#13) and today he shoved her out or the room to clean it up himself when she was trying to go to the bathroom but he wouldn't let her speak

[angered-box]

i feel stupid for getting scared at the yelling and threats when they weren't event directed at me they were directed at my sibling

[icey--stars]

Born For Tragedy: Part 13

Series Index

She was tragedy. Nothing except death, fear and pain followed in her wake. When she was young, she was beaten. Now she’s the one doing the beating as an assassin. A mysterious stranger comes to her, paying an absurd amount of money for her to kill Beron Vanserra, and protect the eldest son until the job is done. She stumbles across a story much similar to her own, and knows what must be done.

a/n: this chapter is mostly filler so enjoy :)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

And so, she did stay. She remained in Eris’s room while she recovered from the exhaustion of the Calanmai Ball night. Most of the time, it was just sleeping or resting with the dogs. She finally managed to steal that damned book off his shelves.

She was reading said book when he returned on the 5th day of her being holed up in the room. He’d been checking in of course, but he hadn’t once come back to sleep or anything. Distantly, she hoped he wasn’t working himself to the bone to try and fix the court. Perhaps he was just sleeping in an office or something.

“Ah,” Eris hummed, spotting the title. “Like reading, do you?”

Valda glanced up, shutting the book on her thumb to hold her place. “A few titles,” she admitted. “This one has been taunting me since the first time I cleaned your study.”

Eris chuckled. “I dearly love that book,” he admitted. “Do you like it?”

She scoffed, grinning. “I love it. This novel… it caught my eye in Hewn City, while being trained to be an assassin, and basically any other time I’ve seen it. It’s my favorite book.”

“Mine too,” he chuckled, coming to sit beside her. “Which part is your favorite?” He asked as he began to take off his boots.

“I like the parts where she’s writing about a world like ours,” She admitted. “She uses it as an escape. If this kind of world existed, I would bet we use each other for a sense of escape.”

Eris smiled. “I like that thought,” he said softly. “I quite enjoy the parts where she finally stands up to the idiots in her… whatever other language she’s learning– that class.”

Valda hummed. “That is quite a good part. I have to admit I laughed when she tried to punch them though. She couldn’t even throw a punch!”

“Don’t go after her,” Eris scolded playfully. “She’s trying. Plus they have guns in that world. She doesn’t need to fist fight.”

“Everyone should know how to fist fight Eris!” Valda insisted. “It’s like the backbone of all societies!” As she did so, she slid a piece of paper into the book as a bookmark.

Eris chuckled, grinning as he finally looked up after setting his boots aside. “Are you sure? I think the backbone of any society rests in the different arts.”

She rolled my eyes. “Stop being right,” She groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

Eris grinned as he turned to face her again. “I will never stop being right.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Valda teased, shoving one of her ankles into his calf. “Learn some shame, heir.”

“High Lord,” Eris corrected with a smirk. “Or did the greatest assassin in Prythian forget who she has killed already?”

She rolled my eyes, sitting up again. She’d had enough magic today to finally cover her scars, which made her feel infinitely more herself. Valda slapped his upper arm. “I can still stab you,” She threatened.

“I don’t think you will,” Eris challenged, his eyes gleaming.

Valda smirked and stood, going toward one of the many dagger stores she’d found in his room and pulling out one of the nice, gold-hilted ones. “Want to test that?” She challenged with a grin.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I can easily dodge your measly dagger.”

Valda flipped it around and raised her arm up like she was going to throw it. “Oh yeah?”

The High Lord pulled out his own dagger from his fancy little jacket and set it aflame. Valda lifted a brow. “Fire does nothing,” She pointed out. “Just cauterize the wound you cause.”

“Yeah, but it hurts,” Eris countered.

Valda scoffed. “I suppose it does hurt. You’re not wrong there.”

Eris and Valda stared at each other for a few more moments before Eris extinguished his weapon and slid it back into its hidden pocket along his torso. Valda put the dagger back as well.

“Has someone been trying to kill you?” She asked.

Eris jerked his head over toward her. “What? No.”

“Why are you carrying daggers around then?” She questioned. “I don’t remember you doing it before.”

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed. Valda narrowed her eyes.

“Who?” She growled.

Eris sighed. “It’s just the council members. And nobility. They don’t exactly like me right now. So I’m being careful.”

“What’s causing the biggest issue?”

“The assassin of Beron,” Eris admitted quietly. “I’m making it work.”

“How so?” She asked. How could she fix it?

“I’m placating them,” Eris assured. “The council is settling bit by bit. I’m diverting their attention with better and newer policies.”

Valda narrowed her eyes. “Tell me it all,” she ordered.

Eris swallowed before explaining. He’d started a little expedition to find the client of the assassin or the assassin themselves, but as expected, it’d come up short. Now he’d been working to convince the council, the lords and other nobility that it wasn’t that bad. He’d been making drastic changes in Autumn. Females had a lot more rights, first and foremost. Secondly, the peasants weren’t suffering from starvation and a lack of funds. The taxes were lowered and the budget changed. The nobility, of course, didn’t like it, but it distracted them. They weren’t vying for the execution of the assassin causing it all.

“Let me help,” Valda said determinedly, walking towards Eris where he still sat on the bed. “I’m healed.”

Eris’s jaw clenched. “You’re still weaker than usual,” he argued. “You can stay here until you’re back up to strength.”

“Eris,” Valda snapped. “My work here is done. My only work here is as some dumbass servant. Which I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to get above Nova by now as the personal servant of the High Lord. Let me help. I can do spy work for you.”

He closed his eyes briefly and then sighed, his shoulders lowering. “Fine, but only because I really need people to trust right now.”

She smirked in triumph. “Great!” She exclaimed. “What’s my first mission then High Lord?”

Eris rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. “Stop calling me High Lord,” he chuckled. “That’s your first mission.”

“Boring,” Valda complained. “Give me something real to do, Eris.”

She noted the way he seemed to tense at his own name. “Your first mission is to see what the lower class thinks of me so far. Through the servants or a nearby town. Just let me know if you leave?”

She dipped her head briefly. “Sounds easy.”

“Rhysand and his cronies are visiting tomorrow, so I suggest visiting a town tomorrow if you wish to escape that chaos,” Eris suggested. “Perhaps find time to finally claim your winnings for your achievement.”

She chuckled, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, that sounds fun. Might get to threaten him.”

“Why would you have to threaten him?”

“Did you really think he assumed I was going to succeed?” Valda asked, giving him a look. “No, he didn’t, so I have to threaten him to get the money out of him. I’ll send a letter out tomorrow.”

“How are you going to get a letter to some mysterious stranger?” Eris asked incredulously. 

“We agreed on a few locations he’d check for letters,” Valda answered. “Not that hard. I’ve been in this business for a while and ironed out many kinks.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to worry about that too much anymore,” Eris said quietly.

She perked up, looking at him and then down at the floor as she realized that she wouldn’t be an assassin anymore if she lived here. “I guess so,” she answered. 

“Anyway, what’s an excuse Adira can use to talk to Nova again?” Valda asked aloud, mostly to herself, but she was open to ideas from Eris.

“Tell her I required you to stay somewhere private temporarily due to worries about assassins or something,” Eris suggested. “After deep cleaning my new rooms, I put a bed in the study for when I collapse from work. You can just say you’re staying there.”

Valda hummed then shook her head and stared at Eris for a moment.

“Why do you look surprised?” Eris asked.

“I suppose I didn’t expect you to move so quickly into the High Lord’s quarters, but that’s my own fault. Where might Lady Merle be staying then?” Valda asked.

Eris chuckled, grinning at that. “My mother is staying in the Day Court with her mate.”

Valda blinked, and blinked twice more and once more for good measure. “What?!” She asked, staring at Eris in shock. “Who is it? How was Beron not her mate-”

Eris cackled, leaning back on the bed. “It was a well-guarded secret apparently. My mother’s mate is Helion Spell-Cleaver.”

“The High Lord!?”

“Yes, I don’t think I know of any other males named Helion in the Day Court. Do you?”

Valda groaned, laying back on the bed and shoving her face into the pillow. “That female is terrifying. I vow to never ever fuck with Lady Merle.”

Eris scoffed. “Why’s that?”

“She hid it for centuries! Do you realize how hard that must’ve been?! With Beron as her husband?! She is a force of the Mother I will never mess with. I’d be more likely to throw myself into the Cauldron to be boiled alive.”

“Oh, better yet,” Eris continued. “Lucien, my little brother, isn’t Beron’s son.”

Valda rolled to face Eris. “Don’t tell me,” she begged. “He’s Helion’s?”

Eris smirked, grinning like a fiend. Valda groaned. “Your mother is terrifying,” She said, muffled by the bed. “Why does she have to be so nice? She’s terrifying! How could she ever hide that!? Her youngest is another High Lord’s son!”

“He wasn’t High Lord when Lucien was conceived,” Eris reasoned.

“Still!” Valda argued.

Eris chuckled, sitting up again. “I suppose I’ll have to agree with you. Mother was always more apt in court than I ever was, or Beron. She could hide her face well and always could convince anyone to do anything she wanted. Including me.”

“What has she made you do?” Valda asked curiously, rolling back to not muffle herself on the bed anymore.

Eris shrugged. “I don’t know, but I try to never lie to Mother. She always figures out the truth somehow on her own.”

“I’m never messing with Lady Merle. She has two High Lords protecting her and she’s terrifying,” Valda vowed.

Eris laughed. “I suppose she does, doesn’t she? Maybe more. Feyre seemed to like her.”

“Ah, her,” Valda hummed. “She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Eris agreed. “I have the pleasure of meeting her and her bastard mate tomorrow.”

“Rhysand sucks,” Valda agreed. “When he was my High Lord, all I remember is that he was utterly horrible. Torturing people in the middle of court, or misting people to bloody ribbons mid-sentence. He misted the lord I was supposed to kill when he was just giving a report! He was just staring at Morrigan wrong apparently.”

Eris hummed. “Masks are worn frequently, but Rhys seems to be the worst of all. Especially in Hewn City.”

Valda hummed, closing her eyes. “I’ll go to talk to Nova I suppose,” she announced, sitting up at last. “And prepare for a trip to some nearby farm or town tomorrow. I’m not staying with that High Lord here.”

“I’d protect you,” Eris assured. “And go to Redwood, that’s a nice town.”

She felt her heart thump louder at the proclamation at the beginning of his statement, but she shook it off and stood.

“Wait,” Eris said. Valda turned back to face him.

He stood and rushed out of the bedroom door, heading towards his study–old study. He came out a few moments later with a paper with the Autumn Court’s symbol stamped in messy wax. “Give this to Nova. You don’t have to even say anything. Just give it to her and walk away.”

Valda chuckled, running a nail by the wax. “Do I want to know how messy the handwriting is in this?”

“Most definitely not,” Eris chuckled. “And you can stay in my new room if you’d like. Or here. But you’re not sleeping in the servant’s bedrooms anymore.”

Valda smiled faintly. “I think this room is pretty nice,” she answered.

“All yours then,” Eris said with a warm smile.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

@bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @mali22, @sassybluebird, @bubybubsters,

[arrowflier]

I wish you would write a fic where the gallaghers + kev & vee find out about ian's 87% comment and they all give their opinions and ask why mickey, ian's husband who's been a part of ian's life for nearly eleven years only gets 87% of his heart, if the other 13% goes towards his toxic exes and why since they're not in his life anymore, ian explaining himself and ends with ian taking the comment back so mickey has 100% of his heart

I decided this was perfect for Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It! Thanks as always to @gallavichthings for hosting💖. Also on AO3.

Eighty-Seven Percent (Anatomy of a Heart)

It was a normal morning in the Gallagher kitchen.

That is to say, it was chaotic.

Carl and Liam sat across from each other at the narrow table, tossing dry loops of off-brand cereal at each other over Franny’s backpack, which lay open between them. The girl herself was running circles around them both in her pajamas, Debbie chasing after her with a stern face and a frilly dress held in outstretched hands.

“Come on, Franny,” she muttered impatiently as her daughter evaded her again by diving under the table, “just put on the dress!”

Mickey laughed when Franny ran to him instead, trying to hide behind his legs where he stood by the brewing coffeemaker. Ian ruined her attempt by swinging her up into his arms and twirling her around until Debbie snatched her from him, resulting in an angry shriek as Franny writhed in her hold.

“For fuck’s sake, keep it down in here!” Lip hissed, coming in from the living room where Tami had just gotten Fred settled in his play pen. “If you get Fred crying again, I swear I’ll fucking end you all.”

If anything, the kitchen got louder as everyone there chimed in in their own defense.

Mickey just snorted as he grabbed two mugs and got to pouring the fresh coffee. “Good luck with that,” he offered to Lip, amused. “You get one Gallagher going, you get the whole fucking pack.”

Lip glared at him, opened his mouth the say something undoubtedly scathing and most likely regarding Mickey’s place in the family, when Carl laughed and chimed in from the table.

“Funny, man, that’s what Trevor said to me and Ian at the station yesterday.”

The room went quiet.

Or maybe it just seemed that way to Ian, who could see the way his husband’s back immediately tensed at the familiar name, the way he gripped the handle of his mug a little too tight and poured the coffee a little too high before setting down the pot with a hard clack.

“Trevor, huh?” Mickey asked, voice deceptively mild, and Ian winced behind him.

Carl didn’t get the memo.

“Yeah, you remember him, right?” he checked. “He still works at that youth place, came in to post bail for some kid when Ian was bringing by lunch.” He shrugged, tossed a handful of cereal into his mouth. “We chatted a bit,” he mumbled as he chewed.

Mickey gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going white under his tattoos. “Funny,” he said quietly, “Ian didn’t think to mention that.”

Ian sighed, ignoring the eyes of his family on their quickly unfolding drama. They’d been fighting a lot lately, a lot more than they used to, and today had been shaping up to be better, damn it. Now he had to do damage control again instead of enjoying a quiet day in with his husband.

“We’ve talked about this, Mickey,” he started, a tad bit exasperated. It must have come through in his voice, because Mickey’s shoulders went up. “Trevor’s not a bad guy, and I’m not gonna avoid him if I see him around.”

Mickey released the counter to grab his coffee again, taking a long, scalding swallow. “Right,” he said finally, not looking at Ian. “Not a bad guy at all. Just wanted to leave your ass rotting in jail when you couldn’t be his poster boy anymore, that’s all.”

“Mickey…” Ian warned, but it didn’t stop him.

“Tell me, Ian,” Mickey mused, turning to face him with hard eyes. “How much of that thirteen percent belongs to him?”

Fuck. Not that again.

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Debbie was the one to ask first, voice cutting through their palpable tension. She’d even stopped trying to force the dress over Franny’s head in the interim, allowing the girl to escape up the stairs unscathed. “What thirteen percent?”

“Oh yeah, he told me about that,” Lip butted in. “Said Mickey got all bent out of shape cause Ian still thinks about his exes, or something, right?”

Ian closed his eyes against the hurt in Mickey’s as his brother revealed that he knew about their squabble. Fuck his family right now, seriously.

“Not quite,” he gritted out, but when he opened his eyes again, Mickey had schooled his face back into disinterest.

“No, that’s just about it,” Mickey confirmed. “Got my nose out of joint because Ian, here,” he gestured at Ian with his mug, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed over the side, “said I only got eighty-seven percent of his heart.”

Someone whistled, low and long. Ian couldn’t tell who.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he insisted yet again. “My whole life is a fucking shrine to you, Mick. If my heart was a room, there’s be posters of you on every fucking wall.” He took a step closer, until Mickey’s mug pressed into his own chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt.

“You really can’t let the others have a little space in that room? Not even in the bottom drawer of a dresser that nobody uses anyway?”

Mickey was still, and silent. Then he spun around and slammed his mug back down on the counter, shoved past Ian, and stormed off up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Ian called after him.

“To clean out the goddamn drawers!”

It was quiet in Mickey’s wake, and then—

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Carl said frankly, and Liam nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

“Did you really say that?” Debbie asked, sounding horrified, and before Ian could answer the back door slammed open.

“Morning neighbors!” Vee greeted as she came through, Kev on her heels. She was holding something, a dish covered in foil, and a carton of juice hung from Kev’s hand.

“We brought you guys some…” Vee trailed off when no one even looked at her, noticing the tension in the room.

“Uh,” she voiced, confused, “what did we miss?”

Carl answered, still looking at Ian in disbelief. “Ian told Mickey he keeps stuff from his exes in a drawer, so Mickey’s up there looking for it.”

“Oh, that’s cold man,” Kev breathed, and Ian exhaled.

“It was a metaphor,” he muttered, and Vee heard him.

“A metaphor for what?” she asked, curious.

“For the thirteen percent of Ian’s heart that belongs to other people,” Debbie revealed, and Vee set down her dish with a clatter.

“You said that to him?” she clarified, and at Ian’s reluctant nod, shook her head and turned to Kev.

“You ever say shit like that to me,” she said firmly, “I’ll cut off thirteen percent of your dick.”

—

A few long minutes later, after he had finally escaped his family’s inquisition about the state of his relationship, Ian made his way upstairs, alone.

When he got to their bedroom, Mickey wasn’t actually going through their things. He was just sitting on their bed, back to the wall, spinning his wedding ring round and round on his finger. Next to him, balanced on their folded blanket, sat the little box with the fancy ones they used in the ceremony just so they wouldn’t have to take theirs off.

Ian’s heart beat harder. That box had been sitting safe in the bottom drawer of their shared dresser.

The one that nobody used.

“Hey,” he said softly from the doorway. Mickey didn’t look up.

“You okay?” Ian asked, and that at least got a response.

“Do I look fucking okay to you?” Mickey returned, eyes on his knees.

He didn’t. Not really. He looked haggard, and upset, his hair spiky where restless fingers had combed through it. Ian couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a feeling they were rimmed in red.

Ian let himself into the room, sat opposite Mickey on the bed with his feet still firmly on the floor. He reached out to trace a finger over the rings in the box, and then the ring on Mickey’s finger.

Mickey let his own hand fall away when he did.

“You know that’s not how I meant it, right?” Ian asked, suddenly desperate to hear Mickey agree. He needed to know that Mickey understood, that just because he remembered his past, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dedicated to his future.

But Mickey just shrugged.

“Not a lot of ways you can mean it,” he said, and shit. Ian had really fucked up this time. “Either I have your whole heart or I don’t,” Mickey continued, “and I don’t. So,” he shrugged again, “whatever.”

Ian took a moment. A long one. He thought of Mickey’s reaction the first time he had said it, when he was mostly just teasing. The way he had been shocked to think that Ian still had fond thoughts for other men. And he thought of his family downstairs, each one more fucked up than the last, all in agreement over the severity of his error.

And to be honest, he still didn’t quite get the uproar. But maybe that was because none of them got his side, either.

“You’re right,” he began, “you don’t.”

Mickey tensed further, pulling away from him on the bed, but Ian wasn’t done.

“You have all the good bits, you know,” he continued. He went to rest a hand on Mickey’s chest, saw his stiffness, and pointed at his own instead.

“You have all four chambers,” he told him. “Atrium and ventricle. You keep my blood moving, keep it useful, keep me alive. And you have my valves,” he added, trailing a finger side to side to point to the right spots as he spoke. “Mitral and aorta, pulmonary and tricuspid.” He smiled. “You keep me going in the right direction.”

Mickey was softening, he could tell, the tension seeping from his limbs as Ian droned on. He kept going anyway.

“You have all my arteries, Mick,” he whispered. “You’re in all my veins. You said I was under your skin, once?” Ian laughed. “Well you’re under my skin, too. And in my muscles, and in my blood.”

“And the others, they’re like…” he hesitated, searched for the right words. Better words than he had used before. “They’re like cholesterol,” he settled on, “plaque. Or…like the scar tissue from a triple bypass, the parts that don’t work anymore.”

Mickey’s lips quirked, despite himself, and Ian counted it as a victory.

“You have a lot a heart surgeries, Gallagher?” he questioned softly, catching on.

Ian smile widened, and he reached out to take Mickey’s hand. This time, Mickey didn’t pull away.

“Maybe a few,” he admitted. “And maybe I’m better for it.”

He lifted Mickey’s hand to his lips, held it there.

“I don’t mind the broken bits,” he told his husband. “The pieces they left behind. Because you pushed through them every time, and made me healthy again.”

Mickey fidgeted, and nudged himself off the wall to settle closer to Ian’s side.

“Alright,” he allowed, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Ian asked earnestly. “Because I want you to, you know.” He dropped Mickey’s hand to hold his face instead, gently stroking a thumb over his cheek. “I want you to know that that thirteen percent, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters are the parts that are you.”

"I chose you, Mickey," he murmured. He reached out blindly for the spare rings in their box on the bed, worked one free. Slipped it onto Mickey's finger without looking away from his eyes. Mickey's hand clenched around it, around Ian's hand, and held tight.

"I married you," Ian added. "Because I love you with every real part of my heart, every little bit that works."

“All eighty-seven percent?” Mickey prods with a soft expression, leaning forward until his nose brushes Ian’s.

“All eighty-seven percent,” Ian confirmed, and kissed him.

[helliontherapscallion]

Warmth (Adrenaline Junkie Part 6)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: Self harm scars, mentions of panic attacks and hallucinations

Word count: 2,842

(A/N): This takes place about 6 months after the last chapter. Also, I was heavily inspired by Toothless’ prosthetic, I’m really excited to write more about it : )

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the cobblestone street of the village. The village was probably one of your favorite places to visit; it had quaint little shops and stalls decorating the main plaza that you adored, it was always interesting to see what’s being sold today. Though you always wore your cloak to cover your wings (well, wing and a now-feathered nub) whenever you visited to avoid the stares, you still regularly visited the main plaza for the shops. 

The first time you visited after the incident was about a month ago with Wilbur, you two were looking for something to cook for dinner. You were trying to get used to having your wings out again, so you were wearing the jacket with the slits in the back that you always used to wear. 

The feeling of people staring holes into you was a feeling you forgot about. You always got stares whenever you went into the village because of your wings, but now it felt like more and more people were staring at you as you passed them, probably because of your nub. Though some looked at you in pity, most looked at you with disgust.

You could hear children asking their mothers what happened to you. Their mothers would take one look at you and shield their children away from you staring at you with disgust. You even made one kid cry when he saw your wing; you didn’t blame him, you still couldn’t look at your nub without tearing up. An hour hasn’t even passed before you were asked by a police officer to leave because you were causing a disruption and being indecent in public.

Wilbur was pissed. “They’re fully clothed and they didn’t even talk to anybody, so how exactly were they being disruptive or indecent?”

The officer firmly held her ground, looking up to Wilbur’s tall form. “Sir, the people are complaining and it’s my job to make the public feel safe and comfortable. Look,” she sighed, “I really don’t want to have to ask them to leave, they’re not doing anything to directly threaten people. However, they are causing a disturbance with their,” she wrinkled her nose, “their thing, so I’m going to have to ask them to leave.”

“You have absolutely no right to tell them to leave. They-”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ll leave,” turning back to the officer, you calmly stated “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She curtly nodded and stood watching you, probably making sure that you left the main plaza. Before you could turn to leave, Wilbur stopped you.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, Wilbur. It’s alright, I can wait outside the village for you.”

He sighed, looking through his leather satchel. “No, you won’t have to wait for me. We’ve got enough food for dinner anyways,” shooting one last heated glare at the police officer, he reached down to grab your hand. “Let’s go.”

He drug you quickly through the village with you having a little trouble keeping up with his long strides. Once you were out of the village, he slowed his pace and walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“(Y/n), I’m sor-”

“Don’t be Wil. It isn’t your fault. I honestly was expecting to get kicked out earlier.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you. You didn’t ask for this.” 

“I know Wil, I’ll just wear my cloak next time I visit.”

He didn’t say anything to you after that. The rest of the walk home was shrouded in an awkward silence. 

Another part of the village you loved was the library. It had tall shelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books and various cushioned furniture littered randomly amongst the maze of shelves. Whoever would walk into the library would immediately be hit by the strong scent of parchment and wood as soon as they would walk through the twin doors. You would usually browse books about redstone, but you had a different agenda today.

Today, you were looking for a book about leather working. You wanted to make a leather prosthetic wing so you could at least glide through the air. You weren’t sure if it would work though. From what you’ve read, nobody’s attempted to make a prosthetic wing. It made sense, being a hybrid was rare in and of itself, let alone a winged hybrid. 

You missed flying more than anything. You would give anything to be able to be in the air again. You felt jittery and restless without flight. Sure, Philza took you on some flights with him every now and then, but it wasn’t the same. You yearned for the independence and liberation it gave you to fly alone.

After you found a book and checked it out with the librarian, you hastily set out for home. You were walking with a giddy smile on your face and a bounce in your step. Several people gave you strange looks as you passed them, but you were in too good of a mood to care. You finally figured out a way you could possibly fly again. 

When you got home, you headed straight to your workshop to get to work on your prosthetic. Several blueprints were hung up around your desk, some for your TNT launcher (which you finished a few weeks ago) and others contained ideas for an automatic farm. Your pride and joy was hung up in the center of your bulletin board. It made you extremely happy just by looking at the prosthetic sketch.

Your redstone lamp illuminated the space in front of you as you focused on cutting a large strip of leather in front of you with great concentration. You needed to get the measurements exactly right, equal sized wings are integral for stability midair. The prosthetic was going to be about the same size as your left wing with thin iron rods giving the wing structure. You planned on making it identical to a bat’s wing with a few minor changes in shape to match your other wing. Once it actually was structurally sound and working, you would add proper joints so you could wear it around and decorate it. Until then, you’re making adjustments.

When you were done, you moved on to crafting and melding together the iron rods. Putting on your goggles and thick leather gloves, you used a bit of lava your family kept stored in another room in the basement to fuse the thin iron rods together. You carefully dipped one end of two rods into the bucket before pulling it out at a certain time to hold the molten ends together until they cooled. You repeated this process until you were melding the last piece on.

“HEY BITCH, DINNER’S READY. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!”

Yelping, you dropped the mold onto your desk. You picked it up in a panic without paying attention to where your arms went. Unknowingly, your sleeved arm was pressing up against the scorching iron of the bucket of lava.

“FUCK YOU YA FILTHY GREMLIN, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD’VE BEEN NICE!”

He started cackling. “FUCK YOU TOO! NOW GET UP HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR DINNER.”

“YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT. I SWEAR TO- FUCK!”

You felt the nerves on the side of your forearm screaming as you yanked it away, leaving the crisp remains of a part of your sleeve stuck to the iron bucket. Two pairs of footsteps boomed down the steps and got louder as they rapidly approached you. 

Wilbur’s deep voice worriedly called out to you. “Shit, (y/n) are you alright? Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve of your jacket down. Adjoining the light burn, small horizontal scars and some fresh cuts lined your forearms. Shit, they were never supposed to find out.

Wilbur’s hand froze, gripping your wrist with an iron grip. You hissed at the feeling of some of your cuts reopening, causing him to quickly retract his hand. He now had his hands hovering over your arm unsure of what to do with them.

“(Y/n), wha-” Tommy cut himself off once he saw the panicked look on his older brother’s face. Following his gaze, his wide eyes met with your cuts.

You sighed, prying the goggles off from your face and pulling the gloves off from your hands. You put on a calm exterior, contrary to what you felt on the inside. They were never supposed to know. “Listen, you guys weren’t supposed to find out about this. None of you were. Please don’t tell Dad or Technoblade, I don’t need more people knowing.”

Tommy spoke up with an incredulous look. “(Y/n), what do you mean? We can’t just not tell them.”

“I know. Please, do it for me? Everything’s finally going back to normal and this will just make everything worse again. I promise I’ll stop, I swear.”

The two brothers looked at each other silently contemplating what they should do. On one hand, you were their sibling and you were hurting yourself. They needed to tell their dad that you were cutting. You only had two lives left and you could kill yourself doing that. Philza and Techno could help. On the other hand, they wanted you to feel normal in your own home. You were right in the fact that everything was starting to feel like it did before the incident. Plus, they would gladly help you through it.

They looked back at you with apprehensive expressions, speaking at the same time. 

“(Y/n), we’re not gonna tell Dad or Techno.”

“We’re telling them.”

Tommy whipped his head up to look at his brother angrily. “Wilbur, we need to tell them.”

“Tommy, no-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Of course we have to-”

“Tommy. We don’t because I’ll be taking every sharp object away from them tonight. We’ll watch them and check their wrists to make sure that there’s no new cuts and they stay clean. We’ll help them.”

“But- they,” Tommy gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But we at least have to tell Techno about this. He can help us.”

Wilbur glanced at you with apologetic eyes. Before he could speak up, you interrupted him. “...Alright, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. He has enough to stress out about and he doesn’t need to worry about me again. Now, can we go upstairs for dinner? We’ve been down here for long enough already and Dad’s probably wondering why. Tell him that I’m gonna go clean up.”

Without giving them any room to argue, you speeded up the stairs and into your room. Closing the door and leaning your back on it, you let your calm facade drop into a panicked one. Shit, what if Tommy tells Dad? What were you supposed to do then? He’ll take away what little freedom you had left and you’ll be sinking into the depths of your depression again. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock and Philza’s voice. You held your breath as you prepared yourself for him to tell you that he knows your secret. “Hey hun, Wilbur and Tommy told me that you burned yourself,” you let out a relieved sigh. “Do you need me to look at it?”

Panic once again flared in your bloodstream. “N-no Dad, it’s just a little burn. I’ll be down in just a second I’m changing.”

“You sure? I can get you a potion.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“...Alright,” he sounded skeptical. “Just hurry up, dinner’s getting cold.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps sounded like music to your ears. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before you moved to put on a long sleeved shirt. 

Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet without Tommy, you, or Wilbur talking. Philza tried to carry the conversation with you four, but only Technoblade gave full responses. You, Tommy, and Wilbur only supplied a few words to a conversation when prompted. 

Technoblade was suspicious. Sure, you and Wilbur were quiet sometimes, but Tommy? Tommy’s always loud and rambunctious. Something’s wrong, but what? What could’ve happened when Tommy and Wilbur went to go get you for dinner? They weren’t gone for long. He did hear you screaming profanities at Tommy for scaring you and overheard Tommy telling Philza about how you burned yourself, but how is that something that would shut you three up? He was going to confront his siblings after he finished tonight’s dishes. 

Meanwhile, you, Tommy, and Wilbur were in your room. You were giving them your iron dagger.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah, Tommy. That’s all, search my room if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t mind, I don’t have anything to hide from you anymore.”

They did just that. Looking under your bed, in your drawers, in your closet, and in the chest you kept for your supplies. You watched them propped up on your bed. While you were angry with yourself that you were so careless, you felt warm that they cared about you. They were great brothers.

After they were done turning your room upside down, Wilbur plopped down next to you and Tommy threw himself over your legs. You three laid there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence. It was nice to spend some time with your brothers, you didn’t get much free time to spend with them because you spent most of your time in your workshop.

The silence was broken by Tommy. “...So, how do you wanna go about telling Technoblade?”

“I’m… not exactly sure. Do we even have to tell him?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Even if you didn’t want to, I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up. He’s good at picking up on social cues.”

“Well if that’s the case, I might just wait until he comes to me. It’ll be easier.”

Your door swung open to reveal your piglin hybrid brother. He looked at you with a single eyebrow raised as his ear flicked. “What were you planning on telling me?”

Tommy and Wilbur looked at you expectantly. You shifted your body closer to the wall making room on your bed for him. He walked over and stiffly sat on the edge of your mattress. He gestured for you to talk to him. You slowly slid your sleeve down and showed him your arm. Besides his eyebrows slightly crinkling, he was as stoic as ever when he reached out to grab your wrist for a better look.

On the inside, the voices were almost as loud as when you died. They were nearly incoherent as several angry voices mixed together yelling at him for not noticing anything was wrong with you, the kid he vowed to protect when you first stole his crown and replaced it with a homemade paper one. Outside of the voices, he was furious at himself, he was supposed to protect you. He ran his fingers along the raised lines, gently tracing over every scar and scabbed over cut as if memorizing where every single one lays.

His monotone voice was gruff. “How long? Why?”

“About eight months now. I-I didn’t feel anything for a while after I respawned and I realized that pain helped me feel. It helped ground me when I hallucinated or had panic attacks.”

“...Do you feel anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better Tech. I’m hallucinating less and I’m getting better at managing anxiety attacks. At this point, it's just a habit that I can’t drop.” 

“Do you want to drop it?”

You fell silent. You never really considered stopping before. Before, you would do it to give yourself something to focus on when you were overwhelmed, but now you would do it out of habit. It somehow felt wrong when you skipped a session and it usually threw your entire day off. You would feel drained for the entire day if you didn’t do it. It was one of the only consistent things in your life.

“(Y/n), c’mon you don’t want to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asked before Wilbur reached over and slapped him upside his head. 

“I think,” you breathed out, unsure of yourself, “I want to get better.”

Techno looked at his brothers. “Did you two take their blades?”

Tommy held up the iron dagger and wove it around haphazardly in the air. Techno reached over and pocketed the dagger before discarding his golden crown and placing it on your nightstand. He took off his weighted fluffy cloak and neatly draped it over a nearby chest. He maneuvered his body so that he was laying on your other side and wrapped a lazy arm over your chest. 

With Wilbur on your right side with your wing draped over him, Tommy laying on your stomach with Wilbur reaching down to hold him, and Techno pulling you close to his body, you were pleasantly warm. You were slowly drifting off, being lulled to sleep by Techno’s slow heartbeat. You blissfully fell asleep surrounded by your brothers’ love.

Inspo for the cuddle pile (credit goes to og artist, zillychu): https://zillychu.home.blog/tag/heart-squad-cuddle-pile/

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[discocactusblogs]

Heather- Jason Todd x Chubby Reader Pt.1

{Author's Note: _____ is a blank to put your name}

"Girl, just tell him!" Barbara whispered and nudged me towards my best friend, Jason Todd aka Robin, the boy wonder.

I had found out about him being Batman's sidekick when we were 13, shortly after he became Robin.

"Easy for you to say! Look at you! You're gorgeous! You're fit and thin and redheaded! Just look at me… I'm...not so fit... I'm chubby. I'm a plain bagel. I'm not ugly but I'm not exactly pretty either." I sighed and gestured to my chubby body.

" ______, I know what I'm telling you. Just tell him." She sighed. "Besides, you're gorgeous too! And very intelligent and mature for a fifteen-year-old!" Barbara smiled, holding up a banana like a wand.

"As if. What guy my age sees a girl and goes, 'What a lovely personality?' Get real Babs, no one wants a plain bagel." I shrugged.

"Welp, I gotta get going or I'll be late for work. But trust me, he won't turn you away." She turned away, obviously knowing something I didn't.

"Hey _____!" Jason spoke as he walked up to me from the curb of the grocery store, I had gone to buy some fruit my mom had told me to get.

"Hey Jay." I sighed with a slight blush on my cheeks.

"Are you okay? It's kinda cold today… Where's your jacket?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"My jacket!" I gasped. "I forgot it at school!"

"School's closed now. They just locked the gate." He replied with a shrug.

"My mom's going to kill me. That's the only jacket I have!" My eyes watered, knowing my mother was going to be furious with me when I got home.

"Take mine then. I have others at home." He unzipped his hoodie.

"N-no. It's fine. I can get it Monday from school." I spoke softly while staring at the ground.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders. "I said, take it. Besides, it looks better on you than me. It goes well with your hair color. Here, let me hold your stuff so you can get it on." He smirked, knowing I wouldn't refuse if he spoke sternly with me. He took the bag from my hands and I looked at him. "Zip. It. Up." He frowned.

"Yes sir." I put my arms in the jacket and zipped it up. He was bigger and bulkier than I was, so the jacket fit me rather loosely and was down to my mid thighs but it was comfortable and warm. Much warmer than the jackets and sweaters I had before.

"Hm… keep it. I know your dad hasn't been working a lot lately. It gets pretty cold so you can keep that one. Bruce got me some others at home. Just don't tell anyone, got it? I only share with you because I've known you since we were kids. You took care of me so I'm taking care of you." He looked at me, handing back the bag of fruit. "Now, don't think I'm getting soft or being a gentleman. You're still carrying your stuff." He smirked.

I smiled and chuckled. "Thanks." I took the bag and walked down the street with him.

"Hi Jason!" An annoying voice called out from the ice cream shop.

"Hm? Oh, hey Heather." Jason turned around and seemed slightly irritated.

"Are you going to the pep rally tonight?" Heather asked with fluttering eyelashes. She was Jason's girlfriend.

Dark hair, slim figure, bright eyes, how could I compete with that?

"Uh, no." He replied flatly.

"Why not, I'm going to be performing!" She countered.

"I'm just not feeling it. I don't like pep rallies." He shrugged. "Not my thing."

"Okay then. Wanna get some ice cream?" She asked.

"Go ahead and go home ______, I'll catch up later." He looked apologetically at me and walked across the street.

I nodded and kept walking.

I watched as Heather smiled and hugged him.

It hurt.

He was dating her and she was so sweet. Everyone loved her so, I can see why he did too. She always had a smile on her face.

I kept walking, tears stinging my eyes. There's no way I could ever be like her. He liked her more and would run to her at the drop of a hat.

Arriving at home, I stepped inside. "Hey mom! I'm back!" I set the bag on the counter.

"Oh good! Make sure you do your homework!"

"Yes ma'am!" I sigh and go up to my room, closing the door.

Out of instinct, I called my friend, Valerie.

"A simple solution to your problem is to play spin the bottle or something." She teased.

"Why would he ever kiss me? I'm nowhere near as pretty as Heather!" I clutch the sleeves of the hoodie before taking it off and throwing it onto my bed.

"He gave her his sweater." My eyes watered as I told her what had happened at school that day.

"The black one or the fake polyester one?" Valerie asked.

"The black one."

"Oh dear. I'll be right over." She hung up.

"Is it wrong to wish she were dead?" I chuckled softly when Valerie came through my bedroom door.

"Yes. It's your jealousy and I'm gonna chop off your legs if you continue on this path, Anakin." Valerie smirked.

"Dude, I was kidding." I turn in my swivel chair.

"Yeah, it was a failed attempt at a joke. I'm sorry about Jason. If it makes you feel better, Bradley dumped me." She looked at the ground.

"Here's the plan, I drive the car and Jason shoves him into the road and we make it look like an accident." I spoke whilst drawing out the plan.

"Don't worry about it."

"Worry about what?" Jason walked in.

"Oh, you came!" Valerie smiled.

I looked at her, what a traitor.

"So, I heard you gave Heather your sweater!"

"This one?" He held up said object. "Eh, we broke up. She liked someone else and so did I." He sat on a beanbag chair.

"Wait what? But you really liked her and she's so nice!" I exclaim in shock.

"Relax ______, it was mutual." He chuckled. "There's actually something I came to talk to you about." He seemed nervous, his cheeks tinting red and so were the tips of his ears.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll go get water." Valerie got up, stretched and went downstairs.

"I don't know how to say this. This is difficult for me but… I'm sorry. I don't want to be your friend anymore." He sighed.

My eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Yeah. I'm...tired of it." He stood up.

"But Jason, you're my best friend!"

"I know. Hey, do you know what material this shirt is?" He checked his shirt.

"Jason, now's not the time-"

"Answer!"

"I don't know! Cotton, maybe?!" I was growing panicked and my eyes were stinging with tears.

"Wrong, it's boyfriend material. And so is that hoodie." He smirked.

I stood in silence.

"What?" He asked.

"Jason Peter Todd, are you...asking me to be your girlfriend????" I stood, mouth agape in shock.

He smirked and nodded. "Sure thing buttercup! I... love you." His face turned beet red.

"Why? I'm not pretty. I'm not slim or fit or anything-"

"Because you're smart, and cute, you're kind and brave. You're so cool too and geek out with me. We both nerd out over science stuff and books. What's not to love???" The look on his face was one of pure confusion, as if the answer was as clear as day.

"Jason, I love you too." I spoke in a hushed whispers as a few years fell from my eyes.

"Don't cry! Why are you crying???"

"I'm just happy! I've liked you for so long!"

"So have I but I'm not crying!"

"I didn't think you'd like me because I'm chubby!"

"What?! You think I'm that shallow? I'm offended!"

"Jay and ______ sitting in a tree~" Valerie teased from the doorway.

"Val!" We exclaimed in unison, Jay pulling me into a side hug.

"Fine! I'mma head out!" She grabbed her backpack and left.

A few days later, Jason was going to leave for a mission that I didn't want him to go on. I knew how dangerous it was for him to go alone.

"I'm leaving...for Bosnia. Bats needs my help." He looked at me sadly.

"Jay, please. Don't go. What if something happens?" I pleaded, clutching onto him tightly.

It was only a few days ago that he confessed to me and we were trying to figure out where to go with our relationship, which led to this argument.

"I'll come back. I promise." He kissed the top of my head. "Love ya." He smirked. His forest green eyes shone in the sunlight like an emerald.

He seemed so confident that he would be okay.

"Jason, no! I have a bad feeling you're not coming back!" I pleaded harshly, grabbing his wrist and asking him to stay.

"I'm just going to meet my birth mom, I'll be fine!" He assured me. "Here, hold onto my jacket for me." He took off his leather jacket and handed it to me.

I nodded with tears escaping the corners of my eyes. "I love you Jason…" I said as I watched him hop into the car and leave. Little did I know that would be the last time I ever saw him.

I kept that jacket with me at all times after that.

A few weeks went by without a word from Jason and the pit on my stomach only grew, the only thing keeping me sane was the scent of his cologne on his jacket that lingered still.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to go to Wayne Manor and ask if anyone's heard from Jason. It was then my heart shattered into pieces.

"Miss ______, I am so terribly sorry. I thought someone had already told you… Master Jason died last week." Alfred sat me down at the kitchen counter for tea.

My eyes widened and the porcelain teacup fell from my hand, shattering onto the tile floor. Tears flowed from my eyes like a cerulean waterfall. "No one told me!" I shouted, falling to my knees to clean up the mess with blurry eyes.

"Miss ______, I can get it." Alfred stopped me, only to realize I was bleeding from a deep cut from a glass shard on the top of my hand, a cut that would leave a scar for years to come.

"He can't be dead… he promised he would come back." I whispered, not even flinching from the cut.

"Here, allow me to tend to that." Alfred took out the first aid kit and cleaned the wound, giving it a few stitches.

"How…?" I asked, flinching from pain.

"... The Joker. Master Bruce didn't make it in time." He replied, the sorrow evident in his tone.

I nodded and thanked him for the help and the tea.

"Send a car to take her home." I heard Bruce from the doorway.

"Right away, Master Bruce." Alfred excused himself.

"His funeral is this Saturday if you'd like to come." Bruce turned away from me.

"I'll be there. Time?"

"Noon."

"See you then."

When the funeral finally took place, the reality of Jason's death set in. He wasn't coming back like he promised. I left a rose on his casket and bawled as I watched them lower the casket with my best friend and love of my life, into the dark, cold ground and with it, my heart.

"You promised." I whispered to myself, looking away from the scene. It was then I decided I wanted to be a nurse to help heal people.

Five years later, my dream of being a nurse was nearly achieved. I was two years away from graduating and I went to visit Jason every day on the way home from work. I still lived with my parents since I was a student at the local university, thanks to Bruce.

When I approached the door, that's when I saw it. A single rose on the bench outside the door along with a cryptic letter. 'Hang in there.' it said with a happy face at the end.

I was stumped but the notes and roses kept happening at least once a week and they soon came every day. At least, until the night that would change my life forever.

(Part Two)

(Masterlist)

[creativeashproductions]

What's a Knife Between Onscreen Family // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Filming an emotionally wrought scene on the set of your current role as a regular goes very wrong very fast. Expecting the scene to be the most taxing of the day you find yourself in the ER getting a transfusion. It’s all fun and games until someone’s holding a sharp knife incorrectly, guess it’s just something in common with co-star Jared Padalecki.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, fear, injuries, hospital, needles, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.5k (including lyrics)

A/N: I watched a part of a panel from a Supernatural con and found it hilarious that Jensen accidently stabbed Jared. So I had to write that for a Charlie Gillespie fic. Link to the video talking about the stabbing is right below this message.

Jensen Ackles Accidentally Stabbed Jared Padalecki during filming From 1:00-6:00

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

It had to be one of the most emotionally taxing scenes in your entire career as an actress on a physically demanding show. The scene had been incredibly mentally draining the daughter of a Winchester. It had been once season recurring, one series regular and now filming the third season. As the teenage Winchester, it threw a wrench in all the plans and the reckless character gave no shits.

“Okay, this is our last scene for the day!” Robert Singer, the director of his episode, called out from off stage. Standing at the top of the stairs in the Bunker, you jumped in close with a scrunched nose at the squishy sound.

Over the railing, both Jared and Jensen nodded their support from the ground level with concerned expressions. Ever since you joined the cast in season 13, they had become fathers to you. The sight of you drenched in stage blood was enough to churn their stomachs.

“I gave you the barebones of the scene so work with it. Briar’s traumatized after fighting for her life and has been gone for a while.” Robert explained, “Cas couldn’t find her. I want this to be a tribute like Dean in season 10 episode 14: The Executioner’s Song.”

Taking a deep breath in your emotions channelled into a hurricane in your chest, clenching your fingers on the knife.

“Action!”

Pacing the floor plan of the Bunker is two brothers bonded by sorrow, pain, sacrifice and love. Each throwing out locations on where Briar could be, Jack and Cas had been little help. Sam’s heart clenched tight bypassing images straight to torture. The kind of torture he had endured over the years.

Dean’s mouth opened to suggest another place when the Bunker door creaked open. The red converse appeared before the soggy jeans as the teen slowly made her way down the steps. Briar Winchester shook like a leaf staring off in the distance as the blood congealed on her face and hands.

“Briar.” Dean slowly spoke, moving towards the girl. His green eyes lit up in fury as the seventeen-year-old flinched back. Dean’s hand gently took the stained knife from the young girl.

“I-I didn’t mean to do it.” The meek voice appeared so unlike the usual confidence Briar talked with. In exhaustion, Briar’s knees collapsed, sending the teen right into Dean’s arms.

The stoic man gripped the youngest Winchester as his waist bearing her weight against his while Sam circled to be behind Dean. The choked sob echoed by another escaped the family huddle; one from Briar and the other from Dean.

“Dad.” Briar choked clenching her arms around the green-eyed adult’s shoulders, craving the safety of her father.

Ever since Dean could remember he had had a strict rule of always practising safe sex, he didn’t want a kid. Not in a world that had it out for Winchesters and not one where he might hold his child’s dead body in his arms. That all changed when Cas delivered Dean to a county jail where Briar was held just for a minor assault charge on a wealthy bully.

Dean never let himself want a future with the picket fence and the dog in the backyard but when Briar changed that. Dean would do anything for his family no matter the cost. Example: Selling his soul for Sam.

“Sh.” Dean spoke kissing the crown of her hair he savoured having his child safe in his arms, “I’ll help you to the bathroom to get cleaned up. We’ll heat some soup and toast.”

On autopilot, Dean helped Briar down the hall to the bathroom where she would freshen up and later burn the unsalvageable clothing. As Dean returned to Sam’s side, Castiel came with a sombre expression and an explanation.

“Dean. Sam.” Cas greeted them, flicking his blue gaze between the two brothers. The faint sound of the shower only picked up by the trained heightened sense of hearing from years of watching over their backs.

“Cas what the hell happened?” Dean demanded, “Why the hell is my little girl bruised and coated in blood?”

END FILMING SCENE

“Cut!” Robert called out to the large room with a big smile on his face, “I’ll watch it back. See if we need more takes.”

Jared and Jensen wiped the tears that fell from their cheeks just thinking on how wrought that scene felt. As fathers seeing a young adult in such a state severely agonized them. The duo jogged to see your back against the cold wall—a pinched expression marring your young face.

“How are you feeling after that?” Jensen asked, coming closer to squeeze your shoulders unfazed by the sticky fake blood. It was already all over his clothes from hugging you in character.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to have sharp objects.” You spoke glancing down at your knee that had been punctured by the knife. The dark jeans soaked in stage blood now concealed the real blood.

 “Jensen, did you really stab another person.” Jared deadpanned his best friend referencing back a few years. Jared shoved one hand through his hair, receiving a nasty glare from the hairstylist on call.

The glare on Jensen’s face blistered the taller actor, “I didn’t stab you. You walked into the knife.”

The two bickered as they guided you back to the main stage where Robert had reached a final verdict. He had watched the replay twice along with his crew finding the raw emotion to be perfect. The little detail the three had added was well played. Dean unexpectedly consoling his daughter in tears; no threats to kill or push her to tell him what happened. The first time Briar referring to Dean as her father. Lastly, Sam’s unsure actions in consoling a young girl sucked into life like he was in his youth.

“We got a one-take winner!” Robert called out sending the entire crowd into loud applause and cheers. Jared taking most of your weight as you hobbled to the costume trailer.

The lovely costume designers helped remove the sticky shirt, jewellery and the red converse that had once been white. Only the jeans remained on your body to not mess with the wound. As much as you’d love to shower the blood off, it was near impossible, moving your knee stung and it was best to avoid aggravating it.

“Someone needs to ban Jensen from knives. Just wait till his wife finds out about this, she adores Y/N.” Martha chuckled from her sketches she designed on her breaks for a future in fashion design. Often in your free time, you would be her guinea pig with her designs using refurbished material.

Normally the banter would continue but not when your leg was bleeding, and Jared was taking you to the ER. To make time faster, Jared had scooped you into his arms to the black car their driver waited in.

“Towels are in place. Sorry, you got hurt, Kid.” Clif spoke, opening the door to the backseat where Jensen sat patiently. Unlike usual, he had seated himself in the front so you could stretch in the back.

A weak chuckle met air in the packed car from the blood loss that wasn’t overly bad but enough that Jared took the towel. His pressure on the wound caused a yelp that had Jensen flinching in guilt.

“The knife must have been sharp to cut a mouse in half,” Clif muttered turning towards the hospital close to set. Coincidently the drive took you passed the set your boyfriend currently filmed at.

“Might as well call me butter.” You retorted wincing at the throbbing pain, “You aren’t allowed any more sharp objects, Mr. Ackles.”

“Danneel already threatened to hide all the knives in the house.” The on-screen father laughed as the tension decreased in the small car. Despite the dizziness, it didn’t hide the guilt in Jensen’s green eyes.

Time flew by as you found yourself in a bed for observation and pictures for the knee. It came as a shock when the doctor requested one blood transfusion for the blood loss. The hope of being in and out had evaporated like water beads on a blistering summer day.

Julie and the Phantoms Set

Charlie adored his life as an actor where he was free to visit places, he might not have had the opportunity to do. He made friends with everyone he spoke to and even met the love of his life as an actor as well.

That being said today had been the longest one with a full schedule and barely time for lunch or snacks. Even a nap was unachievable, and he desperately wanted one for being awake for hours by now.

“Charlie! Did you know you’ve got missed calls?” Jeremy inquired, staring at the phone that went black once more. Charlie’s eyebrows came together at the mention. His family had the rough outline of times he would be unavailable to talk.

Stepping back from the craft table’s supper options, he lifted the phone from the table, bringing it to life. His lock screen showing multiple missed calls and voicemails from you, his family and two unknown numbers.

His jaw dropped further when Meghan called for the first time out of the group, “Megs?”

“Finally! Where have you been?” Meghan demanded pacing in the studio she had been using when she got the call. The pretty and successful young woman had gotten terrified at learning about Y/N.

“Filming? It’s the longest day of filming the show. It’s on the family schedule.” Charlie spoke, settling into one of the empty tables. His eyes watching the people entering and exiting the tent set up for food.

“Jesus. Mom called me when you didn’t pick up. Y/N’s in the hospital.” Meghan revealed sending the Canadian actor into a stiff posture. His hazel eyes blow wide and panic flooding his entire system.

“What?!” Charlie didn’t mean to shout nor turn paler than a piece of white paper, but it happened. The volume contracting looks from everyone in the vicinity. Owen even dropped the donut back in the box by the volume.

“She got stabbed with a knife. I sent the address earlier, and I haven’t gotten a lot of info.” Meghan told her older brother, “I know she’s getting a blood transfusion, but nothing else was released.”

Charlie couldn’t tell you what happened between Meghan telling him and reaching the hospital frantically. Nor could he figure out how Owen was in the back of the Uber with him guiding him through exercises; all thanks to Owen’s therapist for his anxiety.

His sneakers squeaked on the polished white floor in his mission to the receptionist transferring information from a chart to digital. Charlie’s painting brought him attention from the kind nurse acknowledging his presence.

“Just let me finish this one sentence.” The nurse hummed saving the information before turning their full attention to the frazzled male, “How can I help you?”

“What room is Y/N Y/L/N in? She was stabbed and needed a transfusion.” Charlie demanded deflating as Owen placed a hand on his shoulder. The Canadian’s eyes bright with panic and a deep fear

The nurse’s eyes softened, “I can’t give out information on patients unless your immediate family members.”

“I’m here-“

“Husband! He’s her husband, they eloped so she hasn’t changed her last name or updated her information.” Owen blurted out, rubbing the pad of his index finger on the black jeans he had worn for his role. The two hadn’t even bothered changing into their street clothing.

The nurse nodded their head-turning back to the computer to enter the name for the patient for the information. It took seconds before the nurse wrote on the miscellaneous sticky note of the ward and room number.

“My name is Riley. If you need any help, you can come back here, and I’ll do my best to give you answers.” Nurse Riley informed the duo with a kind smile nodding in the direction of your hospital room.

Owen’s long legs ate up the distance Charlie made in his sprint to the stairwell, “Shouldn’t we take the elevator?”

“My girlfriend is in a hospital bed. I can’t wait for an elevator.” Charlie rebuked the suggestion on the second flight. Owen’s sigh was the last sound made as the duo slammed into the door to the floor level.

Charlie and Owen appeared in the doorway of your hospital room panting from the exertion meeting the gaze of two actors. Charlie’s heart stuttered at the sight of the high volume of blood in your clothing and your hair.

The sharp gasp brought your attention to the shaking Canadian actor solely focused on scanning for wounds. His eyes barely staying on the two adult males you had been starring with for a few years. Schedule conflicts often led to no introduction to each other’s co-stars.

“What the hell?” Charlie choked stumbling to the chair beside your hospital bed next to the pole holding a blood bag, “Did you get mugged? Are you okay?”

“Char, take a breath, man.” Owen’s blue eyes shadowed with the worry as Charlie’s breathing shuddered. Owen could barely look at you covered in blood.

“Whoa! Charlie. I’m fine. This is stage blood. We had an intense scene, and there was a minor accident.” Your voice soothed the man gently taking Charlie’s hand to comfort him, “I lost a bit of blood. The doctor decided to give me a blood transfusion to bring my levels back up a bit before stitching it up.”

“How do you get��stabbed accidently?” Owen questioned glancing at the two men standing silently in the corner. Due to contracts on the Supernatural set details of scenes and storylines was off-limits.

“Well, during filming, I took a knife from her, and she walked into the blade?” Jensen trailed off, shoving his elbow into Jared’s side at the scoff. It happened every time it was brought up.

“I-“Charlie blinked, shaking his head as he took a deep sigh in pushing that to the back burner to focus solely on you. His hand rubbed his face while he settled on squeezing your one hand in both of his.

The touch of your skin grounding him back to earth with the shattering visions of walking into the world without you. It would be both ways, the second his calloused warm skin brushed your hands; it was like the pain faded. Only a sense of content settled in your weary bones.

“Okay Miss Y/L/N.” Dr. Clancy walked into the room only halting to grab a pair of medical gloves, “I see your entourage grew. I’m Doctor Jim Clancy, and you must be Miss Y/L/N’s husband.”

Three pairs of eyes widened at the doctor’s words aimed towards the brunette actor turning a blushing mess. The words mouthed by Charlie to go with it gave barely any insight, but you did it. The moment you had a free minute with Charlie, you would interrogate him in the new title you had.

“Yeah, my husband.” You spoke flicking an expression to Jensen and Jared that caught on from the years together. They had taken you under their wing on your first day on set, and then you became family with their immediate family.

“I can confirm that my initial observation is that the wound doesn’t have anything that shouldn’t be in there. We stopped the bleeding, the x-ray came clean, we’ll set you up with IV fluid, and tetanus shot to be safe.”

“Nurse Gellar here will cut the rest of the jeans off, get you in a gown for a few hours of observation. Just a precaution for blood transfusions. We’ll have some scrubs you can wear when you can leave.” Dr. Clancy motioned to the tall redhead with a quiet demeanour.

Charlie’s lips lingered on your temple at the fear that flared in your expressive eyes, he would give anything to take your place. He softly sang your couple song as a whimper fell from your lips as the jean tugged the dried blood from the wound. The painful pressure felt as you guessed it had started to bleed again, the feel of liquid rolling down your skin, confirming it.

“I’ll sing anything.” Charlie whispered going through his mental catalogue of songs on your shared playlist, “Oh!”

I’m booking myself a one-way flight

 I gotta see the color in your eyes

 And telling myself I’m gonna be alright

 Without you baby is a waste of time

The tears falling no longer came from the pain but the sheer amount of love you had for the man there. Eyes glittering with pure adoration as his voice came off absolutely heart-melting. So, lost in each other neither of you noticed Owen had been filming from the moment Charlie had said ‘oh’.

Yeah, our first date, girl, the seasons changed

 It got washed away in a summer rain

 You can’t undo a fall like this

 ’Cause love don’t know what distance is

 Yeah, I know it’s crazy

Charlie’s hand slowly slid up your arms to cup your tear-streaked tacky cheeks in his warm grip. The hospital faded as it became just you and Charlie. Completely oblivious at the audience in the room.

“He loves her,” Jensen whispered to Jared out of the camera frame that the blonde-haired kid’s phone. It was such a pure moment it felt disrespectful to see this exchange but also honoured to see it firsthand.

“I’ve only seen the look in your eyes for Danneel,” Jared replied, cupping his hands over his face listening to the near inaudible wet chuckle you gave.

“As I have between you and Gen. They have the real kind of love.” 

But I don’t want “good”, and I don’t want “good enough.”

 I want “can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love”

 Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn’t make sense to anybody else

“Charlie.” You sobbed at the best part of your life serenading you in such a romantic moment at the odd setting—his hazel gaze greener in what would come to be a very dear memory to reminisce about.

The calloused thumb caressing your cheek wiping a teardrop away he continued to see as the doctor finished suturing the wound. 

Nothing mattered other than the couple currently in a bubble.

Who cares if you’re all I think about,

 I’ve searched the world and I know now,

 It ain’t right if you ain’t lost your mind.

 Yeah, I don’t want easy, I want crazy

 Are you with me baby? Let’s be crazy

Charlie’s voice faded with the rest of the song bringing you back to reality with the nurse cleaning up around the wound. That’s how the rest of the day went on waiting for the blood transfusion and IV fluids to finish. You stuffed the tetanus shot while Charlie sang between different genres.

“Thank you.” You softly spoke with Charlie being the only one left in the room with you.

Owen had headed back to their set to finish a scene while giving the updates on you while Jared and Jensen grabbed food. J2 had been very clear they would get Martha to grab some clothing for when they came back. Jensen was determined to deliver you to your home as the first action to make it up to you.

“For what?” Charlie questioned as your index and thumb picked at the cuticles of the opposite hand. Your eyes were hidden from your boyfriend’s gaze.

“For dropping everything to be here.” The words were quiet in the room only filled with breathing and the heart machine you had to be hooked up to.

“My girl-“

“Don’t you mean wife?” You teased brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead taking in the man you had the honor of loving. Of waking up next to in the apartment, you’d been renting ever since you landed the role on Supernatural; overtime Charlie’s things had just accumulated there.

“It was the only way they’d let me in.” Charlie spoke sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, “It’s a little early to call you, but I’m excited to make you my last girlfriend and then my only wife.”

The chuckle fell from your lips, “So, you want to marry me?”

“In front of all our family and friends. Tucked away from the media to celebrate the love we have for each other.” Charlie spoke, “There’s no one else I’d like by my side for the rest of my life.”

A new flood of tears welled at the sincerity in his voice and the warmth laden in his eyes of kaleidoscope colours. Sometimes, depending on his emotion or his clothing, his eyes would be greener, or when he was happy, they had a blue tinge in the green in sadness or your favourite; brown with the swirls of green.

“How did I get so lucky to have the absolute honour to fall in love with you?” Your words created a swell of emotion in the Canadian’s heart.

“The same way whatever deities there are took pity on a boy from Dieppe by bringing him an angel.” Charlie words preceded the kiss on your lips with a grin as you chased his lips after. With one last peck, he leaned back with a fond expression.

“Seriously how do you get stabbed accidently?” Charlie chortled with that gorgeous smile lighting up the room more than the white lights.

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[comfortwriting]

Prompt 13 - G.W

Prompt 13: Tears streamed down your face

George Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, cock warming and swearing.

About: The Reader and George are dating and George keeps pranking her, one of his pranks embarrasses her and gets her into trouble, making her cry. The reader decides to break up with George as a prank but he takes it so seriously he does anything to get her back - when she tells him it was just a prank George storms off and then they have cute, cuddly slow sex.

Masterlist, Prompt List, Request Rules

Sitting in the cold and gloomy dungeon, you tried your best to concentrate on everything Snape was teaching but every now and then you swore you could feel something crawl from inside your shoes and up your leg. 

Instead of making a scene or drawing attention to yourself, you ignored the crawling sensation, only for it to get worse. Squirming in your seat, you could hear quiet laughs from across the room. 

Your boyfriend, George Weasley sitting next to his brother Fred and his best friend Lee, had his eyes locked on you, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t you dare.” you mouthed, glaring at him. 

Being the girlfriend of one of the twins was all fun and games until you were the one in the line of fire. George would take it upon himself to prank you in the most cruellest ways, but he was pushing your boundaries today.

He knew how you felt about creepy crawly insects, you were terrified of them and they made you sick to your stomach - you and his younger brother Ron had that in common, especially when it came down to spiders. 

“Miss Y/L/N.” Snape drawled, the whole class now staring at you.

You withdrew your focus from George and focused on your professor, his intense stare making you shrink in your seat. 

“One more disruption from you and you will find yourself in my office tomorrow evening. Fifty points from Y/H.”

You bowed your head and stared at your empty cauldron and potions book, ignoring the stares and laughs from George.

The crawling sensation intensified and spread all over your neck and back, you reached back and pulled the centipede from your neck, realising what was crawling all over your body, you began to screaming and jump out of your seat - feeling the number of insects multiply the more you freaked out.

The nausea pooled in your stomach and you could feel bile piling up in your throat, your heart pounding, tears streamed down your face whilst you hyperventilated.

Snape’s furious expression burned into you, the whole class roaring with laughter and pointing at you, George instantly regretted what he had done, seeing you in such a distressed state wasn’t funny.

“I’ve had enough of you, Y/L/N.” Snape walked over to you and tapped his wand against your shoulder, permanently putting a stop to George’s little prank. 

The centipedes and spiders went limp and fell to the floor. 

The whole class fell silent, the only noises they could hear was you crying and Snape’s heavy breathing. 

“Get out!” Snape raised his voice, surprising everyone as he wasn’t the type to shout. 

 Grabbing your potions book and clinging onto it for dear life, you rushed out of the cold dungeon, pushing past students in the hall.

“Whoever practiced that little experiment will find themselves in detention.” Snape stared at George, deducting points from Gryffindor House.

Still shaken up from potions yesterday, you stared at your plate of breakfast not wanting to make eye contact with anyone out of embarrassment. 

George entered the Great Hall and ran over to you after you avoided him since Snape kicked you out, sitting next to you he tried to put his arm around you but you flinched. 

“I’m so sorry my love.” 

You shook your head “leave me alone, George. I’m bloody mortified and I’ve got detention now thanks to you!”

George frowned and tried to take hold of your hand, you pulled your hand away quickly and decided to give him a taste of his medicine.

“Can you stop trying to comfort me?” you snapped “I’m not your bloody girlfriend anymore, alright!” 

George’s heart skipped a beat, his hands started sweating and a lump formed in his throat, tears pricked at his eyes.

“w-what?” 

“I’m not your girlfriend.” you hissed “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

Standing up you grabbed your books and continued with your day, trying to ignore George the best that you could.

Throughout the day George kept trying to make things up to you, if you were struggling on a paper or didn’t have the right ingredients for your cauldron, you would suddenly have the answers you needed when you returned to you seat.

George tried to catch your gaze, trying to bewitch you with his loving and longing glances but you ignored them, shaking your head and laughing at him.

Scrubbing the large grimy cauldrons piled up in the dungeons without magic, George tried to speak to you every chance he could when Snape would get interrupted by other professors and students. 

“Please take me back” he pleaded, wiping another cauldron clean “I said I was sorry and I’m doing everything I can to make it up to you.”

You bit your lip, you did feel bad for toying with him, especially after he got caught bothering the house-elves for your favourite treats by Mr Filch. 

You blew a strand hair out of your face, breathless and tired from all the scrubbing and elbow grease. 

You sighed and stopped scrubbing, facing George. “It was a bloody joke.” 

George’s soft face dropped and turned hard “you what?”

“I didn’t actually break up with you, it was a prank.” You admitted.

George stopped wiping the cauldron and stared at you, he shook his head and stood up.

“I can’t believe you, you rotten git.”

Snape walked back to the desk and tried to stop George from leaving as he pushed past him.

“Leave now and you’ll be here again tomorrow evening, with an additional one hundred points deducted from Gryffindor.”

“Shove off” George replied, storming off.

You felt a heavy weight sit on your chest, feeling guilty for hurting his feelings.

Turning around you continued to clean up, working twice as hard to fill in for George’s absence, Snape’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

George laid in his bed, messing around with his wand.

Sneaking through the dorm rooms, you finally reached George’s room and sat on the end of his bed.

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, stroking his soft hair.

“It’s fine.” He answered sternly, turning around to face you. “This doesn’t make us even though.”

You cocked an eyebrow at your stubborn boyfriend. “Will this?”

Climbing on top of him, your lips softly grazed against him, kissing him softly. Your hands got tangled in his hair, the kiss getting heavier and sloppier.

George’s hands quickly landed on your waist, messing with the hem of your skirt. Your hands moved away from his hair and down to the buttons on his shirt, undoing his tie and little buttons.

The room became more cold as you removed more layers of your clothes, George peppered kisses all down your neck and sucked on your collarbone, causing you to moan.

The two of you now naked, pulled the covers over you. George’s long salvia coated digits rubbed between your folds, then circling over your clit before he started to finger you teasingly.

You took his hard cock into your hand and pumped gently, his pre-cum leaking out over the head.

George bit his lip and removed his fingers now coated in your juices, letting go of his cock, George pulled you on top of him and he lined up his hard cock to your entrance.

“Ready when you are” he breathed out, smirking up at you.

Biting your lip, you blushed and slowly sat down on his cock. The feeling of George filling you up caused two of you to moan out in pleasure, your sex face turning George on even more.

“You’re so bloody beautiful.” He moaned.

Riding George slowly, the room filled with your moans, one of your hands resting against his cheek - tracing circles into his skin with your thumb. You moved your thumb over his bottom lip, stroking it softly before George took it into his mouth, sucking softly.

George rocked your hips back and forth with his grip on you, moaning as you arched backwards and picking up your pace, his big cock rubbing against your G-Spot. 

“You feel so good” you moaned out.

George blushed and quickly pulled you down to kiss him, he slowly pushed you off him and pulled you to lie down next to him.

“turn around” he ordered. 

Turning around, your back facing him, George rubbed his cock teasingly against your folds before pushing himself inside you, his arms wrapped around you.

“feels so much closer like this.” he breathed out, kissing your neck, moaning softly.

George’s cock twitched inside of you with every thrust, causing your walls to tighten around him. His warm embrace made you feel safe and warm.  Continuing to fuck you, you pushed your lower half out even more, crying out with each slam. 

“I’m so close.” the heaviness forming within your lower stomach.

George grunted “me too love, cum all over my cock.”

Letting go and releasing all of the building pressure from inside of you, George also released inside of you, both of you a hot, worn out, sweaty mess. 

You tried to pull away from him but he stopped you, still inside of you.

“Don’t move” he breathed out “I’m enjoying the cuddle”

You giggled and kissed his arms that were locked around you. 

“Are we even now, Georgie?” you asked.

You could tell a grin had spread across his face “I reckon we are, yeah.”

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 67]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post 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 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30

Got many things to do today, though I do have a meeting in a bit over an hours, so there will be a break.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

 “Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

 Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

 “How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

 “Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

 Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

 It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

 Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

 He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

 “I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

 “You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

  Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

 “He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

 “I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

 Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

 The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

 “No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

 “How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

 She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

 “Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

  Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

 “Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

 “Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

 “Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

 “A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

 “No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

 Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

 Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

 Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

 “Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ‘burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

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Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

  Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

 Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

 “Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

 “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

 “Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

 Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

 Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

 This seemed to slightly alleviate Virgil’s suspicion, but Princess Marisol still seemed antsy. Patton really needed to start slowly introducing the both of them to more people.

Logan finished talking with Chester after a few moments and it was time to climb through the hole in the wall. He wished he saw in the tunnel whatever Logan with his excited eyes and bounce to his step obviously saw. Or even that was more comfortable in the dark closed in space as Virgil obviously was. As it was, Patton’s nose scrunched up at the thought off all of the spiders that could be living everywhere in the secret tunnel, but he pushed through.

 The entrance to the tunnel had been made only a little bit from the room Virgil had mentioned and Chester had led them through it after only a couple of seconds. As Patton had suspected, the room was already lit up and probably cleaned a little bit by the people who had cut into the wall, not that he was complaining.

Virgil was still clinging a bit to Patton’s shirt, though it seemed to be less out of anxiety at this point and more out of a desire to stick close. He was peering around curiously at the lit-up space. He probably hadn’t seen much of it in the dark when he’d been here before.

 Yet, his curiosity was nothing compared to how excited Logan seemed to be. Now Patton may have not been interested in the room itself, but he was entertained by how interested Logan was and was happy to encourage that.

“What do you think this place is?” he asked Logan.

Logan hummed contemplatively, eyes looking around. “Well,” he said. “It’s a bedroom clearly, and old. Considering the location it is in in the castle, the size, the decorations, and it’s likely age, I’d imagine it was a bedroom of a royal family member. This used to be the royal wing three royal lines ago.”

 “Bearing that in mind, there are a couple of likely possibilities for the origin of the room as well as the reason it was sealed up, but we will need to investigate more in order to come to an actual conclusion.” He had already placed the bag he’d brought on the ground and was going through it, pulling out things that Patton did not recognize. He also got a piece of paper and sat on the floor to start to sketch.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sketching the floorplan of the room,” Logan said. “I will then put a grid on it so we can investigate while being sure that we aren’t missing anything.”

 Virgil seemed uninterested in this part of the adventure, instead electing to go poking around by himself. Princess Marisol squirmed out of Patton’s arms to go follow him. Patton swore that he only looked away from those two for 5 seconds, but the next thing he knew he heard metal clicking against metal.

“Oh,” Patton said, eyes wide when he saw what Virgil was fiddling with. “Honey, you probably shouldn’t touch…”

The old but fancy looking chest that had been at the end of the remains of the bed creaked open. Virgil sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed out of it. “Huh,” he said studying the contents. “There’s a skull in here.”

 “Oh, I don’t like this adventure anymore,” Patton commented.

Logan was on his feet within moments. “Let me see,” he said eagerly.

“What if it’s cursed?” Patton pointed out.

“Then I’ll just break the curse,” Logan waved him off. “Oh, it’s just a horse skull,” Logan said, sounding disappointed. “And also what seemed to be potion ingredients. Though they seem very fresh considering the state of the room.”

“Maybe we should get someone else to…”

Logan already had both arms inside the chest and was pulling things out of it. “This chest must have some sort of stasis effect to it.”

 He started pulling things out to look at them before setting them on the floor with no caution. “Well,” he said, “that answers the question of what this room is.”

“It does?” Patton asked.

“Ah, yes, between the horse skull and the potion ingredients, this is obviously the bedroom of Princess Marianne Elicia. She was the third child of King Simon IV and was quite the fan of horses.”

“…So she kept a horse skull in a stasis chest in her bedroom?” Patton asked.

“Of course,” Logan said. “Back when her family was in power, magic was outlawed and had quite the stigma against it, but she ended up learning magic and become quite proficient.”

 “It’s debated what exactly happened when her father found out about her activities. Some sources say that she was executed silently by her father, but others say she managed to escape with the head of the stables but not before putting a curse on the country of Prijaznia. That is until she or one of her bloodline sits on the throne, every royal line will end in madness and blood by the 5th seated monarch before an heir is born.”

“Isn’t that something you should be worried about?” Virgil asked.

Logan shrugged. “It’s just a myth,” he said. “Besides I’m 6th in the line, so there really isn’t any concern.”

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“There are a lot of interesting things in here,” Logan said, still focused on the chest. “Not to mention the books. We’ll have to be careful with those though since they don’t appear to be in stasis.”

Logan pulled the horse skull out and set it on the floor making Patton wince.

“Marisol no!” he said as Princess Marisol immediately went to go sniff at it. He swooped her up in his arms. “How long are we staying in this creepy room?” Patton asked.

“Patton, we just got here,” Logan said.

“We just got here and already found a skull!”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Patton groaned into Princess Marisol’s fur even as she tried wiggle away to go back and investigate the skull. This was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 35

Logan was surprised when he woke up alone in bed. He’d grown to anticipate waking to a smaller body unrelentingly clinging to his in the past couple of weeks. Confused he sat up and peered around his bedroom. He wouldn’t have seen Virgil with the way he melted into the darkness if it he hadn’t heard the sound of purring coming from near the window. He could just barely make out a dark blob shifting up and down at the cat kneaded at a different blob sitting mostly hidden behind the thick curtain.

“Virgil?” Logan questioned. “What are you doing?”

 “It’s snowing,” was the answer.

“That is not an answer,” Logan grumbled at the ceiling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed. It was a bit chilly in here, he thought. The temperature must have dipped suddenly and intensely enough that the runes keeping the castle at a warm enough temperature hadn’t caught up yet. He pulled one of the blankets off of the top of his bed to wrap around his shoulders as he approached the window. There wasn’t much light outside, the stars and moon covered by clouds, but there were some lanterns lit for the night guard who patrolled the outside. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “It’s really snowing.”

 It had been colder but not quite cold enough for snow to stick the day before, so it came as a surprise when he saw snow was piling up quite high to the point where familiar paths outside his window had disappeared.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil informed him.

“Why not?” Logan asked.

“It’s cold,” Virgil answered. It was clear in his tone that in Virgil’s opinion ‘cold’ was a horrible insult to the concept of snow. Logan quirked a half smile and his attention was drawn to the fact that it was quite cold right here close to the window.

 Frowning, he pulled at the blanket around his shoulder so he could wrap it and his arm around the lump that was Virgil. He brushed the boy’s hand when he did so and found it was like ice.

“You’re freezing!” Logan said. “How long have you been by the window?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

Logan was already tugging at him. “You need to get back in bed,” he said.

Virgil obeyed the pulling at his arms even as he frowned. “I’ve been colder than this before,” he said.

“That actually doesn’t make me feel better,” Logan replied dryly as he shooed him towards the bed.

 He took the thicker blanket that usually stayed folded at the end of the bed and pulled it up over Virgil before climbing into bed beside him.

“There,” Logan said, rubbing Virgil’s arms through the fabric of the sweater he wore to bed. He was glad he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt at least. “The runes for heating the castle should catch up within a few hours, but until then this should do. Assuming we don’t sit by the freezing window for an undetermined amount of time.”

“I don’t like the cold,” Virgil told him.

Logan sighed. “Then why did you sit by the window?”

 Virgil shrugged and ducked his head a bit. Logan reached out to grab his hands to help him warm more but was surprised when one of the hands was much warmer than the other. He found his fingers were clutching a crescent shaped stone: the protection charm they’d made. Logan knew that he kept it in his pocket most of the time, but he didn’t normally see him holding it like this. It was warm to the touch, of course, indicating the safety of the room around them.

Logan looked over his face. “Are you…” he said. “Scared of the snow?”

 “I don’t like the cold,” he said once again.

“You’re scared of the winter,” Logan concluded. He looked at Virgil who was far too small for his age and seemed surprised at every casual act of kindness. It was clear that his basic needs were far from being met before he came here. Logan had to wonder what winter usually meant for him. His experiences were doubtlessly very different from Logan’s own. “That makes sense,” he acknowledged, “but you don’t need to be scared of it here. The castle is always perfectly warm and safe in the winter and Mr. Deknis and Ms. Heart work hard during the other seasons to make sure we have plenty of food. There is nothing to fear here.”

 He did not seem convinced.

“You don’t even have to go outside if you don’t want to,” Logan promised. “The castle is plenty big if you���d like to stay inside all winter long. It was made for the winter even without the magic devices that keep it warm. We have fireplaces and well insulated rooms even if those that ends up failing.” Logan pulled open the hand that had the protection charm just to transfer it to his other hand to warm it. “Though, while no one would force you to go outside, the snow isn’t always bad.”

“Yes it is,” Virgil said, his voice sure.

 “Not all the time,” Logan insisted. “Some people love the snow.”

“They’re stupid.”

Logan laughed. “It can be fun for a while with the right equipment if you have someplace to get warm again afterwards. Royal duties slow down during the winter and Patton tends to come up with all sorts of games for both the inside and the outside to pass the time. He’s particularly proficient at snowball fights, at least against me.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Play fighting,” Logan answered. “Like pillow fights, but snow.”

“I’ll stick with the pillows,” he replied.

“And then there’s a hill to sled down on the western side of the castle, and people like to build snowmen along the path.”

“What are snowmen?” Virgil asked.

 They’re temporary statues made out of packed snow,” Logan explained. “Typically, they’re made of three different sized balls of snow: the largest being the base and the smallest the ‘head’ though there are some variations. After building them one typically decorates them with different articles of clothing and objects found lying around. It’s usually sticks and rocks for the face and then things like extra hats and scarfs for decoration.” He smiled softly. “When my Pa was alive, we used to steal my Dad’s crown and fanciest robes. Sometimes Pa would steal it right off of Dad’s head and we’d run away. We’d find a secluded area of the castle yards and build the biggest snowman we could as quickly as we could before we got caught. He’d usually end up letting us keep the robes, but we’d have to give the crown back since some of the metals in it would rust when wet.”

 “That sounds…” Virgil’s nose twitched. “fun if you take away the touching snow part.”

Logan laughed. “It is fun,” he said. “Even with the touching snow part. Though, I admit that some of the ability for it to be entertaining does come from the fact that we could warm up afterwards with ease. You’ll enjoy Patton’s mother’s constant offering of hot chocolate during the season even if you never go outside, I’m sure.”

“Hot chocolate?” Virgil asked intrigued. His dark eyes shone brightly in the little light coming through the window. It was clear he could guess something about the drink just by the name and enjoyed the implications.

 Logan smiled fondly. “It is a hot drink,” he explained. “It’s a warm drink made out of milk and chocolate. I can get you some to try in the morning.”

Virgil nodded, eyes still wide with interest.

“For now, we should sleep though,” Logan said. “Are you warm enough? I can get more blankets.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Good,” Logan said, reaching up and adjusting the blanket over them once more, tucking it around Virgil a little bit for good measure. “Goodnight Virgil,” he said.

“Goodnight,” he replied softly. Logan reached under the blankets to grab the hand that was still slightly chilly from the window between his own. Virgil’s eyes slipped closed after a moment as he nuzzle his face into the pillow. At some point they both drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 36

Thomas had already been well aware that winter was on the way, but he and the rest of the castle occupants had been surprised at how intensely and suddenly it had come on. Most things were ready for the winter, but not all of them had been initiated. The fireplaces that took some pressure off the castle heating runes were cleaned out and ready, but they hadn’t been started yet. The stables for different animals on the grounds had been checked over and staff assignments had been made, but most were still in far out fields. Staff that went home for the winter months had been dismissed, but there were a few stragglers that would have to be helped home before things got worse.

 He’d gone out to the main stable to talk to the three workers that were the heads of different areas of animal husbandry to make sure a plan to get everything to where it needed to be soon was in place. It took a while to figure out considering that they’d expected a little more time before the first major snowfall. Thomas also asked them to make sure all of the workers’ homes were in good enough condition for the weather. Ranch hands typically had homes on castle grounds but not in the castle themselves since they needed to be close to the animals. Thomas knew at least half a dozen of those who spent most of their times out in the fields were the type to forgot to maintain their homes because they preferred camping amongst the animals in the summer months and then would be in for a bad time when snow began to fall.

 There should be enough extra rooms in the castle if they needed a place to stay until repairs could be done.

Those conversations took a good couple of hours, before Thomas was satisfied. Before trudging back to the castle through the still falling snow, he made a point to stop at one specific horse stall in the main stable. The horse turned his head to see Thomas when he stopped in front of his stall and puffed out a rather disaffected snort before sticking his head over the gate so Thomas could pat his nose. “Hello, Mr. Apples,” Thomas said.

 The horse seemed to conclude he’d tolerated Thomas’s petting enough and ducked his head to nudge at his torso. Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I brought you an apple. Some things never change.” He reached into his pocket to grab the red apple he’d brought the white Arabian. “At least you don’t bite me anymore.” He paused, apple slice in hand and eyed the horse’s nose suspiciously. “Do not bite me,” he said even though he hadn’t felt the animal’s teeth in a decade. It would be just like Mr. Apples to wait until his guard was down.

 After a bit of scrutiny, he offered an apple slice. It was snatched out of his hand and there was a loud crunch as it was bit into.

“It’s snowing out,” he told the horse. The horse seemed to roll his eyes at the statement of the obvious. “I’ll remind again that if you run out in a snowstorm, I’m not running after you, so you’d be out of luck.”

Mr. Apples snorted.

“You’re old now. You’d probably not survive long enough for people to find you. Besides, you blend in with that white fur of yours. They’d probably walk right past you a few times.”

 He went back to nosing for treats as soon as he finished his first and Thomas sighed, pulling out another apple slice. “What are they not feeding you enough?” The gusto with which the horse snatched the apple slice was a very clear answer. “Well, we both know that’s not true.” Thomas fed the horse a third slice of apple when he was done with his second. “I have to get back to the castle now. Don’t be a devil horse.”

Mr. Apples threw his head a bit, splattering apple smelling foamy spittle all over Thomas’s front.

“Understood. Have a nice afternoon.”

 He left Mr. Apples in his stall then, knowing he’d be well cared for no matter how ill-tempered he could be at times. He’d been a king’s horse once, after all, no matter that said king had been dead for more than a decade now.

Winters were hard.

Winters were the times when things always slowed down at the castle, where royal duties were often thin. There were a lot of memories in winter.

The trip back to the castle was not particularly long, but it was also not particularly pleasant. The snow had not been cleared away considering it was still snowing which meant his feet and legs were wet and cold by the time he made it to the nearest castle door.

 He wasn’t sure if, when he entered, the castle heating runes had started to work in earnest or if he’d just been so cold that any measure of warmth was appreciated, but he was relieved to be out of the snow either way.

He decided to check up on the progress of the castle staff lighting the fireplaces. With any luck, they’d be lit already, and he could warm up even more. That in mind, he headed towards the main foyer where the largest fireplace in the castle sat to take off the chill brought in by the large front doors.

 The main foyer was bustling with activity when he snuck in along the sides, giving the guards stationed around nods as he passed. The main fire in the room was burning brightly, though only one of the two smaller ones near the side exits from the room was lit. The other one was still being set up with safety mechanisms. It was good progress and assuming other areas of the castle were being set up as efficiently, he assumed they’d all be set up by nightfall.

He’d need to go check around to be sure, but for now, he walked up to the main fireplace to warm his hands.

 He’d gotten into the habit when he was younger to every so often glance upwards. There had been a certain stable boy who had a propensity for climbing trees. These days, he usually found nothing when he did so, often not even consciously noticing that he’d turned his gaze momentarily skywards. Yet, today, he was startled out of his own idleness by dark brown eyes looking back at him from a small ledge in the shadows high above him.

He froze as he met the young boy’s gaze. Virgil seemed as surprised to be caught as Thomas was to have caught him.

 Slowly Thomas raised one hand and waved to the boy. He slunk back into the shadows at the acknowledgment. If Thomas peered hard enough, he could see a shadow stretch up towards the third-floor balcony in the darkness and disappear over the railing.

Interesting boy.

Thomas found himself smiling despite the oddity. They still had not found out much about Virgil. He would speak to Jeffers about many things apparently, but often could not be redirected to invasive topics and he was still a bit skittish around Helen. He hadn’t willingly existed in a room with Thomas. Thomas hoped that changed at some point. There was something about him that made Thomas like him.

  Chapter 37

Virgil had not spent a lot of time out of Logan’s room. What little time he had spent outside of it was either with Patton and/or Logan or tucked away in secret corridors he found in the walls where no one would stumble upon him. Yet, here he was willingly in a, well, not public by any means place, but one that was still more exposed than he was used to being in. Somehow, he was managing to not care at all.

It was helped by the fact that both Logan and Patton had been in the room at the start, but they had gone off to go… somewhere. Food sounded like it might have been the reason.

 He liked food, and usually he would have been all for going to get some, but between them promising to bring him back some and the fact that he was never going to move ever again, he’d decided to stay.

Princess Marisol seemed to be the only other rational being in the whole castle because she had also not moved since discovering the contents of this room. She was currently laying on his chest purring happily.

The fireplace was a wonderful invention. Now, Virgil had, of course, warmed up by a fire before when it was cold, but this was much different. There was a grate that blocked off the fire a bit keeping it from burning the person in front of it and there was a plush rug right by it, perfect for laying down on. Someone had known what they were doing when designing this room.

 He didn’t even care that the king had access to this sitting room as well as Logan.

…

Okay, so he did care a little bit, but he was ignoring that. He was probably busy this time of day anyway, right?

…

He really didn’t want to run into him after being caught watching the castle workers set up the bigger fireplaces. Kings probably didn’t like people sneaking around watching things from the shadows even when they didn’t know that the person sneaking around was literally sent to kill them.

Princess Marisol must have had a sixth sense for his anxieties (or he’d just started breathing faster and disturbed her) because she stirred a bit.

[moonlitceleste]

Elevator Love (Ch. 2)

Chapter 1

So I know it’s been a while since I posted the first chapter, but I decided to give you guys a second as a Valentine’s Day surprise!

I’m really sorry for not updating earlier; besides hating the first chapter so much that I didn’t want to continue, I’ve been really busy with school and extracurriculars, the other WIPs and hobbies I have, and recently my mental health has made a steady plummet haha.

I simultaneously have a vague idea and also absolutely no idea where this fic will go, so we’ll see! Updates will probably be few and far between because besides all the factors mentioned earlier, I’m a really, really, slow writer

Also, I wrote the last chunk of this chapter 1AM last night, so sorry if it’s not coherent askjdhsj

Ages are as follows (it’s been so long since I wrote the first chapter that I forgot what I initially planned them to be so...)

Alfred: ∞ Bruce: 37 Babs: 30 Dick: 27 Cass: 22 Jason: 22 Duke: 20 Tim: 20 Marinette: 19 Damian: 13

Warning: some profanity/cursing ahead!

-

The heavy metal door to Bruce’s office knocked against the wall with a bang as Jason kicked it open with the toes of his worn black boots.

“What,” he grunted, not even waiting for the older to speak first.

Sure, maybe his unprovoked attitude was a little much, but Jason couldn’t help his annoyance.

Just hours before, he was preparing to settle into his favorite plush beanbag and read (well, reread) The Count of Monte Cristo. After a long week of crime-fighting, nothing sounded better than relaxing next to a crackling fire and getting lost in the pages of his favorite book.

But of course, as soon as he decided to unwind, his phone rang with the obnoxious tune of “Jingle Bells, Batman smells!”

Babs had installed the ringtone as a Christmas prank, reinforced with some advanced encryption she had come up with.

Jason could change it if he wanted to—he wasn’t stupid—but Babs was a tech whiz, and it would take more effort than he wanted to spend. Besides, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him struggle.

After the jingle abruptly breached his bubble of tranquility, Jason grudgingly picked up his phone.

He was immediately met with Bruce’s gruff voice and barely had time to process the words that filtered through before the triple beep that signified the end of the call sounded.

What the fuck?

Jason groaned in frustration and ran a hand through his black locks, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

First Bruce called him without warning, demanded he meet him in his office, and proceeded to hang up without leaving him room to talk?

Fucking rude.

Why could he have just texted the very short request he had to Jason instead? That way he could just ignore it and pretend he didn’t see it.

It’s not like he had to oblige—he wasn’t a fucking lapdog, thank you very much—but if he didn’t, Bruce would come up with some inane punishment, like making him babysit Damian.

He didn’t hate the kid or anything, but Jason would rather not have to deal with a hormonal boy in the midst of puberty.

So he set down his book, threw on his leather jacket, and crusaded through the shitty Gotham streets on his motorcycle.

Wayne Enterprises was just as pristine as it was his last visit, with glossy gray-black floors and glass that stretched from ceiling to floor, so clean it sparkled.

Jason passed through easily enough, though not without being spared a few glances that varied from shock to suspicion.

The double-takes weren’t unexpected, what with his being the son of their boss and all, and the suspicious glances from those who didn’t recognize him weren’t exactly unwarranted.

He knew his leather-jacket, combat-boot wearing self looked laughably out-of-place compared to everyone else.

Jason ignored the looks, a habit that had quickly become second nature the moment he went from street kid to ‘street kid with a roof over his head.’

The elevator was thankfully vacant, and as the doors started to close, he shot a quick thanks to the universe that no one else had decided to get on.

Perhaps this was a mistake, because less than a second later he heard a high-pitched voice shout “Wait!”

Jason sighed disappointedly and pressed the button that would open the doors.

He might not have been in the mood for company, but he wasn’t an asshole.

...Okay, whatever. He wasn’t a total asshole.

The girl ran into the elevator after a short while, cheeks flushed from running.

As she stuttered out a thanks, Jason subtly observed her.

She looked a little young to be working at Wayne Enterprises, and her outfit looked much more “picnic date” than it did the formal attire most wore.

There were only a few around her age that worked at WE, none of which whose significant other would have an access card to the building (other than Tim, that is, but there was no way the Replacement had a girlfriend.)

Maybe she was a daughter of one of the employees, then.

The elevator space soon filled up with boxes, and they were forced to do an awkward shuffle to compensate.

A minute later, the girl was unceremoniously shoved into him.

The sweet smell of vanilla and strawberries—subtle yet perceptible—hit his nose, and Jason glanced down.

He could really only see the top of the girl’s head due to their proximity, but her body language screamed discomfort.

So he backed himself up into the elevator wall as much as he possibly could, whispering a sorry and cursing his tall build all the while.

She was admittedly cute, but he’d be damned if he was the prick who pressed himself up against girls without their enthusiastic consent.

The ride was spent with bated breath, and one elevator stop later, Jason found himself walking to Bruce’s office and kicking in the door.

There was a brief silence as it swung back and forth from the momentum; the older simply sighed tiredly and gestured to the chair across from him.

“Have a seat.”

Jason glanced at the black office chair, then at the door as if he were about to suddenly bolt, and then back at the chair. He seemed to think the better of making a hasty escape and grudgingly walked forward, though not without rolling his eyes.

So fucking dramatic.

“What,” he repeated once he had sat himself down.

Bruce just stared at him, hands in a steeple position. It was no doubt an intimidation move; he had seen Batman use the same on Arkham villains.

Jason met his gaze unflinchingly. If he wanted a staring contest, that’s what he’d get.

“Tim has a…friend coming over.”

The silence was broken with slow words, spoken in an almost careful manner.

“Okay. Why’d you have to call me here to tell me that?”

Blunt and to-the-point as always.

“I’m an adult, Bruce. I don’t need a lecture about being on my best behavior. Damian might, though,” he added as an afterthought.

Bruce sighed again and wow was he was doing a lot of sighing today. He really was melodramatic.

“I wasn’t going to lecture you, Jason. I just wanted you to know so you could be prepared.”

“Oh.”

The silence was palpable as an air of awkwardness settled around the two, and Jason sat there fighting the urge to shift in his seat before speaking.

“So is that it?”

“Yes.”

He stood abruptly at the dismissal, pushing in his chair as if he couldn’t wait to get out of there. Well, he did want to get out of there.

With one hand he smoothly opened the heavy door, prepared to leave, but he stopped in his tracks when Bruce spoke once more.

“Jason?”

“What?” he asked, with considerably less annoyance than the first two times.

“...I’m proud of you, lad.”

Jason tried to suppress his shock at the statement, but he wouldn’t be surprised if his facial expression betrayed him.

Despite the somewhat-steady in their family dynamics the past few years, they were still an emotionally constipated bunch.

Jason couldn’t remember the last time someone said those words to him; they meant more to him than he’d reveal.

But because he was a part of the emotionally constipated Wayne family, he settled for an offhand “Yeah, yeah,” before closing the door and walking out.

There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, and the warmth in his heart was one he hadn’t felt in a while, but he could deal with all those emotions later—for now, he had a book to get to.

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior *@bluesimani @enternalempires @flower-girll @freesportspalacesalad @glastwime859 @h1sss @heart-charming @jalaluvsu @kitsunebell @maskedpainter @moongoddesskiana @nathleigh @too0bsessedformyowngood

ELEVATOR LOVE TAGLIST *@bluesimani @buginetye @bumblebeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @laurcad123 @moonlightstar64 @roguishredaxion

[basicallywhiterice]

on top of the world (dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, highschool!au, dancer!sicheng, spring break trip

summary: The fall to the ground doesn’t seem so daunting when you’re living on top of the world.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cussing

a/n: if enough people get mad at me i’ll write a part 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but it is part 1 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

Chinatown, Washington, D.C., 7:01 p.m.

“Honest Abe? More like, honest babe,” Lucas hollers to Kun and no one in particular, drawing a few disgruntled looks from the pedestrians waiting for the walk signal to flash again. He winks at a man in a navy suit, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Yangyang reaches over for a high-five.

“Dude was 6′ 4″, of course he’s a babe,” Sicheng whistles, leaning behind Yangyang and craning his neck to steal glances at Kun’s phone.

To your right, Ningning flits around, snapping pictures of the street displays and assorted neon lights on the storefronts. You watch her alongside Giselle, who pops her bubblegum, periodically glancing at the traffic light at the bustling intersection. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you to your left, Kun rattles off a hodge-podge of facts about Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre, which you just passed by, from his phone screen to a faux-enthused Yangyang, who shakes Sicheng by the shoulders every time Kun reads a new fact. He occasionally gets pushed into Lucas’s side, rolling his eyes while doing little to hide the growing grin on his face.

“... and apparently they planned his assassination in the building the Wok n’ Roll restaurant we passed used to be,” Kun remarks.

“OH MY GOD SICHENG ISN’T THAT SO CRAZY?” Yangyang all but screams. “IT WAS IN THE WOK N’ ROLL!”

As you glance over fondly, your eyes linger on the orange hues and kaleidoscopic shadows the nearby “do not walk” signal spills over Sicheng’s face. After a moment, he looks away from Yangyang’s exaggerated bouncing. His gaze flits upwards, meeting your stolen glance with his own.

The world grinds to a halt beneath your feet when a strong gust of wind blows through your hair, propelling you into free fall into the depths of his eyes until Giselle tugs on your arm, pulling you back into the present.

She gestures toward the “walk” signal on the traffic light, and you fall in line with her quick footsteps as you stride across the crosswalk.

“We should go there later,” she suggests. “Try summoning Lincoln’s ghost or something.”

“The Wok n’ Roll?”

“Yeah. Do you think his ghost would have his top hat?”

“I thought ghosts were just spirits and didn’t take material possessions with them?”

“Yeah, but then every ghost would be naked, which would be hella inappropriate.”

Ningning overhears, skipping up to you and looping her arm through yours. “You have to prove the existence of ghosts and take them out to dinner before you get them naked, you pig.”

“I made yo momma sound like a ghost last night,” Lucas quips. “I skipped the ‘getting dinner’ part, though.”

“Goddamn,” Giselle exclaims as you burst into laughter, throwing jokes and jabs at each other for the rest of the trek to the ramen restaurant where you eat dinner.

Hilton Garden Inn, Washington, D.C., 9:13 p.m.

After helping Giselle and Ningning unpack, you knock on the communicating door between your hotel room and the boys’ in order to bother Kun.

Sicheng answers, moving aside so you can step across. Their room is surprisingly clean, although you chalk it up to the limited amount of time they had to unpack earlier today. Lucas sits at the desk in the corner near the window, hunched over his laptop while Yangyang peeks over his shoulder. You glimpse a few pictures of the Washington Monument on his screen before he scrolls down to other marble structures.

“Are you looking up other places to visit?” you ask him.

He glances up, cracking his neck before responding. “Yeah. I can’t find anything special that we don’t know about, though.”

“It’s boutta be lit,” Yanyang chimes in.

“Ayeee,” Lucas responds. They start aggressively patting each other on the back and arms, and you take that as your cue to leave before they wrestle you into whatever weird ritual they’re performing.

Turning, you see Sicheng flop down onto the bed closest to the windows where Kun lays, sprawled out. “Hey,” Kun greets, lifting his head from his pillows.

“Hey,” you reply, remembering the reason why you came to the room in the first place. “Oh yeah! I found a stop sign a few blocks from here on a decently busy street. It’ll take ten minutes to go there and back, tops.”

He groans. “I would love to go, but I just got a stomachache. Tell you what. Sicheng,” he says, propping himself up at a snail’s pace and clasping Sicheng’s shoulder, “you can accompany her there, right?”

“To a stop sign?” Sicheng asks, looking up from his phone.

“A hand-picked, top tier, magnificent stop sign,” you proclaim. “Whenever me and Kun travel, we always get a random passerby to take our picture in front of a stop sign like it’s a tourist attraction. Are you down for potential social awkwardness?”

The corner of Sicheng’s lips tugs up into a grin. “You know it. I’m not ruining your tradition with Kun, am I?” he asks, glancing sideways at Kun for confirmation.

Kun flops back down on the bed. “Nah. If I went right now, I’d probably ruin the tradition by shitting my pants there or something.”

Sicheng chuckles. “Promise? We could print out those pictures and mail them back to your parents like a postcard.”

“I like the way you think,” you say with a scheming smile, nodding at Sicheng before turning back to Kun. “Anyways, drink some warm water to help with your stomachache, maybe? What do you think caused it?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that trashcan pizza slice in the subway.” Sicheng reaches over and flicks his forehead. “Ow! I’m kidding! Why would you torment a sick man like this? Go away and take your pictures already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask as Sicheng asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll take a Pepto-Bismol in fifteen minutes. Go and have fun.” He waves you off, grabbing a spare pillow and lightly smacking Sicheng with it.

“Fine, mom.” Sicheng stands, pocketing his phone. “You ready? I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Yeah.” As he walks over to the closet, you sneak a peek at your reflection through your phone screen. Fighting back a sudden bundle of nerves, you discreetly smooth your t-shirt down, running a hand through your hair. Kun wiggles his eyebrows when he notices, and you flip him off, silently warning him to stay quiet.

He doesn’t. “Have fun on your date with loverboy,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

“After you leave, should I check out the pool?” he murmurs. “Lucas and Yangyang said they don’t feel like swimming tonight.”

“What, isn’t your stomach—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time? Off you go!” He shoos you away, almost standing up to push you away and laying back down before Sicheng can turn around. You’re almost impressed by how well he set you up.

Still, though. If Kun weren’t your best friend, you’d shove him into the hotel’s fountain.

H Street Northwest, Washington D.C., 9:40 p.m.

Half an hour later, you give up on the facade of collecting anti-tourist pictures after the third stop sign, stopping by the Chinatown Express to grab a bowl of noodles with roast duck to go. You walk for a few blocks before finding a bench to sit and split it at, slurping them up in an appreciative silence.

“Oh my god,” Sicheng intones around a mouthful of noodles. When you look over, his cheeks are puffed, an empty spoon descending to rest inside the soup container.

“You look like one of those baby birds eating scraps,” you giggle.

“I’m certainly skilled with chicks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, then scoot closer to pick up a piece of roast duck. Your knees touch, but neither of you move away. “Do you think there’s a more advanced form of life than humans, like aliens, and they view us how we view animals?” you ask, resuming the conversation you had about the meaning of life before you sat down. “Like we don’t think birds could become self-aware, no matter how intelligent they are, so then we can’t achieve the alien version of self-awareness no matter how philosophical we get.”

“Good question. Uh, alien self-awareness would probably relate to the meaning of life or something, right? Or the secrets of the universe and breaking the laws of physics. And because they’re so big brained, they could control things with their minds and be enlightened with telekinesis. So hypothetically, if I were a wise, sagely alien,” he says, gently picking up your hand and laying it flat against his palm, “I could make my hand pass through yours if I had enough brainpower.”

His hand is warm, and you hope furiously that your palms aren’t sweating. “Was this another excuse to hold my hand?”

“Well, did it work?”

You raise your eyebrows and fail at biting back your smile. “You already know, you just want to hear me say it.”

He grins. “Then say it!”

“Yes, Sicheng, it worked.”

“Awesome.” He moves his right hand to pick up his spoon, briefly tugging your hand with him until he realizes. “Fuck. Sorry, I have to let go of your hand while I eat. Unless you wanna see me struggle with my left hand.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I feel like that’d be an insult to the rest of the noodles.”

When you finally remember to stand up and throw away the long-forgotten remnants of your food, he holds your hand carefully but firmly as you walk past the White House, and you imagine his hold on your heart must feel the same.

Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C., 11:16 p.m.

“Dance with me,” Sicheng pleads, pulling you under a streetlight. You nod, but your feet stay cemented on the brick-paved sidewalk.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s fine.” You place your hand in his outstretched one, and he lifts your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “No one’s around to judge, so just do whatever.”

“Wise words,” you deadpan, but you let his hand on your waist guide your swaying.

He’s right, though. After the initial awkwardness fades, you find that waltzing around isn’t so bad after all—especially when he twirls you around the pocket of light underneath the lamppost so gently it feels like you’re dancing on air.

And when he dips you as you throw your head back, laughing, you think you finally understand why his eyes light up every time he finishes a dance performance.

“Is this what you love about dancing?” you ask once you’ve come back up.

He nods, eyes closing briefly. “Partly. The grand choreographies are the showstoppers, but the simpler moments keep me sane.” His eyes flutter open. “I haven’t let anyone see me dance with such bad technique in a while. I’m usually not this bad, I promise.”

“I know,” you grin. “I saw you at the winter showcase. You were amazing.” Then you take a deep breath, and brace for the worst. “The lyrical piece you closed with was the one you used for your audition, right?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

Abruptly, he releases your hands and steps back. You allow yourself to feel a twinge of guilt for mentioning the elephant in the room before you steel yourself for the impending conversation.

“We should probably talk about that,” he says.

“We should. Do you want to walk around the National Mall? You said you liked it earlier today.”

“Sure.”

The walk is quiet enough for you to overthink. Sicheng got accepted by a dance studio in Korea, after months of submitting auditions and traveling back and forth between countries. He’s leaving soon, even if he says he’s still waiting to hear back from Juilliard and keeping his options open. You see it in the goodbyes he keeps subconsciously saying and the memories he drinks in like it’s his last chance to, and you’re terrified of what your life will look like without him.

You glance over at him periodically, and he seems to be lost in thought too, staring straight ahead down the well-lit path. His eyebrows furrow as you pass under a streetlight, and you wonder if you brought it up the wrong way.

You’re disappointed in the crude way you shoved the future into a perfectly happy moment, then mad that you’re disappointed. It was inevitable that you’d have to talk about what would come after graduation, and it was inevitable that he’d have to remove himself from your side to chase after his dreams. It’s a wonder he hasn’t pulled away already.

Stupid, you chide yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, loving so hard that your chest implodes from all the weight it carries, already drifting through the pangs of hurt and the wisps of melancholy bringing about a premature nostalgia.

“I’m really going to miss you next year,” Sicheng confesses out of the blue.

You glance up. His hands are shoved into his pants pockets, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to remember all the secrets it hides.

You think you might always run back to him. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:33 p.m.

“So.”

“So,” you echo. “Have you looked at decisions yet?” It’s a pointless question. You know he’s not going to Juilliard.

“Yeah, I looked at them this afternoon in the theater.” He clears his throat. “I got waitlisted.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not going to accept a spot on the waitlist.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I had made my decision anyway.” Then he sighs, his nonchalant facade dropping for good. “You can probably guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m accepting the studio’s offer,” he whispers, as if the air is glass and the moment could shatter at any moment. The words float there, above your head, and you imagine grabbing them and hugging them close to your chest before they slip away.

You don’t. “I figured.”

“Yeah. You knew.”

You stare ahead and will the tears not to fall.

“I’m leaving as soon as school ends,” he says, with the sideways glance that marks the start of his rambling distraction process, “and flying there on—”

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurt. He pauses mid-sentence. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy. Can we talk about this, for real? You can tell me all the details later, I just—please,” and your voice cracks, “don’t dismiss this.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

A blink, and the first teardrop traces its way down your face.

You waste away the hours of your stolen youth with a boy who wipes your tears away and comforts you over the future that you’ll no longer be a part of.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:57 p.m.

“Before I leave,” Sicheng says, scuffing the heels of his shoes on the gravel pathway, “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. I mean, I’m going to leave anyways, so why not, you know? I have to say something before I’m gone. Um, so, you know this by now, but I… I—” and you already know what’s coming.

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Give me a minute to think.”

You make the mistake of glancing up at him, his eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Alright. Take all the time you need, please.”

In half a year, Sicheng will be gone and you will be left to pick up the pieces of your life that don’t involve him, piecing them together the best you can and carrying on like there isn’t a hole in your heart.

“I’m in love with you.” One thud of your heartbeat. Then another. “Sicheng.”

In half a year, this chance will be long gone, and if you let it slip through your fingers without grabbing on, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting Sicheng become your biggest what-if.

“I’m in love with you too.” He raises his hand to cradle your face in his palm. “Y/n.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while now.”

“Me too. It’s not just because I’m leaving, you know.” You nod, his palm momentarily pressing against your cheek. “You knew.”

“Yeah.”

You stare up at him, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and holds entire galaxies in his eyes.

“What are we?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about dating?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights. “Dating?”

“Yeah, would you? Like to date me?”

And then Sicheng turns into a what-if again. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t know if I could handle the split.”

“We don’t have to break up when I leave. We could do long distance,” he suggests, but it sounds flimsy even to your ears.

“I don’t know, Sicheng. I don’t want to end up losing you.”

“I know. We don’t have to, especially if you don’t want to.”

You nod once in acknowledgment, and then you’re stepping into his arms again. He holds you securely, stroking your hair and waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper into his shoulder an eternity later. “Could we have been doing this earlier?”

“It would’ve been too fast,” he reasons, and you’re inclined to agree. “We didn’t really… not until this year…”

“Yeah.” You’ve known Sicheng for years and have been close with him for months, but you only fell in love with each other when it was too late. “I wish we started hanging out sooner.”

“Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe.”

You pull back enough to glance up at him, gaze dropping to his lips at the close proximity before immediately bringing it back up. His eyes follow the movement, a smile creeping up his face.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asks, and he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to believe he’d be wrong.

“It wouldn’t,” you agree. His nose bumps with yours and you blink up at him once, twice, and then you’re leaning in until the faraway sounds of the city fade away. He’s purposeful and patient and when all you can think of is the brush of his lips against yours, it’s just you and him against the world.

One kiss might not hurt, but one turns to two and two turns to too many and when you finally pull away and stare into his eyes, dazed, your lips tingle from the ghost of his mouth on yours.

At that moment, the way his mouth slowly stretches into a grin does something to your heart, and you think you’d let it break a million times just to be the cause of his smile.

“Yes, Sicheng. Let’s date.”

He kisses you again, beaming so wide that his teeth knock against your lips and pulling you closer, almost picking you up in the process.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

[pinkrelish]

I Tripped and Fell in Love With You

Summary: Obito moved back to Konoha and had little to show for it. An accident thirteen years ago took his parents from him, left him disfigured, and some days-most days-he wished it was him instead. If he could go outside without looks, he would. If he could be stuck at a dead end job, he would. If he could move out of his friend's apartment, he would. Unfortunately, he stayed shut in his room, convincing himself to get out of his bed every morning. Talking himself into a shower. Persuading one of his online friends to game with him, only to get ignored. He went to bed empty, hollow. Maybe waking up tomorrow would be worth it.

Emiko's life seemed strange to some, irresponsible to others. For her, it was freedom. Sleeping in her van; waking to song birds, the ocean, a lake hidden by Redwoods- whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Her jobs allowed her to roam the country, and yet, she found herself in Konoha. The city where her life ended, and started, two years ago.

Tropes: meet-cute, strangers to lovers speedrun, grumpy/sunshine, modern au

Chapter: 1/12

Words: 7.6k

Read: AO3 / FFnet

Chapter 1: Fate

Obito jolted at his desk for the umpteenth time since he moved in. His roommate, or rather, best friend had kicked open his door and demanded his attention, holding little regard for privacy in one’s room.

Cursing and unbunching his shoulders, Obito tore the headphones from his head, clattering random keys on his keyboard in the process. He glared at the intruder. “What now?”

Kakashi crossed his arms over his thin t-shirt and leaned on the doorway. The pose wasn’t complete until he jerked his chin to swing his mess of silver hair out of his face. He regarded him with something akin to contempt, like a parent convincing their unruly child to clean their room. “Get dressed. We’re running errands today.”

Obito grumbled, “What if I don’t wanna go?”

“When’s the last time you saw the sun? It’ll do you some good.”

Great, the nagging started. Not without merit, Obito couldn’t remember the last time he left the apartment; most likely when he was dragged along to get groceries last week, but still, he was in the middle of a boss fight and the soft dings coming from his headphones foretold the slew of angry messages he was getting.

Haughtily, he turned around and backspaced the gibberish in the chat box he wrote on accident and hovered his fingers over the keys. Kakashi’s stare was boring a hole in his back. “Fine..” He typed a quick excuse to the other members and logged off. Next time he logged on, his character would be in the graveyard and he would be bumped down a rank in the guild. “I said fine, I’m going,” he grunted. Kakashi left the doorway to finish putting product in his hair.

Shuffling through the heaps of clothes on the closet floor, then the one at the end of his bed, Obito shoved his legs in some light wash jeans and pulled on a faded black hoodie over his head, disregarding the state of his bedhead. The hoodie wasn’t bought faded in the fashionable way, nor were the holes near the cuffs on purpose; it was a security blanket of sorts and his dependency on it showed.

At the front door, Kakashi looped a blue surgical face mask over his ears, inspecting Obito warily. “Isn’t it a little hot for that today?”

Obito picked at one of the holes. “I’d rather cover up..”

“Not feeling up to it?”

“The stares? Can’t say that I am.”

Kakashi’s eyes fell sympathetically. He toed Obito’s worn sneakers over to him with the edge of his Converse and tried to lighten the mood, “We won’t be out too long. Maybe you’ll have fun.” His words were considerate, but his voice lacked conviction knowing Obito’s struggles to take the first step out the door, the car, and into an unkind world not fit for him.

~~~

The thrift store’s fluorescent lights flickered above Emiko, but the treasure hunt was enough of a distraction. Metal hangers scraped the aluminum rack, screeching in protest, as she pushed an entire section of long sleeve button ups away from her, working her fingers through the stack, flipping hangers one by one to the open space she created. Her eyes scanned each tag at the collars with trained precision.

Not old enough, not old enough, not old enough, bingo!

The tan, forest green, and maroon striped Tommy Hilfiger button up was thrown on top of the pile weighing down her other arm, bicep straining under the burden. Another push and the scrape, scrape, scrape continued.

Emiko’s pupils dilated. Two down, beyond the modern discount branded shirts was a 1980’s Sears tag with its iconic boxed in font. She disregarded the others and reached for it, grabbed the hanger. Hunger eclipsed his rises. Her heart deafened her hearing.

A hand bumped hers. A large man’s hand grabbed the black and red flannel at the same time as her. It was fast, an accident, and yet her mind processed it in slow motion. Gnarled scars- worse than she had ever seen in person- covered the fingers, knuckles, palm; all the visible flesh before it disappeared under a sleeve. Her eyes traveled up the sleeve to the flushed face of the man towering over her. He yanked his hand away and muttered an apology. The warmth he left behind on her fingers lingered.

She was staring at him. The same marred flesh matched half his face; a half he quickly turned away to hide from her prying curiosity. Before he could turn completely around, he made eye contact with someone a row over who was watching the exchange.

“You should buy it.” Emiko unhooked the hanger and gestured for him to take it. He stopped his retreat, eyeing the garment up to her beaming smile. She closed the distance and held it up to his chest. “You’d look handsome in it.”

Obito couldn’t have heard her right. Or she was messing with him. He forced his resistant line of sight back to hers and it sent a new wave of sweat crawling down his back. Her youthful face, full of childlike innocence, brightened at his sheepishness. He grasped the hanger prodding him in the chest.

“Really, the colors suit you.” She spun around on her heel and whisked away to the checkout counter, upheaving the men’s clothing in her arms for the cashier to scan. Her black hair tied in a messy bun bobbed as she thanked the woman ringing her up and left the store.

Kakashi cleared his throat. “I’ll buy it for you.” No room for argument. No ‘ifs’ he wanted it. Obito ran the fabric between his good index finger and thumb as if there was room to consider. He moved to put it back and Kakashi sucked his teeth. “I said I’ll buy it.”

“But I already owe you..”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s what? A couple bucks?”

Obito tucked the shirt against his chest. “Thanks..” He didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but the girl from earlier rattled him. Yes, she stared, but her face was easy to read. It was sincere, like her compliment, not like she was taking pity on him. Her smile.. Her smile would be the last thing playing over in his head that night.

~~~

The next day Kakashi was at his door again, banging it open. Obito didn’t turn away from his computer this time. Instead, he mumbled at his presence while scanning over the comments on a thread about the game he played, “What is it now?”

“Wanna come with me to the bookstore? There’s a new release I wanted to pick up.”

Obito hunched more and continued scrolling. “Sure, whatever.”

Anything to get him out of his room. Kakashi was a patient man. He always gave his friend a gracious leash to lead, but Obito’s state was deteriorating day after day, and it was time to shorten the chain. Yet, at the same time, no matter how much he persisted, the mattress remained on the floor, old food containers and cups stacked the small space available on his desk, and clothes were strewn about haphazardly. When Obito moved in he brought his desktop computer, a laptop, and a suitcase of old clothes with room to spare. To say he wasn’t doing well would be minimizing the issue. Obito’s grandmother did what she could to care for grandson. Unfortunately, depression couldn’t be hugged away.

Kakashi worked his jaw and tried again. He tried as he did most days when he wasn’t swamped with work. “You can wear your new shirt. That girl did say it looked handsome on you, afterall.”

Obito fidgeted with his mouse. The page scrolled faster than his eyes could have processed the words. “I already said I would go.”

“Then get dressed,” Kakashi said, pushing himself off the doorway. He tried. He always did. He always would.

To say Obito was surprised would be an understatement. Konoha was a big fucking city. Why was she here of all places? And why did that exhilarate him.

The girl from the thrift store grasped the door handle to the bookstore, saw who she was opening it for, and laughed. A simple, polite gesture had a twist better than any murder mystery novel.

Her cheeks dimpled, grinning ear to ear. “Hey! I remember you,” she said to Kakashi. “And especially you.” She pointed at Obito. His breath hitched and the excitement dwindled to embarrassment. Of course she would remember him. “Because you’re so handsome!”

The girl waltzed to the counter at the front of the store with a grace that contradicted her ripped band tee and acid wash jeans. Obito idled in the doorway. His mouth hung in confusion. She hefted her tote bag of books on the counter, turning them in for quick cash. Kakashi’s eyes twinkled at his friend, shoving him into the store.

“Well, well, well, who would have predicted such a fateful meeting?” Kakashi asked rhetorically and promptly abandoned Obito for the Romance section.

Obito stuttered a reply, to both his meddling friend and the girl, but it died on his lips. He rubbed his scarred hand framed in soft black and red plaid. A man walked in behind him, narrowing his tone at him for obstructing the entrance, and Obito hid himself amongst the shelves closest to the desk. It gave him a vantage point to watch her chat with the employee behind the desk, clutch her chest, sign a book, take a photo with a small child at the insistence of the child’s father. Was he supposed to know who she was? Did Kakashi set this up?

Minutes later, Emiko sighed in relief. She obscured herself in the literary fiction section on the opposite side of the store from the front desk. Here, she could decompress and calm her heart. At the first sight of the man from the thrift store it decided to drum its own beat. Erratic. The aggressive pounding was accompanied by a blush. And yet, she couldn’t help but peek around corners and through books in search for the man in plaid. When she couldn’t find him, she turned to the shelves in search of a book she came here to find, hoping a second hand copy would present itself.

She had limited space for collecting books, and thus sold many to this chain of stores promising pocket change in exchange for her tote bag full of new releases, but it would be enough for the paperback she wanted, if she could just reach it. On the top shelf sat her prize. Every time she reached for it, face straining in her underarm, standing on her tiptoes, she pushed it further and further away. Blindly, she tried pinching the spine between her fingernails, and again, it evaded her, traveling to the recesses of the shelf. 

“Need help?”

Emiko raised her face to the person who sent her mind into a tizzy in the first place. His adorable mess of dark brown bedhead was all the more endearing when he was offering to lend her his height. She had the urge to run her fingers through his hair, to tame it. She refrained for now, choosing to press her hands together and beg him to reach the tome for her.

Obito lifted the book off the shelf easily. He clutched it in his good hand and waved it up and down, then thumbed through the ending pages until he found a number. His eyes bulged and he fought for what social graves he could muster, stuttering out, “T-this must be a good book to be over a thousand pages.” He handed it to her. Their fingers touched. They glided against one another as the book changed possession. Soft, smooth. The small amount of human contact stood out; a vivid display of art in his otherwise gray life.

Passion trilled her every word. “I love it! I’ve wanted this edition for so long. There’s a big difference between who translates which one and this one’s more true to the French original.”

Around the corner, Kakashi tapped the edge of his novel in his palm, listening (spying), thinking (coming up with a plan). When he was satisfied they would be busy for a while, he returned to the desk at the front and worked his charm on the young lady behind it until she answered him.

“Oh, her? She’s Emiko Kurokawa. She wrote the kid’s books over there”-she pointed at a Bestsellers shelf behind her, particularly at the fantasy book with two boys in knights armor on the cover-”I always heard she was from Konoha, but never met her. Had to get an autograph!” Kakashi thanked her and took his two new books to the checkout counter.

Emiko jerked her head up at the sound of her name over the intercom calling her to come collect her money for the books she sold to them. If she guessed well, it would be just enough to cover the paperback in her hand.

“Ah, that’s me. Gotta go!” She waved at the man who kept popping up in her life. He mumbled something as she wove through the aisles, but she didn’t hear. She waved more enthusiastically.

Obito took his left hand out of his jeans pocket; his unscarred hand, and waved back. “Emiko,” he said to himself. Seeing her again was happenstance, that’s all. But a blossoming emotion rippled from his stomach to his chest. It was something he hadn’t felt in years. Eagerness. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to keep running into her like this. He wanted to know more than her first name.

“Hey.” Obito’s daze broke at his friend’s sudden appearance. “Did you find anything you wanted?”

“Uh, no, I guess not.” Obito cooled his taut features to indifference. He motioned at the plastic bag in Kakashi’s hand. “You good?”

“Yeah, we can leave.”

As they walked to the door, Obito scanned the store as discreetly as possible. He was tall enough to see over the shelves, but she eluded him. In the parking lot, he tried again, pretending to survey the cars around in quick, side-eye glances to no avail. Despite not finding her, that didn’t stop his heart from racing at the prospect of meeting her again.

At home, Kakashi set to work. Sleuthing, creeping, whatever; he did a simple search for Obito’s crush. He never once brought her up to him, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. Enraptured by a girl he just met. It was adorable, something you found only in romance books. Konoha was a large city and yet they ran into her two days in a row. Now Kakashi needed to make it three. He worked his own system of fate.

He turned the hardback book over and opened the back flap. Obito better thank him for this; playing wingman cost him $18. He scanned the short bio under the headshot of the girl. Near the bottom were her social media handles.

Kakashi typed in her username and his lips wrung wryly. So that garish van in the parking lot was hers. The hulking metal beast was an import. Mostly cream with a large zig zag down the side in brown, orange, white, and yellow. Not his style, although vintage cars had their charm, he supposed. He cycled through the images to get to an interior shot.

Interesting. He peered closer at his monitor. Inside the belly of the vehicle was essentially a studio apartment. The caption was too long to capture his interest, but he garnered the sink, stovetop, and cookware were new additions.

He clicked back to her feed. Scrolling down, the van was featured frequently in posts tagged around the country. Every now and then, there would be a picture from the back of the van, double doors wide open with twine tied between them and t-shirts hung up. He leaned in to read the bands and dates. 1980’s concert tees. Judging by the comments, these were rare and sold to the first few influx of inquiries immediately.

The ring around her profile picture was lit up. In her stories she announced a vintage clothing pop up market downtown. She would have a small set up tomorrow if people wanted to support her locally before a much larger event next weekend.

The plan was put into motion.

~~~

Kakashi’s eyes flitted from the highway to Obito’s pallor face from the gray clouds outside. “You don’t have to look so miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” Obito murmured at the window.

“What’s on your mind, then?”

Obito took his hand from his chin and crossed his arms over his chest, constricting the seat belt. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing.. Or something? Perhaps someone?” Kakashi prompted.

“Would you drop it,” he bit back.

All yesterday evening Kakashi tortured Obito with questions. As soon as he was caught staring off into space, his friend’s face managed to appear and rile him up, asking if he was thinking of the girl from the bookstore. It didn’t take a mechanical engineer like Kakashi to deduce Obito’s recent lopsided smiles were caused by her.

Kakashi smirked under his face mask. Meeting number three.

Nerves tangled themselves in Obito’s stomach as Kakashi turned off the engine. Crowds of people swarmed the small parking lot of the brick building serving freshly squeezed juice and egg-free cookies. He shuffled his feet on the sidewalk. Absentmindedly, he wrenched his fingers around his right arm, not quite feeling the sensation. Sleeves and pants may have covered a good portion of his insecurities, but nothing hid his face. Years ago he tried growing out his hair to help obscure himself; it wasn’t regarded well by the one girl he had a crush on, and proved to be too much upkeep.

After today, Obito would need to have a serious talk to Kakashi about boundaries. These past few days were spent laying awake at night in a cold sweat, his mind replaying every little interaction in flashes of anxiety induced judgemental ogles. He tried to push them aside, to replace them with Emiko’s kindness. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Of her. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl was nice to him to get closer to Kakashi.

The small relief he previously felt when thinking of her turned sour. Motives aside, even if she was interested in him, all he had was her first name. He would never see her again. He could laugh at his bad luck. Yes, if she were interested in him, she would be the first person in years to give him attention with such tenderness, expecting nothing in return, and he would never experience it again. And certainly not on a consistent basis like a normal person in a relationship.

He almost wished he were ignored. Things would be easier.

Kakashi caught Obito’s elbow, guiding him in and out of the crowd, weaving through the mass, dead set on a target. Obito bumped a woman’s shoulder. He mumbled a quick apology and upon sight, she blanched. The annoyed pinch of her brows arched up in surprise. Her friend sucked in a breath and held her right cheek in remorse.

He wished he were ignored.

Classic rock music blared from speakers. Every tent they passed played something different. Under the canopies, tables and clothing racks displayed a wide array of clothing. Some hideously colorful, some graphic t-shirts with crude sayings on the front. Most tents had banners advertising the individual store names and where to find them on Instagram. The recurring theme was the word vintage. Obito swiveled his head around in wonderment.

“Ah, here.” Kakashi dropped his elbow, flipping through a rack with deft fingers, searching the black band tees for the one he wanted.

Thunder rumbled from above. Vibrant dyed shirts turned neon, standing out against the pavement as the sun fought the host of black clouds taking over the sky.

Kakashi pulled out the single stitch Led Zeppelin tee. He turned over the price tag. First the book, now this. Obito’s happiness better be worth it. It certainly would be if his dopey grins were anything to go by.

“Kakashi.. You didn’t.” Obito paled. He tugged at his black and red sleeve cuff.

“I’ll take this!” Kakashi pivoted to show the girl.

Emiko perked up at hearing the prospect of a sale. She cut her conversation short with the vendor beside her and turned. Her face froze in a gape. Then it moved all at once. She laughed, long and hard, holding her belly. She cackled and the people around her snorted at the high pitched witchy sound. “You two again?”

A raindrop fell on her forehead.

“Uh oh,” someone warned. Emiko was one of the few lacking an awning or tent.

Her hand laid outstretched and Kakashi placed the money in her palm, though she was too busy to notice, preoccupied by the water falling from the sky.

Obito’s glare went ignored as Kakashi whipped out his phone. He held the black screen to his ear. “Oh! Yeah, sure, I’ll come pick you up.”

Emiko brought her attention down to her customer, the money clutched in her fingers, to Obito. She spoke to the man with silver hair quickly making himself scarce. “Ah, thank you! Do you want me to wrap the shirt?”

Kakashi shook his phone. “Gotta go! Guy needs a ride somewhere.” He walked backwards, waving at his bewildered friend. “I’ll pick you up later, just busy yourself here a while. Okay, bye!” 

Kakashi melded with the crowd, leaving Obito to gawk at the idiocy. Not only at Kakashi, but at himself for coming here in the first place. Emiko watched Kakashi’s departure with confusion. It hurt. Obito had guessed right. This would make how many times he was used for his connection to him?

“I, uh.” He stopped short of his thought as she smiled at him. He wiped his clammy hands on his shirt. A steady drizzle dotted the asphalt. The heavy, humid air brought the earthy scent of fresh rain.

“You can hang out here if you want.” She rocked on her heels, hands clasped behind her back. The clouds halted their journey across the sky. They stayed put over the gathering. She flinched as the drops stung her eyes.

Rain might as well be acid according to the rush of bodies moving to jerk clothing racks under tents, save old leather boots from their displays, and hug coats to their bodies like a lost loved one. The whipping of umbrellas sounded off around Obito; not to cover the heads of humans, but to hold over clothing.

“A-are you sure? I can just.. Fuck off somewhere,” he trailed off. In a flurry of panic Emiko dashed for her van parked in the grass off the side of the lot, threw open the double doors in the back and began smashing tens of t-shirts between her arms and tossing them inside where they would be dry.

This further confused Obito. He expected to see the back of seats, maybe a trunk filled with junk, or even a completely gutted vehicle whose main purpose was transporting goods. What he did not predict was a dining room table, two long booth style seats, and was that a kitchen? The seats were taken over by cardboard boxes and Emiko was desperately tossing her shirts into them. Without thinking, Obito copied her movements, grabbing clothing by the armful and laying them on the table.

Emiko stilled. Shadows of arms leapt over her head. She looked up, and up, until her head bumped Obito’s inner elbow. A drop of rain dripped from his forehead, snaked around the ravines of scars on his cheek, and fell to the collar of his white undershirt. Relief caressed her worried face at his help, thankful he could reach over her with his height.

The moment, just a moment, would last a lifetime in their heads.

Emiko dipped under his arm and gathered more clothing, now attuned to his body moving around hers until the racks were cleared and the downpour flooded the parking lot. She pushed him to the rolling side door and urged his soaked body in, yelling over the wet bullets that she had to return the racks to a friend before slamming it closed and doing the same to the double doors in the back.

Obito had to duck to step inside the van, but to his surprise, he could stand fully upright without bumping the roof. He ran his hand along the sunken LED lights nestled in the polished oak boards lining the ceiling. The rest of the walls were white, as were the cabinets along every wall. Matching oak acted as countertops. Across from him was a tall closet partitioned by a curtain. To the left was a sink and induction stovetop. He took two steps in and was greeted by the long table taking up the back half of the van covered in fifty-year-old damp t-shirts. Opposite the sink and stove was an open countertop, he assumed for things like prepping meals. Before she ran off, she said to make himself at home, so he pushed the cardboard boxes down the bench to give him room to sit. The silence of the van, the pinging of rain on the metal roof. He took everything in again. And he wondered just what he had gotten himself into today.

Elsewhere, Kakashi sat at a cafe by himself, sipping his hot coffee, watching the rain streak the large window. His mask hung loose on one ear. His delighted reflection mirrored the sip. The coffee shop was only two blocks away, but he parked his car up the street so Obito wouldn’t be suspicious. Wingman, cupid, liar, whatever Kakashi was, Obito would thank him when he realized that upon seeing Emiko again, it was the first time he gave a genuine smile in years.

The door rolled open and Emiko stepped in, pausing momentarily to shake herself off like a dog after a bath, sending droplets flying through the air. “Sorry about that,” she said, closing the door, prying off her sneakers with the other foot. Her joviality brightened the room and Obito shrank in the cushions.

She climbed over the booth seat and pulled a pile of shirts to the end. She nodded at a box next to him and after a beat, Obito handed it to her. Hangers were wrested and tossed in the box. Shirts were folded in a neat stack on the table. “Wanna hang out here until your friend comes back? I’ll make tea if ya want.” He opened his mouth to respond. Too late. The kettle was being filled and the stovetop beeped as she pressed buttons on its surface.

“Oh, that’s uh, thank you.”

“I get so chilly in storms,” she said, rubbing her arms. “Oh!” She whirled and opened the curtained closet. The same white tile used for the backsplash of the kitchen covered the tiny room top to bottom. Emiko tossed him a towel.

Obito, not having used social etiquette in some time, swiped it over his hair and face and handed it back, hoping he didn’t disrespect some unspoken rule by using it too much. Emiko was more liberal in her use. She ran it over her white crop top, dark wash denim overalls, and took off her mismatched patterned socks. It was then he saw the trail of mud leading to his shoes and if he could get away with slapping himself, he would.

While the kettle heated, she returned to folding. Obito followed her lead and folded the pile nearest him. She had a special technique using her fingers to tuck in the sleeves while standing and place the shirt on her chest, folding up the bottom in thirds, perfectly displaying the graphic. He decided to do it as his grandmother taught him. He laid it flat on the table and folded one half at a time, then thirds like her. It took him longer, but she hummed in appreciation for his effort.

“I’m glad you wore that flannel again.”

He glanced down at himself. The flannel was unbuttoned and his drenched white shirt was more see-through than he liked. His khakis were in a similar state; darkened from the rain. “Thanks.” It wasn’t necessarily a compliment, but he didn’t know a better response. Regardless, it pleased her. Her dimples deepened as she placed her stack of shirts in an empty box and started on a new pile. “So, what is all this? The shirts, the van?”

She snickered and he blushed. “Did you come here not knowing about vintage? It kinda looked like your friend was dragging you. Literally.” Her snickers gave way to cute giggles muffled by her forearm to her mouth.

Obito steeled himself for the impending disappointment that came from these scenarios. When he would hear firsthand how attractive Kakashi was and play mediator for filtering questions and dates for his friend.

“I travel and sell vintage clothing,” she said. “Not just tees, all kinds of stuff. And I live in this,”-she twirled her finger about-”my home.”

“You.. Actually do live in here.”

“Mhm. This table collapses down to bed.” He viewed the table, and the van, in a new light. “My name’s Emiko, by the way. Emi, preferably. Figured I’d introduce myself in case this becomes an ongoing thing.” His jaw went slack as she pointed at both of them with a raised brow. “Meeting you every day, I mean.”

“I’m Obito.” He cringed at the way he jumped at the chance to say it, breathless, as if she’d lose interest if he didn’t answer her quick enough. “My name’s Obito. It’s nice to meet you.” Of course he knew her name from the impeccable timing at the bookstore, but he wanted to keep the conversation flowing, to find openings to ask her things, to make her talk, to learn every little thing about her. No questions came to mind. He was rusty at this.

The kettle whistled and Emi tended to it, pouring two cups of tea into mismatched mugs. One had an orange cartoon cat, the other an illustration of a pink cat with heart eyes. Obito took the heart one. She sat opposite him, scooting clothing and boxes down until they pressed against the back doors. Obito held her gaze for a moment until her smile proved too difficult to bear. It could illuminate the dark side of the moon.

“So, what do you do for work?” Emi asked.

 Obito fidgeted his fingers around the handle and rim of the mug. “In between jobs at the moment.”

“Oh.” Her smile vanished, then reappeared with vigor. Not just vigor, she appeared absolutely giddy, squirming in her seat. “Oh! You could help me. If you want. Totally up to you.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I pay well.”

“Help you?”

“Only if you’re not busy! I have an event next weekend- a huge meetup for vintage sellers. It’s a big thing. People even fly overseas to buy stuff to take back to their country. I need someone to help me set up my tent and play cashier when I can’t.” She picked up a shirt near her hip and showed him her paper tag pinned on with the price written on one side, inventory number on the other. “All you would have to do is cut this off so I can keep up with my spreadsheet.”

A flash followed by a loud bang rumbled the van. Emiko whimpered and folded into herself, scrunching her face. She pried one eye open at a time. Her sunny personality had faded, replaced by fear. Obito reached across the table.

He must be out of his mind.

He paused short of holding her hand to comfort her. Instead, he grabbed the shirt from her and called her back to the present. “This little tag? I remove it?”

“Sorry, I.. Yes. Cut it off, untie it, whatever. It’ll go in a little gray box at the table.” She stopped staring at the ceiling and shook her head. “Most people pay with their phone these days, so you probably won’t have to worry about countin’ cash or anything like that.”

“Where is this event?”

“A little outta the way. About a four day drive out. The bed’ll fit both of us.” She rapped her knuckles on the table, eyes glistening in humor. “Whaddya say? An all out paid vacation with someone you just met. I promise I won’t bite.” She pried her lips back in an unnaturally wide smile, baring her teeth at him.

Obito steadied the mug in his band hand and took a sip. It clattered on the table. He’d been living with Kakashi for a year and had little to show for it. His dead-end jobs decomposed into failure when he showed up late or slacked off. The more promising jobs never called back. Pursuing his education was out of the question after he flunked the first time. What little money he pinched here and there went to his share of rent and bills, forever leaving his mattress on the floor. For the past year his only escape was video games; and there his friendships never went beyond surface level, only bonding through the game and were as reliable as a warm body filling the last spot of a raid because it required a team of twenty when fifteen would’ve brought down the boss just fine.

Obito dipped his chin to his chest, drew in a deep breath, and returned his gaze to her face full of genuine hope. Her hands were clasped to one of her cheeks in silent begging. “Okay.” At least he could tell Kakashi he got a temporary job.

Someone knocked, or rather banged, on the van. Emi jumped, cursed, slammed her mug on the table, and scrambled to open the side door. A man with dark brown skin and contrasting pale blonde hair stepped in. His jaw moved, working itself on a stick of gum. The floor pooled with water from his body. He made himself at home instantly, leaning against the sink, arms folded. His frame took up the rest of the space in the kitchen with confidence, giving off a familiarity with Emi’s home as if he’d been here time and time again.

“You outta here already at the first sign of rain?” His speech was muffled by the smacking of the gum. “Oh.” He peered from Emi to Obito, smirking. He pushed himself off the sink with his hip and produced a hand for Obito to shake. His right hand.

Obito hesitated to unfurl his grip from the mug. Sensing his discomfort, Emi stepped in front of the action. “Darui, you know I can’t carry a tent in here. And I’m not about to let my babies smell like mildew.”

Darui withdrew his arm and shrugged at her. “It’s your call. People still come out in the rain. Could make a few extra hundred or so.”

“Eh, I’ll be at the Sakura Bowl on Saturday, anyway.”

“Mm, figures. I can’t make it, but I’ll send a few of my guys out there to buy from you.” Darui winked at Obito, who cleared his throat and stared at the heart eyes on his mug, tracing them with the corner of his thumbnail. Darui turned and lumbered out of the van. His heavy steps sent mud up the side of her vehicle.

“Ugh.” Emi slammed the door. Things stowed away in the cabinets rattled. “Sorry, he can be so annoying. But he runs these smaller events, so.” She rolled her eyes and spun her hands in a circle to say “what can you do”.

She fell to the seat and gulped the rest of her lukewarm tea. Under the table, their knees knocked. Obito tried to move away to give her room, but one of his legs was caught between hers. The possessive act, accident or not, sent a wave of heat to his face. He brought his mug up to his lips, tilting it back until he couldn’t see her, and thanked the liquid for its soothing properties. This day was proving to be more excruciating by the minute. Yet, when him and Emi were alone, a sharp zing of newfound thrill ignited in his belly. His heart raced like it did the previous days, like it beat for her. His body was acting on its own, always trying to touch her, to be near her. Until the doubt ebbed in and he second guessed himself.

Emiko opened her mouth to ask Obito about his hobbies when he grasped the shirt next to her, the one she was using to show him her price tag system. He held it up, mystified.

“I haven’t watched wrestling in so long, wow! This brings back some memories. I used to watch it every night with.. My dad.”

“Want it?”

He looked at the price and folded the shirt, putting it at the top of the stack. “No, that’s okay. I don’t really get this vintage stuff anyway.”

Emiko tapped her fingernails on the empty mug. “It’s certainly an interesting niche. Ya know, I usually don’t buy stuff to sell from thrift stores. I have much better sources, maybe I’ll take you there one day; but really, going to that thrift store was a fluke. I’m glad I ran into you there.”

The squeeze on his knee couldn’t be as much of a coincidence as their meeting. The stirring in his core sent his nerves into overdrive. Her words, her honesty, the drink. It was all too much. The doubt, the shame, took over.

“You’re glad you met me, huh,” he said back.

His words were softly spoken. His face went neutral, stoic. His sudden personality change put her on guard. Emi sat straighter, shoulders back, arms tensing, ready to grab or flee. Obito slipped a hand in his flannel. The fabric of his white shirt bunched under the movement. His face pinched in a quick wince.

The flannel’s collar slipped over the curve of his arm. Obito dragged the sleeve down, revealing more and more. He did the same to the other side and the shirt fell to his waist. Emiko relaxed in quiet revelation. The smooth scars gleamed in the light. Some curved like canyons over his muscles; they pulsed and stretched as he rested his arms on the table. He didn’t dare avert his gaze. He wanted to know how much regret she held for offering to spend an extended amount of time with him in close quarters. He wanted to see her confusion and contempt for this disfigured monster. He ran his misshapen hand through his hair and angled his head to expose the scars down his cheek and neck in the harsh lighting, casting long shadows over them. He wanted to shout at her to see him for all his ugliness.

Emiko hid a twist of her mouth by pressing her lips together to little avail. The corners betrayed her by twitching up. She drank in his appearance. Slim, broad shoulders, a strong brow, square chin, a thin layer of muscle pressed against his undershirt despite not working for it.

“You make quite a show of taking your shirt off. Kinda sexy, though,” she said. Obito glimpsed around the van, questioning the reality of it all. He jerked forward in his seat and scrutinized her. “Hmm?”

“Did you just.. Are you not going to..?” He laid his palm upturned to her in an attempt to call into play her sanity. Or incredible acting skills to be so nonchalant about his reveal.

Not taking his cue properly, she placed her hand in his. She ran her finger over a puckered scar near the soft, fleshy base of his thumb. “I already told you you’re handsome, what more do you want from me?” Her words came out in chortles due to her giggling. Obito leaned over the table, which tickled her more. His knee prodded her inner thigh. Neither of them could make eye contact after that, turning their focus to their linked hands.

Obito’s ears burned dark red. “Are you being serious right now?”

“As serious as when I offered you the job and free road trip.” Through her lashes, she studied his face in slow, methodical eye movements, roaming the scarred skin, committing it to memory, comparing it to the smooth side.

The way she looked at him was too candid. The admiration leaked through, pleading with his heart to comply, to listen, to give into her wacky whims. He uttered her words back to her and her eyes flashed at the husky resonance, “You think I’m handsome and you’re offering a four day paid vacation to help you out at this event and we’d be staying together in this van.”

“Four day trip there, two day event, four days back,” she clarified. “Barring we don’t get lost on the highway of life.” Her round cheeks plumped at her glee, crowding her eyes shut as she grinned.

Courage was not an attribute he was born with, nor did it lend him a hand now; instead his doubt had crept such anxieties in his head that the words rushed out in one exhaled jumble. “Why not ask Kakashi?”

“Who?”

“My friend I’m always with.”

“Oh, him.” She tipped her head to the side, eyes turned up at the ceiling, recalling his face. “Dunno. Didn’t feel the same pull, the same connection. Should I be asking him instead of you-”

“No.” Obito’s glower pierced her. His brow cast a deep shadow over his eyes. He curled his fingers around hers and tightened his hold. The act was stilted, not having full dexterity after the accident, but Emi’s breath was stolen from her lungs. The intimate touch could’ve lasted eons if either person had their way. “No. I’ll do it.” He let go of her hand and leaned back to the stiff embrace of the dense cushions.

“I’ll give you my number. We can talk more about the logistics if that makes you more comfortable.” She snorted. “Well, I guess going on a trip with a stranger is the uncomfortable part, not our bathing habits.”

“The trip, and you, are fine.” He slid his phone over to her. She typed in her name and number and handed it back. “I’m okay with everything.”

“We’d be leaving the day after tomorrow. Pretty short notice, but if you’re truly okay with it..”

Obito fought to keep up his apathetic attitude. Her name, black text on a white background. Her number. The surge of a promise of something new. “It’s fine.”

Another knock on the door. Emi opened it and announced, “Your friend came back!” She helped Kakashi into the van and he walked past her to Obito, smugness exuding behind his face mask. 

Emiko peeked her head out the door and whispered to herself, “When did it stop raining?”

Kakashi gave Obito a subtle thumbs up after eyeing the discarded flannel. In return, Obito stood for the sole purpose of glaring at him, conveying a secret code between them to not interfere.

“Turns out Guy didn’t need a ride after all,” he said, shrugging, and heel-turned to Emi, “I’m Kakashi, my handsome young friend’s roommate.”

She giggled and shook his hand. “I’m Emi. Obito has told me all about you.”

Emi yelped as Kakashi cinched his fingers around her knuckles and pulled her closer, looming at eye level. “What has he told you?”

“H-He, uh-”

“Knock it off,” Obito grumbled and pushed Kakashi out the door. He gingerly stepped down after him. “Emi gave me a temporary job for an event she’s doing, so I’ll be gone for a while.” He said this as casually as observing the weather, keeping his lips pursed, shoulders shrugged, hands in pockets. What he couldn’t hide was the way his eyes softened, even going as far as to shimmer when talking about her, showing a happiness few others had witnessed.

Kakashi raised his eyebrows, causing the face mask to ride up the bridge of his nose. “Sounds good to me.”

“We should, uh, let you get back to your business.” Obito was back to his stumbling self, losing his bravado the longer Emi stared at him with undivided fondness.

“Yeah, we’ll get outta your hair. Bye, Emi! It was nice meeting you. Thank you for offering him the job,” he said as they started to walk away.

“It’s my pleasure, really!” Emi waved at their backs. “Be sure to text me later!” The door rolled shut.

Obito sucked in a hiss of breath and held his ribs. Kakashi elbowed him one more time, too ecstatic to keep his elation to himself. “And you got her number too,” he said with a gasp.

Obito finished buttoning his flannel. For once, he was anticipating something. He was looking forward to getting home so he could search how long the appropriate time was to wait until you texted a girl. He looked forward to packing his suitcase. He looked forward to sleeping, to waking up. He looked forward to life. He looked forward to knowing for certain he would see Emiko again.

Someone took a chance on him. Nothing could come of it. Something could come of it. Everything could come of it. He was getting ahead of himself, first he had to stop staring at her name in his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

[junicai]

painting.

| summary | Aria moves into the 127 dorms, and does a little bit of bonding with her new leader. 

| word count | 1.5k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. 2016

13. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

Aria groaned in exhaustion as she bent forwards, various objects falling from the precarious stack she had carried in her arms previously. They bounced and rolled across the floor, one canister of hairspray coming to meet the tip of a man’s shoe from where he was leaning against the open doorway. 

Taeyong coughed out a chuckle at Aria’s folded form, pushing himself off the doorframe to make his way over to her. “Need a hand?”

Aria waved him off with a forced air of nonchalance, still panting heavily despite her best efforts to get her rapid breathing under control, “No, no I’m good. The stairs just tried to kill me that’s all.” 

Taeyong snuck a glance at the closed doors of the elevator, blocked off by a single piece of red signage reading “Out of Order” in bold font. The lift had coughed and spluttered it’s way through the last two months, and had finally given out on its last stand yesterday evening, almost leaving Jaehyun and Winwin trapped inside if they hadn’t decided to take the stairs down.

How unfortunate it was, that the following morning was the day that Aria was due to move in. 

In hindsight, Taeyong probably should have gotten some of the other boys in to help them carry the boxes that Aria had shoved her things into; the sweat was beading at his forehead by the time they had dragged the cardboard through into the living room, and Aria had pulled off her sweater to allow herself to cool down. 

She leant against the wall, breathing through her nose as she chalked up the distance between the living room and her new bedroom to be too far to continue for the time being. 

“Oppa?” the word still felt unfamiliar on her tongue, unused to the honorific. It had been at Taeyong’s request that she used it in the first place, him wanting her to feel comfortable around him; but Aria was still finding her ways around the Korean honorific system, and found herself stumbling over her words more often than not. 

The first time she had tried to use honorifics had ended in Aria having extremely red cheeks, flushed with embarrassment, and Mark trying to explain to her that hyung was the name he used for the older members, and oppa was the one she was to use. 

It had gone a little like this. 

“Ari- Ari, you gotta, like, you gotta use oppa not hyung, ya’know? Because hyung is like, an older brother to a brother, but oppa is an older brother to you? Because you - you’re a girl? An’, and then you’d use unnie for the make-up nooans but I’d use noona, like I just did. So to you, they’re the make-up unnies, and to me they’re the makeup noonas. Johnny hyung, Johnny oppa. Does that make sense?”

Aria had looked at him with the most bewildered face, eyes widened and lips parted slightly. 

From across the room, Taeil had bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, before swooping in to offer an out for poor Mark, who was beginning to delve into another convoluted explanation.

“Yeah, Aria?” Taeyong’s voice came from across the room.

Aria looked up, searching for the taller man and her eyes found him shuffling around in the kitchen, two glasses of water on the counter top. 

“There you go,” he pointed towards one of the glasses. “If one of the others aren’t back soon to help, we might have to drag the boxes in ourselves,” he smiled ruefully. “I knew we shouldn’t have let Jaehyun go out today.” 

Aria thanked him, before picking up the glass with her two hands and turned to the side to drink. 

The silence was buffering, and ate away at whatever comforting atmosphere Taeyong had tried to create. 

It wasn’t that Aria was uncomfortable around him - no not at all. It was just the fact that she knew the boys were being more than accommodating for her, she knew that Yuta was sharing a room with Winwin now because they insisted on her having her own space, she knew that she was toe-ing a barely there line between intruding and just being downright entitled. 

Having voiced these thoughts during the early hours of the night to Donghyuck almost a week ago, Aria knew exactly what kind of spiel she’d be on the receiving end of should she protest the room changes - but that didn’t stop the little pool of guilt from settling in the bottom of her stomach when she snuck a glance around and saw the empty bedroom’s door partially opened, all of Sicheng’s things having been moved out two nights ago. 

“Oppa,” Aria tried the honorific out again, finding that it still felt fumbled out, but from Taeyong’s affirming hum she must have sounded less stilted than the last time, “Do you think you could help me move the box of paints into my room? I can carry the rest, but that box is really heavy, and I don’t want to drop it.”

Taeyong turned around to her, “Yeah no problem, Aria. Which one is it?” 

Aria pointed to the singular plastic box among the cardboard ones; spattered with white and yellow and various other colors. The pair of them made their way over, hands curling around the lip of the box.

“On three?” Taeyong nodded. 

He counted them through before Aria was heaving up her side of the box and Taeyong was slipping his arm underneath it to hold some of the weight steady. They paused momentarily once they had the box in the air, finding a good balance and ensuring nothing inside had tipped over, before Aria began her shuffle backwards. 

“Mind behind you,” Taeyong warned, and Aria lifted her feet over the box that would have tripped her otherwise. 

The small steps they took to bring the paint box into her room felt never ending, and by the time they passed the threshold, both Aria and Taeyong’s arms were shaking lightly. 

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” Taeyong’s voice was breathless, anticipating the moment when he could give his arms a rest.

“Maybe - just in the corner? Over there, out of the way.” Aria jerked her head towards the far corner, on the opposite side of the room of the bed and empty desk. 

The box was placed down with a thud, and Taeyong straightened up - shaking out his arms. Aria sat down harshly on the bed free of coverings, legs beginning to burn from the numerous flights of stairs she had climbed earlier on in the day. Taeyong joined her after a moment, sitting down beside her. 

“You need a hand taking in the rest of your things?” he questioned, turning to look at her.

“Nah,” Aria shook her head. “I might wait a while and get Hyuck to drag them in for me.” 

Taeyong snorted slightly. “You know, I think you’re the only person who can get that boy to do something he doesn’t already want to do.” 

“Jokes on him, I just convince him that it was his idea.” 

The silence settled again, less acidic this time. 

It was broken after a second by Taeyong. “I didn’t know you could paint?” 

Aria cast her gaze over to the stained box in the corner. A dry paintbrush was sticking out the top of it, the bristles clean but the wooden handle covered in splashes of colourful paint - intermittent with streaks of white and black and a mixture of the two. 

“Yeah,” Aria hummed. “I don’t know when I started, I just. Always have, I think.” 

“Did someone teach you? Your parents?” 

Aria coughed to hide the laugh that threatened to break from her chest. “Oh no, no. Youtube taught me most of what I know, I won’t lie. And I’m not, very good - it’s just, therapeutic? Like poetry, but you don’t have to concentrate on finding the right words.” 

Taeyong nodded knowingly. 

Aria supposed he would understand the sentiment; given the hours he spends doing what it is he does in the practice rooms or the recording studios for hours after their ‘official’ days end. She supposed that there has to be hundreds of wordless messages hidden in forty second tracks on the USB stick he keeps on his keychain. 

“You know, Ten is really artistic,” Taeyong begins again. “I never really understood it much - the colours and the images you pull out of nothing - but he seems to. A lot more than I ever could. He gets it a little bit more, I guess. The whole, unspoken words thing. I’d love to know how he did it.”

His eyes had shifted into something sincere now, and he was gazing down at Aria. She got the sense that they weren’t just talking about painting anymore. 

“I’m just saying that, if you ever need someone to talk to - about painting - then I’ll always have an open ear.”

 Aria supposed Taeyong didn’t quite understand what those words meant to her just yet. 

[notmrskennedy]

Whatever You Need

(Chip x Fem!Reader)

A/N - am I little in love with Chip? Yes, but who isn’t? So please enjoy my hot take on our lovely Mr. Chip Taylor

Summary - a university professor meets a very adorable maintenance guy ...

Warnings - a pinch of swearing and two teaspoons of mentioning gross things

Word Count - 3k 

-------

There’s a thin line, she realises as she rushes into the lecture hall, between anthropological research and grave robbing. When you’re on loan to the federal government and a water pipe bursts at a cemetery, there isn’t much to do other than say, ‘yes sir Mr. FBI agent, I will gladly slop through three feet of mud and water, digging through graves!’

She’s ten minutes late to her lecture. Ten minutes long enough that the TA’s are snickering. Ten minutes long enough that the entire class looks horrified that their Anthropology 101 professor is covered head to toe in dried mud, grass, and whatever else could be found in destroyed 19th century coffins.

She sets her bag down heavily on the desk and startles everyone in the room. Sans the maintenance guy. He’s tinkering with vent at the foot of door. He’s mostly a faded ball cap and a distressed jean jacket, one arm shoved up the vent. She can’t imagine why someone would have their arm up a vent, but god only knows why the university would ask someone to.

A moment passes where she unabashedly stares. How did she miss him? Was she in that much of a hurry that she nearly tripped on the guy and didn’t look back? And what the hell is in that vent?

The TA’s snicker behind her back, sobering up when she shoots them a half deadly look. She’s covered in mud, not lenience. She half hopes Maintenance Guy will turn around—she has a desperate, yet beguiling feeling he’s hot. But what she’s really curious for is what’s stuck up that vent.

And he doesn’t turn around—his complete disregard of her is a 180 from the rapt attention she’s receiving from her students—until she’s frustratedly brushing dirt off her face. Pulling grass from her hair.

“Let me just start with,” she begins, pulling an earth worm out of her sleeve, “if the federal government asks you to sort through bodies in a flooded cemetery, tell them no. And despite how much fun grave digging can be, there’s a thin line and that line is punctuated by whether they’re arresting me or not.”

Maintenance Guy snorts, head turned to beam up at her. She’s almost taken aback by how bright he seems. How his grin puts the sun in its place. He looks honest, grease stains and all.

There’s something to be said about the fact she’s studying his bone structure instead of his fleshy bits. She can’t tell you what colour his eyes are, but his zygomatic bones are killer.

“Professor?” a TA prompts, ineffectively holding back their own knowing smiles.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she replies, digging through her bag to hand out a stack of student essays. “Pass these back, please?”

Tick one for the professor.

“And as per usual,” she announces, leaning back against the white board, “let’s do our daily recap. And as you know, these questions can be used to aid in exams.”

She sneaks a glance at Maintenance Guy, pulling his arm out from the vent. He grumbles, digs through his toolbox, and grabs a screwdriver. Whatever is in that vent is stuck.

Once the rustling stops, she says, “Okay, question one: if your professor—that would be me for those of us who are new—were to be one of, say, five wives with one husband, it’s called—?”

“Polygamy!” a student shouts from the front row.

“You’re right, but you aren’t correct,” she says, standing up straight. “Polygamy is the practice of having more than one spouse. Polygyny—with an ’n’—is multiple wives to one husband. Examples of the culture are Kenya’s Logoli and other Abalulya sub ethnic groups.”

She writes it on the board for spelling, and glances over to see Maintenance Guy paused in his excavation of the vent. He’s paying better attention than her students. It’s sort of sweet and she stifles her soft giggle at the thought.

He’s ridiculously tall and she takes a moment to appreciate just how long his femurs have to be.

“Question two!” she announces and finds even the most hungover kids forcing their attention on her. “If your professor were to marry five men all at once, that’s called—?”

“Polyandry,” a student pipes up from the back. “A lot of times it’s fraternal marriage.”

“Examples of a culture that practices—”

Pop!

Maintenance Guy rolls back with the force. His knees are still bent from where they’d been used as leverage against the vent, a wall of debris bursting into his face. In one gloved hand was a dead raccoon, while the other desperately brushed bits of the vent’s clog—a raccoon’s nest—from his eyes.

“Oh Jesus,” she mutters, jumping into action. She picks up a garbage bag from his toolbox and nets the dead animal from his hand. It’s a pretty tame find, though she’s used to human remains which tended to be—gooier.

With the animal tucked up, she hauls Maintenance Guy to a sitting position, frantically cleaning the odds and ends of the nest out of his eyes. She steals his ball cap as she whispers kind words to him, further trying to shake the bits of insulation out of his shaggy hair.

The class is in a terrible chatter behind them. Not that it matters. Not with Maintenance Guy’s eyes opened and his hands gently clutching onto her wrists as she brushes the last bits of insulation off his cheeks. His eyes are definitely hazel up this close.

“Thanks,” he croaks, still gently latched onto her hands.

“It’s no problem,” she smiles back, absently studying the rest of his face. He’s got the kind of skull she’d love to see on her table—well, maybe once he’s died of his own accord because he seems rather sweet. Confused and concerned, but…sweet. “Don’t worry. I’ve had much worse flung all over me. You don’t much get used to it.”

He smiles, barely chuckling. Coughs up a bit of insulation.

“You might want to see a doctor. Insulation in the lungs is…what gets you a one way ticket to my lab.” She grins at her own terrible joke. His eyes are too close and she can’t help but wish for a skeleton to be looking back at her. She understands those. People are too…gooey.

“I’m Chip,” he offers, silently asking her for help to his feet. She does, offering her own name in return. He mulls over it, like it’s a fine wine sitting on his tongue. “Professor Y/N. Thanks again.”

She shrugs, mouth suddenly too dry. Heart beating too fast. Jesus, human interaction was going to kill her. There was no job to distract her from Chip’s strong hands. There were no bodies to keep Chip’s genuine gaze off of her. There wasn’t anything to distract from seeing Chip as so pleasantly human.

“Want the raccoon as a consolation prize?” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with a newly de-gloved hand. There’s something satisfying about answering questions that aren’t meant as questions. Especially ones that showed just how weird she really was. The questions that were relationship testers—like can we be friends if I tell you that I keep carrion beetles as pets?

“Actually, sure.” Chip’s jaw drops just slightly open. He has cute teeth. “Dissection is a key part of the anthropological process, forensic or not. Let’s see just what this raccoon was up to. Eh, class?”

Every single one a deer in the headlights, the class goes eerily silent. She winks at Chip and announces again. “Don’t you guys want to see what I do for a living? I mean human remains are much cooler but I think we can settle for a mostly solid raccoon carcass.”

A TA clutches at her stomach. “Professor, never say that again.”

The professor just laughs, absentmindedly taking a soft grip on Chip’s shoulder. “Don’t worry everyone, Chip’s going to keep the raccoon. At least I’m not making the final a practical examination. I do have access to laboratory rats—“

The entire class clambered forward, hoping to dispel the idea and the evil smirk off their professor’s lips. She just beamed back at Chip, dropping her hand. She expected the same horrified expression of her students, but he seemed, dare she say, impressed.

That wide eyed shock creeps onto her face. Because who would risk being impressed by a professor covered in dirt from grave digging who offered to dissect a raccoon at 10 AM on a Tuesday?

Apparently, it’s this guy. Must have a thing for crazy women.

Chip shakes his head, bites his lip, and turns to stoop for his raccoon trophy. “I’ll, uh, have them send someone for the nest. I—I guess I have to do something with the raccoon, if you’re sure you don’t want it?”

She just shakes her head, failing miserably at keeping her cherry red tint to herself. “No, no. Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” he repeats, rather sadly, to himself. Though, as he turns to leave, it feels more like a promise.

#

The worst part about knowing Chip is that she seems to see him everywhere. Rushing between lecture halls? There he is, doing his best to fix a fountain. Getting escorted away by federal agents? There he is, sympathetically waving as he walks across the quad. Leading a group of students outside to lecture on the green? There’s Chip, fixing a sprinkler.

She’s had exactly three times in the last six months to talk to him. All under three minutes.

But today, today she’s running late from court. Grand jury testimony had gone fine, until Agent—God, she’ll never learn his name—WhatsHisFace tried to ask her out again. Because what a turn on talking about the mutilation of a hacked up college girl was.

It also didn’t help that, outside of the court room half an hour before, she was doodling what she thought Chip’s skull would look like.

So she can’t help but storm into her postage stamp of a classroom, dropping her package on the desk with a gentle, yet annoyed huff. Her 12 students, all seniors in the Anthropology department, raised their eyebrows at her. At her court getup.

She’d missed those formative lessons at 13 on how to be a proper lady. And even if she had had them, it probably wouldn’t have stuck. Besides, what she wore into the field had to be more than acceptable for the university’s standards. The heels and pink blouse of today were extremely rare and uncomfortable.

“Whoa, Professor Y/N!” Reese Rosebeck calls out, dramatically twitching in his chair, “Is that really you? You look hot!”

“Ha, ha. That’s a very coherent thought for the kid who wrote the worst paper I’ve ever read,” she deadpans. She relents when she sees his dramatic puppy dog pout. “Though, I do have to say I enjoyed you’re use of colloquial slang. Accentuated your point very cleverly.”

“As long as I impress the hottest professor on campus, I’m alright.”

There was a quiet laugh from the back of the room, and she found her eyes snapping to the hunched over back of none other than, Maintenance Guy Chip Taylor. He’s just quietly listening—as always—tinkering with the radiator pipes in the back of the room. She’s half thankful. It is starting to get cold.

“Hey, Chip!” she chirps and the poor thing bangs his head on the pipes. He waves her off in a flash, hand extended wildly above the other desks in the room. Reese chuckles to himself, dragging Lionel with him.

She kicks her heels off behind her desk, straightening herself once she’s back on stable ground. She’s about three apples short of a pie to wear heels for more than six consecutive minutes. The female students give her rather sympathetic looks as she begins to roll her feet and open her package.

She pauses halfway in. Jeez, she forgot about—“Hey, Chip?”

Like a meerkat, he pops up with a dazzling soft grin.

“Are you going to call the cops on me?”

“Excuse me?”

Her students’ eyes bounce back and forth between the pair, following the invisible tennis match. The professor settles on a rather tired, “Are you going to call the cops? The last person who attended lecture that didn’t know me, called the cops because of a demonstration. So, are you?”

“No.” He shakes his head and she wonders if he’s a little too trusting. He’s honest as he leans back down to continue futzing with the pipes. He’s genuine in every interaction they have. Does she really deserve the kind of trust he’s offering? To a crazy woman who’s asked if he’ll call the cops on her?

She shakes the thought away. These 12 students—tangible students—need her focus. At least for the next few minutes. She pulls six human skulls from her package, all neatly wrapped up in protective glass cases. She places those on the table along with a box of gloves.

“Two people to a skull,” she announces and runs through the rest of the directions. “Don’t forget your gloves. You too, Ms. Figg.”

Jamie Figg’s fierce blush is long forgotten once they are all set to work. Tactile learning is the best way to learn in her opinion, expressly in advanced classes like these. It also gives her a moment to rest her brain—even if it’s a few minutes before the onslaught of necessary questions.

She settles into an unused section of chairs and desks, smiling absently at the way all of the kids have squeezed themselves around the one table. She misses the days when she was young and new, ready to find her own legs to stand on.

Chip’s not quiet and she watches him with too much adoration as he sits down next to her. It’s not all too unexpected nor uninvited. He smells like grease and good cologne up close, mixed up with that dangerous combination of hazel eyes and delicious bone structure.

Chip smirks, drawing her out of her smidge of staring. “See anything good?”

“You have excellent bones,” she mutters, tracing a finger against her own cheek instead of his. “Prominent zygomatic bones and well balanced supraorbital margins. But the, um, the rest of you is—is nice too.”

Oh great one, Y/N. Perfect. You’re such a fucking creep.

Chip just smiles. The kind of soft upturn of the lips and dip of the head that means he took it like the compliment it was meant as. He runs a rather shakey hand through his hair, bringing his gaze back up to do his own staring. She wonders what he sees about her. She’s sure he doesn’t see bone structure like she does, but does her flesh give away something she doesn’t know about?

Chip wrings his hand down behind his neck and she sees it. That little bit of something that brews between his bones and his epidermis. The fuzzy sort of thing that sits behind his eyes. The one she’s seen in war veterans, cops, and now the university’s maintenance man.

And as if he’s just a skull on her table, she states ever so eloquently, “You look like the kind of guy who’s seen some shit, Chip.”

And as if she’s accepted his offer for the raccoon all over again, he beams. He further turns away from her, shaking his head, and she follows his eye line to the students not so subtly glancing over at the pair every three seconds. The dozen are still chattering on, examining the skulls in their hands with rapt fascination.

Chip, despite all the non-threatening, sensitive, idiot boy vibes, looks over the skulls with more recognition than she cares to admit she sees. Most people don’t look at skulls like they’re familiar. Like the idea of them being formerly attached to a living person doesn’t bother them.

Again, looks like he’s seen some shit.

“Are they real?”

She nods, taking a tiny chance and pressing their shoulders together. She’s not upset to say that Chip carries very warm skin on his lovely skeletal structure. She wipes the blush off her cheeks and answers, “From the university’s collection. I’ve done a lot of travelling, lots of excavations, lots of grave robbing—sometimes the university doesn’t miss the skulls of the not-so-recently deceased.”

“You’re very—“

“Creepy? Weird?”

She hopes that Chip is too stupid to hear the insecurity bleed through. That he’s too stupid to look at her the way he is. Instead, he squints as if he can’t risk choosing the wrong adjective, so the words inch through his brain. All carefully refined into his choice of, “…Intelligent.”

His takes her hand in his to accentuate his point. She nearly stops breathing.

“You’ve forgotten more this morning than I’ll ever know,” he whispers. She doesn’t know how to look at him without letting him see the hearts in her eyes. Her fingers tighten against his. “I’d never call you creepy.”

She swallows, fighting against the rock in her throat. It wasn’t often people paid her any compliments, especially after she’d let her mouth run for more than five minutes in a one-on-one conversation.

And as if she isn’t already trying to desperately clutch onto her frayed nerves, he confidently pulls a slightly creased business card from his shirt pocket. Offers it to her irritatedly hesitant fingers.

“I do home visits, you know,” he says, putting more weight into where their skin touches. “So, if you’re dishwasher breaks or something, give me—give me a call.”

Chip squeezes her fingers one more time, double checks she’s holding onto the business card, and walks back for his toolbox. Only when the classroom door is closing behind him does Reese shout out, “Oh-ho-ho! Professor’s getting some!”

“Get back to your skull before I use yours as a soup bowl,” she snaps, though she can’t hide the cherries in her cheeks as she thumbs over the business card. Chip Taylor. Whatever you need.

[pixieminutes]

Coming Home | PSH

genre: angst, fluff, mafia!au, dad!seonghwa

members: park seonghwa x reader, kim hongjoong, song mingi, choi jongho

warnings: swearing

06:56

“yesul-ah,” you cooed, lifting the baby out of her crib, walking her to the kitchen with bouncy steps to make her laugh, “time for breakfast!”

you placed your four-month-old baby in your arms, holding the bottle up to her lips. she started sucking as you breathed a sigh of relief, bringing a pillow for her bottle to rest on.

with your now free arm you reached across and turned the tv on. the return of superman.

“he really is a superman dad, isn’t he?” the mc said.

you rolled your eyes.

“of course,” the other mc agreed, “all dad’s are supermans.”

you quickly shut the tv back off, staring down at your daughter.

it had been four months since you found yourself alone in a hospital room, pushing out your baby girl. it was six months before that when you’d left your boyfriend with a note. he hadn’t come for you, just as you’d told him to, so you left it at that.

seonghwa was the love of your life. you were sure of that. you knew that yesul would never have a dad as you would never find someone else as great as seonghwa.

you often wondered what seonghwa would have been like as a dad. perfect, probably. he does the cleaning and the cooking and he loves children. but you moved away for your own good. or, at least, that’s what you told yourself.

but getting less than six hours of sleep every night, facing every illness and infant problem alone for the past four months, you often had to remind yourself of that.

“come on, yesul, we need to go shopping today!” you cooed, putting the bottle back on the side and carrying your baby up to her nursery.

you made sure she was burped, washed, dressed and entertained before making your own way to the bathroom and having a shower of your own.

“should mummy put make-up on today?” you asked, mostly talking to yourself.

yesul gurgled and you nodded.

“a little bit. i’m not that dirty.”

07:25

“finally,” you said, shutting the door behind you, “we’re out. and we’re going to the supermarket!”

yesul giggled, waving her arms about as you pushed her stroller down the street.

“let’s go,” you whispered so she could still hear your voice as you walked into the supermarket.

you walked up and down the aisles, throwing your shopping into the underneath part of your babies stroller as you went around.

suddenly, yesul let out a loud whine.

you frowned, mimicking her facial expression, “what? what is it?”

you stopped by the side of the aisle, pulling your baby out the stroller and cuddling her to your chest, bouncing her.

“y/n?”

your heard flicked up in front of you, before immediately flicking back down.

“y/n... is that you?” hongjoong asked.

you looked up at him before laughing nervously, “me?”

“yeah. y/n, is that...”

“sorry, that’s not me,” you said, feigning innocence, “my name’s not y/n. if you’ll excuse me, this one’s being a bit fussy.”

you placed yesul back in her stroller, walking out the aisle to avoid the leader of the mafia group your ex-boyfriend worked for.

but he wasn’t stupid. kim hongjoong had met enough people feigning innocence to know what it looked like.

and yesul looking like the mirror image of her dad didn’t help, either.

08:59

“park seonghwa, wake up,” hongjoong said, pulling the duvet off from his friend’s body.

seonghwa just whined, rolling over so his back was to hongjoong.

“wake up! right now!”

“fine, fine, napoleon complex,” seonghwa said, muttering his last words as hongjoong walked out the room.

“i can hear you perfectly fine, pretty boy!” hongjoong shouted, “now come here, i got breakfast.”

“ooh breakfast,” mingi said.

“not you. i need seonghwa and only seonghwa right now,” hongjoong said, pointing at one of the taller members of atz.

seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows, his eyeline following his leader until the short man was gone from view. he wiped his face with his hands, walking over to the mirror and ruffling and patting his hair until it was almost presentable. he pulled on a t-shirt and slumped down to the kitchen.

“toasties?” seonghwa asked, “did you go to isaac toast?”

hongjoong nodded, watching as seonghwa sat down and took a bite of the hot sandwich.

“why? it’s so expensive,” he said with his mouth full, “and so good, oh my life.”

“you have a baby.”

“huh?”

seonghwa dropped the toast back onto the plate, staring up at hongjoong.

“with who?!” seonghwa exclaimed.

of course, you were his only long-term partner, but he couldn’t deny that in the process of getting over you, there were many others.

“who do you think?”

“hongjoong...” seonghwa said, his voice quiet, “please tell me. if it’s not—”

“y/n?”

“if it’s not y/n i’ll go insane,” seonghwa said, “you know that.”

“it’s your lucky day then, isn’t it,” hongjoong said, sighing, “she pretended it wasn’t her, but it obviously was.”

“is she...” seonghwa trailed off before mimicking a baby bump on his stomach, “because that would mean... that it... it’s not mine.”

hongjoong shook his head, “no i saw the baby. it’s yours, seonghwa.”

seonghwa sat in silence for a moment, “is it...”

“it’s a girl, i’m guessing, because she was wearing a dress,” hongjoong said, “she was being kinda fussy but as soon as y/n picked her up she was fine. she’s your twin, seonghwa. especially your nose. has a little bit of hair upon her head as well.”

“did she look at you? the baby?” seonghwa asked.

hongjoong nodded, “her eyes are big. sparkly. they look quite a lot like yours.”

“how was y/n?” seonghwa asked, tears springing to his eyes as he said your name.

it’d been a while since he last said it. you’d left just over a year ago and seonghwa spent half of that time crying about you, a quarter of that time getting with other people and another quarter denying anything at all.

and now this.

“well she was denying her own name,” hongjoong shrugged, “but i guess that’s cause she recognised me.”

seonghwa chuckled, of course you did. you always told seonghwa about how you would be the one to break hongjoong’s hard exterior, and you sure tried whenever you came round. you’d joke and laugh and hug him, and sometimes he did smile and laugh. your happiness was just infectious.

“she looks alright,” hongjoong said, “she only had a little bit of make-up on, and she looked tired when she consoled the baby. but i guess that’s what it’s like having a baby.”

“this might be so wrong but...” seonghwa trailed off, “no. i can’t.”

“i’ve already found her location,” hongjoong said, “jongho is currently—”

“hyung. is this seonghwa’s baby?!” jongho exclaimed.

“name?” hongjoong asked, ignoring jongho’s question.

“park yesul,” jongho said, putting the freshly printed files on the table between hongjoong and seonghwa, “she’s four months old. born february 12th, 2020.”

“blood type o,” hongjoong read, “aquarius. 16 inches long at birth, weighed 4 pounds exactly.”

“she was tiny,” seonghwa breathed.

“it’s not too late, seonghwa. she’s only four months old,” hongjoong said, “you can still be a part of her life.”

seonghwa looked into hongjoong’s eyes. he was being truthful. hongjoong was often hard to read, but seongwha knew when he was lying, there was a glint in his eyes whenever he told a fib.

“what if there’s someone else?” seonghwa asked.

“even if there is, he’s not yesul’s dad, is he?” hongjoong said, “you are.”

“you really think y/n would get ‘someone else’?” jongho asked in a mocking tone, “she left because she was pregnant with your baby, not because she didn’t love you anymore.”

“i– i don’t understand why she’d leave. i told her i wanted kids!” seonghwa cried.

“you’re part of a mafia group.”

“but—” seonghwa stopped himself, “oh.”

“i just felt i had to tell you,” hongjoong said, standing up, “i’m sorry if it’s put you in a difficult position.”

“no, no,” seonghwa said slowly, shaking his head, “no... i’m– yeah, yeah it’s fine.”

hongjoong nodded, tapping jongho’s shoulder, indicating for the pair of them to leave seongwha alone.

the pair walked out the kitchen as seonghwa’s eyes fluttered over the piece of paper in front of him.

“park yesul,” he smiled, “she kept my name.”

“16 inches,” he whispered, trying to space out with his hands what 16 inches looked like, “mini. and only 4 pounds.”

he sighed, looking up to the doorway, “hongjoong?! do you still have that address?!”

13:04

“coming!”

you placed yesul on her play mat, jogging to the front door.

you gasped, quickly shutting the door again.

“no!” he exclaimed, shoving his foot in between the door and the frame, “please, y/n, i know.”

you opened the door again, slowly, with a sigh, “you work quickly, huh.”

“i just woke up and hongjoong told me everything,” seonghwa shrugged.

“did he follow me home?” you asked, “i was so—”

“no, no,” seonghwa shook his head, “jongho was...”

“ah...” you nodded, you were all too aware of the scary amount of power jongho had over every file ever.

it was silent for a moment before you sighed.

“seonghwa, what do you want?” you asked, “why are you here?”

“i- i wanted to see you,” he said, “and her. y/n, i miss you. i want to make this work.”

“seonghwa, i can’t just—”

“i understand. i’m in a mafia group, that’s fucking terrifying—”

“language,” you scolded, “there’s a baby.”

seonghwa smiled sheepishly, “sorry.”

“seonghwa...” you trailed off, “look, this is too sudden. i can’t just let you in immediately.”

seonghwa nodded, “i understand.”

“but that’s not a no, okay?” you sighed, “but this is too much.”

D+9, 15:59

“d-do...” you stopped, “do you want to come in?”

seonghwa had been in contact almost every day since, and you’d been in contact as well. you missed seonghwa. you missed him so much. and every time you sent him a photo of yesul, it made it so clear how much you were ready for her to have a dad, to have seonghwa back.

seonghwa nodded, “yes. yes, yes, yes.”

you turned around, scooping yesul off the floor on your way to the kitchen, placing her in her high chair as you heard seonghwa close the front door and follow you in.

“do you want some tea?” you asked, turning around as you filled the kettle.

your ex-boyfriend didn’t reply, making you turn around to urge a reply, but he wasn’t looking at you.

“hi,” he whispered, sitting on the chair beside yesul’s high chair, “yesul, right?”

yesul smiled slightly as seonghwa tickled her cheek.

“seonghwa, look,” you sighed, “just... tell me what you want, okay?”

you sat down opposite seonghwa as he looked from you to yesul, from yesul to you.

“i want to be here,” he sighed, “y/n, i still love you, okay? and when hongjoong said i had a baby, all i could picture was you and me with one, together. i’m confused and a little bit hurt that you didn’t tell me, but i understand. but... i also hope you could change your mind.”

“seonghwa, you’re in a mafia group,” you cried, “of course i still love you. you’re all i’ve thought about since the day i left. i’ve regretted that decision so badly, yet at the same time, when i look at yesul, i understand why.”

seonghwa nodded, looking to the baby as she flicked her toy around, “me too.”

you sighed, watching seonghwa’s loving eyes. yesul was a shy baby as well, you were shocked that she was trusting seonghwa this easily.

“i’m fine with you being in her life, but i’m so scared seonghwa,” you said, your voice quiet, as though trying not to let her hear, “i can’t count the amount of times i’ve come into contact with other mafia groups because they knew me. what’s that like with a baby as well?!”

“i’ll protect you,” seonghwa said, facing you again, “i promise, y/n. i’ll keep you hidden, i’ll stay at home, i’ll do whatever it takes, okay?”

you sighed.

“why are you so reluctant to trust me?”

“i’m not,” you said, shaking your head, “i just... why? why do you want this so badly? that- that you’re willing to stay at home or keep us a secret.”

“because...” seonghwa stalled, he was so caught off guard, “because i love you, y/n? and that’s what i’d do for you. and– and look at her.”

seonghwa sighed as he looked back to his daughter. his own daughter. he reached out his hand and she gripped onto his finger, giggling as he smiled, “she’s so beautiful. she’s just... she’s precious, y/n and she’s ours.”

you nodded, “she is undeniably yours.”

“and yours,” he smiled, “look at her smile.”

you laughed, “seonghwa, she doesn’t have any teeth!”

“it’s there!” he exclaimed, laughing, “look!”

you shook your head, laughing as he made yesul grin.

“do you like her name?”

“park yesul,” seonghwa spoke, looking back to you, “i love it. our art.”

you nodded, “so... where does this put us?”

“are you saying you’ll come back to me?” seonghwa asked.

“well you could move in here? it’s not much...”

seonghwa chuckled, reached across and taking your hand, “i’ll buy us a house. just for the three of us.”

“god, i wasn’t prepared for this when i woke up this morning.”

“you think i was?”

you chuckled as seonghwa smiled, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“i’ll protect you,” he said, “i promise.”

“go on then,” you said.

“hmm?”

“greet your daughter. you’ve been very half-assed so far. you have a whole year to catch up on if you include the pregnancy.”

seonghwa smiled, pulling yesul out her high chair and cuddling her into his arms.

“here,” you said, “you have to support her head and her bum. head more important.”

he laid the baby on his forearm, holding her head in his hand.

“hi yesul,” he cooed, “it’s me. daddy.”

yesul gurgled and giggled, biting her fingers.

“she’s beautiful,” he said, tears appearing in his eyes, “i can’t believe she’s mine.”

you smiled, kissing his forehead, “thank you for coming home.”

[quickspinner]

A for Effort

Written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Challenge. This week’s challenge was a round robin, and I got to write with @sapphicmarinette and @ladycat1! 

Our prompt was Ladybug Juleka and Black Cat Luka are superheroes who keep having to rescue their respective pink damsels in distress...but I read it completely wrong and I was the first sprinter, so we have Black Cat Juleka and Ladybug Luka instead! We had to take a little extra time to do this because after our allotted 3 sprints we had the first half of a chapter of a multipart epic, so we had to do some last minute brainstorming to reign it in....but I really hope one of us chooses to expand on it further because it’s such a fascinating idea!

Thanks for writing with me friends! 

Luka and Juleka trooped into their room, one after the other, and both of them flopped on their beds with identical groans of exhaustion. 

“When we find Hawkmoth,” Juleka mumbled, “I get first dibs.” 

Luka snorted, but for once, didn’t rise to the bait of their typical post-battle debate. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Juleka frowned. “If I hadn’t jumped in front of it, that blast would have—”

“No, not that,” Luka interrupted, and then sat up and flopped in the other direction on his bed so that he could look across at her. Juleka looked over and knew the smirk on his face was trouble. She started turning red, and Luka laughed. “See, you know exactly what I mean,” he chortled, flopping onto his back. Juleka glared at Plagg, who was snickering from his perch on her foot. 

The kwami’s only response to her glare was to shove more of his disgusting cheese in his mouth. Juleka groaned, and pulled a pillow over her face. “I can’t believe I did that either,” she muttered. 

“You kissed her hand .” Luka grinned, handing a giggling Tikki another cookie. “You swept her up in your arms, carried her to safety, and then you got all up in her face—” 

Juleka folded her arms over the pillow and screamed. 

“I’m dying to know what you said,” Luka added.

“NO,” she barked, and he chuckled. 

“And then you took her hand and you—”

“What about you?” Juleka said suddenly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up, hurling the pillow at him all in one smooth motion that he had to admire. 

Until her words hit him. “What?”

Juleka smirked. “ She was there again too.” 

Luka’s ears went red, and Juleka smirked wider. “Is that why you tripped over that fire extinguisher?” Juleka asked innocently, and cackled when he threw the pillow back at her.

“I really hope she didn’t see that,” Luka muttered, slapping his hands over his face and dropping back on the bed. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her there!”

“Especially not wearing that outfit,” Juleka snickered. 

“Oh my God,” Luka groaned. He definitely hadn’t expected to see her in that sweet little red and black spotted dress. “I thought I was going to die. Worst hero death ever.” He couldn’t help the goofy grin that wanted to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Just imagine if your little blonde pixie—” 

“Her name is Rose .” 

Luka rolled over to look at her. “Imagine if you showed up and Rose was wearing that dress, only in black and green.” He raised his eyebrows. “With kitty ears .” 

Juleka blushed again, and sighed. “It’s a good thing we have practice today,” she muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Luka agreed. “I’m gonna be playing this out for days .” He frowned, and Juleka raised her eyebrows as his expression grew thoughtful. “There sure are a lot of akumas coming out of that school,” he said at last.

“Well, the mayor’s daughter does go there,” Juleka pointed out, rolling her eyes.

“True. I’m glad you didn’t end up going there. Still.” He shook his head slightly. “Maybe we should go over there sometime and...I dunno. Investigate.” He cringed slightly at the sound of himself. He was good at making plans in the moment, but when it came to the larger goal of capturing Hawkmoth over time, he felt pretty deficient. 

Juleka pretended not to notice his insecurities. “It might be worth it, I guess,” she shrugged, and then gave him a sharp look. “And if we just so happen to run into a pretty blue-eyed, black-haired girl—”

“Or a blonde,” Luka grumbled, picking at the rips in his jeans.

“I don’t know if you’re a genius or an idiot,” Juleka muttered, and then sighed. “All right. I’m in.” 

 ***

A few days later, Juleka texted him a flyer. Gaming Tournament 15/2, at Collège Françoise Dupont, students 13+ from other schools welcome! Luka had agreed that it was the perfect time to investigate. They’d have a reason to be there, and they’d be able to go as civilians, not Misterbug and Lady Violette. Going as superheroes would mean the public would be watching— Hawkmoth would be watching. There would be more breathing room as Juleka and Luka Couffaine.

On the inside, Collège Françoise Dupont seemed fine. The hallways were clean, the furniture was in good shape, and the adult who greeted them at the door seemed perfectly pleasant. 

The gaming tournament was held in the library, with a big projector screen on one wall with rows and rows of audience chairs. The two gamers would sit on two separate seats near the front, with everybody watching them. Luka realized that he might not want to play a round, with all those strangers staring at him, but he signed up his name on the registration sheet anyway.

The room was dark to accommodate the bright screen, so Luka actually couldn’t distinguish the faces that were not directly in front of him. It made him feel more at ease, at least. “Have you seen Rose?” he asked.

“Not so loud,” Juleka hissed, socking him in the shoulder. Luka laughed good-naturedly, even though it hurt. “She could overhear you and then wonder how I know her name.”

“Hey, I just thought you wouldn’t want me to say ‘blonde pixie—’”

“Shut up,” Juleka replied with a huff. “Come on, let’s sit in the back.”

“Sure,” Luka agreed, deciding that he had filled his annoying sibling quota for the day already. He followed her into the back row, which was currently empty.

“Hey, that’s her,” Juleka said, and Luka followed her gaze to find Rose. Rose was talking animatedly to another student and holding a gaming controller. She must be going in the next round, which meant that Juleka would be distracted for the next ten minutes. Maybe now would be a good time to leave the room and scout around a bit.

“I’m gonna look around a bit,” he told Juleka, who nodded and gestured him off. He considered saying something along the lines of we’re not here just to watch pretty girls play video games but then decided against it. It was not like there was an akuma, after all. It was okay to let Juleka have fun for a night.

Luka slipped out into the hallway just before the next round started, letting out a sigh of relief the moment that he was on the other side of the door. The bustling atmosphere of the gaming room wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but he certainly lost his taste for it after a while. Especially since it was a room full of strangers.

After he took a moment to calm his breathing, he tried to think of what he should be investigating. How far could he wander and still be able to claim that it was to ‘look for the bathroom’? Maybe just this first floor, then.

“Can I help you find anything?”

He recognized that voice. Of course he recognized that voice.

Luka schooled his facial expression into something neutral and unaffected before he turned around. “I was just getting some air,” he told her. “Thank you, though.”

“I understand,” she said. It was a little surreal, seeing her in a quiet environment. There was no akuma threatening her or the rest of Paris. It was just the two of them in an empty hallway, and she had absolutely no idea who he was. “Sometimes it gets a bit too loud for me in there, too! Are you a student here? I’ve never seen you before.”

Luka only let it hurt his feelings a little bit. “No, I’m not,” he told her. “Um, we actually came because my sister was thinking of transferring here. Do you…do you like it here? Are the students nice?” The concept of Juleka transferring to this school was only a half-lie. On her worst days, when she’d come back from school with a clear air of frustration, she’d mutter about transferring somewhere better. Certainly never to Collège Françoise Dupont, though.

She lit up, as though it was the best question that she had ever been asked. He found himself proud that he had been the one to put that expression there. “Oh! Yes! I’d say that the majority of students here are super sweet! There are a few students who…struggle with manners, I suppose, but I think it’s dealt with well. I’ve also heard that there’s less drama in the other classes. I happen to have a few… conflicting personalities in mine. What’s your sister’s name? I should introduce myself.”

“Her name’s Juleka. She’s a little shy,” he said. He wondered about this class of hers. Was the mayor’s daughter in it, like Juleka suggested? How many of them made up the akumatizations? Luka debated the social etiquettes of it, and then asked, “What’s yours?”

“Oh! I’m Marinette.”

“Luka,” he introduced himself in return. Marinette. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl. “Well, I’m certainly honored to have met you, Marinette.”

Something about his words made her stumble, but she seemed to recover quickly. “Have I… have I met you before?” she asked.

Luka paused.

Yes. He wanted to say. You’ve met me in my superhero form. But he knew better.

“I’m...not sure.” he answered instead. “I don’t think so.”

Marinette shrugged, and wrapped a lock of her hair around her finger. “Oh, okay. For some odd reason, your face looked familiar,” she explained. 

Satisfied with her answer, Luka nodded, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Are you playing in the tournament?” he decided to ask. Marinette’s face lit up once again, and Luka couldn’t help but suppress a tiny smile at how cute she was.

“Oh yes! I’ve actually loved to play video games since I was a little girl! Are you playing in the tournament?” she asked. Luka nodded in return.

“I’m not that great at gaming though. Not really anyone in my family. We’re more music-oriented.” he said. 

“Music? Do you play any instruments?” Marinette asked, and Luka internally winced at how off-topic the conversation had gone. After all, he had come here to investigate the number of Hawkmoth akumatizations, not chat about instruments. Nevertheless, he answered. 

“Yeah. I play the guitar—actually both Juleka and Ma do too.” He answered. Marinette nodded, an awkward silence falling over them.

Gesturing back to the hallway that led back to the library, Luka shuffled his feet a bit. “Well I should go back in there now,” he smiled, “Since the tournament is done, you know.” he said. Marinette chimed in a ‘me too’, and the two walked silently to the library. Parting ways at the doorway. Luka quickly paced to Juleka, who was still ogling at Rose, and tapped her on the shoulder.

“The game’s over, Jules. You don’t have to keep staring at her like that, y’know.” he said, rolling his eyes, and Juleka turned around and shot him an irritated look. 

“You didn’t have to say that so loud, you know.” she mumbled, causing Luka to smile. “Anyways, see anything interesting while you were looking around?” she asked. Luka shrugged and shook his head. 

“Not really. Met Marinette though,” he smiled, a grin appearing as he recited Marinette’s name.

“Who’s— oh.” the words dying in Juleka's throat, as she saw the dark-haired blue-eyed girl grab a game controller and a nametag with the name ‘Marinette’ on her.

“So that’s why you didn’t see anything worthy to investigate. You were distracted. ” Juleka smirked, and Luka gave her a look TM . “Anyways, this school seems pretty tame. The only thing that hints upon the reason for the number of akumatizations that happen here is the mayor’s daughter—Chloe Bourgeois. I heard a few kids talking about her here. A real big drama queen—and a huge school bully.” Juleka shrugged, and Luka nodded. That made a lot of sense. But it wouldn’t really help in the long run finding Hawkmoth. Perhaps Hawkmoth’s civilian identity was linked to some students at this school. Or maybe he worked here. That would be a valid reason for him targeting most students at this school.

Luka jerked suddenly as his name was called, and he turned around automatically. The organizer was standing at the front with a clipboard and—and Marinette was approaching him. Luka’s gaze snapped up to the board they had set up and saw his name across from Marinette’s.

Oh— 

“I’m going to kill you slowly,” Luka said conversationally as Juleka began snickering behind him. “Tikki, what the hell happened to that whole ‘good luck’ schtick?”

There was a high-pitched but quiet giggle from his hood. “It all depends on your point of view, doesn’t it,” Tikki whispered as Luka made his way mechanically to the front. 

He was going to have to play in front of all these people, and against her , and oh this was possibly the worst idea he’d ever had. 

“Don’t worry,” Marinette smiled at him as he sat next to her. “I’ll go easy on you.” She winked, and smirked , and Luka was pretty sure his soul departed the building at that point.

His body, however, was still stuck there, and he tried to get his head in the literal game so he didn’t look like too much of a fool. 

Marinette was really good, though. Luka had good reflexes and excellent hand-eye coordination, but damn . Some detached part of his brain noticed that Marinette was a tactical thinker, and he had to appreciate that. He wondered briefly what she would do with, say, the mouse miraculous, that they rarely used because it was physically weak but in the hands of someone like Marinette, it might really be— 

He stared at the flashing screen dumbly for a moment before he realized that his thrashing was finally over. He mustered up a grin for Marinette and turned to congratulate her, and froze when she held her hand out to him. 

He had never touched her without his suit in the way. 

But if he didn’t, she would think he was a sore loser and—

Luka swallowed and shook her hand awkwardly. Her hand was tiny in his.  

“Good game,” he managed to say, letting go of her as quickly as he could. 

“You did pretty good!” Marinette smiled encouragingly. “Especially if you don’t play that regularly.” She made a face and Luka felt his own turning red. “Sorry you had to go up against me in the first round, though. Luck of the draw, I guess!”

“It’s all good, I was only playing for fun anyway,” Luka said, hoping he sounded, if not smooth, at least natural . “It was kind of a whim. Sometimes I just get these crazy ideas, and you know, why not?” He clenched his teeth against any more babble. 

“It’s good to be spontaneous,” she said kindly, and Luka tried to think of a way to make a quick exit. He didn’t know why he ever thought it was a good idea to meet her in his civilian identity, she must think he was so lame—

Her head tilted slightly and she gave him that look again. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?” she said, scrutinizing his face, and Luka was suddenly looking at her lips and remembering how she’d kissed his cheek the last time he’d saved her and he needed to get out of there now .

“Uh...I mean well— you wouldn’t know!” Luka managed to stutter out, but then slammed his out shut, realizing what he had just said. 

Idiot. 

He had practically given himself away! Sweating nervously, Luka glanced around— anywhere but at Marinette’s face —to find an escape.

“Wait... what?” Marinette asked, bewildered. “What do you mean?” she asked, slowly, as realization struck on her face.

Crap! He felt a hard tug on the back of his hair and knew that Tikki was also freaking out back there in his hood. Ugh, he had to do something!

Luka fidgeted nervously, panic coursing through his veins. He silently prayed that somehow an akuma would appear so he could leave. Fortunately, luck was on his side as a bell rang through the school indicating that an akuma had appeared. Finally. 

“I s-should really get going! Ma doesn’t like it when J-Jules and I stay out during akumas!” Luka rambled, running up to Juleka, and grabbed her hand. Marinette pulled a skeptical face as she saw Luka leave. 

“What was that all about?” asked Juleka, as the two ran into an alleyway to transform.

God, he was so screwed.

[missskzbiased]

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (10)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader  X Han X OC

WC: ~ 4,7K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness (?)

Updates: Tuesdays [Today I’m posting it a little bit earlier just because] [Also, I have up to chap 12 written but I’ve been blocked/busy to write. I already started chap 13 but the updates may be changed in the future]

Tagging: @aliceu @thatrandomoneinthecorner  @channiewoo

                                               /////

     “Holy Shit!” You sputtered, stumbling over your feet.

      Chan’s arm immediately wrapped around your waist, steading you as you tried to support yourself on the wall; eyes wide like saucers and mouth agape, utterly surprised by the scene you ran into so early in the morning. Hyunjin rubbed his eyes, dragged steps trying to bring him to the living room to check what startled you and Chan that much.

    “Holy shit!” He blurted out, suddenly looking awake. You would have laughed at him in other circumstances but right now you could only focus on Paris and Han sleeping together on the couch. Their bodies were covered with a thick blanket, and you could only hope for them to be fully dressed under there.

    Actually, that was kind of cute.

    As soon as the shock dissolved, you took in the scene. Though the blanket didn’t allow you to see much, you assumed Paris was lying right on top of Han, head resting on the crook of his neck. She nuzzled him, nose rubbing against his neck, which made him squirm a little bit, humming as he adjusted himself, probably hugging her under the sheets. You gave them a small smile, looking at Chan and Hyunjin with soft eyes.

    “Don’t look at me like this, you’re going to clean that couch if his butt touched my cushion” Chan hissed, arms untangling from your waist. He made his way to the kitchen, looking for something to eat “We don’t have anything for breakfast…” He sighed, looking at Hyunjin.

    “I didn’t think about it” He shrugged, and Chan pursed his lips, nodding in disappointment.

    “Of course you didn’t” He rolled his eyes, straightening himself and closing the refrigerator “I guess I’ll order something before we wake them up” He looked at you in doubt, wondering if it was a good plan. You frowned, looking at him in shock.

    “Why the fuck you’re going to order breakfast? Are you nuts?” You scoffed, studying your outfit. Sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. Good enough to go get some stuff “I’m going to buy something real quick” You offered, heading to the door.

    “By yourself?” Hyunjin asked surprised. You arched your brow, looking at him in question “No, I mean… Shouldn’t one of us go with you? Actually, just let us order something, it’ll be way easier” He rambled. You sighed, rolling your eyes before looking at Chan.

     “I’ll be back in a min—“ Your answer was abruptly cut off by a startled Paris. She shrieked, floundering to lift her body, completely embarrassed by the situation. You assumed her attempt to lift her body wasn’t really gentle to Han’s torso, because he shut his eyes open, coughing and trying to move, startled by whatever was happening, which just served to drop Paris to the ground.

    She ended up dragging the blanket with her, uncovering Han to display a fully dressed boy with a damn hangover. He shoots his hand to his eyes, covering them in an attempt to make the light less painful, uncovering the next second to check what was the soft thud followed by a whine that reached his ears. He lifted himself just a little bit, looking to the ground, being greeted by a huge blanket covering something unknown to him.

    “What the actual fuck?” He muttered, covering his eyes again, trying to sit up. The whine came right away. He curled himself on the couch, bringing his knees closer to his chest and holding his head as he rested his forehead on his knee, utterly done with the day.

    Paris wasn’t much better.

    She got rid of the blankets, upset by her fall, a frown carved on her face. She cupped her temples, lips quirking down, another whine leaving her lips as she probably realized she had a hangover. She mimicked Han, curling up and shielding her eyes from the light.

    “Everything good?” You checked, and both of them hissed at you, complaining you were too loud. You sighed, looking at Chan “Do you happen to have some med?” You asked, feeling too young to be the mother of both of your friends. You glanced over at them, snorting as you studied their exact same antics, finding it kind of amusing.

   Chan made his way back to his room, going to look for some pills, and you stood there watching Han and Paris whining like kids. You chuckled before looking at Hyunjin, who seemed quite amused at the situation himself. You approached him, nudging his side.

   “They’re so gonna die of embarrassment later” You grinned, and this time he giggled, nodding and crossing his arm.

    “I’m not going to let them live it down” He promised.

                                                              ////

    “Well, that’s all for today” Mr.Lee announced, standing up before looking around the class. You closed your notebook, shoving it into your bag like everybody else, hoisting your bag over your shoulder to get up but sitting back as Mr.Lee raised his hand, asking silently for all of you to stay a little bit more “Before you all go, I want to ask for feedback about your essay. As you may know, it was the first time I gave you an essay like this, so… Well, I guess I want to hear you out”    

    “I think it was pretty invasive” Someone raised their hand, stiffly exposing their opinion “Also, we could have more time… It’s not exactly easy to put all your life in someone’s hand when you don’t know them” You nodded in agreement. Although you had ended up with Paris and Hyunjin, you could imagine how hard it was for the groups who didn’t know each other.

    Embarrassing, to say the least.

    “I agree” Someone else raised their hand, boldly crossing their arms right after, a challenging look across their face “How were we supposed to give all our lives to someone to discuss when we didn’t even know this person? We had two weeks to know one another… It’s not like we can just trust people like this” It was a good point. You looked at Mr.Lee, who hummed, nodding at the input.

   “I’ll admit that this was one of my goals” He said, thoughtfully grabbing his chin “The whole point was to put all of you on the spot, just like a patient feels when they go to therapy. I understand it’s hard… Also, in therapy, you have the law beside you stating the psychologist can’t spread your life around… But the vulnerability itself was my point” He seemed pleased with their discomfort, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

   You never felt as vulnerable as you felt talking about yourself and your family issues with Paris. If that was the whole point, he did an amazing job embarrassing you all. You looked at Paris, narrowing your eyes as you pondered his arguments. Indeed, even if she was a “psychologist” to the project, she also had to put her story in both your hand and Hyunjin’s, so she was on spot too, even if she didn’t need to discuss it with you.

    There was no one to be saved there.

   “Let me ask you this… How many of our fake psychologists think they had a positive impact on your group?” He looked around and so did you. Some people raised their hands, including Paris, who smiled proudly, chest puffed out “Now, how many of you think that impact could replace a real therapy?” You looked around again.

    Not one hand raised.

    “Good, good” He said softly, nodding in approval “You aren’t psychologists and therapy is way different than this activity. I want you guys to understand that it’s hard to open up and you, as a psychologist, won’t be the only one studying what is right in front of you… Patients are logical and judging human beings like all of us. They can and will study you” He walked around, hands to his back, watching all of you “They know you are analyzing them and they will choose you based on something. It can be your empathy, it can be your responsiveness to them, it can be the apparent lack of judgment… It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that none of you are better than them, and the sooner you realize it, the better”

    You took in everything he said.

     He was good.

     “Lastly, who would consider going to a therapist after all the debates you guys did for this project?” You raised your hand immediately, looking around to see if anyone else would raise their hands. To your surprise, a lot of people did, such as Hyunjin, who didn’t seem too comfortable to raise it fully in the air, shyly letting his hand hover over his lowered head.

     Your eyes met Paris, hands rested on her lap.

     Really?

    Mr.Lee finally waved his hands dismissively, allowing all of you to go. You got up again, followed by Paris and Hyunjin – and all of your classmates, eager to just go anywhere else –, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and heading to the stairs. You risked a glance at Paris before clearing your throat.

    “No therapist?” You asked curiously, and she gave you an amused look, chuckling.

     “Why? Do you think I need it or something? I think I’m pretty well by myself” She sounded placid, her face totally at ease, as if she didn’t give much thought to your question. You shrugged casually studying your surroundings before returning your gaze to her.

     “Well, we all need someone to talk to” You said hesitantly, and she eyed you weirdly, ready to confront you. Before she could say anything, though, Hyunjin joined the conversation. He had a teasing smirk adorning his lips, a mischievous glint on his eyes warned both of you about his intentions.

     “She already has someone, right, Paris?” She rolled her eyes, groaning and throwing her head back as if she could ask God to take him away at any moment now “I just don’t know if they talk much… I’m sure as hell they cuddle a lot, though” You chuckled, shaking your head amused by him. Paris blushed, gaze fixed on the ground.

    “She won’t even say anything! I guess she just fell like this” You joked, getting an approving nod from Hyunjin. He looked proudly at you, glad to know you were going to join him in annoying her “I’ve heard you and Han have a project together this week” You grinned, making her scoff and push you lightly, holding the strap of her bag tightly before looking at you.

    “Yeah, I kinda told you that yesterday” She pointed out sarcastically “Really, guys… Will you ever let it go? I was drunk” She gave you her puppy eyes, which normally would have some effect on you but not today. You chuckled, nudging her too, smirking as you saw her pointed look at you, grumpily waiting for whatever you had to say.

  “Please!” You rolled your eyes “Even in your drunkest days you never woke up on top of me!” You accused, and she groaned again, clutching her cheeks and pulling them down. Hyunjin chuckled at her reaction before nudging her, pointing ahead to the stairs.

   “Oh, look! Boyfriend is waiting for you” He teased, pointing to Han, who waited for you on the stairs, nervously gripping his backpack’s straps. Paris shouted to get his attention out of habit, which just intensified your teasing until you got next to him. You and Hyunjin smirked at him as soon as you reached him, throwing him a suggestive look.

    “What’s up?” He tried to break the ice, blushing as his eyes darted between you and Paris before setting on Hyunjin “Is he going to stick with us from now on?” He asked displeased, and you were prepared to send Hyunjin away so you could head to the dining hall but Hyunjin interrupted you before you could say it.

    “Rude” He pointed out “As far as I remember, you came along to my house, and I even let you sleep on my couch with my girl” He joked. You and Paris chuckled, though she whined right after, knowing she wouldn’t be able to live it down so soon. Han seemed to blush harder─ which didn’t seem even possible─ and cleared his throat before grimacing at Hyunjin.

    “First of all, She’s not your girl” His tone was kinda threatening, and you had to fight back a smile as you glanced at a blushing Paris beside you “And what was I supposed to do? Let them with a dick like you?” He challenged, puffing his chest and trying to look more intimidating. Hyunjin scoffed at him, looking down at his eyes and grimacing.

   “I wasn’t the one who woke up drunk with someone on the couch” He sneered, stepping ahead to approach him, getting just a few inches away from Han “I don’t think you’re in any position to call me a dick” You darted your eyes between the two boys, worried. The tension built up to the point the four of you got silent, looking warily to each other, swallowing dry and clearing your throats once in a while.

    “You know what? We’re getting late to our lunch with Chan” You blurted out, locking your arm with Hyunjin’s, who gave you an astonished look. You gave a tight smile to your friends, ignoring the distressed look you got from Han and the confused frown Paris shot your way “See you guys later! Bye!” You waved your hand, dragging Hyunjin along with you hurriedly.

    “I’m sorry but what the fuck?!” Hyunjin looked at your arms locked, brows knitting together as he looked at them incredulously “I don’t recall Chan saying anything about a lun—“ You glanced back to make sure Paris and Han wouldn’t be looking at you, dropping his arm and interrupting him immediately.

    “I don’t want you guys to fight” You waved dismissively “Also, it’s better if they got some alone time together, don’t you think?” You snorted. He hummed in agreement, straightening up and peeking at you.

   “So… Where are we going to eat?” He asked curiously, shoving his hands on his pockets casually, tilting his head to observe you.

   “What do you mean?” You scoffed, arching your brows amused. He rolled his eyes, gesturing to the dining hall impatiently.

   “Well, Chan didn’t invite us to eat so I’m assuming you’ll eat somewhere else since your friends will be there” He wagged his hand, looking at you as if you were dumb. You nodded slowly, realizing he was right.

   “I didn’t really think it through” You admitted “I can go anywhere else, that’s not a problem… One day won’t make such a difference to my final budget” You shrugged, and he nodded back, uncomfortable. You arched your brow, nodding your head in question.

   “So… That’s it” He raised his hand to wave you goodbye, stiffly standing in front of you “See you around” And that being said, both of you parted your ways.

                                                                      ////

    Wednesday was a lonely day.

    By now, you were used to having lunch by yourself and go back home to enjoy your few hours before your shift. You always treasured these two hours. It was the time you had to stay in silence, peacefully laid down on your bed, or stressfully trying to put up with your assignments.

    Usually, you didn’t open the door to find Paris and Han on the couch, though.

    “Oh?” You let out, clearly confused. Han held the guitar to his torso, looking down to the strings as he thought about something, humming as he heard Paris mumble. They raised their heads slowly, looking at you froze on the doorframe “I didn’t know you were going to be here… I just came to…” Your eyes wandered around the room, spotting your book on the table “To pick this up” You walked over to the table, smiling awkwardly before getting your book.

    “You’re going out?” Paris asked surprised. Of course, she did. She knew you liked to stay in your room at this time, even if she wasn’t home. You always beamed about your alone time on Wednesdays. You took quick steps to the door, nodding before your eyes roamed around the room, struggling to focus on them and hide your nervousness.

    “Hm… Yeah! I’m actually… I’m meeting up a friend” You stumbled around your words, letting out a fake giggle “To… Lend him this!” You raised your book, finally finding something to say “He asked me this book and I totally forgot to take it with me! Yep! That’s right” You smiled proudly, waving at them “Bye! Take your time together! See you later” You said as you closed the door behind you.

    You stood there in front of the door, blinking a few times before letting a sigh out. God, you were horrible at lying! You glanced at the door, holding the book close to your chest and ready to go to the only place you could go now that you expelled yourself from your room: The garden. You absolutely loved to lay there on the grass, watching as squirrels and birds passed by, afraid to get close to you.

    You let out a sigh.

    Definitely not your plan for the day but it would work.

    You made your way to your destination, calmly walking through the halls ─looking at the garden as you walked beside the arches, hand sliding through the baluster as you felt the soothing breeze huff your face ─, watching the green grass and the yellow flowers that you liked so much. You smiled as you watched a squirrel pick up something from the ground, quickly moving to hide it somewhere else. When it reached the tree it was aiming at, your eyes fell upon the guy who was resting there.

    It was Hyunjin.

    He seemed absorbed in his book, which was pretty surprising as you never pictured him as the reader type. Especially not an under-the-tree-reader kind of a guy. He was laid down on the grass, earbuds on and backpack supporting his head; one leg bent while the other one was straight, giving him a relaxed and composed look. As the treetop danced around with the wind, the filtered sunbeam danced around him too, making it look like there was the perfect spot to read a book.

    You averted your eyes to look around the place, noticing a few more people than usual hanging there. It wasn’t hard to notice most of them were girls simply admiring him while he was reading, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. As soon as you went down the stairs, finally getting to the grass, you made your way to him, ignoring the few pointed looks you received.

    “Hey, Hyunjin” You called but he didn’t answer.

    He must be really focused on his reading to not listen to your calling. You shadowed him, which appeared to get his attention, his startled eyes raising from the book to look at you. He took one of his earbuds out, hand hovering beside his ear as he held it, looking confused at you.

   “What are you doing here?” He asked surprised, raising his torso and sitting on the grass. He lifts his chin to look straight into your eyes, and you chuckled at his response.

    “Should I send you a warning every time I come to a public place?” You asked jokingly, and he let out a chuckle of his own, shaking his head in amusement. He closed his book mindlessly and you couldn’t help but be in stitches as you realized what happened right before your eyes.

    His phone slid from the book, and even though you couldn’t hear it, you could see the Drama playing on his screen. You covered your mouth, trying to muffle your laugh, and his eyes shot to his phone, cursing under his breath as he quickly took the phone from the ground, shoving it into his pocket. You pinched the bridge of your nose, squatting as you tried to recompose yourself, pointing out to his pockets.

    “I can’t…” You had to stop, gasping for air as you let another fit of laughter slip from your lips “… Believe you’re pretendi—“ Before you could end your sentence his hand shot to your mouth, cupping it. He jolted forwards, his other hand reaching for your nape so you wouldn’t go away from his grip and keep talking.

    “Shhh” He hissed, widening his eyes in a silent warning. You looked into his eyes, studying them until he realized what he was doing, letting go of you immediately. He looked away for a moment, seeming embarrassed before he shot you a smug look “Did you miss me or something?” He teased, and you rolled your eyes before sitting on the grass, legs crossed.

    “Yeah, that must be it” You scoffed, bracing yourself on your thighs “So…” You drew out, smirking as he looked at you annoyed, sensing you would mock him “Why are you here pretending to read… Political Science stuff?” You ended up confused, fixing the book so you could read its title.

    “Well, I’m a Political Science student” He pointed out as if it was obvious. You grimaced, flicking his book before nodding.

   “So you kinda should read it for real, hm?” You gave him a tight smile, and he snorted, nodding in agreement.

    “Okay, that’s fair enough” He shrugged “Just in case some Professor goes by… You know, I have to look smart to keep up my better-than-you facade” He smirked, expecting you to retort him or something but you just rolled your eyes again and pushed him lightly.

    “If you have the time to look like you’re better than me, you should start studying for real” You suggested, and this time he was the one who scoffed, tilting his head to the side before grinning obnoxiously.

    “Then I’d be way better than you and it would be too easy” He teased, grinning dissolving when you threw your head back groaning, making mention to get up. He grabbed your wrist, laughing “No, no, no! I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” He giggled, and you looked at him with narrowed eyes before settling back on the grass.

    “Well, what are you doing here after all?” You asked curiously, waving dismissively to his apologetic eyes. You liked to spend your time in the garden, so you’d know if he hung around your garden like this… You didn’t recall seeing him even once.

    “I come here on Wednesdays… I’m just waiting for my classes” He shrugged “What about you? I never saw you around here” He eyes you curiously, and you chuckled, hands going to the ground as you leaned slightly back, supporting yourself, straightening your legs.

    “I was going to rest before work but Paris and Han are at the dorms, so I figured I should leave them alone” You said, looking at him with a small smile. Hyunjin furrowed his brows, tilting his head to the side, confused. He waited for you to continue but you didn’t, so he frowned, deciding to speak up.

    “Okay?” He said warily “What about it?” You looked at him as if he needed a new brain, snorting before nudging him with your foot.

   “Well, They like each other so –“ Hyunjin interrupted you by chortling, looking at you as if you were a confused kid, fondly mocking you without a word. You tilted your head, confused by his reaction, waiting for his explanation.

    “You’re kidding, right?” He chuckled, looking at any signs of amusement on your face, which he didn’t find “No! Seriously?! It’s so damn obvious he likes you!” He seemed surprised by your obliviousness, and you laughed at his delusional self, shaking your head in amusement.

    “You’re crazy! He likes Paris for like… Years!” You retorted, rolling your eyes “Where did you even get that from?” You scoffed, and this time he leaned forward, legs crossed and hands fisting the grass lightly.

   “No, look… I’m sorry to break it to you but he likes you” He repeated himself, and you looked away in disbelief “No! Really! He doesn’t like Paris! Just think for a moment, Y/N! Why would he even come to punch me for thinking I made you cry?” He looked distressed, totally taken aback by the fact that you didn’t agree with him.

    “He’s my friend! Of course, he would get upset if he thought someone made me cry!” You rolled your eyes “He stands up for me and Paris all the time. It’s called friendship, Hyunjin” He scoffed, looking away before grimacing at you.

   “Okay, and why was he all riled up when we ate the hot dog that night?” He challenged. You frowned. Well… Apart from his worries about Hyunjin in general, Han didn’t really have a reason to get so upset “See? Deep down you know I’m right” He smiled triumphantly.

   “He acts differently when he’s around Paris” You retorted, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes, sighing “I mean it! Did you see how he acts beside her?” You insisted eagerly.

   “Please… He acts differently when he’s around you” He arched his brows, as if to make his point, “That’s how he acts around you! Have you ever seen how he act around her when you’re not around? I mean it. He likes you.” He was serious, and for a moment you couldn’t take his words out of your mind.

   Was that how he acts around you not her?

   “Anyway… I don’t even know why I’m trying to make you understand it” He shrugged “It’s none of my business” He sighed, arching one brow, studying your flabbergasted expression “Though I think I made my point” He chuckled, and you shook your head.

   “No, you didn’t!” You blurted out; too eager “He likes her! He has to” You decided, settling with your previous beliefs “She likes him, you heard it yourself! And I’m sure he likes her back… They just need some alone time to get together” He sighed in defeat, giving up on the idea. As you prepared to get up, wondering where you should go to rest, he tilted his head, grabbing your wrist again. You looked down at him, and he bit his lips in doubt before speaking up.

   “Do you want to watch it together?” He asked, taking his phone out of his pocket “You can read your book too if you prefer… The tree is big enough for both of us” He smiled friendly, and you had to smile back. It was the first time he was being friendly without any suggestive or teasing remarks attached.

   “I’d love to” You nodded, crawling to the tree trunk, leaning against it. He laid down again, resting his head on his backpack and giving up on pretending to be studying, raising his phone right up his eyes, so he would be watching it in peace. You opened your book, prepared to re-read it since you had actually read it over the weekend, noticing as he glanced at you.

   “Is that book this good for you to prefer reading it instead of watching something?” He asked cautiously, and you smirked at him.

   “Yes, it is… I think you should try it” You offered, and he scoffed.

   “No way, I’m going to watch my Drama” He rolled his eyes.

   “We watch it together and then you read my book” You suggested “Then you have to be sincere about it! You can’t just decide your drama was better without trying to read it!” You looked at him accusingly, and he chuckled.

   “What is on for me?” He asked smugly, and this time you rolled your eyes to him.

   “The shame of being so wrong throughout your life that you should hide under a rock” You grimaced, making him laugh “Or maybe I’m the one who should hide under a rock…” You let the sentence hanging in the air, and he smiled confidently.

   “Deal” He agreed. You closed the book, resting it on his stomach as you laid down, resting your head on your hand, elbowing the grass.