real word in Yunmeng Jiang, and “alone” was translated to mean “with me”) was a serious, earnest sect leader with a penchant for snide quips rather than the  devastated wreckage of a human being he had met upon the Burial Mounds.

They had not been particularly close, before, and their personalities weren’t exactly compatible. And yet, to his surprise, Lan Wangji found that he didn’t miss the serenity of the Cloud Recesses as much as he thought he would, but rather appreciated the noise and clamor that Jiang Cheng brought into his life.

“ – like two drops of water, both of you,” Jiang Cheng was saying. “Sizhui and Rulan! These are people’s names! They’ll have to bear them their entire lives! Do you think when they’re adults they’re going to enjoy telling people, ‘oh, yes, well, you see, the people who named us had absolutely no sense of dignity or proportion, so –’”

“How is A-Ling?” Lan Wangji asked, feeling his ears go red. He had known about Jin Ling’s courtesy name since long ago, but he hadn’t known until Jiang Cheng had told him that the name had been bestowed by Wei Wuxian, or that Wei Wuxian had praised his sect and maybe even him in the naming – it sometimes made him wonder if his feelings, which he’d long believed to be unrequited, might not have been so hopeless after all.

That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about said feelings with Jiang Cheng, though.

Luckily, Jiang Cheng’s attention was very easy to divert when it came to his precious nephew. “Good! His teeth are finally coming out properly, so we won’t have to deal with all that wailing and gnawing anymore – I thought we’d have to lose A-Yuan’s fingers to all that biting before it ever happened –”

“I thought you told him to stop.”

“Of course I did. Did he listen? No. He just looked sad and obedient whenever I looked at him, and snuck his fingers into the crib whenever I didn’t – I should’ve gotten you to give him the order. He actually listens to you.”

Lan Wangji hummed in response, listening as Jiang Cheng continued in his usual manner to update him about the development of the children they were raising – teething for Jin Ling, Lan Yuan’s rapidly swelling waistline (he was almost recognizable as a child again instead of the pile of bones he’d been after he’d recovered from his fever) and the need to start him on physical conditioning soon, the investment of time and effort that all three of them were putting into trying to convince Jin Ling that his first word should be ‘jiujiu’ – and then, from there, about developments at the Lotus Pier more generally.

At first, Lan Wangji had thought there was a purpose to these updates, that he was meant to give some sort of advice as payment for taking up food and resources, but after a while he realized that Jiang Cheng just wanted someone to listen to him.

He didn’t seem to have anyone else that would.

“– finally finished the full set of docks, so maybe the fishermen will stop beating my ears in about it,” Jiang Cheng was saying. “And yes, damn you, your idea about opening up hotels was both very popular and very profitable – just goes to show that your Lan sect’s reputation for being above it all isn’t in any way justified, you lot make money better than the Jin sect…your brother came by again.”

Lan Wangji tensed.  

“Stop that! Your back’s bad enough without adding knots to it.” Jiang Cheng pressed down on one of them purposefully: it hurt for a moment, and then released, and Lan Wangji involuntarily relaxed as the relief spread through him. Jiang Cheng either had a very good teacher in massage or a natural-born talent for it; Lan Wangji hadn’t yet figured out how to ask which it was. “He’s still looking for you, that’s all, and it’s starting to take a bit of a toll on him; he looks like he hasn’t slept in a while. I’m starting to almost feel bad about it.”

It was very classic Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji had found, to orchestrate a punishment for someone and feel bad about it almost immediately thereafter. It was no wonder A-Yuan had him so thoroughly wrapped around his little finger.

“You can tell him, if you want,” Lan Wangji said reluctantly. Telling would mean seeing, and while he missed his brother very much, he was still very angry over everything that had happened. “I do not want the Lotus Pier to suffer for having harbored me.”

“Stop being so damned self-sacrificing,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji wasn’t looking but he could hear him rolling his eyes. “I don’t care how much you enjoy it; I for one can’t stand it. Anyway, if my Jiang Sect can’t hold our heads up against another sect’s anger, we don’t deserve to be called a Great Sect. It’s like I told you: the moment he actually admits that you’re missing, rather than being all ambiguous and vague about it, I’ll tell him.”

Lan Wangji was secretly glad, even though he knew it was petty of him.

The thought of how frantic Lan Xichen must be after all these months, the idea of him not sleeping, of him travelling to all the sects to ask again and again if they’d seen him…the thought of it hurt, he didn’t deny it. But it didn’t hurt as much as finding out that Wei Wuxian had died with no one by his side – as finding out that his brother, who knew what Wei Wuxian meant to him, had known and deliberately omitted to tell him.

Just as Jiang Cheng was deliberately omitting to tell Lan Xichen the truth now.

“The sect would lose face,” he finally said, offering up an explanation for his brother’s actions, both then and now.

“Yeah, well, fuck your sect,” Jiang Cheng said. “I picked my sect over my family, too, and where did that leave me? Now it’s all I have left.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

“…except you and kids, I guess,” he said, sounding especially bitter about it in the sort of way that Lan Wangji had learned indicated that Jiang Cheng was having an attack of feelings and not particularly enjoying the experience. “You’re not that annoying.”

That was practically stating that Jiang Cheng would die without them.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said, and after a moment Jiang Cheng continued rubbing in the salve. There was even a brief moment of silence, probably Jiang Cheng being thankful that Lan Wangji didn’t call him out on those feelings. Normally, Lan Wangji would just enjoy it, but… “You could have children of your own.”

Jiang Cheng choked, his hand slipping as he nearly fell over. “What?”

“Children,” Lan Wangji said. “You could marry.”

Not that marriage was a requirement for children, as Jin Guangshan continuously seemed to demonstrate – according to some of the gossip Jiang Cheng had recently reported, he’d recently brought another bastard son home.

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng asked, indignant. “I’ve gone on three matchmaking dates –”

Lan Wangji was well aware. He had been the one to whom Jiang Cheng had exaggeratedly complained after each one of those disastrous dates.

“Deliberate sabotage,” he said, because even without having left the four walls around him in months he could figure that much out. “Why?”

Jiang Cheng hesitated, then snorted. “Well, let’s hope not everyone’s as perceptive as you. It’s the agreement I made with the Jin sect to allow me to raise Jin Ling – no other children.”

Somehow, Lan Wangji hadn’t expected that. 

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He knew, of course, that there was nothing Jiang Cheng wouldn’t do for his last living blood relative, even risk having his Jiang sect turned into nothing more than an inheritance to be gobbled up by the Jin sect, but he hadn’t realized – that the Jin sect would take advantage of the grief and trauma that Jiang Cheng suffered, the same grief and trauma that he himself suffered from every day…

It made him taste bile.

“Though you’ve nearly screwed that up, you know,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding suddenly amused. “Back’s done, by the way.”

Lan Wangji sat up and turned his head to look at Jiang Cheng. “How?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Well, given your injuries, I’m the one out there teaching Lan Yuan all the basics, aren’t I? The Jiang sect hasn’t started accepting disciples that young yet, so he stands out. Everyone’s starting to say that he’s mine.”

“His surname is Lan.”

“And Wei Wuxian’s was Wei; that never stopped people from talking, did it?” Jiang Cheng scowled a little at the reminder he’d just given himself; as Lan Wangji had found out these past few months, Jiang Cheng was a master of the self-inflicted injury. “The latest I’ve heard is that I fell in love with some lady from the Lan sect who left her child with me when she died – honestly, it’s a bit sad that they can’t think of anything more interesting. Why would I be stupid enough to make the same mistakes as my father?”

Lan Wangji frowned. Jiang Cheng’s voice was shading near to actual pain, rather than his usual bark without a bite – he had let slip enough about his childhood for Lan Wangji to have figured out that the old jokes about the Jiang sect leader’s favoritism for Wei Wuxian were not jokes at all.

More like an old wound ripped open so many times that it would never heal.

It was no surprise, then, that it hurt him to be cast in the same role.

“You could always tell them that the lady still lives,” he said mildly, pretending his words weren’t hurting himself this time. Maybe Jiang Cheng had a point when he said that Lan Wangji enjoyed self-sacrifice. “Only that she’s ill, or in confinement, and cannot be seen.”

“Not a chance! Like I’d ever do something like that,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji very briefly loved him for his immediate rejection of the idea. “Besides, if I say that, what do I do when you do come out of here and claim him? Everyone will think we’ve been sleeping together.”

Lan Wangji politely didn’t mention the occasional night that Jiang Cheng spent huddling by his side, wild-eyed, until the nightmares went away, or the way Jiang Cheng would occasionally lend a hand with certain physiological reactions that Lan Wangji could not bear to deal with himself, turning what might have been a trigger for self-hatred and near suicidal despair into a process as mundane as the baths he still needed help taking; neither of those were what was meant.

“No one would fear that you would have children if they thought you cut your sleeve,” he pointed out, not sure why he was pushing the issue. Even if people did say that, it was only rumors, after all, and temporary ones: when Lan Wangji could walk again, even the most pointed would swiftly fade in favor of ones that slandered Lan Wangji’s reputation instead.

“I’m still hoping to get married eventually,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just – after Jin Ling is an adult. Once he’s sect leader, he can release me from the promise I made. No harm done, assuming I don’t die first.”

Lan Wangji nodded. It made sense, though for some reason he felt some dissatisfaction.

“Though,” Jiang Cheng continued, looking thoughtful, “it might not be that bad an idea to spread some rumors. If I never commented on it, people would never know for sure if it was true or just slander by some dissatisfied female cultivator after one of my horrible matchmaking meetings.”

“It would still affect your reputation.”

“Like I care,” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Let them talk! If anyone is stupid enough to think that the contents of my bed have any impact on my abilities, I still have Zidian to show them the error of their ways. And I will, too; don’t think I won’t!”

Lan Wangji abruptly felt lighter inside. Of course Jiang Cheng wouldn’t care; he hardly ever cared about anything other than his sect and the children – and anyway, just because Lan Wangji had never told Jiang Cheng directly how he felt about Wei Wuxian didn’t mean that he hadn’t guessed. He had given Lan Wangji Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, after all. “I would never be so foolish.”

Jiang Cheng huffed and tossed his head, then turned to say something that he promptly forgot in favor of gaping at him. “Hanguang-jun, what are you doing with your mouth?”

Lan Wangji allowed his smile to widen. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Stop it! It’s creepy! Go back to being humorless and dull this instant!”

“No.”

“This is my sect and you’re my guest; you have to do what I say.”

“No.”

“You’re worse than A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng complained. “At least he pretends to listen. I’ll have to raise Jin Ling to be properly obedient.”

For some reason, Lan Wangji didn’t think he would have much luck with that.

[inkandpen22]

All I Want (1/4)

Request: I would honestly be happy with anything you write! Maybe a slow burn with Sirius x Reader where their relationship is kind of like lily x James and Hermione x Ron idk 😂 I’m not really sure aaaaaah

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1.4k

Part Summary: Y/N and Sirius are in a FWB situation but they’ve also been best friends since First Year. When the Spring Ball rolls around, things get interesting, but they always are with these two. 

A/N: sorry this took ages to get out! Hope you like it! X

Masterlist

Sirius

While James and I walk to potions, he continues to nag me about the upcoming dance. He acts as if I can’t ask a girl out. I have it all planned: don’t worry about it until the day before.

“You need a date,” James warns.

“Well that’s easy,” I dismiss

“That’s true, he could ask a Slytherin and even she would consider it,” Remus remarks, appearing on my other side.

“No, I already have someone in mind,” I correct with a smug expression.

“Who?” James presses.

Right on cue, my favorite girl appears down the hall with Evans. Merlin, she is utterly perfect. Her perfect hair, skin, walk, smile.

“Y/N! Morning,” I greet as the boys and I approach the duo.

“Good afternoon,” she smiles, already giving me her full attention.

“Ooh, makes sense,” James notes, finally piecing together who I plan on asking.

“Y/N/N, I have a proposition for you.” I place my palm to the small of her back to guide her away from the group. 

“Oh no,” she expresses a tad worriedly. 

“It’s nothing bad!” I defend with a chuckle, though her reaction is fair considering the amount of trouble I've gotten her into over the years. 

“You said that last time and last time I got covered in poison ivy!" She reminds. 

“The Spring Ball,” I state. 

“Yes?” She inquires with a raised brow. 

I can feel the eyes of James and my other friends from a few feet away. Their frequent murmuring is hard to ignore. 

“Go with me,” I request to Y/N plainly. 

“Mmm," she thinks it over a moment. "Nope." 

Wait, what? 

“And why not?” I frown. 

“Because,” she shrugs and starts back toward our friends. 

I grab her wrist, bringing her to a halt. “Is this because of the dragon joke? I told you I was kidding!”

“Nope,” she replies purposefully vague. 

I release her wrist and she strolls back to our friends. I look to Evans for answers and she shrugs. 

“I know nothing,” she tells me as Y/N locks arms with her before walking off. 

I'm left surrounded by my fellow Marauders, watching in awe as my girl, my girl walks away from me. 

"What the bloody hell just happened?" I ask to answer who can answer. 

James places his arm over my shoulders. "Dunno mate, guess she's not so much "your's" as you thought," he laughs. 

"Oh really, huh?" I playfully shove my best friend in the chest to get off of me. "Well I think otherwise! I'll prove it too. By this weekend, Y/N will say yes." 

_________________________

Y/N

For most of the afternoon, I hide away in the library to study for a potions exam. Lily is supposed to meet hereafter her class. If I didn't have Lily as my friend/free tutor, I don't know what I'd do. 

"Hello, Love." 

The sound of Sirius's voice interrupts my studying. Then, a pair of lips meet mine. The kiss feels almost taboo with its intensity in such a public setting. Nevertheless, I embrace the affection. Sirius is like a drug that I can't get enough of, that I can never satisfy. 

He parts from me but lingers mere inches from my face. 

"Hello to you too," I greet with a pleased grin. 

"You look phenomenal," he compliments as he moves to sit beside me in Lily's seat. 

"Sirius, that's-" 

"Go with me!" He doesn't hesitate to ask me again. 

"Nope," I answer, unfazed, as I return to my studies. 

"Why not?!" Sirius whines, fussing like a young child. 

"Because!" I laugh, isn't it obvious? 

"Oh yes, that's a fair argument! Go on!" He mocks. 

"This is an argument, I just don't feel like going!" I giggle, trying my best to focus on my school work. 

When Sirius is around I never fail to get distracted. 

"But everyone's going!" He drags out. 

I close my book and face the jet black haired boy with similarly dark eyes. He's so pretty it's annoying. 

"So if everyone jumped off a cliff you would too?" I raise a brow. 

"If James did it, yeah," he shrugs nonchalantly. 

"Oh, dear Merlin," I mutter under my breath as I face the table again. 

Sirius shifts closer to me. I abruptly feel his warm hand glide up my thigh from the knee and I inhale sharply. 

"So you'll shag me, but you won't go with me to a ball?" He purrs in my ear. 

Sirius dangerously slips his fingers under the fabric of my skirt. I swallow hard, glancing over at Madame Pince as she sits behind her desk reading a book. 

"You know, we're really breaking gender stereotypes right now," I laugh nervously as he continues his pursuit. "Usually, in a friends-with-benefits scenario, it's the girl who begs for more from the guy. Look at you being revolutionary!" 

"Spring Ball, you and me, a bottle of firewhiskey, trip to the Astronomy Tower after," he smirks, rubbing his hand up and down my inner thigh. 

"Sounds real romantic," I sass breathlessly, as I try to remain relaxed. 

"Oh, you want romantic?" He raises a brow with a smirk. "I can make the Room of Requirement look real nice." 

"Knowing the students of this school, I feel like you're not the only one with that idea," I insinuate jokingly. 

He leans forward, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Y/N, sweet, kind, charming, beautiful...” He lowers his lips to my neck where he knows it'll make me squirm. 

"Sirius," I mutter his name warningly as I keep a sharp eye on the librarian. 

I bite down my lip and melt into the sensation of his soft lips on the base of my neck. He lifts his head to meet my gaze proudly.

 "Y/N, will you please do me the honor of escorting you to the ball?" He grins. 

"Ye-no," I nod slowly, pursing my lips. 

"You're lucky you're so damn hot," he pecks my lips. "Otherwise I'd kill you." 

"I'm so flattered," I tease the boy with a giggle. 

"As you should be, Darling," he leans in again and kisses me. "I will convince you to go with me," he assures against my lips. 

"Looking forward to it," I mumble. 

"Okay, I have to go before I distract you further," he reluctantly pulls away. "I'll see you tonight!" He rises from his chair to head out. 

"But I have-" 

"Nope," he holds up his hands before I can decline. "You and me, us, Room of Requirement at seven sharp." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," I wave my hand dismissively as I prepare to return to my studies. 

"Oh yes you do," he purrs and leans down to peck my lips with a smirk. "Bye, bye, Baby." 

"Later," I wave goodbye to my friend. 

As the boy strolls out of the library, he salutes Madame Pince. "Madame, always a pleasure." 

I snicker quietly to myself, and as though he could hear me, Sirius turns around and sends me a wink. 

It's almost ironic that he's named after a star considering that's exactly what he is, he's a bright, unique, light. I look at him and music plays in my head. Is there something wrong with me? Sirius and I have been best friends since First Year. Five years later and we're a little more than friends, but not dating. It all started during our Fourth Year, Halloween night. We both got drunk at the Gryffindor party and well... one can guess. Ever since then, we've acted as though we're dating, but neither of us has said it out loud. Sirius and I have hooked up with random people since then to keep it casual as we agreed. Yet, in the last year, we've both stopped. Neither he nor I have mentioned that fact. I'm just assuming he has hooked up with other girls and hasn't told me or he has his eyes on someone but is waiting. I've tried to conjure up the emotion to show interest in another boy, but I haven't felt anything toward anyone except Sirius in the last two years. Drunken hookups have happened, but they don't mean anything. With Sirius, it's not supposed to mean anything either, yet it feels different. It feels right if that makes sense. It's comfortable yet never boring, nothing about us is boring. I'm not sure what I want or what to make of it. All I know is I'm more comfortable where I am than where I would be if this were to end. I rather be his 'something' than nothing. 

____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @hyperactiveravenclaw

[jessie-writes-things]

From the Darkness | Part 1

This is a commission from the lovely @grogusmum! I'm so so so sorry for how late this is love! Life got in the way a bit. Originally I was gonna do this as one giant piece, but you've been waiting too long and so I just needed to get something out. This ended up being a bit more soft-angst rather than fluff but I tried my best to balance it out. The next part will be full-on found family fluff though! 🥰

This whole thing stemmed from that throwaway line 'I've spent much time on Tatooine' from The Marshall. Basically, I just liked the idea of Din having a somewhat secret life hidden away there. It gets explained a bit more in the second part, but that's really all the context you need right now. 😅🥰

Pairing: Din Djarin x Neutral Reader

Words: 2.5k

Genre: Found family, fluff, soft angst

Warnings: Star Wars level violence, vague mentions of PTSD/Trauma, nightmares

Summary: Din comes home to Tattooine and you spend the night on the Razor Crest.

You always heard the Razor Crest before you saw it. The loud hum of the clunky engine made you jump every single time and you had always wondered how long it would be until the ship just dropped out the sky.

Your answer came quicker than you thought. It was around midnight when the first signs came, snippets of voices fluttered by like quiet, sleep-laced whispers on the wind.

See you we do! Coming home we are!

Then came the ship barrelling onto the landing pad, and you weren’t dramatic in saying you thought the planet was about to explode; walls rumbling, ground vibrating. Peli had been prompted to spew out a few choice words, stepping outside just as you did to watch the slivers of silver moonlight spring off the ship as it finally settled down.

The landing had been…less than graceful to say the least. The engine sounded worse than you’ve ever heard. One of her feet had been ripped clear off, making her tilt to the side at an unnerving angle and you didn’t even want to think about the number of outer plates there were to replace.

What worried you more was the look of annoyance on your boss’s face, pinched and red, and you just had enough time to convince her to head back to bed, promising to deal with The Mandalorian until morning. And thank every planet in the galaxy she listened because if the Crest hadn’t woken up the neighbourhood, you knew she sure as hell would of.

There was an etiquette, you learned through years of working on the hanger; you should never enter a person’s ship first. To regulars, it was like walking into someone’s home without being invited. But so early in the morning you weren’t for niceties.

You walked up that ramp like pray on a hunt, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and you may have stumbled a bit, but it was a hunt.

The Mandalorian was clearly waiting for you, sitting in the cockpit, the baby asleep in his pod although you had no doubt he was listening to every word.

Very out of character, he was the first to speak, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t…well, it was. You were just grumpy and tired and wanted to go back to bed, ‘She looks a mess.’

‘Can you fix her?’

You had assumed her mess from the work of another bounty gone wrong, maybe Mar again but you weren’t in the right mind to ask. ‘Depends.’

‘On?’

‘What you’re about to ask me to do next.’

There was a silence, a comfortable one but silence, nevertheless. Eyes heavy, you were fading fast, head resting against the passenger seat you had claimed as your own. You weren’t too sure if you had fallen asleep or not. You closed your eyes for what felt like a moment too long and when they opened again, Din had shifted his seat to look at you.

‘We need to stay for a few days.’ His head tilted like a little puppy dog. Helmet still on, you were left trying to imagine how he looked in that moment; eyes squinted, crinkled around the sides in admiration.

Not the exact words you wanted to hear, but not surprising in the slightest.

You decided to push again, ‘Anything else?’

He was smiling, at least you were sure he was, his voice sounding a little lighter despite the artificial muffle of the modulator, ‘Come to bed?’

---

I caught a frog today. Very big frog. I wanted to show you. But ManDad was not very happy with the frog in the big ship. So I ate it, I did. Miss you lots, I did. And so did ManDad. Smiles when he thinks about you, he does. I feel the happiness. Thank you for making him happy.

---

Turns out it hadn’t been Mar that took a hit at his ship.

There had been an incident, Din told you in the quiet of darkness, arms wrapped around you, his head buried safely. Long tufts of hair tickled your jaw and chin whenever he moved or talked, about due for a haircut but that was a battle for another day.

‘Moff Gideon is dead.’ But so was Kuill, the kind Ugnaught who had helped at the start of all this mess. Whatever was left of the Empire was still after the kid and Din still needed to find the Jedi. ‘Karga’s still alive.’

‘I thought he double-crossed you?’ At some point his head had moved onto your chest, letting your fingers card through his hair. You could just about see his face in the small cracks of light, not that he needed to hide anymore, sometimes you think the dark was comforting for him.

The smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips and you really hoped it was because of your touch and not the thought of the Guild agent. Small wins and all that, you guessed. Better to have Greef around than no one at all.

‘I can’t stay long.’ His voice wavered, ever so slightly. You had become accustomed to the bittersweetness of it all, stroking the back of his neck as your heavy eyes began to droop again.

‘That’s okay.’ While it felt like a brick being thrown at your chest, you understood. Truly. The entire Empire was after the kid and, subsequently, him. Not to mention the constant battle against other hunters who had it out for his head.

Because while you knew time was finite with him, at least you had something.

---

Happy to be home we are. ManDad gets lonely sometimes. Feel it I do. I try my best to make him smile but sometimes it does not work. Make him happy, you do. A man should not be lonely for too long, he must not, for loneliness can be deadly. When I am gone, look after him you must. Promise?

---

Quiet moments in the dark were always the loudest for Grogu. Like father like son, you guessed. Neither of them liked the stillness much, both of their minds racing faster than the speed of light. It was always easier to read them in these moments. Flashes of images blended into a mosaic behind your eyes as you tried to hold down a specific part of a memory or a dream.

Some nights it was easier than others. There were times Grogu would sense you in his mind and would purposefully push an image forward, always something he thought was silly like a particularly funny looking frog or a memory of Din singing to some cheesy eighties song you had left behind on a CD during their last visit.

The colourful rhythm and syncopated beats making the walls of the Razor Crest dance along with them and you did everything not to burst out laughing in the still night, biting your lip only for a small snort to escape. Din caught on, barely opening his eyes a crack to mumble out some half-arsed are you okay before rolling over and heading back to sleep again.

It was easier to read Din when he was asleep. Not that you did it much or even intended to in the first place. But sleep tore down the walls he had spent years building up, subconsciously pushing the dreams into your mind. If Grogu’s thoughts were a lulled whisper, Din’s were white noise. Fuzzy static took up most of the space, at times slipping to let through blips of voices or a grainy picture of long past memories. They were too quick to get a full idea of what he was dreaming about.

A boy.

The pop of blasters.

A woman screaming.

One deep breath and the image faded. Din would wake for a moment, eyes closed and he’d turn back to face you. His chest shook, barely and nothing noticeable normally, but you caught it, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and mumbling a soft it’s okay as he settled back into you.

---

Today was not so bad, it was not. But sometimes I still think about the dark place. Scary and lonely was I. For a long, long time. Then there’s light and I see ManDad for the first time. And then everything is better, it is! No longer do I need to fear the dark.

---

Like always, Grogu climbed out of his pod early morning and forced the doors of the sleeping pad open, giving him room to wiggle his way between Din and you. These were the times you’d feel the tug of his mind at the doors of yours, asking permission to be allowed in.

If your consciousness was awake enough, you’d let him, letting the Green Bean explore the distorted images of Earth and your past life. You would find him standing next to you, present you, in the middle of the dirtied street, dark and damp as rain pounded on the concrete around you, drowning out the screams of the people as they rushed by.

He’d hold his arms up, a quiet hold me please passing by and you’d take him in your arms, holding him close. Sparks of fear rolled through you, weighed down by dread and it was hard to tell if it was coming from Grogu or your past self.

Clouds filled the sky like grey shadows. It had taken you a long time to realise they weren’t normal, that the clouds were too big, were floating by too quick to be anything natural.

That had been the first time you saw them. Aliens. Or what people on Earth would think of as aliens. Tall, grey, slimy, the stuff you had only ever seen on TV and they were now shooting from the skies in streaks of red light. Streets pathed in dust that smelt like ash and day-old water.

The two of you walked through the mess like ghosts, people running left and right and through you, some in slow motion while some were ungodly in their speed. They all died in the end. Zapped out of existence by a singular lazar.

Someone yelled about children. Save the children. Spare the children. Collect the children. Round them up near the hanger, discard the ones we don’t need, you know the ones I mean, don’t talk back to me. Their voice washed over you in cold chills, sounding so far underwater that they might as well not be there at all.

A man stopped in front of you. Tall dressed in all black. A human man staring right at you. He didn’t look panicked like the rest, was calm and collected as he pulled out his gun and aimed so perfectly right at your head. You didn’t move, didn’t duck for cover as he pulled the trigger.

You should know better than to look.

There’s a woman behind you. Was a woman behind you. She’s dead when you turn around, a pile of smoking ash on the cobbled path, already being washed away by the rain.

Then there was the child, arms still stretched out to hold their mother’s hand, eyes wide in fear but they don’t cry. No matter how much their heart is racing. No matter how much they want to scream as the man grabs their arm and drags them away, throwing them in line with the rest of them, waiting for their turn to be scanned and thrown in the hanger.

They don’t scream, even when the doors slam shut and darkness is all that’s left.

---

Awake, are you? Sleep I cannot. Wonder if ManDad knows how much I love him, I do. ManDad is amazing he is. He saved me from the dark and keeps me safe, he does. Let’s me eat cookies, he does. Such lovely cookies. Try some, you must. But ManDad hurts, I feel. Feel his heavy heart, I do. So much pain and loss cause a man to be sad. Want him to be sad I do not. When I am gone, please tell him all the time that he is special, he is. Always be my buir, he will.

---

‘Buir.’ Grogu sat on your stomach, watching with wide, curious eyes as he followed your finger to where Din moved back and forth getting ready to head out. It was just some low-level bounty, armature work really, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from budding in the pit of your stomach. Distractions curved the nausea, curled up with the pod door open, blanket tucked under your chin with the residual warmth of his body still hugging you, ‘He’s your buir.’

Din hadn’t put his helmet back on yet, the roll of his eyes contrasted with the small half-smile on his lips. In the light, it was easier to see the damage he had taken during his last fight. There was only so much an ex-bounty-turned-nursing droid and some bacta spray could do. The large gash across his forehead looked painful and you made a mental note to check it over when he returned.

‘Don’t teach him that.’

‘Why not?’

There was a pause. You caught the way the small smile faltered, wavering with doubt and uncertainty and maybe a hint of sadness although that last part was hard to tell. And while the wall Din had built around himself was thick, sadness was strong enough to creep through the cracks. Even Grogu noticed, large ears pricking, head tilting in ManDad’s direction with a small coo.

‘Aliit ori'shya tal'din.’

‘You’ve been practicing.’ The words were light, a brow quirked in your direction and you knew what it meant; you’re adorable. Thank you for trying. At least he was smiling, finishing up the last buckle on his holster ‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’

Maybe you should have been more surprised by the slip of his tongue. The way he carried on getting dressed, not even pausing once at his mistake.

You had heard him say those words before a hundrad times or more. But you wondered how long he had meant those words. Months? Years? Was it a new development? Was it something he had always known?

But there was no surprise. Instead, a warmth planted itself in your chest, and it grew, branches stretching to fill every ounce of your being until it was all you could feel.

‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’ His eyes widened at your mimicked words. The pronunciation was still a bit off and sometimes the emphasis was stressed on the wrong bits, but it was nice to know you were close enough that he understood you, ‘I know what it means now. You can’t trick me anymore.’

Din picked up the helmet and put it on before you had the chance to see the full smile that bloomed, but you heard it, the hints of pure happiness shining through the modulated, ‘I was never trying to trick you.’

You fought back your own smile. The heat spreading across your cheeks told a different story though, serving as a reminder of years old built-up emotions neither of you had time to unpack at that moment.

So, you did what you both did best. You quickly changed the topic, shifting your attention back to the Green Bean plopped on your stomach, happily teething on the small silver ball he sneakily snatched from the controls. A few seconds later and his attention found yours, giving you a gleeful smile as he held out the ball as a peace offering.

‘Ba'buir.’ You pointed back at Din and Grogu laughed, ‘He’s your Ba'buir.’

But Din was already out of sight, halfway to the door when he called back, ‘He’s older than me!’

Older, I surely am. And wiser. Yet know, you do not. Be careful ManDad For space can be dark and dangerous.

The lock hissed as it opened, seemingly louder in the suddenly quiet Razor Crest, ‘Be careful.’

‘Always.’

---

buir = parent

Aliit ori'shya tal'din = "Family is more than blood."

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ="I love you."; literally: "I will know you forever."

Ba'buir = grandparent

[lemmesimpinpeace]

Louis Moriarty Random Fluff (feat. Albert & William)

Louis makes his way upstairs with the mail in his hand, while simultaneously combing through all the envelopes on his way to the family room. He made sure to look up every so often to not stumble or miss his step. Majority of them are plain and sealed with official like stamps addressed to the head of household, and the remainder from different universities. Louis thought: “offer letters to try to persuade William to leave Durham University and become a professor at one of their schools instead huh.” In other words, the usual. He lets out a small sigh of exasperation. Finally, he stood atop the stairs about to continue walking to his destination when he made an abrupt stop. As he was sifting through the mail (mostly addressed to his elder brothers), he came across something strange. It was a small pink envelope with his name as addressee. He hardly ever gets mail, much less decorative ones such as this.

He noticed immediately the letters written in beautiful calligraphy and the missing return address. How interesting, he thought. He doesn’t say it aloud but he has a sneaking suspicion about the contents inside this envelope. “Hmph. How troublesome.” That was all he said out loud, before he began to feel shy and embarrassed. He then decides he’ll read the letter later in private. He hides the envelope inside his inner breast pocket attached to his tailcoat. He looks up and continues walking forward, now faster than before. Why is he suddenly in a rush to give his brother’s their mail, who can say?

Opening the door, he steps inside to see Albert and William sitting directly across from each other. Both preoccupied with their respective tasks. Albert sorting through documents from work on his favorite armchair and William sitting upright on the couch grading school papers . However they both look up when Louis enters the room.

Curious, Albert laid down his documents and asked: “Ah, the mail arrived. Anything interesting Louis?” Louis doesn’t answer and simply hands each brother their envelopes. He turns away and in a barely audible tone he whispers “nothing of the sort.” Albert and William locked eyes and without saying a word knew what the other was thinking. That is: their dear little brother was lying and hiding something. In order to uncover the truth and still poke fun, William half-jokingly snorts “ you don’t sound very convincing Louis. If you're going to fib, at least put more heart into it.” Albert nodded his head in agreement with William's statement and replied: “you’re absolutely right, Will. It pains my heart to learn that our dear Louis does not trust us enough to keep his secret.” He said that last part in a rather dramatic tone.

Louis turns around to face his brothers and looks somewhat dumbfounded after seeing his brothers catch on to his lie so quickly. He sighs once more and realizes it's pointless to continue lying to them. He begins to slowly take the pink envelope out from his tailcoat. But not before telling his eldest “there is no need to be so dramatic. I'll show it to the both of you.” Albert says nothing, only chuckles in response. Once the envelope is in full view, both of his elders laugh and congratulate him. They were able to ascertain what the item was right away, how expected of them Louis thought. Albert says: ``Look how popular you are little brother; you even have a secret admirer. How lovely.” William chimes in right after: “of course. Louis has grown into such a fine gentleman. It's understandable that he would have admirers.” He gives him a wink.

Hearing both of his brothers speak about him in such a manner makes him embarrassed but slightly pleased. He attempts to change the subject saying: “*ahem* Anyways, that is all the post I have for today. Now if you'll excuse me, I will begin preparing today’s lunch. He places the envelope inside his breast pocket once more, turns away and starts to head towards the exit. However, Albert speaks up just in time: ”now you wait just a moment, aren’t you going to open it.” The amusement in his voice was evident.

“Yes, we are very curious to hear what your admirer says.” William adds. “No.” Louis says, firmly with his back still facing them. He feels his cheeks and ears grow hot for what he’s about to say next: “I wish to read the contents inside this envelope in private. It is addressed to myself and myself alone. Now if you’ll please excuse me.” He exits into the hallway but not before hearing William laugh and respond “That is absolutely okay Louis. We were just teasing, no need to sound so serious.” “Indeed, we respect your decision. But, in case you do change your mind, we'll be right here!” Albert adds before seeing Louis slip completely out of view. Alone again, and this time inside the kitchen, Louis pulls out the envelope. Finally, curiosity overwhelms him and he opens it right away. He takes out and unfolds the white sheet of paper inside. He reads the letter...

This person wrote about how thankful they were able to meet someone like him in their lifetime. And despite only being able to see and interact with him only two times a month, they cherished every moment. The information he chose to share with them about his life, though very brief and extremely vague, made them feel happy. This person apologized for being a coward and not confessing in person, for they feared it would be unwise. For they knew his heart was out of reach, but not because he was an unkind or dismissive person, it was because they sensed that his mind and heart was already preoccupied with something greater. Moreover, they recognized him for his kindness and honorable nature. He was never one to look down upon them and always showed genuine interest in hearing them talk about their life. Never failed to treat them as an equal --a human being, with dignity and respect. Such a thing is unheard of among noblemen such as himself. He truly was an inspiration. They made reference to his brothers, the ones he spoke so highly about at times, that they should also feel grateful to have a person like him worry and take care of them. Finally, he reached the end of the semi long letter, this person thanked him for his time and for having read the letter in its entirety. They also confessed to purposefully writing this letter shortly before they left the country permanently. Meaning, by the time he receives this letter they would already have left. That being said, they still hope to see him again one day if they should ever return to Great Britain. They will continue to pray for his happiness and wellbeing. The last sentence reads: “with all my love, please take care.”

With that, he folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope; which he then put back into his inner breast pocket. He stood in place silently for a few seconds before a small smile crept upon his face. He then walked over to grab his apron to start preparing lunch as promised.

Notes:

Once again, most likely OOC but I’m still proud of this. This was based on some random headcannon I had that the Moriarty brothers get fan mail from time to time because of how handsome they are lol. I hope someone enjoys this.

[courtlyharlequin]

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot,  not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over.  We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read. 

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture. 

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together.  Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then. 

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable. 

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

 You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind? 

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows.  His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup. 

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone.  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. 

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken. 

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too. 

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations. 

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was,  you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd. 

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[  Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm. 

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others. 

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out.  Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.  

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know. 

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle. 

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin. 

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria”  on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all?  It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic? 

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you  enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral. 

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends.  He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone.  You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly. 

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks-  but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride? 

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings.  Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n). 

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!”  you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him. 

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten. 

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue. 

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing. 

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her.  If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice. 

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair.  His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

“Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair..  You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair. 

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”

[atsuumus]

set, confess | tobio kageyama

pairing - tobio kageyama x reader

synopsis - in which kageyama runs away from you every time you try to confess to him, and you don’t know why.

word count - 2.08k

he has to be doing this on purpose. you can come up with no other explanation why every time you approach him with a gift in your hand and a confession on your lips, he simply takes the little cardboard box, gives you a curious, vaguely concerned glance, and thanks you for the treat before running off with his milk. you can never think of anything else to give him. it’s always milk. you’re pretty sure the button for milk on the vending machine is irreversibly dented inwards by now, both from his aggressive jabs and your constant presses. every single time you finally pluck up enough courage to even consider telling him of the feelings that bubble up in your heart ( which, if you’re being honest, is pretty much every other week, seeing how your friends’ constant pestering and teasing always bring you to proclaim that you’ll actually tell him this time, and then never get the chance to ) and slip a few coins into the worn white vending machine in exchange for a packet of milk, you end up watching the blue words printed on its surface slowly get further and further away as the boy named tobio kageyama runs towards the gym a little bit away from the main school building. it’s like the tiny blue smudge in his hands is mocking you. calling you an idiot for buying one after another for a boy who always runs away before you can ever say anything.

by now, you’re convinced that he knows you like him, doesn’t like you back, and is, in fact, purposefully avoiding you so he doesn’t have to hear your confession and brutally reject you. no matter what hitoka says, that has to be the case. you know you can trust her when she swears every time he walks into the gym with a packet of milk you bought him, he seems happier. and every time hinata teases him with a big grin and a “ did y/n buy that for you ? ” he gets all red and flustered and tells him to shut up, because yes, you did, and why would that matter. she says kageyama likes you back. and while you’d trust hitoka with your life and all your secrets, you aren’t so sure you take her word for it. after all, if kageyama really liked you back, as she said, then wouldn’t he actually stop and listen to what you had to say instead of taking his milk packet and running ? if you didn’t like him this much, you’d report him for daylight robbery. the fact that you technically did buy it for him anyways is irrelevant.

you’ve had enough at this point. you’re quickly running out of patience ( and money ) and your heart just physically cannot take this anymore. all you want to do is tell him so he can say no and you can move on. why can’t he stay still long enough to hear you out ? it’s so frustrating. you’re so frustrated. you hate it here. it kinda, really, sucks. you are very, very close to knocking him out and tying him to a chair, just so he can’t go running off to practice the minute the milk packet’s in his hand. all you’d need is some rope and a baseball bat. it’s very possible. the more you think about it, the closer you are to googling where you can buy a baseball bat.

the reasonable part of your brain talks you out of it. it is pretty illegal, and you don’t want to go to jail. that is strictly a last resort. instead, you decide to simply attend the volleyball club’s match ( because what could be more cliche than that ? ) and catch him before he goes home. hitoka's always asked you to attend a match with her, so it should be fine.

hitoka gladly meets up with you at the stadium the next afternoon. you didn’t have time to buy milk for kageyama, and you hand feels strangely empty without that little white packet. you’ve only ever come across volleyball in physical education - the little volleyball segment that’s part of the curriculum is the only experience you’ve had with the sport. hitoka meets up with you as promised and brings you with her to see the team before their match. you only really know the first years - hinata greets you with a smile and a cheerful welcome. tsukishima and yamaguchi are people you’ve seen in passing, and you wave awkwardly at them. the second and third years you bow to. kiyoko, the third-year manager, gives you a smile and thanks you for taking the time to come down and watch. you stand next to hitoka and try your best not to catch kageyama’s eyes, though you see him frown at you every now and then. 

you catch his hand just before you join hitoka in the stands. he seems to holt a little at your touch, but he doesn't pull away. you wonder why. " g-good luck, " you actually meet his eyes this time, and you're surprised to see pink decorating his cheeks. his palm is rough but warm against yours, and you can't help but notice how small your hand is compared to his. for some reason, it makes you soft. he doesn't respond and you let go, turning to run up the stairs after hitoka, cheeks burning red. your palm tingles a little, like your skin is trying to remember the feeling of his hand in yours.

okay, so maybe there's a chance he likes you. at least, that's what you think, before the match starts and you catch him looking at you like you’re a cockroach who snuck into his court. ( you don’t know this, but it’s just because you watching him play makes him nervous for some reason, and he doesn’t know how to process and react accordingly. ) you see him and hinata bicker over something a couple of times, but you have no idea about what. the rest of the team seems to find it amusing - two second years you know as tanaka and nishinoya pat kageyama's back once or twice. you do wonder why kageyama’s cheeks go bright pink every time. ( you don’t know this either, but it’s because hinata says he’s been showing off because you’re here and he likes you and he refuses to admit it. ) you’ve never really liked volleyball to the point where you’d want to play professionally, but you even with your inexperience, you know that they’re good. it’s pretty impressive. you make a mental note to attend another match when hitoka invites you. 

the match ends way too soon - karasuno wins, your voice is very much gone, you’re pretty much exhausted at this point. you’re also severely dehydrated. you might be dying. but it was worth it, because you don’t think you’ve ever seen kageyama that happy. the thought only serves to drive a stake further into your heart, the notion that only something like volleyball will ever make him smile like that - not you, not anything you could ever do. you almost chicken out and run all the way home, but you’re not sure whether you’ll ever have a chance like this again - maybe he’ll be nice when he’s breaking your heart into little pieces, still riding that victory high. 

you start down the stairs towards the doors that lead to the court, where you know you’ll bump into him. on the way, you notice a big white vending machine, not unlike the one back at school, stocked with everything from water to soda to fruit juice. a familiar white packet catches your eye. subconsciously, you pause. it’s like you’re on autopilot - you fish your wallet out of your bag and slip a few coins into the machine, gently pressing the button you want. it’s slightly more expensive than the milk you get from the vending machine back at school, even though it’s the exact same product, right down to those damn blue letters you’ve proclaimed Enemy Number One. it just feels right, you think, as you duck down to collect the little milk packet from the machine. you wrap your fingers around it tightly, the tension going out of your shoulders every so slightly. it feels like an old friend, at this point. you can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

“ kageyama ! ” you catch him leaving the court, still in his jersey, wiping the sweat from his forehead. he freezes when he hears you call his name, shoulders tensing, and your heart sinks a little bit. he probably doesn’t want to talk to you ; that’s why he’s been running away, why he’s been avoiding you. his eyebrows furrow when he turns to look at you, nose scrunching ever so slightly. that cannot be a good sign. ( the tops of his cheekbones are dusted in hues of red and pink, but that’s only because of the game, right. . . ? wrong. ) 

here you go. it’s long overdue. finally, he’s standing right in front of you. you have to be quick, or he’ll run away again - whether it’s because he doesn’t want to hear this or because he has to go back to the team, he’ll slip through your fingers again. you take a deep breath, before hesitantly extending the little packet of milk towards him. he mutters a soft “ thank you, ” as he reaches out for it, and that’s when the words slip past your lips - “ i-i like you ! ”

he pauses, and when you peek upwards to meet his eyes, you see the confusion swirling in them, the bemused pout on his lips. did he really not know. . . ? “ i like you too. . . ? we’re friends. . . ? ”

you know what. you’re only very slightly surprised.

you’re on the verge of tears, you swear. you’re going to cry. and you don’t cry easily. it’s a mixture of relief, frustration, and a sudden overwhelming urge to simultaneously throw the milk packet at his face and die of sheer relief. inhale, exhale. all this while, you thought he hated you - all this while, he was simply too thick and too focused on volleyball to notice. you hate him. so much. you feel as if your soul has left your body.

“ i. . . no, ” you’re not sure how to continue. your statement only serves to confuse him more. you can’t believe you fell for this man. “ i like you. like, i want to be your girlfriend. you know. that kind of like. ”

every word has you curling into yourself slightly, tucking your chin into the collar of your uniform as a sudden wave of embarrassment washes over you. the hand still holding the milk packet out to him is kind of sore. you wonder if he’ll take it, or if you’ve embarrassed him too.

a choked sound escapes his throat, and you look back up at him in slight alarm - you never considered the possibility that he would quite literally choke and die at your confession, and you wonder what you’ll do if he starts going blue due to a lack of oxygen. you’re about to run off for one of his teammates or something for help, but then he takes the milk packet from your hands and very, very shyly replaces it with his own, pressing his palm against yours like the world’s most awkward handshake. his fingers barely brush your skin, like he’s scared to touch you, and you find that you just really want to hold his hand properly. you have no idea what he’s doing - it makes your heart skip a beat anyways. you don’t really mind this awkward handshake thing. it’s kind of endearing. you’re also just a simp.

he clears his throat, cheeks burning red, and mumbles something, so soft that you can barely hear it. you have a good idea of what it might be, but just to be sure, you ask him to say it again. the words that greet you must be the best things you’ve heard in your entire life, and you’ve heard a lot of things.

“ w-well, i like you too. ”

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Soma week 2021 Day 2: Healing

All too young was Maka Albarn exposed to the bitter resentment of a crumbling marriage.

She never had to bear witness to domestic violence or explosive arguments between her parents. No glasses were thrown against walls, no doors were slammed, no vitriolic exchanges that ended in another charging out the door and speeding out of the driveway.

It had been slow, and cold - like watching frost spread on a windowpane until nothing could be made out from the other side. The days when her parents loved each other, smiled while in the other’s presence were nothing more than distant and dream-like memories.

“I love you” was only something a desperate and conniving man said to get the outcome he desired. Not that it was any use. Papa could throw that phrase around all day, and yet Mama walked out of their lives all the same. 

It also meant nothing when it came from her mother’s own mouth moments before she stepped out of the threshold of their front door for the final time. If her mother loved her, she would have taken her only daughter with her instead of leaving her with a blubbering fool.

Maka shook this thought out of her head. 

No. Mama does love me - of course she does. She just has important work to do, she’ll come back for me when she’s ready. When she’s healed.

A feminine giggle could be heard from down the hall - from her father’s room. It effectively tore her from her thoughts.

So she hadn’t been hearing things. He really had the audacity to sneak a woman into their house for a little sleep-over not more than a week after the separation. As if she wouldn’t notice.

Well, she hadn’t heard the woman come in late last night, but surely Spirit was aware that his daughter was always an early-riser. 

She stepped out of her room, passed the sinners' den that was her father’s bedroom and into the kitchen to sit at the table with her book - and wait.

She wanted to make this as difficult for him as possible. She wanted to see the intruder for herself, to look them both in the eyes.

It hadn’t taken long before the snakes slithered out. She heard the master bedroom door creak open as hushed voices filled the hall leading out to the living area. She could distinctly make out the sound of her father hushing his secret guest.

As soon as they appeared in the living room and in full view of the kitchen, Maka set her book down and cleared her throat purposefully.

Spirit’s face drained of all the light that had been present only moments before. He looked as though someone had aimed a gun at his skull and demanded his wallet, his hand quickly removed from the mystery woman’s hip like it had been burned.

“M-Maka! Oh, hello sweetheart … what are you doing up so early?” he forced a smile, but his eyes conveyed nothing but guilt.

“I was having trouble sleeping. With all the noise.”

If he hadn’t already looked ready to crawl into a ditch, he certainly did after that comment.

His bedtime companion let out an airy laugh of discomfort before quickly excusing herself from the house she hadn’t belonged in to begin with.

The sound of the front door closing behind her had been deafening in the remaining silence between father and daughter.

“Maka-” Spirit tried to begin, but he clamped his jaw shut when she shot up from her seat, the chair scraping severely on the tile behind her.

She leveled him with a stare that he was familiar with as she tried to emulate the sternness of her mother to the best of her ability. He withered under it.

“I hate you.”

He stammered uselessly, his eyes glassy as she turned on her heel and made her way out the house, slamming the door with all the force she could muster.

Her vision warped and blurred as she stomped through her neighborhood and made her way out to a main street. 

She soon broke into a sprint, lungs burning along with her eyes as her feet carried her away with little thought as to where she was going. Her throat squeezed tight, making breathing all the more difficult but her pace did not falter until she came to a full stop in front of her subconscious choice of destination. 

She stood before a familiar grouping of apartments with faded but colorful walls. She’d been here only a handful of times, just to kick Soul’s ass into gear when he wasn’t studying like he should be. For the most part, she had no need to visit his apartment because he met her at the academy. 

Why him of all people? Why is he the first person I wanted to see when I feel like this?

She liked Soul just fine. Trusted him in battle at the very least. 

But she wasn’t sure how much he really fit the description of friend. They stuck close together out of necessity. They didn’t exactly play nice with each other all the time - he was a difficult person to get close to, stubborn and distrustful. Perhaps she was too.

Even while her mind continued to question her reason for coming to him, her body moved of its own volition, feet taking her up the worn concrete steps to his door towards the end of the hall.

It wasn’t fair for her to show up here on a weekend and drag him out of bed to dump her problems on him, yet she pounded on his door like she had every right to anyway.

It took him quite a bit of time, but she heard someone growl “what the fuck” from behind the door before it swung open revealing her very irate weapon partner in pajamas with his already ridiculous hair in a nest of pure bedhead.

The hostility softened from his baggy eyes the moment he recognized the wetness on her cheeks.“What’s wrong?” he tried to ask only to get crushed into a hug seconds later.

She sobbed into his shoulder and clutched the back of his Nirvana shirt like her life depended on it. She was immediately embarrassed by her behavior, but she had trouble closing the floodgates at such a point of mental volatility and decided she’d much rather bury her face against him than meet his concerned gaze. 

It took a few moments, but his body finally relaxed and he rested his hands timidly on her shoulder blades, letting one of his thumbs rub circles in an awkward attempt to soothe her.

She was almost caught by surprise when his uncertain contact tightened into almost a protective grip, and he allowed his entire palms to smooth over her back.

“Here, get inside,” he murmured against her ear, slowly releasing her and guiding her by the arm into the safety of his living room.

He only motioned for her to sit down on the couch before trudging to the kitchen to rustle around in his cupboards.

She felt a twinge of gratefulness for the opportunity to clear her face and steady her breathing as she listened to the sound of him starting up the microwave. She wasn’t some baby to be coddled after all. 

She didn’t get much time to compose herself before he was making his way back to her, a small saucer with a cup of hot tea rattling in his hand.

He set it down on the coffee table in front of her and took a seat on the couch beside her. He sat quite a few inches away, but reached out to pat her arm for a moment. Ah, back to awkward. 

“Uh - Tea’s for you. Chamomile, is that fine?” 

She nodded, carefully taking the mug from its place and bringing it to her lips, allowing the steam to settle into her face and relax her for a moment. 

He didn’t say anything else, just nodded and hunched his shoulders forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he stared in front of him at nothing in particular.

Either he wasn’t in the mood to play therapist and prod her for information or he was trying to respect her boundaries. Maybe it was a combination of both.

She found her voice after a few more sips of tea, offering him a vague complaint.

“I can’t stand to be around him anymore.”

She could feel that he was staring straight at her side profile, but she couldn’t meet the boy’s unnerving red eyes for the moment.

She fiddled with the cup in front of her instead, gathering her thoughts as his eyes patiently drilled through her peripheral.

“He just repeats the same dumb mistakes. Over and over again. How can someone be so stupid?” she spat, thinking of a hundred crueler words that could describe her father even better than stupid could.

Soul looked away for a moment, scratching the back of his head.

“He is pretty stupid, I’m not gonna argue that. I think I’d rather say that he’s selfish and optimistic though. He knows what he does is fucked. He knows, and he still does it because he hangs on to the hope that maybe he won’t face the consequences.”

“Well, he’s faced plenty of consequences! My mother is gone, he’s going to have a divorce, and I hate him! How is that not a consequence to him?!” she cried out, placing her mug down with enough force to send droplets of tea around the table.

Soul seemed unfazed by her rough treatment of his personal belongings, shrugging half-heartedly. “Again, not saying he isn’t a complete idiot. Just saying there’s more layers to it. Call him what he is - a bastard. Shouldn’t blame it all on stupidity, that’s lettin’ him off easy.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a heavy sigh, already feeling most of the fight leave her. “I understand why Mama left. Yet, her decision still hurts so much, Soul. Did she not think about me at all?”

His lips set into a tight line and he was wringing his hands out in a clear sign of discomfort. Had she broached a weird subject with him? Did he have issues with his own parents like this?

It occurred to her that she honestly didn’t have a single clue about her partner’s personal life prior to joining the DWMA. Did that make her a bad partner?

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly towards the floor, “It’s normal to hurt from something like that. I’d like to tell you that she won’t stay away for long, but I don’t really know that, Maka. I’m sorry.”

“I know -  I’m not expecting you to have answers. It just helps that you’re listening, I guess. So, thanks for that,” she tried to force a smile, but Soul was entirely unconvinced of it, only offering a sympathetic quirk of his lips in return. Still, she continued, “There’s some messed up part of me that wishes they could have just stayed together. That somehow things could go back to the way they were when I was younger, like none of this ever happened.”

He was staring at the floor again, but quickly met her eyes with a dull, haunting sadness that seemed beyond his years.

“It’s better that they split. Nothing good comes from forcing it just to keep up an image, trust me.”

The way his voice trembled like his throat was closing up encouraged Maka to change the subject.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whispered, drawing her knees up to her chest as she felt that familiar, unwelcome heat gather behind her eyes again.

“Then don’t. You know I’ve got the extra bedroom. It’s pretty normal for partners to live together, ya know.”

Her eyebrows jumped to her hairline at this suggestion. “Like, I can just move in here? with you?”

“I mean, yeah. Why not?”

She couldn’t really come up with many downsides when she truly thought about it. It’d be helpful to have her weapon partner close by. There was the possibility that they could drive each other crazy enough to completely ruin their already hard-earned resonance.

And yet - that wasn’t a very good excuse. What kind of flimsy excuse of partners would they be if they couldn’t maintain decent resonance rates just from spending more time together?

They were stronger than that. This could work.

Another thought tugged at her heart. “I would be leaving behind my family.”

“We could be our own family,” he asserted with confidence, but it wavered when he saw the way she looked at him - like he had suggested something romantic between them. His cheeks and the tips of his ears lit up pink and he immediately backpedaled, “Uh- like, partners? Right? We have each others’ backs … like a family,” he trailed off, scratching his cheek and looking anywhere but at her face.

For all his snark and stoicism she realized he was rather shy. It was kind of cute. What the hell did I just think?! She attempted to compensate for her own internal embarrassment by bumping his shoulder roughly with her own.

“Okay. sounds good, partner. So what’s the plan for the rest of the day? And don’t tell me you’re just going to sit around and watch TV.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that. It’s Saturday, for fuck’s sake.”

“No, that isn’t engaging enough,” she said, flicking his cheek and earning herself a scowl in response.

“Fine. I have an idea for a therapeutic activity,” he said as he got up and crouched down beside the cabinet under the TV, pulling out two game remotes.

Maka was already shaking her head in disapproval.

“C’mon bookworm. Play me in Mortal Kombat. You can pull my spine out - it’s fun and the violence will make you feel better, promise.”

“I’m not playing some brain-rotting, man fantasy, thank you very much.”

He ignored her entirely and began working on hooking up his console.

“Just pretend you’re fighting your old man,” he suggested over his shoulder.

She smiled despite herself and placed a light kick against his back from her spot on the couch. “Fine, but you have to come with me to Papa’s place later today to help me get my stuff.”

“Yeah, sure thing. How much you wanna bet I could make him cry?”

In that moment, she came to the conclusion that she had chosen a good family. 

She was going to be okay.

[kjack89]

Impasse (Pt. 2/3)

Continued from here. 

E/R, Modern AU, former relationship. Slightly heavier angst this time.

Between Grantaire taking a nap and Enjolras getting surprisingly engrossed in the complicated geopolitical reality of the novel he had picked out, they managed to mostly avoid each other for the rest of the day, which was truly an impressive feat, considering that the only other room in the tiny apartment was the bathroom. But after Grantaire had woken up and made himself some instant noodles (Enjolras had already eaten a granola bar while Grantaire slept), he started working on some sketches, and Enjolras knew from experience that the man could lose himself for hours in that.

Enjolras, in the meantime, eventually got bored with the novel and decided to work on drawing up some plans for an upcoming demonstration. It was a comfortable, well-worn silence that stretched between the two as they worked. They had done this many, many times before, though usually Enjolras would punctuate the silence by asking a few rhetorical questions out loud that Grantaire would be unable to stop himself from answering.

There was none of that this time and yet still, the silence was more companionable than either man had managed to be in...well, since they ended this relationship, or arrangement, or whatever you wanted to call it.

Which was probably why it was never going to last.

“I’m going to bed,” Grantaire announced, and Enjolras looked up, blinking owlishly at him before turning to glance at the clock. He was surprised to see it was already midnight, and he shook his head once to try to clear it. “Sure,” he said, “I’ll be there—”

He broke off, realizing in an instant that he had almost automatically responded, as he had hundreds of times before, ‘I’ll be there soon’, followed inevitably by an off-hand, ‘I love you.’

His eyes met Grantaire’s, and he knew in an instant that Grantaire had been thinking the same thing, that his mind too had immediately leapt to all the nights they had spent like this, to the times when Grantaire would come up behind Enjolras and drape himself over his shoulders to whisper in his ear that he was going to bed and that Enjolras should join him, or when Grantaire would simply drop a kiss onto Enjolras’s head as he walked past, or even to those nights when they’d had a fight but Grantaire would show up at Enjolras’s apartment unannounced anyway and let himself in without a word of apology or explanation, because he had never needed one.

But there was none of that this night, and Enjolras quickly looked away, feeling his face color. He cleared his throat, trying to cover what he had been about to say. “I mean, uh, I’m sure I’ll be going to bed soon, too.”

Grantaire jerked a nod and quickly peeled his hoodie off and shucked his jeans before burrowing under the blanket on the couch in just his boxers and t-shirt. “Night,” he said, and Enjolras glanced over at him.

“Goodnight,” he said, though his voice sounded strained to his own ears.

This time, Grantaire quite quickly fell asleep, but when Enjolras finally gave up on his own attempts a work not long after, the same couldn’t be said for him, and he was left staring up at the ceiling for a long time before sleep finally took him.

----------

For the first time in longer than Enjolras could remember, he wasn’t woken by the alarm on his phone, but instead by the smell of eggs cooking. He sat up slowly, and it took him a minute to remember where he was.

Grantaire was standing in front of the hot plate in the little kitchen area, still wearing just a t-shirt and boxers, his tousled hair indicating he hadn’t been up long either. “Morning,” he said through a yawn. “Hope you don’t mind scrambled – we didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Scrambled is fine,” Enjolras said, feeling like the exchange was unusually formal, since Grantaire had made him breakfast more times than he could count and knew that Enjolras wasn’t picky when it came to how he liked his eggs.

Then again, that was probably the reason for the formality.

He had barely managed to sit up before Grantaire handed him a plate, seemingly avoiding his eyes. “Eat up,” he said gruffly. “And be prepared – whoever was in charge of restocking this place after the last riot forgot to get coffee.”

Enjolras groaned. “That’ll make for a fun next few mornings,” he said with a sigh.

“You think we’ll be here that long?” Grantaire asked glumly, and Enjolras just shrugged.

They again lapsed into silence as they ate, and as soon as Grantaire finished, in seemingly record time, he told Enjolras, “Dibs on the shower.”

Enjolras blinked. “Sure,” he said, “that way I can do the dishes since you cooked—”

But Grantaire had already disappeared into the bathroom, and Enjolras groaned and flopped back down on the futon. He scrubbed a hand across his face before sitting up again and finally getting out of bed. “Note to self,” he muttered, “next time you get stuck in a safe house for a few days, make sure it’s without your ex and with some coffee.”

Grantaire took an unnaturally long time in the shower – and Enjolras tried not to think about what he could be doing in there – and by the time he did emerge, Enjolras’s mood, exacerbated by lack of caffeine, had showered. “Took you long enough,” he muttered as he brushed past Grantaire. “Hope you left me some hot water.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t purposefully sabotage your perfect hair like that,” Grantaire shot back, though he paused, his expression unreadable. “Shame there’s not enough hot water in the world to do something about your face, though.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Same could be said for you,” he said curtly.

Grantaire’s eyes widened, and Enjolras realized a moment too late that he had crossed a line, and he flushed. “I – I didn’t,” he mumbled, wincing, “I mean, uh, that was uncalled for. And mean, even for me.”

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a genuine laugh. “No, it was a good one,” he said, a little grudgingly. “Besides, I set myself up for that one.” 

Enjolras managed a tentative smile. “Well, I’m sure you’ll return the favor at some point,” he said bracingly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, this hair takes some time.”

“I’m well aware,” Grantaire said with a smile that was a little too soft, and he quickly recovered, his smile disappearing.

Enjolras slipped into the bathroom, catching sight of his reflection in the fogged mirror. Grantaire hadn’t been lying – his face was a mess, courtesy of the black eye that had swollen overnight to take up almost a quarter of his face. He shook his head and huffed a sigh before getting into the shower and hoping that what remained of the hot water would be enough to relax him and get the weird interactions from that morning out of his mind.

He was mostly right – the hot water did soothe him, and he was in a much better mood when he got out of the shower than he had been going in. But all it took was one look at Grantaire perched on the couch, sketchbook balanced on his knees, and he was right back where he started.

Which meant the only option left was to retreat to the futon and return to his own work and ignoring Grantaire as best as he could.

But his resolve was tested sooner than expected. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet when Grantaire threw his sketchpad down, clearly frustrated. “I need a drink,” he announced to no one in particular, not waiting for Enjolras to respond before making his way over to the cabinet where the liquor was stashed.

Enjolras bit back his automatic response of ‘isn’t it a little early to start drinking?’ because he knew it wasn’t worth it. And besides, it almost certainly wouldn’t stop Grantaire, who apparently decided to forgo a glass and swig bourbon straight from the bottle.

That in and of itself was distracting enough, but it was made worse when Enjolras finally straightened, glanced at the clock and reluctantly asked Grantaire, “Do you want any lunch?”

“Want,” Grantaire repeated, his eyes already glassy. “Want is a peculiar word, don’t you think? Want...desire...and that’s not even getting to what we need, need for life, need for love, need for…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Is that a no to lunch, then?” he asked, a little grimly.

Grantaire blinked as if just realizing what Enjolras had asked, and laughed. “Liquid lunch for me, I think,” he said cheerfully, raising his bottle in a salute.

“Fine with me,” Enjolras muttered, in no mood to put up with Grantaire when he was like this.

By the time he had made himself some cup noodles, Grantaire had all but drained the first bottle of bourbon, and Enjolras arched an eyebrow as he watched Grantaire lurch his way into the kitchen to procure a second bottle. “Normally I know better than to say anything about you’re drinking,” he remarked, “but are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I am stuck,” Grantaire said through gritted teeth as he attempted to screw the bottle cap off, “in a 250 square foot box, with my ex-boyfriend, and no window to the outside world. What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

As if to emphasize his point, the cap came flying off of the bottle and ricocheted across the room. Grantaire looked vaguely surprised before he almost doubled over with laughter. 

Enjolras wished he was remotely as amused. “Fine,” he muttered, “but I’m not cleaning up your puke. Again.”

“You say that now, and yet…”

Grantaire trailed off ominously before swaying his way back to the couch, where he plopped down with a sigh. Enjolras shook his head but went back to work, or tried to, anyway, until Grantaire decided to start monologuing. 

“I am thirsty,” he announced, taking a large swing from the bottle. “I am thirsty, and yet I drink. Is this not a conundrum? And yet, maybe what I’m thirsty for isn’t more to drink. But why drink at all, if not to satisfy thirst for something?” He flung a dramatic hand across the back of the couch, hitting the cushion with a thwack. “I drink to forget life, to forget every cruel twist that brought me here and that makes me go on still. What’s even the point? Day in, day out, we wake, we work, we sleep, we do it all over again. If I wish to make some indulgences in between, whether food or drink or fucking, who can blame me?” His eyes rolled over to Enjolras, and a small smile lit his face. “Well, you can blame me. You, with your perfect morals, and perfect fucking hair…” He trailed off before shaking his head again. “But us mere mortals aren’t like that,” he said with a sigh. “The people you fight for? They’re much more like me. Is that why, then? Save the cheerleader, save the world, or whatever? Though forgive me for casting myself as a cheerleader in that little parable, such as it is.”

He took another swig of bourbon. “Men are fucking trash,” he said. “Humanity, really. Might as well wipe us all out and start over. Maybe we’d do it better. Maybe we’d make every fucking mistake all over again. But one thing’s for sure, we can’t keep going like this. Not when it’s broken. Not when all I want is to put it all back together again but it’s in five thousand pieces and all I’ve got is chewing gum and an overwhelming sense of futility.”

Enjolras sighed and rubbed his temples. “I have never in my life met someone who loves the sound of his own voice as much as you do,” he said tiredly, and Grantaire just grinned lazily at him.

“Who else would love my voice if not me?” he asked. “You used to, once, or maybe you didn’t – I can never be sure.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed, really not wanting to get into this now, especially with Grantaire like this, but Grantaire ignored him.

“‘Course, maybe that’s why things ended the way they did,” he mused. “Maybe this is how it was always supposed to be. Or maybe—”

Whatever other option he was going to present was cut off by him tipping forward off of the couch. “Grantaire!” Enjolras half-shouted, jumping to his feet and rushing to Grantaire’s side. He turned Grantaire over and let out his breath in a huff when he saw Grantaire still grinning up at him, a little dazedly. “Jesus Christ, I thought—”

He broke off when Grantaire reached up to cup his cheek with one calloused hand. The touch was so gentle, and so familiar, that despite himself, Enjolras leaned into it. Grantaire searched his eyes for a moment before telling him, “I think...maybe you were right.”

“About what?” Enjolras asked.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

Before Enjolras could respond, Grantaire surged forward, kissing him. Enjolras was so surprised, he didn’t pull away at first, which Grantaire clearly took as an invitation, his mouth opening against Enjolras’s with a sigh, his hand cradling Enjolras’s cheek like it still belonged there.

For one extremely tempting moment, Enjolras almost let him continue, his baser instincts arguing that there was no harm, that they had done this so many times before, once more couldn’t possibly hurt.

And he was probably right.

It wouldn’t hurt him.

But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would hurt Grantaire. Which was all he had been trying to avoid in the first place.

So despite how much he really didn’t want to, he caught Grantaire’s wrist with his hand, and he pulled away. “I am right,” he told Grantaire, as gently as he could. “This is a bad idea.”

“But those can be the best kind,” Grantaire told him, his eyes dark.

Enjolras shook his head. “Not this time.” He stood and reached down to help Grantaire to his feet. “Not like this.”

Grantaire made a face as Enjolras pulled him to his feet. “If this is because I’m drunk, let me remind you, that hasn’t always stopped you in the past.”

“It’s not just because you’re drunk,” Enjolras told him. “Even though you are, and if I let go of you, you’d fall over again.”

“Calumny and lies.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Grantaire’s head lolled against Enjolras’s shoulder as they shuffled toward the futon. “Bed,” he agreed, his eyes fluttering closed. “I like bed.”

“I know you do,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire cracked one eye open. “I like bed better with you in it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I am, as always, impressed by your dedication to shooting your shot at the worst possible time.”

“It’s the only kind of shot I ever want shot at you.”

Grantaire’s voice was suddenly very small, and very serious, and he sounded more sober than he had at any point that day. Enjolras swallowed against the lump that rose unexpectedly in his throat. “Well,” he said roughly, “you don’t have to worry about that in here.”

Grantaire looked relieved, and he curled up on the futon, his eyes fluttering closed. “Good,” he murmured. “Then let’s stay here and never leave.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, automatically reaching out to gently stroke Grantaire’s hair like he had done a million times before. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover and remember that we have no coffee.”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand without opening his eyes. “That’s future Grantaire’s problem,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Enjolras laughed again. “It sure is,” he agreed. “Now get some sleep.”

He turned to go, but Grantaire caught his hand. “Enj—” he started, his voice breaking. “I miss you.”

Enjolras swallowed again before carefully detangling his hand from Grantaire’s. “I know,” he said, his voice so low he was pretty sure Grantaire probably couldn’t even hear him. “So do I.”

>>Read part 3 here>>

[lottiejames]

Reunion

After months of internal work (and Viperion's good word), Ladybug has granted Chloe Bourgeois the bee miraculous, much to Viperion's surprise. Sequel to Call on Me

Or read it here: on AO3 (Call on Me)

Chloe stared at the simple box in front of her, seemingly innocent against the expensive fabric of her duvet. She didn’t know which was racing faster: her thoughts or her pulse. She didn’t actually think she’d be here again, no matter what her wildest fantasies contained, no matter how much it was talked about within herself, between her and him, between them, between any combination of the other holders. Yet, Ladybug had come and gone with a promise, and perhaps a warning, that she’d be back. The weight of it all sat heavily on her shoulders. Steeling herself, she reached for the box and opened it.

A golden glow swirled, then suspended in the air, was one of the beings she had hurt the most, “How may I serve you, my queen?”

The tears she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back sprung from her eyes, trailing down her face. Blue eyes followed their paths with concern, “Don’t cry, my queen,”

“Oh, Pollen,” Chloe whined, arms wrapping themselves around her legs, “I'm so sorry for everything I put you through,”

The yellow kwami floated up to her, wiping away a tear, “Oh, Chloe, I’ve been around a long, long time. I’ve seen many things, I’ve done many things. While it doesn’t justify any of it, I understand. I’ve seen the fear, the insecurities overcome my own holders and holders of the other miraculous,”

“It doesn’t make it...I shouldn’t have...I’m so sorry. I know words won’t ever be enough,”

Pollen smiled at Chloe, “Then show me with your actions, with changed behavior,”

“You’ll really give me another chance? Will you really forgive me?”

“I will. Ladybug and I have spoken at length about you, as well as the other kwamis giving me updates from their perspectives. I’ve long since forgiven you, Chloe,”

More tears spilled with a chuckle, “You are truly miraculous, Pollen,”

An overexaggerated sigh escaped the kwami, “Puns? Have you really been hanging around that cat so much in my absence?”

“Oh, Pollen, I don’t even know who that is,” She wiped away her tears, “I still only know the ones from...that day,”

Pollen nodded wisely, “Ah, yes. How are things going with Sass’s holder?”

Chloe’s cheeks suddenly burned as she picked at the loose thread on her duvet cover, “I’m not sure I know what you mean,”

“You’ll tell me, sooner rather than later,” Pollen shrugged, “I thought I overheard Ladybug saying she’d be back to pick you up for patrol?”

Chloe nodded, cheeks still stained, “Yes, she should be back soon,”

“And we are surprising him, yes?” Pollen pretended to be looking at her nonexistent fingernails, much like Chloe used to do around her.

“Yes,”

“Just say the magic words then, my queen,”

Despite the lingering guilt, the bundle of nerves, the schoolgirlish glee, Chloe smiled brightly, “Pollen, buzz on.”

***

“The end of your sector will be just over there,” Carapace pointed into the distance, after consulting the map in his hands.

“Where that wig shop is?” Viperion clarified, eyes squinting trying to see it from their rooftop view.

“Right there, yes. I was trying to have it by the gelato shop you like so much, but Ladybug didn’t like that idea,”

“I let Chat convince me to take one break during some random patrol and now it haunts me all the time,” he waved around dramatically.

“To be fair, it’s probably more him than you. His sector is getting changed too,”

Viperion turned around, “Why all the sector changes? We just changed them a few months ago,”

Carapace shuffled his feet, “Reasons,”

“Reasons?”

“Yep,”

Viperion folded his arms and continued to stare, “Care to elaborate?”

“Nope,” the map of the Parisian streets was quickly put aside.

Before he could question Carapace any further, separate blurs of orange and black flew past them.

“And that is how the fox outsmarts and outruns the cat,” Rena Rouge announced, her face beaming with a triumphant smile.

“Cheater! There was cheating!” Multiple raised eyebrows fixed on Chat Noir’s face, “There’s no way you knew about the alleyway shortcut, unless...Carapace, you dared betray me?”

Carapace looked away from him as Rena Rouge hugged his arm, “It was well worth the betrayal. Sorry, Kitty,”

As Chat Noir continued his theatrics, Viperion heard muffled voices coming from the stairwell door. His furrowed brows were lost on his companions.

A loud groan of aged metal revealed Ladybug, a knowing smile on her face. It was when she stepped aside, that Viperion felt the breath get knocked out of him.

With the setting Parisian sun as her backdrop, blonde hair gently swaying in the warm breeze, stood a figure draped in yellow and black, gold and night.

“Chloe?”

“Tsk, tsk. You know just as well as everyone else, it’s Queen Bee,” her voice tinkled through the air.

The world blurred at the edges, the voices surrounding him were muffled as if underwater. The only sight he could focus on was the renewed Miraculous holder and she stared right back.

She drew closer to him and before his thoughts caught up with his limbs, he was holding her close. He could smell a faint floral scent, reminiscent of her perfume. Her arms wrapped around him, breathing a sigh of relief at the welcoming.

He pulled away after a moment, eyes taking in her features, missing the light freckles hidden underneath her mask. Amusement looked back at him.

“But how?”

Queen Bee shrugged a shoulder, “Something about patience, dependability, redemption. It seems to have helped to have someone on the inside speaking to my many, many virtues,”

Viperion was vaguely aware of a tension on his cheeks, a product of his grin no doubt.

Coughing rather forcefully, Carapace drew their attention, “Now you know the reason for patrol changes,”

“And I expect,” Ladybug’s blue eyes shifted back and forth between the pair, “that there will be no tomfoolery or ridiculous antics,”

“Of course, you don’t have to worry about any of that,” Queen Bee said with conviction, her posture much like that of a soldier receiving orders from a superior.

“I, also, expect that there will be no secret rendezvous for make out sessions or hero date nights,”

Though her mask hid her freckles, it did nothing to conceal the growing blush on her cheeks. Viperion let out a strangled cough as Chat Noir laughed in the background.

“Understood?” Queen Bee and Viperion nodded quickly, avoiding eye contact with each other, “Good. We need to take in these budding romances in stages after all. Well, Viperion knows the drill. You're free to go home once your sector is done, barring anything happening,"

With that said, Ladybug turned towards Chat Noir, spoke a few words, and soon he was chasing after her. As if on cue, Rena Rouge and Carapace nodded to them and ran off into the night together.

Soon, only the noises from the streets below sounded around them.

“I had no-”

“I must say-”

Both of them chuckled, finally looking at each other.

“You first,” Viperion whispered, eyes skipping across her features.

Queen Bee took a breath, “Thank you. I know that I’ve been trying for a while now, but I really don’t think any of this could have happened without you, your input, your kindness,”

He scratched the back of his head, “I only shared the truth when asked. You’ve done a lot of growing, Chlo, even I can see it,”

“Queen Bee,”

Viperion’s face darkened again, “Ah, yes, of course. It’ll take me a minute to get used to that,”

She reached out and touched his arm, looking up at him to make eye contact, “Thank you, really. I don’t know how to repay you,”

“I’m sure one of us will think of something,” he replied, his thoughts jumping to all the various ways that could happen.

Her features shone with a warm radiance as she stepped closer to him. She raised herself onto tip-toe, closing much of the distance between them. Queen Bee, who soon would be known for her impeccable aim, missed her target on her second first-day as a hero. Viperion, as if on auto-pilot, as if one of her facial features were a magnet, followed her. She leaned in, so did he. She leaned right, so did he. A simple kiss on the cheek was met with lips instead.

It was fleeting, a brief second, but blue eyes flew open when she pulled away. They’d never had a seemingly telepathic connection, not like Ladybug and Chat Noir. In that moment, though, their eyes searched one another and with the most discreet of nods, their lips met properly, purposefully. Viperion’s arms wrapped around her waist as Queen Bee pulled him closer to her. It felt warm, it felt dizzying, it tasted surprisingly sweet - her lip gloss, no doubt. And neither of them knew how long it might have lasted, this culmination of months and months of secret glances, lingering touches, but it was cut short, nevertheless.

A catcall and a forced cough broke them apart, the heat of Paris no longer being the only thing that surrounded them.

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at them, her face conveying all the words she wasn’t saying as Chat Noir made all sorts of jokes and puns in the background.

After the duo left, it was a minute or two before either superhero made any sound.

“So,”

“So?”

“Patrol?” Viperion’s voice cracked ever so slightly.

Queen Bee smirked, regaining control much more quickly than he, “Patrol. Come on Rumplesnakeskin, lead the way, it’s the only time you’ll get to,”

He looked at her, “Really? Rumple-SNAKE-skin?” She shrugged, “Anything but Rumple-SNAKE-skin, please,”

The air carried her laughter.