#I FORGOT TO TAG HIM HES there too. Small and scribbled.

[ottosbigtop]

Aaand a collection of wolf stuff I’ve been hoarding once more

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, very slight angst, affection

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone. 

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different. 

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there. 

But she was much the same in that way. 

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table. 

But this was months ago. 

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips. 

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why. 

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off. 

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers. 

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is. 

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular. 

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car. 

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing. 

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear. 

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around. 

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day. 

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement. 

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course. 

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months. 

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically. 

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run. 

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman. 

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around. 

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman. 

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side. 

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper. 

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle. 

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes. 

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.” 

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan. 

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley. 

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie. 

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also. 

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother. 

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago. 

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?” 

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.” 

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!” 

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth. 

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand. 

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.” 

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.” 

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car. 

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare.  He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat. 

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed. 

Under Stan’s hasty speed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief. 

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot. 

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover. 

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it. 

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway. 

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave. 

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.” 

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.” 

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.” 

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now? 

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture. 

“I didn’t used to be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied. 

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.” 

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline. 

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.” 

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet. 

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home. 

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.” 

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her. 

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.” 

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least. 

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that. 

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.” 

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work? 

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump. 

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.” 

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.” 

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips. 

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her. 

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck. 

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!” 

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt. 

“I’ll teach ya!” 

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head. 

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though. 

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head. 

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck. 

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again. 

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did. 

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.” 

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.” 

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal. 

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot. 

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present. 

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh. 

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel. 

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park. 

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears. 

He would let her drive again, if it meant this. 

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around. 

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads. 

[httpscomexe]

Forbidden Secret Desire

Summary: You just can’t seem to find yourself in this stupid school for freaks, but just when you’re sure no one cares anymore, a man with adamantium claws disturbs your groaning with a promise. Except he forgot to mention everything good comes with a price.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: (Individual warnings per chapter) Anxiety, hints to violence, loneliness, I guess angst, manipulation (The reader is helpless and will look for anything to make her happy), some hints towards suggestive material near the end, bad language word use, pet names.

Word Count: 3523 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 2

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

Xavier's Mansion.

Also known as the school for “Gifted Youngsters,” or simply for what society prefers to call, “Freaks.”

You’d been there for a few months. You have a very unique power, something even Xavier himself doesn’t understand how to control.

You get these looks all the time when you're walking in the halls of the mansion. You notice it when people cover their mouths to whisper about you and you can’t not notice it when you seem to create a bubble around you as some of the kids try to keep a distance.

Yea, it hurts. You couldn’t deny that either. Sometimes you’d even have to find a restroom really fast to cry to yourself in one of the stalls, but even that hurts when some of the students quickly flood out of the restroom after you enter.

Nobody knew how much it hurt you, nobody even knew what powers you really had. If they did, you would’ve already been sent to the ice box, but luckily, you didn’t know how to use your more dangerous powers. You figured Xavier probably knew about them, considering he can read your mind and he knows just exactly how powerful you really were, but he didn’t know if you knew about them. And what you don’t know, can’t hurt you.

The hardest part was going to class. While everyone else had a table of four people, you sat alone. You did every project alone, with high soaring grades by the way, and you never got to speak to anyone during discussion or free time before the bell rang.

Sometimes you wish you were just… normal.

Of course, you weren’t the only person that was avoided. There were a few other students and even some of the adults that were always avoided. The only true friend you seemed to have was Hank McCoy. Everyone used to fear him, thinking that he couldn’t control the “Beast,” so he knows how you feel. But sometimes it only felt like he tolerated you because you were smart, and you were the only student that could aid him in building anything related to tech, and nanotech, and coding, and all that good stuff.

“Have you figured out why it isn’t working?” Was the first thing he asked you as you walked into his lab. Not a good morning, no how’s class, and not even hello. “I was thinking it had something to do with our maths, that maybe we calculated something wrong but I’ve looked over it again and again and couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it.” He tells you, picking up his notebook which you could see was now full of mathematical equations and random scribbles which seemed to radiate with frustration.

“I don’t think we got the maths wrong, I’ve checked it about a thousand times.” You say quietly, then gently put your bag full of books down under one of his desks so it wasn’t in the way. “Pretty sure it just needs to be smaller. Nothing really about maths though. Other than that, the fibres need to be smaller.”

“So it is the maths?”

“Eh, kind of.” You groan a little and stretch before grabbing a small, delicate pair of tweezers. “This is still too big.” You tell him, placing a sample of part of your tech down under a microscope, strong enough you’re surprised it couldn’t see atoms. “See, this is about as thick as a piece of hair, which is about the size of…” You sigh, looking back at your maths. “It’s about 50,000 nanoparticles, so not a lot, but we need it to be a little smaller.” You tell him, then look away from the small bit of tech to look up at him, his eyes squinted in your direction as is he was trying to understand what you were saying. “Okay I’ll dumb it down. It’s about as thick as a piece of hair right now, we need to numb it down to about… only one hundred nanoparticles, so it should be about as thick as graphene.”

“What’re you two nerds going on about now?” Another voice cuts into your explanation. It was none other than the gruffy voice of Wolverine.

“Oh hey, Logan.” Hank abandons the workstation to go over Logan who was making himself some coffee. “Just figuring out something about nano…”

“Nanoparticles.” You finish his sentence.

“Yea, that.” He says plainly, not bothering to look at you as you turn away from their conversation and look through the microscope.

“Now how do I make you that small…” You whisper to yourself, gently lifting the particle string with your delicate tweezers and examining it through the microscope. “Hmm…” You hum to yourself.

“Y/N!” Hank calls for you, and you turn around. “I’m going out to pick up some lunch for the both of us. What would you like? I’m getting Mexican.” You tell him what you would like, and he takes a moment to clean his work area and stuff his wallet in his pocket before he finally leaves. Leaving you to stand by your desk, doing all the work that has to do with nanotech, but also leaving the Wolverine with you.

“So what exactly are you two working on?” You hear his voice behind you, then you see him next to you.

“Teleportation. Not as complicated as you think, it’s just the fear that gets to everyone really.” You look away from your work, and your eyes land on him. His arms crossed as he leaned on a nearby table, showing enough respect to not sit on your working table.

“Seems complicated. What could possibly be scary about it though? It's just teleportation.”

“Well. If you think deeper into it. Your body and every single atom and particle of your body has to be completely broken down into an uncountable amount of smaller pieces and then your body has to rebuild itself in the secondary location, you just have to hope that it rebuilds you correctly. Or the next thing you know half your right arm is also half of your left leg with toes for fingers.” You say without taking a breath, taking a deep breath after letting it all out. Staring back up at him, his eyes were now squinted in confusion.

“I don’t think anyone is scared of that except you. I’ve never even thought about that.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his scalding hot black coffee.

“Yea well… I’ve had a lot of time to think about a lot of things.” You tell him through gritted teeth, mumbling before grabbing your notebook.

“You know…” He pauses, placing his hot coffee mug on another table away from your work before walking back up next to you, placing his palms on your table where there wasn’t electronic junk lying around. “You aren’t the only one.”

“The only one?” You question, turning and grabbing another tool before looking under your microscope, turning the string around to try and figure out how to break it into a smaller piece, without actually breaking it.

“The only one that’s feared.”

You stop what you’re doing, still looking into the microscope but not actually paying attention to what was right in front of your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way some of the other kids look at you, bub. Like there’s something wrong with you. I know how it feels to not fit in.” He crosses his arms as he leans against your table, attempting to get your full attention. He clears his throat before speaking again. “I’ve seen you in the halls. Your name is Y/N, right?” You nod, his eyes and yours locked onto each other. “Logan.” He says, reaching his hand out to shake yours. Your hand basically gets engulfed by his as your soft hand meets his, which were rough and still yet soft, that surprised you, considering… “Hank talks about you a lot also. Not like he loves you or anything, he just tells me you’re smart. Like really smart.” He shrugs.

“Hm…” You hum a little. This is the first conversation you’ve had with someone in this school where they’ve actually treated you like a real human.

“Considering the way you explain this stuff, I’d say he’s probably right about you being smart.” He nodded towards the nanoparticles still sitting under your microscope, it was hard to see from even a foot away considering it was the width of a single piece of hair. “So what exactly is a nanoparticle? Or nano…”

“Nanoparticle" is correct. It just like a piece of tech or anything made of tech like certain fibers that can be visible to the naked eye but they’re very small. Just this one piece is the width of 50,000 nanoparticles.” You carefully pick up the string, and gently put it in it’s container.

“And what was that other thing you mentioned earlier?”

“Graphene?”

“Yea.”

“It’s made of about 50 to 100 nanoparticles, and it can be seen with the naked eye through a refraction of light in a mirror or clear substance that has a bend in it.”

“I’m not completely sure what any of that means. But I trust you know what you’re doing.”

“Yea, I’m kind of a nerd.” You chuckle awkwardly, then reach down to pull your bag over your shoulder, your social battery is pretty much near zero for the day, or maybe week. This was you first time ever speaking to Wolverine and you just nerd out on him? What were you thinking?

“Alright, I got food. Where are you heading?” Hank finally comes back, a bag full of boxes with the three of your foods in them in his right hand as he enters the lab, letting the metal door close behind him.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache, I was gonna go back to my room.”

“Well you know the rules. No food in the rooms.”

“Yea, yea. I know.” You sigh, setting your bag back down as he hands you your box of food and you hop onto one of the clean counters to sit down as you eat your food.

“Have you seen Xavier today?” He asks Logan, handing him his food also.

“No, he’s out on some special mission with Mystique right now, won’t be back for about another week.”

“And what does he have you doing? You never leave your room so I’m assuming he's’ got you doing something?” Hank stands next to Logan as they both talk back and forth.

“He has me teaching his third class and fifth class. I guess that one is the anger management class and the other is meditation.”

“Ah, so he’s got you teaching the two classes you used to fail in.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

After working in the lab, a lot shorter than usual, you actually head back to your room. You hate to admit it, but you’ve been ecstatic to meet Wolverine for years, and when you finally get to have a conversation with him, you just geek out on him about nanotech?

As you hang your bag on the wall and remove your jacket only to throw it on the back of your desk chair, you can’t help but want to just smash your head on a wall until you’ve forgotten about everything that’s happened today.

You mope as you walk into the centre of your small room, stopping and staring at the mess on your desk, a bunch of full notebooks covered in little pen markings of maths and science that no one else in the school would understand.

You walk to the desk, take one of the notebooks in your hand that had some free space left, and drop down on your bed. Reaching behind your head, you pull your sweater over your head and discard it on the floor before leaning against your headboard and clicking the back of your pencil until the led is at your desired length.

As soon as the tip of the led touches the paper, your mind wanders. That was so embarrassing… You realise, scribbling random maths into your notebook. I can’t believe I just made a professor hate me too… Not only had you dissociated, but you also completely nerded out. You talked about nanoparticles as if it was the only thing you cared about. You care about more though. You care about the family that was so scared of you they sent you off to this stupid school, calling you a freak and breaking all ties with you. No, you don’t care about them. But you care about your friends so much! You don’t have any friends. Hank is very special to you, he holds a space in your heart. A very, very small space. Yea he doesn’t care about you, you’ve just been able to make about a thousand breaks in his experiments. Then of course he would take all of the credit when he would show it to Professor X.

Why do you even try? I guess working with Hank is the equivalent of the other students going out to the mall with their friends. The only difference is he wasn’t your friend.

You take it back, you had one friend. If you could even call someone you only text cause you’re too scared for actual confrontation, a friend. Nightcrawler- or Kurt. The one guy who’s ever made an actual effort to try and be your friend, he’s just always out on missions. Or so that’s what his actual friends tell you. Maybe you should send him a text and actually verify whether he hates you or not… You get up from your bed and unzip your bag, sticking your hand into the pocket where you always shove your phone, but it’s not there. What the fuck? You take your bag off it’s hook and search the rest of the pockets, and still no phone. You go to your bed, searching under the covers and getting on your knees to check under the bed, still no phone. You check your desk, your discarded sweater, and you sweep the floor with your eyes looking for it, thinking it might’ve just fallen out of your pocket. You hate seeming desperate for a simple device that rots your brain to default, but God that phone is your escape.

“Hey, is everything alright-?” A voice cuts into your messy search as you turn around and your door is cracked just enough for him to stick his head in.

“Sorry, Mr. Howlett, I just can’t find my phone.” You chuckle awkwardly, standing in the centre of your room as he peeks around your room at the mess you’ve created.

“Again, you can call me Logan. I don’t mind it, I prefer it actually. Do you mind if I step in?”

“Yea, it’s fine. Sorry for the mess, I haven’t really had time to clean it.” You nervously link your fingers together in front of you and let your thumb pick at your skin as he comes in, closing the door gently behind him.

“It’s not a mess, just a sweater on the floor and notebooks on the bed.” Sweater on the floor. Of course. Yea, you were standing in the centre of your room, in your shorts and a black fucking clasp on bra. Now you suddenly feel naked standing in front of him, so you cross your arms, hoping to hide at least some of the embarrassment.

“Well uh, what’s up?” You try sounding cool but immediately cringe.

“You left this in the lab.” He tells you, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out your phone, handing it to you backside up, so you could see the glittery phone case, adorned with pink sparkles. “Was gonna give it to you in class but you kids go crazy over your phones.”

“Oh I wouldn’t go crazy…” You tell him, humour in your voice as you awkwardly look around your room, the sheets halfway off the bed and your pillows tossed in the middle, the result in the crazy search for your phone. “Would just be a little annoyed…”

“So is everything okay?”

“Yea, why do you ask?”

“I was knocking on your door and sayin’ your name. but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh,” You laugh dryly. “Sorry, sometimes I get lost in my head and kinda just block out all sounds and sometimes I’ll block out what’s in front of me."

“Oh I see.” What do I say to respond to that? “What were you working on?” Why is he still here?

“Honestly, I don’t know, I was just scribbling.”

“Had enough maths for the day?” He jokes.

“Had enough maths for the month.” You mumble, but then he laughs. A short laugh. But a laugh nonetheless. Isn’t he annoyed by you? Why is he still- “What would you be doin’ if Hank didn’t have you doing all this brain stuff?” Oh.

“Well uh, nothing probably.”

“Not one for hanging out with your friends?”

“Friends? Hah!” You laugh with sarcasm, then walk over to your discarded sweater, bending over to pick it up, deciding to distract yourself with cleaning. “It's not easy for a freak to make friends.” You mumble to yourself, hoping he wouldn’t hear, of course, he did.

“You’re not a freak.” He crosses his arms as you look over your shoulder at him.

“Yea sure. Everyone in the school would so easily disagree with you on that.” You say back, folding the sweater before tossing it into your dirty laundry basket. “Professor X won’t even let me leave the school because he doesn’t trust me. I’m sure you’re no different.” Shit that was supposed to be said in your head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You’d smack yourself right now if it wouldn’t make you look stupid, if he wasn’t in your room still.

“So you think everyone’s the same?” He asks, more of a statement.

“No I- I don’t mean it like that. I just-” He clears his throat.

“Come here.” He demands, looking into your fucking soul. So of course, with a gaze as threatening as his. You stand right in front of him after you walk up to him like Bambi in a traffic headlight. Wobbly, and frozen. “Good, now look at me.” Oh, you forgot that part.

You looked away from his shirt, and tilted your head back to look up into his eyes and for a man who’s so adept at killing his eyes were so soft, and broken…

“If you didn’t randomly blank out, you would’ve also heard Xavier when he told you the only time you could leave, is if it’s with someone else in case there’s an emergency.”

“Emergency from what? Me losing my temper?”

“Exactly that.” Is what shuts you up. “When I said I know how you’re feeling, I meant it.” His voice softens, and you feel your throat knot as you hold back embarrassing tears. “It wasn’t easy for me to make friends either, but honestly I prefer to be in a small crowd. Normally I’m not the one to comfort a student, but you just don’t seem to want to talk to anyone. Why’s that?”

“I’ve tried talking to people. They just give me a look and then walk away.”

“Does that actually happen? Or is that just what it feels like?”

Shit. You hate to admit it, but he makes a point.

What the fuck. Was your next thought as his hand moved up and he gently placed his hand on your cheek.

“I know you hate everyone at this school from the fucking bottom of your heart, but I’m gonna have you try to refrain from hating me. We can strike a deal by letting me take you out of the mansion. I’m sure you’d love to get out, can’t remember the last time you left.”

“Never have.” You whisper, shrugging your shoulders. Your voice is only quiet so your tears aren’t cascading down your face.

“Well if you can just promise to behave, and tell me when you’re getting stressed, then I’ll supervise you like Xavier wants.” He tells you, promising some sort of freedom. “I’m not saying I’m scared of you. If anyone is scared of what you can do, it’s you. Am I right?” You nod. “Use your words, bub.”

“Yea…” Your voice cracks as you barely mutter an entire word.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly, then he suddenly pulls you into a hug. “I’ve got you.” He gently rubs your back, which by the way is still bare since you never got to throw on another shirt. “Just cancel your plans with Hank, I can help you more than he ever will…”

He promises. His fingers gently run over the metal clasps on the back of your bra as you loosely wrap your arms around him, embracing his hug and you nod, not able to formulate any more words as you cry quietly against his chest, your tears wetting his shirt as you both stand there in silence. A quiet smirk on his face as he holds onto you…

[sopejinsunflower]

a/n: so this was stuck too long in my WIP it might feel a little rushed at the end but  I’ve been in a slump for awhile so this is a small win to be able to finished. I hope you like demon Jimin. 

Warning: 18+, minors DNI, virgin reader, deception, a little Stockholm Syndrome-ish, death/suicide insinuated (this one’s dark, so please be caution before reading)

Summary: Having an imaginary friend is normal for most kids. What’s not normal is when you don’t outgrow it well in your teens. He’s persistent and possessive but when you meet who you thought was the love of your life, can you really deny your own heart? Even when he’s a demon lord?

Pairing: Park Jimin x you, Kim Taehyung, Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin

Tags: Demon Jimin! Yandere Jimin! Penetrative sex, controlling partner, deception, dom Jimin ofc because obviously this is supposed to be Set Me Free inspired.

Word count: 14k

FIVE

The small hand wrapped around the pencil made the stationery look twice its usual size, gliding over the white paper as the little girl scribbled, forehead creasing in concentration, tongue sticking out. 

“What are you drawing?” her mother asked, leaning over to see the purple drawing. It’s a little difficult to make out but she can see two stick figures, one sitting down at a table with pigtails, drawing something, the other hunched down in the corner of the room. The woman pointed to the figure with pigtails. “Is that you, sweetie?”

The little girl nodded, pigtails flying into her face. 

“And who’s this?” her mother pointed to the figure in the corner.

Without looking up, the pencil still moving over the paper as she added in more details, she answered, “Jimin.”

“Who’s Jimin? Is he your new friend from kindergarten?”

The girl shook her head. 

Her mother frowned, a little confused. “Oh? Is he one of the Kim boys? I forgot their names.”

Again, the girl shook her head. She finally stopped drawing and looked up to her mother, sighing as if annoyed she had to explain this simple thing. “No. Jimin lives in my closet, mummy. He doesn’t go outside.”

Her mother’s blood ran cold, the words stuck in her throat. She watched her daughter go back to drawing, not even realising the way her mother’s heart was going wild. She licked her lips and tried to calm herself. An imaginary friend. That’s all, she thought. “I see. I didn’t know you have a friend in your closet. Is he a little boy?”

The girl sighed. “Of course. He’s my age.” She paused, putting the end tip of the pencil to her lips. “I think.”

The mother breathed a sigh of relief. She stood up and ruffled the little girl’s head. “Okay. Well, make sure you two play nicely, okay? And clean up after you’re done playing. Got it?”

“Okay, mummy,” the girl said, going back to her little art. Just as her mother was about to leave the room, the woman heard the girl continue to talk. “Did you hear that, Minnie? We can’t make any messes, okay? Or I’ll get in trouble.”

The woman smiled bitterly to herself. Being a single mother is hard enough and her daughter having an imaginary friend only further proves how lonely she was. She just hopes the Kim boys will be good friends with her, enough so that she won’t need an imaginary friend anymore. New place, new possibility, right? 

Sighing, she disappeared into the kitchen. “Honey, we're leaving in ten minutes. I need you to be ready by then,” she shouted over her shoulder as she prepared the girl’s overnight bag for the Kim’s household.

THIRTEEN

“Give it back, Taehyung! Give it back!”

You chase the laughing boy around the kitchen island, grabbing an apple from the bowl, ready to lug it at his head when Jin appears around the corner and easily plucks the ribbon from Taehyung’s hand. He gestures for the apple instead and you exchange the items; throwing the apple his way as he slides the ribbon across the island. “Thanks,” you say to him as Taehyung sulks. “It’s good to know not all of you are jackasses.”

Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you before going upstairs to his room, leaving you with the eldest. Munching on the apple, Jin points to the ribbon. “Another award?”

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

“Oh, which one?” he asks, intrigues.

“Jimin.”

Jin chuckles. “Don’t you draw anything else?” 

“I do,” you snap, the shyness quickly replaced with annoyance. “But the Jimin ones always come out the best. And why is everyone so pressed about what I paint?”

“Because,” Jin says, taking another bite of the apple, “you’re literally drawing a ghost. He doesn’t exist yet he’s so,” he waves his hand around, “vivid. Enough for you to paint him like that. You’re obsessed with him.”

“I’m not obsessed!” you retort. “And he’s not a ghost.”

“Right. Your imaginary friend when you were five,” Jin adds. “That you keep drawing even until today. It is a little weird considering the fact that you’re drawing him the same age as you.”

You shoot him a dirty look. “Aren’t you going to class or something?”

Jin laughs. “I am.” He picks up his bag and slung it over one shoulder. “And this is my house, by the way.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Fine. I’m leaving anyway.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jin offers.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk. I don’t want to meet your college friends,” you say, hurrying out the back door before he can protest. You stuff the blue ribbon into your bag and briskly walk up the street to your place. 

“You’re angry. Why?”

“I’m not,” you huff out, keeping your eyes up front. 

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying to me.”

At the change of Jimin’s tone of voice, you finally turn around to look at him. His eyes have grown darker, pupils dilating to the point that the whites of his eyes are gone. The stormy look on his face is enough to scare you to admit the truth. “I don’t like it when people talk about you like I’m crazy.”

“Why do you care what others think?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You don’t answer, looking down at your feet sullenly as you walk. 

“And what’s with Jin, huh?” he prods, leaning close to your face. “I told you to keep away from him. I told you to keep away from all of them.”

“They’re nice,” you say lamely. “I don’t know what your problem is with them.”

“They’re always trying to break us apart. I don’t like anyone who tries to break us apart.”

You remain quiet the rest of the way home because arguing with him is futile. He always gets his way, you think, as Jimin places a cold hand on your shoulder, his fingertips sinking into your flesh.

TWENTY

The world is spinning a mile a minute and the arm wrapped around your middle is only making you want to puke even more. 

Namjoon slowly places you across the sofa, making sure both your feet are up before he finally fully lets you go; gently, of course. He rushes to the kitchen to get a glass of water and an ibuprofen for when you wake up just as Taehyung emerges from the bathroom with a bucket to place by your side. 

You’re murmuring something, your words slurred, making it hard for Taehyung to understand. He puts his ear close to your mouth, listening hard in case you’re telling him something important. 

“What’s she saying?” Namjoon asks as he comes back in. He places the glass of water on the coffee table and the painkiller tablet next to it. “Damn, maybe we should’ve gone easy for her first time drinking.”

Taehyung shrugs, motioning for him to stay quiet. 

“Jimin,” you mumble through barely opened lips. “Don’t hurt them.”

Taehyung backs away, eyebrows raised all the way up. He turns to his older brother. “She’s calling for Jimin.”

Namjoon’s face clouds over, frowning in concern. “I thought she'd gotten over that phase years ago.”

  “Jimin, Jimin,” you call out, your voice growing louder, somewhat distraught. Taehyung and Namjoon exchange glances, unsure of what to do. Just as it suddenly started, you become quiet, breathing evens out as you sleep. Occasionally, your forehead creases over like you’re having a bad dream but the two brothers are just relieved that you’re passed out. 

“That was” Namjoon says, “unnerving.”

Taehyung gently pushes back your hair from your face, subtly caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. He thinks Namjoon doesn’t see it but if he did the older one remains quiet. Taehyung stands up. “I’ve texted her mum. She’ll be home soon. Let’s go.”

“You sure we can leave her alone?” Namjoon looks unsure about leaving but he also can’t deny the unsettling feeling creeping down his back, like he’s being watched. 

Taehyung hesitates before answering, “She’s sleeping now. Should be fine. Come on.”

In the old leather armchair in the corner of the room, Jimin watches as the two Kim brothers walk out of the house, not missing the way Taehyung looks back at you before closing the door behind him. He had seen the way that boy touched you, had seen the way he had pined over you all these years yet you never listen. 

Jimin squats down next to your head, one finger tracing the outline of your face. “I told you to stay away from those boys but you never listen to me,” he whispers, his words piercing straight into your dreams. “And here you are, drunk from your first time drinking. Twentieth birthday and you spent it with them.” You moan, turning your head away. Jimin smiles but there’s no tenderness in his face. 

When you open your eyes, the room is pitch black, so dark that even the bed underneath you is invisible. You turn your head, trying to look around but one movement makes you realise that both your wrists are shackled to the bedposts, or what looks like the direction of where the bedposts are supposed to be. The iron chains clang noisily as you pull on them. Immediately, your heart drops. 

“Jimin,” you call out, your voice coming out weak. “Jimin, please. Where are you? You know I don’t like being here alone.”

“I know, my sweetness,” comes his voice from within the darkness. He materialises in front of you, standing at the foot of what is supposed to be the bed in his usual all black leather pants and boots. He’s bare from the waist up, his toned body on full display; something that’s never happened before. “It’s amusing that after all this time, you still haven’t gotten used to this place.”

“Get these chains off, please,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice soft despite the panic rising in your chest. Yes, you’ve been in this space before but never like this. Something is different. “My wrists hurt.”

Jimin tuts, shaking his head. “Not yet. They need to be on for now.”

“What’s going on? Why is it different this time?”

“Because, my love,” he says, walking over to your side, the echoes of the heels of his shoes loud in your ears, “today’s your twentieth birthday. It’s time for your initiation.”

“Initiation?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Yes, love. Have you forgotten?” He places a hand on your head, the icy cold of his skin making you shiver to the bones. 

“For what?”

Jimin smiles widen, something that has never offered warmth for as long as you’ve known him. Something inside you withers in fear but you can’t deny the other sensation starting up like a fire being lit up at the sight of his beautiful face split by that awful, awful smile. Jimin kneels down on one knee, bringing his face close to yours. “To entwine your soul with mine.”

A dry chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop yourself. “ You’d have to be real to have a soul, Minnnie. You’re just a…”

The look on Jimin’s face takes away the words from your tongue. He knows something you don’t, something you’ve had a hunch about all these years yet had been too stubborn or too scared to actually make yourself face it. With a blink, Jimin’s eyes turn jet black and your breath is stuck in your throat. “What are you?”

Jimin lets out a laugh, a loud belly-aching, rumbling laugh that seems to echo all around the space as he throws his head back. It’s not a nice sound and yet he never ceases to look just as mesmerising as always. The contradiction is throwing you off. 

“Fifteen years and only now you’re asking,” says Jimin when he finally stops, looking down at you with such pity. “I think it’s too little too late, my sweetness.”

You gulp tightly around the lump in your throat. “And what if I refuse? To do the initiation?”

The smile is quickly wiped off his face and suddenly he’s on top of you, straddling your chest but not really sitting. He leans his arms over the wall behind you, sneering down at you in a way that strikes both fear and anticipation of what he can and will do, making your stomach turn in a somersault. “It’s not a choice, love,” he hisses, his breath hot on your cheek. “I will have you, one way or the other.”

The menacing tone of his voice makes your heart beat faster. “Wh-what do you mean? Jimin, you’re scaring me,” you stutter out, the chains around your wrists rattling ominously. “I want to go back. Take me back, Minnie.”

“I will, just not right now,” he purrs into your ears. “Honestly, I’m hurt. Your twentieth and you celebrated with others, the Kim brothers no less. And you ignored me the whole night.”

“They threw me a surprise birthday party,” you counter, pleading. “How can I just walk away? They’ve been nothing but nice to me. They’re like my own brothers. They took care of me when my mother wasn’t around.”

“I took care of you!” he bellows, his eyes burning red this time. “I kept you company all of those times you’d cry yourself to sleep missing your dear mummy. I chased away all the bad dreams at night, I stayed with you every night when you couldn’t sleep without a night light on. Not them! They just swoop in when you move into a new place, free babysitting for your neglectful mother. They did all the easy work.”

You can’t help the way your throat constricts from being yelled at, something Jimin, in all his sadistic traits, had never actually done. Jimin sees the way your face crumples as you bite on your upper lip to keep them from wobbling and he cools off a little. He leans his forehead against yours, his dark fringe falling over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. You ignored me at the party.”

Your heart jumps at the sight of him sad. You try to touch him but your wrists are still bound, clanging the chains noisily when you move. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I- I got carried away. I was overwhelmed. There were so many people. You know I won’t ignore you on purpose, Minnie.” 

Jimin stares into your eyes, that same puppy-like look still swimming in his gaze, the kind of look that melts you so easily. It effectively wrecks you with guilt whenever you do something he doesn’t approve of, an ammo he’s used over and over again throughout the years. You lean into him as best you can with the chains’ restriction. “You believe me, right? Minnie? You know I need you.”

“Do you? After all these years, I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten that promise you made me,” he says, visibly pouting, sounding the saddest he had ever been. “You promised me that you won’t ever leave me if I keep the monsters away.”

You lick your lips and nod. Yes, you remember that promise, made when you were five, that first night he climbed out of your closet last, after all the other shadows came out first. In return to keep you safe from the others, you made that promise that only a child could. 

“I’ve kept the monsters away, haven’t I?”

You nod. 

“I’ve kept you safe every night from then on, haven’t I?”

You nod again.

“And so why do you choose the brothers over me?”

You swallow, shaking your head. “I don’t. I choose you.”

The corner of Jimin’s lips twitch. “You do?”

You give a small nod. 

“Really? I’m not convinced,” he states, readjusting his position, sitting a bit lower so that he rests on your pelvic bone. 

“I do,” you whisper out, feeling the heat creeping up from your waist down. It’s an odd feeling, something that has never happened before. 

Jimin’s more of a childhood friend, imaginary as he is. You both grew up together, just you and him against the world when your world had been so dark and so lonely, back when your mother would leave for work before the sun had even risen and come home when you’re already asleep. He was your saviour first then a friend, a protector and a companion but somewhere between being a tween and when puberty hits, he became a deep, dark secret. 

No one could see him and after enduring being called a liar and ostracised in the first grade, you learnt the hard way to keep your mouth shut and pretend he wasn’t there following you everywhere you go when in public. You told everyone that Jimin had disappeared, that you had outgrown him just as any children with their own imaginary friends. Only the paintings remain. In truth, you’re not even sure why you painted him in the first place but those paintings are the only times when people would actually listen when you talk about him. In the past tense, of course. 

Jimin is beautiful. He’s ethereal and your paintings of him were haunting. They evoke emotions from those who see them, making them pause and stare and weep if they look too long. You don’t paint him a lot, only five among the hundreds of canvases, one for each time Jimin had brought you into this dark space you don’t have a name for, yet they attracted the most attention, so much so that you got a full ride to the Royal College of Art. But Jimin won’t let you go. 

Jimin grinds onto you, leaning over so his face is inches from yours. “You do what? Give me the full sentence, love.”

Your throat is dry but you force your voice out anyway. “I choose you, Jimin.”

“Always?”

You whimper as he presses his crotch against yours, the sneer back on his face. “Always.”

The first time Jimin brought you into this space, you were six. It was an escape, a quiet safe space from the raging storm outside and your mother was still not home. You two had huddled together. The second time was at twelve, when your mother’s boyfriend of 6-months kept creeping into your room at night. Jimin had been furious then and while you hid in this space, Jimin promised you he would tell the man to stay away. He never returned to the house since and though your mother cried for his disappearance, claiming that she’d been ghosted, whatever that meant, you had been the happiest.

At fourteen, when the boy you thought you liked, asked you out as a prank for the whole class to laugh at you, the dark space was where you ran to hide, sobbing into Jimin’s embrace. It had been at the end of the school year but when the new semester started, the boy and his family had left town so suddenly that people only heard about it two weeks after. Taehyung had said, “Good riddance,” and even though you were relieved, it had felt too coincidental.

It was at sixteen when the hunch came about, growing in the pit of your stomach like some kind of fungus. A family had just moved in next door and they had a son, Adam, a year older than you; shy and sweet-seeming the first time he came around with his parents, exchanging pleasantries and jokes with your mum at the front door. They moved in the middle of the year and your mum had assured Adam that you would show him the ropes at school, to which you had obliged. Both you and Taehyung had gladly taken him under your wings, including him into your fold of friend group (which included only you and the Kim brothers, really). 

It took him less than three months to finally show his true colours. He had broken into your house when nobody was home and when you came back from your part-time job at the yoghurt shop, he had sprang out from the closet and pinned you to the bed. You don’t remember the rest of the details, except seeing Jimin looming behind him. You blinked and you were in the dark space, away and safe from danger. The next morning, his parents found him hanging in his closet, stiff and blue. They moved away shortly after that.

“I prefer you being here with me, mind, body and soul,” drawls Jimin, pulling you back to the now. “Where did you go?”

You’re pulled away from your train of thoughts and see Jimin leaning over you, eyes black, anger written all over his face. “Sorry,” you whisper. 

“You’ve chosen me,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Act like it.”

He grabs your sides, nails digging into your flesh and you wince in pain. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I’m here. With you.” You take a deep breath. “Mind, body and soul.”

“As you should,” he says, his voice softening. He nuzzles your neck and you feel his teeth nip just along the collarbone. “Tonight, you will officially be mine.”

You feel his hands move slowly to your chest, softly kneading your breasts while his mouth never leaves your neck. You feel him press himself flat against you, the bulge in his pants so prominent you can feel the shape of him. You lay there, frozen, unable to say no nor even move away. Your heart is in your mouth and you’re too afraid that if you say something, it’s going to jump out and you’ll be dead. 

Jimin pulls away, staring directly into your eyes. The jet black orbs in his sockets reflect back your fear-stricken face but he isn’t fazed. He smiles and your stomach twists and before you can do anything (not that you are capable anyway), his lips are on yours and it feels like your whole body is on fire, and not the good kind either. Your lips feel like someone had stuck live wires directly to them and the burning pain makes you scream out, muffled by his mouth. Tears pool in your eyes.

Then you feel his tongue snake in and your eyes widen in surprise: a forked tongue. You struggle to get away but Jimin holds the back of your head in place, grabbing a fistful of your hair. The chains around your wrists clang noisily next to your ears as you start to squirm under him. Squirm as you are, your mouth seems to be reacting the opposite way; moulding with his like they want to be fused together; you both want him and are disgusted by him, lips pulling him in, body resisting. He finally pulls back, displeased.

“I want to go back. Please,” you sob, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

“We’re not done yet,” he says, forked tongue catching the tears. “I haven’t even started, my sweetness.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Start?”

“The initiation, you silly goose.” He continues to lick down your neck, catching your earlobe in between his teeth. 

You swallow hard. “Jimin, what is the initiation?”

“You have to give me something you’ve never given anyone else before,” he whispers into your ear and the hairs on your neck and arms stand on end. He moves to the other ear to add, “Your virginity, my love. Your one and only. It shall be mine.”

Jimin’s fingers unbutton your jeans and just as he’s about to shimmy it down, your brain clicks and you finally yell out, “Wait!”

Jimin lets out a growl, raising only his ember eyes to glare at you. “What?”

You’re breathing hard as your mind races to try and find a good excuse. You’ve never even had a boyfriend, never even got the chance to go on a first date. While your female friends, limited in number as they are, gushed about their partners, about the things they would do, about the sweet little gifts they’d get on Valentine’s, you had smiled and been happy for them, doing your best to ignore the bitter feelings clawing at the back of your throat. 

You’ve had suitors, of course, but for some reason they never stick around. They’d ask you out but then stood you up when you arrived with not even a text to explain or apologise. If they managed to get past the first date, you never hear from them again after it ends. You’re only twenty, your whole life is ahead of you. It’s stupid but you want your first time with a man to be special. You want to be loved up, taken out on dates, wooed off your feet and be promised the world even if it’s all a lie. 

Jimin is looking at you, head tilted to the side. “You want all that?”

You stare at him. “Huh?”

Jimin frowns. “All the things you were thinking about just now. You want all that?”

 “How-”

“Just answer the question,” he snaps impatiently.

You nod, unable to say the words. Jimin sighs, tilting his head upwards like he’s facing with a minor inconvenience. “But why? It’s such a waste of time.”

“I-,” you stutter but clear your throat and try again, although your voice comes out small. “I’ve never experienced it. I want to know what it feels like. All this time I’ve only ever seen others go through it and I just…I just want to know what it feels like. To fall in love and to be loved.”

When Jimin doesn’t say anything, you quickly add, “I won’t…I won’t have to sleep with the person. I can tell them I’m waiting for marriage.” At this Jimin snorts but you ignore him. “Just…just let me experience all that and then you…you can have my…my everything.”

You’re not sure what Jimin will say but he looks like he’s actually thinking about it. “I promise,” you say, just to convince him. 

Jimin crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes going back to normal. “Okay, fine.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “Really?”

He nods, almost excitedly. “Sure. Anything for you, my love.” He leans down once again, caressing your forehead. “I’ll let you have all that. And after that, I’ll take what’s mine.”

“Thank you,” you whisper out, feeling elated. “Thank you, Minnie. I promise I’m yours.”

Jimin smiles. “That you are.”

You’re back in the real world, already in your own bed. Jimin is nowhere to be seen and he’s still not around the next day. A week passed by and you haven’t seen any sights of him anywhere, like he’s just gone. Like he was never there. It’s strange to suddenly be alone, truly alone for the first time in years but it’s also liberating. You’re free.

A month later, you’re starting to believe that it had all been your imagination after all, that maybe you believed in him so much so that you made him real. You spend more time with the Kim brothers, even get to travel to Europe to visit the Royal College of Arts with Taehyung to see if you’d like the place. You do, so you take up the scholarship and move abroad with him, although he goes to a different school. 

You made a lot of friends, went to a lot of parties and art shows. You painted a lot, too, and none of them of the man that haunted your youth. Even his face is a blur, memories that seem to be fading faster than normal and by your sophomore year, you’ve forgotten all about him. 

You travelled a lot, mostly around Europe, with different friend groups as well as the Kim brothers whenever your holidays aligned. You met a lot of people, went out on a million dates, experimented with different genders and even had a short fling with an up-and-coming actor, but the one thing you could never do was fall completely in love.

You’d meet someone you think will be the one but nothing ever survived past the third month. This time, it’s not them; it’s you. You just can’t seem to give them your all, pulling away the moment they fall. You don’t know why either and you have no intention of hurting people. So you stop, telling people you no longer have any interest, that you’re asexual, that you’re anything but normal so that people will leave you alone instead of trying to set you up or ask you out.

You miss the connection, you miss having someone to come home to, someone to be there when you wake up from another nightmare. But if you can’t give it your all, it’s only fair you don’t give anything at all. Thus, your purity remains.

 TWENTY-SEVEN

You finish applying the fresh coat of lipstick in the mirror, standing back and admiring the view, making sure that not a hair is out of place and your makeup is perfect. Satisfied, you give yourself a nod.

“Let’s do this,” you say to yourself, snapping your purse shut and fixing your skirt. You exit the ladies’ room and make your way to the meeting room. A new partner is coming on board and you, being one of the leading managers for the big project next month, will have to give a presentation to the man, a briefing to bring him up to speed. You take a deep breath and enter.

Your team and your boss, Martin, are all sitting around the big oval table. They look up and visibly relax when they see it’s you. You look around the room. “He’s not here yet?”

“He’s coming up now,” Martin answers, pulling out the chair next to him for you. He leans in to whisper, “Everything ready?”

You nod and smile. “Yes. Everything’s taken care of, don’t worry.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “We need to make sure he’s happy with this. He’s bringing in a lot of money.”

You bend down to retrieve the folio that you’ll be using when the door opens and everybody stands up. You’re still trying to pull out the thick papers from your bag as you hear a new voice greet the room. You freeze, confident you’ve heard it before. You pull out your materials and look up, seeing the new partner for the first time. 

He’s handsome, dark hair with a middle parting to his fringe giving him a boyish look. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his grey slacks as he makes his way around the table towards your boss. He extends one hand and then turns to you, the smile never leaving his lips. You take his hand and jump a little at how cold his skin is. “Jimin Park,” he says, his voice velvety pleasant, “Pleasure to meet you, y/n.”

The way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine for what reason you’re not sure. Have you met him somewhere before? Everybody takes a seat and the meeting begins. You speak for most of the time and Martin beams at you proudly at how well your presentation is. All the while, Jimin only watches intently, listening and nodding but not saying anything more than a few clarification questions here and there. He never stops smiling. 

When you reach the end of the presentation, the room gives a round of applause, and so does he, eyes never leaving you, that same smile constantly on his lips. You should be happy, you should feel accomplished that he seems happy, too, but a nagging feeling tells you that something isn’t right. As everyone gets ready to go for a team lunch, Jimin included, you finally realise what it was that bothers you so much. 

He’s smiling but it never reaches his eyes; there’s no warmth in them. 

***

“So, how long have you been working here?”

Jimin sits across from you, casually leaning back against his chair like he’s very comfortable, monolid eyes sharp on you. 

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat like you’re uncomfortable under his gaze. “A little over five years now,” you say with a polite smile. “Got in right after graduation and never left. They’ve taken great care of me.” You turn to Martin who  puffs out his chest proudly. 

“One of my best, that one,” your boss chimes in, pointing at you while your coworkers chuckle lightly. 

“I bet,” Jimin mutters, eyes still on you, but you think you’re the only one who caught it. “Well,” he says, louder now, turning to your boss, “you have me on board. Just let me know what support you need and,” he turns back to you, “I’ll do my best to give it my all.”

The table cheered and everyone fell into light conversation all around. All except you and Jimin, staring at each other, him looking like he knows things you don’t, a smug little smile on his lips, you, a little put off by how much attention he’s giving you. You think about telling your boss of how uncomfortable Jimin makes you feel but you’re a little hesitant that it might backfire since Martin is awfully fond of him. You wrench your gaze away from Jimin, finally, focusing on your food, doing your best to ignore the fact that you can feel he’s still watching. 

Weeks go by and you’re thrown into one of the most hectic phases of the project, launching in a couple of months. This is when your phones won’t stop ringing, business people coming and going from your office in constant streams and a lot of fuck ups with orders. You’re running around everyday, barely even sitting down, never mind to eat and it’s starting to show by the slight gaunt look on your face and how your skirt is barely hanging on your hips. But you love what you do so you power through. 

You’re on your hands and knees in your office, going through the white blueprint of the event hall spread over the floor in front of your desk, checking every minute details to correct before you send off copies to the vendors when a voice from behind you makes you visibly jump. “Nice view.”

You turn around to see Jimin leaning against the doorframe of your office,a coffee cup in each of his hands and a white paper bag tucked under his arm. You scowl at him, wondering what he meant because your ass would have been pointing in his direction when he said those words. You sit up on your knees. “That’s sexual harassment,” you say, your voice curt.

Jimin’s lips twitch but his eyes widen in surprise, whether genuine or not, you can’t tell. “I was talking about the venue. I’ve been there and those wide windows at the back will give a really great view of the city. The clients will love it.”

The scowl remains on your face but you move sideways so you can bend over the blueprint again, but this time, not ass presenting him. You hope he goes away, taking the hint that you’re busy. 

“Here. I brought you coffee and some sandwiches,” Jimin says, entering your office without asking for permission and placing the paper bag on your desk. The coffee cup, he holds it out for you. 

You glance at the cup briefly before nodding to your desk. “Thanks. Just leave it there. I need to finish this.”

“No.”

You pause, looking up at him in surprise and confusion. “Excuse me?”

“I said, no,” Jimin repeats; the same easygoing smile on his face, the same cold look in his eyes. “You need to take a break or you’re going to collapse before this project even finishes.”

You stare at him, contemplating on not satisfying him because who the hell is he to tell you what to do? But a steaming cup of coffee sounds so good while it’s still hot, rather than later when it’s lukewarm. You sigh and take the cup from him, standing up as you do. “Thanks,” you say again, much softer this time and almost shyly, mostly for being told off. You take a sip and immediately feel the tension melt away. You sigh heavily, tilting your neck this and that way, cracking them to relieve the stiffness.

“Do you always throw yourself into work like this?” Jimin leans against your desk, the rim of the cup at his lips but eyes looking down at the spread out blueprints and other papers all over the floor. And yet, it feels like he’s watching you anyway, from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s a busy time.”

“Really?” he asks, looking sideways at you. “You sure you’re not running away from something? Distracting yourself with work?”

You turn to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

He meets your gaze. “Oh, just wondering.”

You stare at him, incredulous, but decide not to answer him. “You should go.”

“Don’t you paint anymore?”

You freeze, looking at him like he’d just grown another head. Your heart rate spikes a little as you comb back through your memories, trying to think if you told him anything about your past hobbies. No, you don’t think so. No one in this office knows that you come from an art background, only assuming that you had graduated from the business school of RCA. You swallow thickly, subconsciously backing away from him. “How do you know I even paint?”

Jimin looks at you calmly, letting five seconds pass by before moving away from the desk to point at a picture frame set on it. It’s a picture of you and Taehyung on your graduation day, the Royal College of Arts main building in the back. “Oh, I just assumed that from that picture.”

“Most people assumed I came from the business school,” you say, your voice a tad bit shaky.

Again, Jimin looks slightly alarmed. “Oh, I didn’t even know they had a business school.”

Bullshit, you wanted to say but your mind is reeling.

“Well, from your reaction, I’m guessing I was right,” Jimin continues, languidly relaxing back against your desk. “So, my question still stands. You don’t paint anymore?”

You don’t like his tone of voice; condescending and smug, like he knows more than he lets on. You find yourself answering, “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.” Then, on second thought, you add, “I can’t.”

Jimin tilts his head. “Why?”

Your forehead creases over as your eyebrows stitch together, struggling to keep your emotions in check because you hate it when someone questions your past. It’s always been one of the problems with prospective partners; they always want to know everything. And then get hurt when they do. But to Jimin, you square your shoulders and the look on your face hardens. “None of your business,” you snap, a little too harshly before regretting it. He is your boss after all. Sort of. 

“Is that how you talk to me?” His voice is low and cold, devoid of any of the friendliness he had earlier. 

You gulp. “Sorry, sir. I’m just- I’m a little stressed out right now,” you confess, not even sure why you are. 

“Go home,” he says, his voice back to normal. “Take a rest.”

“But I have to get this-”

“I’ll handle it,” he promises, pushing off the desk and coming over to you. In a few steps, he’s standing in front of you, toe to toe, too close for personal space, looking down his nose at you. He’s even more handsome up close, breathing down on you like you’re nothing but a child that needs to be put in place. “Go.”

You give him one last look before gathering your things, including the sandwiches he brought, and leaving out the door. You glance back only once at the elevator, looking at him looking at you, sipping on his coffee casually, one hand in his pocket. 

- - - 

You remember going to bed. You remember falling asleep. But you don’t remember waking up and being…here.

Where am I? What is this place? Everything feels so real, so vivid that you’re very sure you’re awake instead of dreaming. But there’s nothing here, just pitch black. You can’t see anything except for yourself, like a game character in a glitch where the world didn’t render correctly. You walk around but no matter how long and how far, there’s still nothing, making you feel like you probably didn’t move at all. 

If this is a dream, how do you wake up? Because this darkness and nothingness is unsettling, even more so when you can feel the cool linoleum feel under your bare feet but can’t see it. You stop moving, feeling defeated, hoping you’d wake up soon. 

“Hello, my sweetness.”

You jolt, turning around towards the cool voice and seeing the silhouette of a man a little further away. You squint, trying to see better who it is, stepping closer. “Who are you?”

“You know exactly who I am,” comes the voice and then, like a lighting on stage, his whole feature grows more visible. Jimin Park, your second boss. 

“What the hell?” you exclaim. “What are you doing in my dreams?”

Jimin’s mouth perks up. “You think this is a dream?”

You look around. “It’s the only explanation.”

You blink and suddenly Jimin is right in front of you, looming so close you have to look up to look at his face. You teeter and step back a pace. Like usual, he has that same smile on his face but his eyes, his eyes are different. They are jet black. “Still think this is a dream?”

You nod but hesitantly. You notice then that he’s bare from the waist up, toned muscles on full display and you think, So this is what he looks like under the suit. You can’t help but stare, unable to deny to yourself the arousing interest in your chest. A wet dream, you think, that’s why he’s here. 

Jimin laughs lightly, like he can read your mind. He leans closer and you half close your eyes, expecting his lips on yours. When it doesn’t happen, you blink your eyes open again to see a smirking Jimin. “Were you expecting something?”

You pull away, huffing. “No.”

A finger catches your chin, holding it in place as he makes you look at him. “You’re lying to me,” he says, his voice threatening and your heart races. There’s something familiar about his words, something familiar in the way you feel in his presence. The more you think about it, the more you realise that there’s a subtle fear of him. You wonder why because these past months, Jimin had been nothing but nice and a fair new boss to everyone.

Nice. But not warm. There’s always a cold edge to his demeanour, like everything is an act. Like he’s only pretending. 

The look in those jet black eyes is heavy and almost searing at the same time. You want to say no again, but something in the back of your mind warns you that he won’t take another lie and you wouldn’t like the consequences. “Yes,” you breathe out in a whisper.

“Yes what, my sweetness?”

Your mouth is dry but you force yourself to speak. “Yes, I was expecting something.”

“Good girl,” he coos and you feel his cold hand settle on your side, pulling you closer. “See, wasn’t so hard to admit it, was it?”

You don’t answer, feeling his fingers trace up and down your side, sneaking under your pyjama shirt and grazing your skin, making you shiver from the coldness and the anticipation. It’s a dream anyway, right? You can do anything in a dream. You tilt your chin up, looking at him through puppy-eyes and pouty lips. “Well?”

Jimin smirks again, only one side of his lips turning up. “As you wish.” He leans down and connects your lips to his and the searing pain shoots through your lips and down to your toes, making you moan into his mouth. Your eyes shoot open and you’re suddenly back in your bed, staring at your ceiling, breathing like you’ve run a marathon. 

You sit up, looking around the room but everything looks in place. The clock on your bedside table shows it’s three in the morning and you have to be awake in another three hours. You lay back onto your pillow but you’re too worked up to go back to sleep. Your lips are still tingling and you touch it gingerly with the tips of your fingers. You recall the dream, seeing your half-naked boss standing in front of you and you shake your head.

Ugh, you think, I have to get that image out of my head. 

The next day at work, you’re barely able to look Jimin in the eyes. You can’t help the image that keeps popping at the front of your mind every time you see him so you avoid him at all cost, leaving a room when he comes in, looking away when he’s talking to you. This continues on until the next week to the point that everyone else is starting to notice. Martin finally pulls you aside into his office one day.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks, steepling his fingers together on his desk. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, feigning ignorance. “Is something wrong?”

He sighs. “You’ve been avoiding Jimin and even I can see it. Did something happen between the two of you?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. In truth, you’re replaying all of the dreams you’ve been having the past week. Every night, without fail, your second boss, Jimin, has been visiting you in your dreams, doing things you only wish he would do in real life, things you don’t even dare to admit to wanting. Every spot he lays his lips on burns like he’s made of fire and yet you crave it every time you wake up. “No, nothing happened,” you reiterate. 

“Are you sure?” he prods. “I thought you two were getting on well. He speaks highly of you, too.”

“He does?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. 

“Yeah. It’s starting to make me a little jealous,” Martin says with a chuckle. “I brought him in but it feels like he’s stealing away my best worker.”

You shift in your seat, ignoring the unsettling feeling in your chest. You laugh lightly along with him. “Don’t worry about it. He’s not stealing me away from you. I’m all yours, boss.” 

“Really?” 

His tone of voice shifts and dread fills your lungs. No, please no. He’s been so good to you and you have loved this job. Please don’t. Martin stands up and walks over the desk to stand in front of you, his crotch rightly aligned in front of your face as you sit there. You push back the chair a little bit. 

“You’re an amazing employee, y/n,” he says, his voice low and soft. “And I would like to make sure that you’re loyal to me.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a smile. “I’ve been here for a long time, haven’t I? I love my job and I would like to stay here as long as I can. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh, but I do.” He leans his hands on both the arms of your chair. “And with a new, young partner in the picture, I’m worried that he’s going to get all of your attention.”

Your throat is tight and swallowing is painful. “He’s-he won’t. I mean, you’re both my bosses so I don’t really have the power to say no if he has other projects for me when this one finishes.”

“Well then, prove it,” he purrs, his face up close to yours. “Show me how loyal you’ll be to me.”

You lick your lips. “But- but I have. All these years I’ve-”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he says, his eyes darkening. 

“Then what do you mean?” 

Martin smiles and steps back. His hands go to the fly of his pants and you think you’re going to throw up. Your skin feels clammy and cold and there’s a ringing in your ears. The office door bangs open, slamming against the wall and both of you look around to see in shock. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” says Jimin in a serious tone. If he knew what was happening, he didn’t show it. “But we have a problem with one of the vendors. I need y/n to help me smoothen things out.”

You spring up to your feet and excuse yourself, hurrying out of the door with Jimin behind you. You make a beeline for the ladies’ and shut yourself in a cubicle, breathing heavily, leaning against the door as if Martin might just burst right in. You lean your head against your arm, pressing against your eyes to kind of shake yourself out of the panic that’s building. 

“My sweetness.”

You look up, blinking at the sudden change of environment. The cubicle you locked yourself in has disappeared, replaced with nothing. Nothing but darkness. The voice that calls for you isn’t the usual flirt; it’s serious, solemn, commanding. You turn around to find Jimin standing there, this time, for the first time, fully clothed in all black. His eyes, though, are fiery red. 

You don’t know why you did what you did next but it felt like the right thing at that moment. You sob, running into his arms as he catches you, enveloping you in a tight embrace. He lets you cry into his shirt, caressing your hair and holding you quietly as your body shakes with every weep. It takes a while until you’re finally calm enough to step back, wiping at your face with the back of your hands. 

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “I just- I didn’t know what came over me.”

Jimin watches you, quiet, not saying a word until you finally look at him. “It’s not the first time you’ve run to me when someone’s hurt you, my love.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

The fire in his eyes dim a little as he tucks your hair behind your ear. “You’re always so stubborn. You never listen. So even if I tell you, you won’t believe me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jimin sighs but the kind of sighs that tired people let out when dealing with annoying situations. “Still so stubborn. Never mind. What shall we do about him?”

Your eyes widen. Does he know after all? Or is this just your subconscious making him know what had transpired in Martin’s office? The latter, of course. It’s the only explanation. You’re dreaming again. Or hallucinating. The thought of what Martin had done resurfaces and suddenly you’re angry; angry at him but also at yourself for being such a fool for not seeing it for what it is even when he has been hinting at it for all these years. But why now? Why only now showing his true colours? 

You bark out a bitter laugh. “There’s nothing I can do. He’s the boss. He’ll get away with it or I’ll be asked to move away.” Then you start to nod your head. “Yeah, maybe it’s time for something new.”

“Go back to painting?”

You glare at him. “Why are you so obsessed with that?”

Jimin chuckles and changes the subject. “Well, if you want I can make him go away.”

You wipe the remaining tears from your cheeks but the anger is still there. “Yeah, sure. Do that.” You press your palms to your eyes, an act to rub out all the crying you did earlier but when you open your eyes again, you’re back in the cubicle. 

You step outside and wash your face, steeling yourself to leave the ladies’ room to face whatever or whoever is outside. You take a deep breath and open the door and Jimin is waiting on the other side, leaning sideways against a wall. 

“You okay?” he asks, approaching you. “Did something happen with Martin?”

You stare at him blankly, thinking back to that conversation, although imaginary, you just had with him in that other place. Thinking of what Martin did to you, or almost did to you, and the fact that you had been dreaming of your other boss nearly every day this week feels hypocritical. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Nothing happened. You said something happened with a client?”

“Vendors,” he corrected, eyes as cool and calculating as they always are, looking at you as if he’s trying to figure out why you’re lying, not that he knows that. Does he? “It’s fine. I took care of it while you were in there.”

You raise your watch to your face. “That soon? Are you sure? I can call them up again just to ensure everything is good.”

Jimin gives you a small shake of his head, a small hint of a smile on his lips. “Nope. It’s fine. All taken care of.” Something in the way he says the last part gives you a strange vibe, like he wasn’t talking about the vendor problem entirely. 

It doesn’t take long until news reaches you, literally on the 8PM broadcast on TV while you are eating dinner of microwaved pasta. The picture splashed on the screen is one you recognise well, having seen the man for the past five years or so everyday at work. The news talks about how, with the help of an anonymous tip, Martin J. Russell of Rocket Media Ltd has been arrested for multiple sexual offences, spanning years of sexual assaults of past coworkers with pictures and videos found on both his work and personal devices. 

Your fork drops into the container as you stare, mouth agape, at the TV. What in the-

As much as a part of you is singing with relief, another part of you can’t completely dismiss the persistent notion that whatever happened to Martin wasn’t coincidence, that it didn’t just happened right after he tried it with you and you had-

You stop thinking, standing up abruptly that your chair scuttles backward noisily. Jimin. Something about Jimin is squirming at the back of your mind but you can’t quite put a finger on it. Not a minute later, you receive an email from HR, blasted to all employees, requesting that if you need to speak to someone, you may contact HR representatives or a mental health hotline, as well as the office will be closed for a week due to the current investigation ongoing. All employees will have the option whether to take days off during the week or work remotely and either choice will have you be paid like normal. 

There is more to the email, including a subtle request for employees to keep their mouths shut except to authorities or HR and it makes you think about earlier today. Bile rises to your throat at the idea of having to admit what had happened today when you just want to forget about it all. Your phone rings.

It’s Jimin, now the one and only boss.

You take a deep breath and answer it. 

“If you’ve heard the news then you know why I’m calling,” says Jimin over the phone, his voice sullen. “I’m asking you again, did something happen between you and him today in his office?” 

You’re quiet, your voice stuck in your throat. 

“Y/n,” he calls, a warning tone. “I don’t want to have to ask twice.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you finally answer, your voice sounding breathy. “He’s caught. It’s done.”

There’s a brief pause before he finally speaks. “So something did happen.” When you don’t respond, he takes that as an affirmative. He lets go of a deep breath. “Take the week off.”

“But the project, we’re already behind on-”

“Fuck, y/n,” he snaps. “We have worse issues on our hands right now. Take the week off. I’ll deal with things here and the clients.” Then he sighs. “Have you spoken to the authorities yet? About what happened today? They would want to hear about it.”

“No. I don’t intend to,” you reply shortly. 

“Why? You’re protecting him?”

“I’m not!” Your blood boils at the accusation, your free hand in a tight fist on your side. “I just want to forget all about it. Nothing actually happened. He…he didn’t manage to do anything before you came in.”

“I see,” he replies softly. “Are you okay?”

You want to tell him yes, of course you are, nothing happened, right? You should be okay, you should be fine because you were luckier than his other victims, people you worked with and who you were completely oblivious to the suffering they were going through right under your nose. You were so ignorant of what was happening around you that you had respected the man, and had even admired him as an amazing boss. How many times have you gushed about the man? How many of those times had it been to a victim?

Fuck. 

Before you even realise it, the tears are already spilling, big, fat pearls crawling down your cheeks. You don’t manage to say anything when Jimin says, “I’m coming over,” and the line cuts. You’re not sure how long you remain on the floor crying, hugging your legs close to you when there’s a loud knock on your door. You can’t seem to get up, the few steps to the entrance area seem too much for you. 

You hear some shuffling around outside, hear the person lift up a flower pot and retrieve the spare key you hid there. You hear the sound of the key in the lock and doorknob turning. You see Jimin standing in the doorway, his eyes easily zoning in on you huddled on the kitchen floor. You watch as he strides over and picks you up so effortlessly and carries you to the sofa. He places you down gently and goes back to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he’s back with a cup of tea for you.

He makes you drink it, sitting next to you without saying anything much, letting you cry it out. He remains quiet even when you’re hiccuping through leftover sobs, sitting there leaning on his knees, his fingers locked together, staring down at the floor. He only finally looks up when you make no more sound except for the occasional sniffles. “Better?”

You nod, taking a tissue to blow your nose. 

“Hungry?”

You shake your head but your stomach betrays you, sounding out like a dying whale at sea. He smiles softly, pulling out his phone. “Does Thai sound good to you?”

This time, you nod happily, eyelashes still glistening with tears.

You both only start to talk after dinner is finished and pushed aside, when Jimin, his coat jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, had offered to do the dishes. You stand next to him to do the drying, making small talk, exchanging little information about each other’s lives. 

“You’re from Busan?” your eyebrows go up in surprise. “I’m from there, too.”

“I know,” he replies. “I read all the staff’s profiles.”

“I see.”

“Have you been back?”

You shake your head. “Not really. There’s nothing left for me there. My mum has remarried and the only family I have left are actually here.”

“Oh?”

You smile. “Yeah. Well, we’re not related by blood but I practically grew up with them.”

You don’t see it but Jimin’s eyes flash dangerously. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, “the guy you saw in the picture? That’s Taehyung. Him and his brothers are like brothers to me. Growing up with a single parent is hard and I was always stuck with them when she had to go to work. And she worked a lot.”

“So just them then? No one else?”

You tilt your head, thinking. “No, I don’t think so. Just them.” When Jimin doesn’t respond, you ask, “What about you? Any families around here?”

“Just one,” he says, eyes on his hands washing the forks and spoons. “We grew up together. I was always the one she runs to when she has problems and I make them go away.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.” You take the fork from him, drying it in between your fingers. “What’s she like?”

“Clingy and a crybaby.” He chuckles softly. “But I love that about her. I love being needed and I know she needs me.”

“She lives with you?”

“Not yet.” Jimin finishes the washing and dries his hands. “If you’re feeling better, I should get going. But…”

“But?” you look up at him.

“I know it’s weird timing but,” he pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you, um, want to grab lunch tomorrow? Or not, if you don’t want to.”

You’re not sure about going on a date with him for two reasons: one, he’s your boss and two, well, with the whole shitshow happening at the office, it’s hardly a good time for a date. 

“Um, sure. I guess,” you answer, feeling a little shy. “If it’s just lunch.”

Jimin’s lips twitch upward. “Sure. I’ll pick you up around noon?”

- - -

That lunch turned out to be more than just lunch.

Jimin is funny and makes you laugh with his deadpan jokes and ridiculous punchlines. Underneath that cold and aloof demeanour, he’s actually sweet and caring. He plans things, takes you out on surprise dates, cooks meals for you and even gives you little gifts on random days, things that made him think of you. He makes playlists for you and even one of those classic mixtapes on CDs when he finds out your car has a CD player. He gathers small bunches of daisies when he finds out you love them more than roses. He surprises you with little things like your favourite tea or your favourite snack and takes candid photos of you to share with you later at the end of the day.

On days when you are watching movies together at your place, he would rub your feet and make cups of tea for you. He would listen to you vent or tell stories about your day. He’s your biggest cheerleader with work, walking that thin line between being a fair boss and a good friend and flourishing at it. When the relationship passed three months, you both decided to report it to HR. You were moved to a different department but you both go out for lunch together almost everyday.

You are completely and madly in love, for the first time ever at twenty-seven. He’s everything you ever wanted, everything you ever dreamed of even as a young girl. He sweeps you off your feet and makes you feel the most comfortable. He respects your wish of waiting a little bit more the night he sleeps over that first time, ending up just cuddling the whole night. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t make you feel guilty about it. You do a lot of the other things, kissing and going even as far as third base and not once did he ever try to push your limit.

 By the time you hit six months, he surprises you with a promise ring and you think it’s time to introduce him to Taehyung and the others. 

“What’s his name again?” Taehyung asks over the phone as you get ready for the meeting tonight. Both Namjoon and Jin will also be there, excited to meet your first serious boyfriend.

“Jimin,” you quip, the phone pinned in between your shoulder and ear, hopping on one foot to pull up the stocking over your knees. 

“What?” Taehyung’s voice comes out a little too loud, a little too panicky. 

“I said, his name is Jimin,” you repeat. “Look, I got to finish getting ready. You can ask all the questions later at the restaurant, Tae. I’ll see you guys there.”

“You ready, babe?” Jimin’s head pops in.

“Yes,” you answer, getting your handbag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’m a little nervous. It’s the first time I’m bringing a boyfriend to meet them.”

Jimin laughs, pulling you by the waist. “Wait, you’ve never introduced anyone before me?”

You shake your head, pouting. “No. Nothing ever lasted long enough for me to do that.”

“I see.” Jimin twirls you around. “I’m honoured.” He gives you a little bow and you giggle. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be on my best behaviour tonight. I promise.”

***

“This is Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jin.”

“Jimin, my brothers.”

The four of them exchange handshakes all around before finally sitting down, Jimin pulling out your chair, of course. The dinner starts with small talk, mainly the brothers asking you and Jimin the typical questions: how did you two meet? How did you guys get together? How did the company react to the news of the relationship? 

When the main course arrives, Namjoon switches gears by focusing the questions on only Jimin, asking his background, interests and his work. Jin adds in here and there but Taehyung remains quiet the whole time. He would stare intently at Jimin, frown and then look away. He would give you the same look, too, but he’s sitting too far away to actually ask you anything quietly. 

During dessert, Jin stares at Jimin for long enough that the other man notices. “Do I have something on my face?”

Jin shakes his head. “No. You just look familiar.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Jimin chuckles. 

“Yeah, but I can’t shake this feeling off like I’ve seen you somewhere.” Jin tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “Hmm. I wonder where.”

“Me, too, hyung,” pipes in Taehyung, surprising you slightly since he’s been quiet this whole time. “The name, too. I’ve heard it somewhere.”

Jimin smiles politely. “My name is very common, especially for girls, actually.” He gives a lighthearted laugh, squeezing your hand under the table, a signal for you to say something. 

“So, how long will you be in town, Jin?” you ask, diverting the group’s attention and it was enough to move away from the topic of Jimin. The rest of the night goes well and the both of you arrive at your place giddy with happiness.

Jimin heaves a relief sigh. “Well, I guess that went well.”

You beam up at him, both hands in his as you stop in front of the front door. “I think it did.”

He nods, gazing lovingly into your eyes. He pecks a kiss on the tip of your nose and you scrunch it up, giggling at him. He pecks another kiss to your forehead and you lean into him. Your heart is beating a little bit faster than usual, both nervous and excited for what’s to come next, what you will ask him for. You know he won’t, but you will. You think it’s time.

“Jimin,” you call him softly and he catches your lips in between his. You moan into him, feeling yourself melting into his front, his arms strong around your waist. He feels safe, like home. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he murmurs against your lips. “What was it you wanted to say, hm?”

“Well,” you say, suddenly shy, suddenly looking down at both of yours and his feet but you steel yourself and put on a brave front. He’s been so patient for you, you can do this for him. “Do you want to go inside for a cup of tea?”

Jimin smiles, his eyes giving you a knowing look. “I would love that.”

Inside, he insists on making the tea, telling you that he knows how to make it just the way you like it. You both sip the tea in silence at the kitchen island, exchanging glances over the rim of your cups like some kind of young teenagers flirting across the hall when you’re only sitting opposite each other. His eyes turn into little half-moons and you know he’s smiling behind the cup, the butterflies in your stomach kicking up a storm. Oh, you are very much in love and for a person at your age to feel like this for the first time, you think it was worth the wait. 

You both finish the tea and you take the cups and saucers to the sink. You can feel yourself vibrating with nerves, your hands shaking a little making the cups rattle against the saucers. You place them in the sink and wonder about how to go about it. Do you outrightly ask him? Do you bring him up to the bedroom without saying anything? Do you invite him as a heads up? Ugh, how come there’s no manual for these things.

Your hand reaches for the faucet but Jimin’s hand catches your arm and you feel him press up behind you, warm and strong. With his other hand, he gently pulls back your hair from your shoulder and pins a kiss at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Leave it, my sweetness,” he says into your ear. “We’ll think about the dishes later, why don’t we?”

You hum in response, closing your eyes and leaning your head back onto him, letting him kiss up your neck. You turn yourself around, placing your hands on his chest, feeling the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against your fingers. You look up at him through your lashes, heart in your throat, shaking so bad from…you’re not sure which, excitement or anxiety. He seems to know what you wanted to say by the small smile on his lips but he’s letting you take the lead.

“Do you…” you trail off, not even sure what to ask. You try again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to head upstairs?”

Jimin’s smiles widen. “Only if you take me there.”

A strong sudden urge to kiss him overwhelms you and you crash your lips onto his, roughly, desperately, wanting nothing more than to taste him more than you ever had. Your hands go everywhere; around his waist, around his neck, his chest, his arms while he holds you steady, moving backwards and somewhat blindly out of the kitchen with the two of you connected at the lips. When you pull apart to breathe, you’re already in the middle of your bedroom. Wow, that was fast. When did we climb up the stairs?

The bed is right behind you. Jimin leans his forehead against yours. “Are you sure about this?”

Your heart flutters, the anxiety now pushed aside by the anticipation building up from a place you’ve never truly explored. You nod your head once, breathing hard, your fingers fidgeting with a button on his shirt. Gently, ever so gently, Jimin lowers you to the bed, you in between his legs. You continue to make out, suddenly so very hungry for him, catching his tongue with yours everytime it slips in. 

You undress him, plucking at one button at a time, your fingers clumsy. He does the same for your dress, pulling it off little by little until you’re in nothing but your underwear and him with his chest bare. 

Jimin takes you in, nose flaring at the sight of you. You feel yourself shrink, making yourself smaller because no other man has ever seen you like this before. It’s daunting. Exciting, but scary. 

Jimin buries his face in your neck, his hands gently caressing your bra strap and then your side. “White lace,” he breathes. “Did you put these on especially for me?”

You don’t answer, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. And other places. Jimin pulls back, sitting on his knees, looking down at you, raking his eyes from your head down to your toes. There’s a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite read but it makes you shiver. “You know,” Jimin says, eyes locked on yours, “some people say you wear white for your first time.” He chuckles, coming back down for your lips.

“I know,” you mumble. Jimin pauses to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “Because it is. My first time,” you say bashfully. “I…I hope that’s okay. For you.”

Jimin’s lips twitch upwards and you see a sort of change in his eyes. But it’s dark so you’re not sure. “Of course, my sweetness. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

The words sounded odd to your ears, a little too commanding, a little too smug. But the moment Jimin’s lips are back on yours, his hands roaming your body, touching in places no one has ever touched before, your head goes completely blank except for thoughts of him, of Jimin, your lover, the one you’re finally sure of surrendering yourself fully; mind, body and soul. 

You’re lost in the throes of heated passion, unaware that downstairs, inside your handbag where you left on the kitchen island, your phone is ringing for the third time in a row. Taehyung’s face is flashing across the screen because back at his place not thirty minutes away, while he lays across the sofa, wracking his brains about where Jimin seems awfully familiar, he had to scroll through his phone gallery. It had taken some time, going back years of pictures until he finally found it: the last photo of you standing in your childhood bedroom, leaving for the last time.

There in the background, placed on its side, is the forty by thirty painting of your imaginary friend, a blue ribbon tacked on one corner.

- - -

The room is filled with your loud moans, unable and probably don’t even care to keep your voice down because, fuck, his tongue feels so goddamn good. 

You fist the sheets on either side of you, legs spread open by Jimin’s hands on your thighs, keeping them from closing around his head. He has two fingers in your cunt, pumping hard, in time with the flick of his tongue against your very swollen clit. You can hear how wet you are by the sloshing sound his fingers make and that alone is arousing to you. You alternate between moaning with your mouth clamped shut but when it gets too much, your mouth will fall open and the room echoes your voice back at you. 

Jimin’s fingers feel so good, enough to make you feel full. In the back of your mind, you’re a little worried about when he finally enters you. How much would that hurt? He clamps down your clit and all thoughts escape through your ears, desperate to clamp your thighs shut but unable to. 

With his fingers still jammed inside you, Jimin crawls up, trailing wet kisses up your torso and then letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “So sweet for me,” he coos, licking his lips. He curls his fingers upward, feeling your walls squeezing his digits. “And so tight.”

You mewl, squirming under him. You fumble for his fly, pulling the zipper down and hooking your fingers around the waistband of his pants, along with his boxers. He helps you pull them off of him, wiggling himself to let the materials fall loosely to his ankles. You sit up on your elbows and Jimin brings his hip to your face. Your eyes bulge at the sight of him; thick and long, precum leaking from the tip, sticking straight against his stomach. 

“Open your mouth, sweetness,” he says, guiding your head with the back of his hand, sliding himself onto your tongue, hissing at the contact. “There you go, just like that. That’s a good girl.”

You place your hands on his thighs for support, eager to please. You may be a virgin but oral sex is something you enjoy giving. You start slow, teasing him with your tongue against his tip and only focusing on the head, sucking on it like your favourite lollipop. Jimin watches you through hooded eyes, hands on your shoulders. He lets out a muffled grunt as you flick your tongue against his frenulum, feeling the way his cock jumps from the pleasure. 

You push yourself down his length, slowly, gauging how much you can take him without gagging. Adjusted, you start to bob your head. Jimin holds your head, both guiding and sometimes pushing your face as low as possible before you start to protest, gagging and slobbering all over his length. You can’t see it but he’s grinning ear to ear. 

When he’s had enough, he pulls you up to kiss you, noticing how red your cheeks are, how your eyes see only him, and how your body is reacting to him. He gently pushes you down to the mattress, one hand behind your head. He leans backward to look at you. “How are you feeling?” he whispers against your lips. 

“Good,” you whisper back, squirming under him, arms around his waist. “I want you, Jimin.”

He smirks but in your haze, you barely recognise it for what it is. “I know. I’ve been wanting you, too. For a long time.”

You nod, thinking that he had meant these past six months. You’re clawing at him, lightly scratching at his skin as he kisses your face, lowering himself down onto you. You’re so sensitive that at the touch of his pubic bone against yours, you gasp. 

“Shh,” he says gently, thumb rubbing your temple. “Look at you. You’re shivering, baby. It’s okay. Relax. I’ll take good care of you.”

Something about his smile sends a shiver down your spine and instead of feeling comforted, panic bells have started ringing in the distance. Your heart rate spikes and suddenly you’re having second thoughts. You quell them down, fighting against yourself to backtrack now. No, he’s been patient enough. He deserves it. He’s the love of my life, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just nerves. Relax. Calm down. I want this. I want this. Right? You breathe slowly, nodding into his hand, desperate to find the solace you always feel when in Jimin’s presence. Where is it now?

“Jimin,” you squeak as he positions himself in between your legs, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, massaging lightly as he presses your legs apart. You raise your head to look at him and in the dim light, Jimin’s eyes are so dark they’re like abysses as he looks back at you, a soft smile on his lips. 

You feel him pressing against your hole and slowly pushes in. It stings and you throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut. Jimin stretches you out and it burns so much it feels like you are being torn open from the inside out and yet…yet it feels so excruciatingly delicious. All these years of holding back, of never finding the right person to give yourself fully to, and Jimin feels both like a reward and a punishment, like it’s both wrong and coming home at the same time your brain is going fuzzy. You feel him bottom out but the pain isn’t going away and at the same time a tingle is starting from somewhere deep within you. 

Jimin remains unmoving, letting you adjust. The burning dulls a little bit but a fire has been lit up in the pit of your stomach. You wrap your legs around Jimin’s waist, pulling him close. You blink your eyes open and gasp. You blink a few more times but the sight that greets you never changes. Everything is dark. There’s nothing. You see nothing.

You look down towards where Jimin is in a panic but finds him grinning at you in a way that doesn't feel friendly. He starts laughing. 

“Finally!” he exclaims, running a hand through his hair, pushing his hair back. “Years of waiting and it finally pays off. Patience is a virtue.” 

“Wh- what’s going on?” your voice is shaking. “I don’t understand. What are you saying? What’s happening?”

Jimin leans down, arms on both sides of your head. His eyes are like two coals staring straight into your wet ones. “Oh, my sweetness. I let you have a little bit of freedom and you forget about me. But don’t worry. We’ll have all night to catch up.” He kisses you and your lips burn, moaning into him but he doesn’t relent. You feel his tongue licking inside your mouth and your eyes shoot open in alarm at the realisation that it’s a forked tongue. Just like that, the box of suppressed memories springs open and it all comes flooding in.

Pulling back, the same smug grin still on his face, Jimin whispers close to your face, “Do you remember now?”

Your eyes are like two saucers, staring back at him in horror. “No,” you shake your head, the tears creeping slowly down into your hairline. “No.”

Jimin’s lips spread wider. “Oh, yes, my sweetness.” He pulls out of you and starts to gently rock back and forth, ignoring your silent cries. The faster he moves, the more your body reacts, so much so that you pause in between the tears, confused. Your heart rejects him yet your body yearns for him, needs him to keep moving or you might wither away and die if he doesn’t. Your fists tightens around his upper arms, both in anger at the long deception as well as the desperation to let him know that you want more; more of him and more of what he can give. 

It doesn’t take much for Jimin to get the message, the latter one, the grin only growing bigger, the satisfaction palpable even in his two obsidian eyes. He leans down to your face, fingers softly combing back your hair. “I know you’re angry at me, baby, but you can’t deny me either. You’ve promised me yourself.” He kisses your cheek and the spot feels like your skin might melt away. “I’ve only come to collect what’s mine. Heart, body and soul. Well, maybe not the heart. Not yet anyway. But all in due time, my sweetness. I’m a very patient man.”

“You’re not a man,” you gasp in between strokes, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from letting him know how good he’s making you feel. You can feel the girth of him, the length of him every time he buries deep, can feel the delicious stretch of your walls hugging him. Jimin only laughs, a deep rumbling that vibrates straight to your core and with that, you release your lip to let Jimin hear you. 

- - -

When Taehyung arrived at your place at three in the morning, out of breath from cycling like hell, he was already too late. 

The house was empty, void of anything that ever proved that you lived there; no clothes, no photos on the wall, no shoes and definitely no you. Only furniture left behind and food abandoned in the fridge. The police insisted that you must have run away with your lover and your workplace had no clue who Taehyung was talking about when he mentioned Park Jimin, looking at him like he had lost his mind.

“She quit,” the receptionist told him with an incredulous look, turning the PC monitor his way. “See? She sent this email talking about finding something new. It’s all a bit sudden and the boss is pissed. If you hear from her, tell her never to come around here unless she wants her head on a platter. Personally, for me though, I think she got balls of steel. You go, girl.” 

Namjoon told him to quit worrying, that you’re an adult that can make your own life choices and take care of yourself. Jin just laughed when Taehyung showed him the photo of the painting from long ago, shaking his head and telling him he needs to get his eyes checked. Neither of them had any recollection of that dinner with Jimin. Except for him. 

It took him six months to finally calm down enough for his brothers to stop worrying that he might need some serious intervention in the form of hospitalisation. He spent his days at work, pretending to be fine while at night he scoured the internet and the dark web for any signs of you, barely sleeping, one wall of the spare bedroom at his place covered with any clues and hints and circled maps of places he’s searched in. 

- - -

On the other side of the veil, you watch your childhood best friend struggle to find you to death, sitting next to Jimin on the throne, your hand in his as his underlings worship his feet. 

As the dark lord of the underworld, Jimin lavishes you with anything and everything your heart desires, loves you like no man ever could and satisfies you every night like gods themselves are pounding into you. You smile when he kisses you, look demurely as he holds you and pulls him closer each night under the cover. 

You see Jimin in all his underworld glory; a king with a black heart, tattered black wings that spans six feet on either side when he’s enraged, eyes like the abyss when he’s staring deep into your claimed soul. You’re his; mind, body and soul, as promised. 

And yet…

Each night, you realise you’re getting better and better at slipping away without him noticing, coming back into the human world, into Taehyung’s spare room with the maze of threads all over one wall. You’re getting good at moving small objects, like a pen or a pencil. And even that marker Taehyung uses to circle cut up articles and places on the map. 

One day, you’ll be able to send him an SOS, a message for him to help you cut yourself free. But in the meantime, you’ll sit quietly in Jimin’s arms, pretending like you hate where you are, pretending like you’re not in love. 

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

[my-own-walker]

On The Other Line - Epilogue

note: sorry this took so fucking long i literally forgot about it lmao. many thanks to the anon that reminded me.

summary: the happy happy ending, marital bliss and such

warnings: none, just like fluffy stuff

+++

The vanity mirror in front of me lit up my face unforgivingly. I sat staring at my reflection, all too critical of the person staring back at me. Sighing, I picked up my moisturizer and got to work. An attempt to not feel so gross.

It had been years since Colin and I made the promise to each other to be together. 6, actually. 6 years ago to the day.

The date held a certain significance to both of us. Exactly two years after Colin's plea for us to give things a try behind the library, we got married. It was a small ceremony in the Easttown Fire Hall, the cheapest venue. The reception began as soon as we said our 'I do's.' We cleared out the makeshift 'altar' and it became our dance floor.

Small, yes, but also beautiful. I wore a vintage gown. A yellowing babydoll fit floor-length dress with deteriorating lace detailing and sheer fabric sleeves. It was my grandmother's. Colin had only proposed a few months prior. He was so excited to marry me, we rushed the whole ceremony. Looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way.

He wore a deep blue suit. He stood so stiffly at the altar it was as if he was in the police academy again. He cried as he said his vows. We danced all night in mutual bliss, surrounded by our closest family and friends. My Uncle Nick cried, too, when he made his speech, harkening back to the night we first met in his bar. It made him happy to take ownership of the beginning of our relationship like that.

Our first dance was to 'Waterloo Sunset,' by The Kinks. I didn't want anything sappy. Colin cried regardless.

Our tradition became going on a date every year on our anniversary as if we were only first dating again. We owned a house together, yet he'd still show up at the front door and ring the bell, flowers in hand like he was picking me up for our first date. He'd go visit his mom for the afternoon and get ready there, all so he could make things seem authentic. I loved how fresh it made things feel.

Only this year, I actually had butterflies. Not first date jitters, of course. No, this year I had a secret. One I was going to tell Colin about at dinner, or whenever it felt natural, I guess. Putting the brush down, finally satisfied with my work, I opened the bedroom closet to see a dress with a note attached to it.

'I saw this and thought of you. I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Colin.'

I giggled to myself at his terrible handwriting. I unpinned the paper and brought it to the box I kept all of Colin's handwritten notes in. The dress was a precious brown floral mini-dress with a ruched chest and a white Peter Pan collar. There were puff sleeves and a tie in the back. It was exactly something I'd wear. My heart swelled when I noticed the price tag on the sleeve (the actual price hastily scribbled over by Colin) and saw it was from my favorite vintage store in town.

I slipped it on, softly praying it would fit, and to my surprise, it zipped up with no issue. A wave of nerves and nausea hit me. I doubled over slightly, scared I'd ruin the dress, trying to let it pass.

The doorbell rang so I forced myself to straighten up, slip on some shoes, and meet my 'date' at the door. I turned the knob and saw Colin standing on the step, wearing a brown shirt that matched the color of my dress perfectly under a suit jacket. His tie was knotted pristinely, signaling to me that it was his mother's handiwork. He had a bunch of daisies in his hand, my favorite type of flower.

'Holy shit,' he breathed, drinking me in.

'Oh shut up,' I giggled, feeling shy like I was a teenager all over again.

'That thing looks fuckin' awesome on you,' he grinned. 'I did a good job.'

'Ever the humble man, Zabel,' I quipped.

'Well, Mrs. Zabel, shall we?' he suggested, extending his hand to guide me out of the door. We walked arm-in-arm to the car, daisies now in my hand. He was sure to open the door for me demonstratively, further playing up the chivalry.

The restaurant he picked this year was a pretty good distance from home. I wasn't surprised to see it was an Italian place when we arrived. His favorite. The meal went well. It was a place we'd never tried before but we both ended up loving it.

Shortly before the dessert menus came, Colin produced a small box from his jacket pocket along with a handwritten letter.

'Colin, you didn't have to do that,' I whined.

'Uh-huh, yes I did,' he smirked. 'I don't wanna hear none of that shit, you're my wife and I want to spoil you.' He slid the box over the table to me and gestured with his hand for me to open it. I looked down and weighed the object in my hands.

I looked up at him, gazing through the strands of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes disapprovingly, knowing he spent all too much on an insignificant 4th wedding anniversary. I opened the tiny black velvet box to reveal a pair of dainty gold dangly earrings. One a sun, one a moon, each one possessing both of our birthstones.

'These are beautiful, my gosh,' I breathed, getting all choked up. 'I didn't get you anything nearly as nice!'

'You didn't have to get me anything, gorgeous,' he replied with a smile.

I took the earrings out of the box and put them on, then took a moment to admire how they looked on me using my phone's camera. I grabbed the letter off the table and slipped it into my purse for safekeeping.

'If I read that here I'll probably cry so embarrassingly we'll never be allowed back,' I laughed. 'Now my gift to you.' My stomach lurched at the thought. I couldn't exactly pin down why it made me so nervous to tell him my secret.

Colin took the card out of my hand and opened it. It was a regular anniversary card, but I made a very intentional writing error.

'The 3 of us have an amazing year ahead?' Colin read aloud.

'Mm-hmm,' I nodded, smirking.

'Who's the third?' he laughed, trying to make fun of my mistake. I didn't reply. I just sat there smiling until I saw the look of understanding wash over his face. 'No...'

'Yes,' I grinned.

'You're pregnant?!' he exclaimed, as calmly as he could, given we were in a public setting. I nodded. 'How long have you known?' His words came out in a breathy whisper. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He couldn't contain his smile.

'Just a couple of weeks. I figured it could wait until today.'

He sprung out of his seat and came over to the other side of the table, taking me by my hands to pull me to my feet.

'We're gonna have a baby,' he declared as he wrapped me in a tight embrace. 'I'm gonna be a dad.'

He pulled away, holding me at arm's length, looking at me with sparkling joy in his deep brown eyes. I had never seen a smile so big on his face. I was at a loss for words. His utter delight with the news told me everything I needed to know about our future.

+++

The happy ending Colin deserved :') I'm literally so sorry I forgot about this story idk what happened lmao. Thanks again to the anon that reminded me and thanks to all of you for your continued patience!

[hoodievixen]

With My Own Eyes - Part 8 (Dream of the Endless x OC)

Based off of this

Summary: Morpheus just wanted to keep his soulmate safe. She just wanted to make her own decisions. Doesn't help that he doesn't show her his face.

Words Count: ~ 2.7 K

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, witchcraft, bad grammar and even worse spelling, !Comic Spoilers!

A/N:   This is it, the end. (Almost forgot to upload it today... oops) Prepare for some angst.

Tag List:   @intothesoul @  poemfreak306  ​

Master List

Her bed was too soft. Instead she clambered to the ground, curling herself into a ball, backed into a corner, walls pressing into both her shoulders. Sibyl mumbled descriptors of everything she saw, ignoring the tears running down her face. She should lose herself to her emotions, she might start another fire. She didn't need to deal with that at the moment.

Even her tactic of keeping in the physical and not the mental was not working. As she was describing any item she saw in great detail, more items appeared. She swear they came in puffs of sand. The first was her bag she had left in her room in the Dreaming, then the paintings she made in the Dreaming, and every sketchbook she dared scribble in. Even notes of grimores she left in the library. Anything that could remind him of her he sent away.

Soon Lily was clenched into as small of a ball that she could get. Her breathing out of control, as the only thing she felt was lonelyness, complete and utter lonelyness.

----

Johanna wasn't sure what she was expecting for the loud banging at her door in the middle of the day. Defiently not Lily, drunk off her ass and crying. "You do know it's only three," Johanna commented, letting the closest thing to a friend she had lean into her.

It wasn't strange for Lily to disappear for days on end without so much of a word. However returning drunk was indeed new. "Heart break knows no time but sorrow," the witch sighed.

Johanna hated how she'd get poetic when drunk. Luckily Lily rarely gets drunk. "Did you get back tk get her with Jerome?" she wondered dragging in the drunkard. "You know that never ends well."

With uneven balance Lily stood up straight staring at her arm. Rarely did Lily walk around with her arms bare. Johanna knew Lily got annoyed with how people would come and touch her cause of her tattoos, but also that she was hiding her soulmate's name, something the magic user hasn't even seen, until then.

Johanna felt pitty for her friend. There scralled on her arm in pretentious writing was Dream of the Endless. She felt bad for Lily, connected to that prik by date. Clearly she didn't have good feeling a about it either, as the skin it was on was red and irritated with small scabs developing. Lily had been vigorously scratching at it, as if to remove it. Even in that moment she dug her nails in the raw skin.

"I'm guessing that prick's the reason your like this," Johanna commented, bringing in the witch to have her sit on her couch.

Lily glared at her arm. "I don't even know what he looks like," she said softly.

Johanna sat down, letting her sad friend lay down in her lap. "You aren't missing much," she commented, picking at Lily's hair. By the looks of it it hadn't been washed in days. "His hair's a mess, eyes are creepy, and personally his cheeks are bit too sharp for my taste."

Lily looked up to her friend, wide eyed and with fresh tears. "You know what he looks like?" she asked in disbelief. Silent tears ran down her face.

-----

Lily woke up with a hwad ache and a show back. "How much did you drink?" a annoyed voice asked.

She peaked up to find a familiar person, and in a familiar place. "I think like... too much,"she answered, though mind elsewhere. While she had grown used to not having dreams with being in the Dreaming, sh hadn't had one since she got back.

Johana stoop up from her desk, coming to sit down next to her friend." Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to try and skin your arm again?" She handed back Lily's dager.

Lily took it back, before throwing it in the pile of her jacket and shoes. It was then she noticed she had a thick bandage over her arm, where her soul mark was. She hated it now more than ever. "What have you figured out from my drunken rambling?" she wondered, placing a cold hand against her forehead.

"Well the oh so lovely Dream of the Endless sis somehow your soulmate, and refused to show you his face," Johana explained, "Which confuses me."

Sibyl sighed. "Basically dude kidnapped me, and we made an agreement I'd stay in his realm for about a month, before deciding if I'd stay or go."

"Did you try the teleportation spell?" she questioned her friend. Sibyl didn't have a long streak of being the most clever.

"Oh yeah," Lily assured her, "And I should have just finished it.

But I stayed, begrudgingly at first. Then I grew to not mind being there, than I liked it that, and..." There were words Lily wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to. Her eyes stung and heart ached at the thought of it.

She let out a deep breath. "The entire time he had on this monstrous helm, like seriously, spine trunk. He refused to show me his face. I was patient, but I couldn't let him continue to do what he wants without showing me he trusts me. I went to remove it myself, cause it was either taking that thing off or being done with our relationship. I thought he'd see logic and reason. Instead he took ending it not his own hands, sending me away... I haven't even had a dream since."

Lily looked to the floor, meloncholic. By some miracle, or dehydration, she wasn't crying. "I'm angry, sad, and so frustrated," she groaned, finanly getting to voice her feelings. "I don't even want to acknowledge we're soulmates. I don't even want to be soulmates. I'd do anything to get this fucking name off of me."

-----

Ripples through the universe are not common, but they do happen. So two happening within such quick succession of eachother was something to take interest in.

The second one struck sunthing deep within Dream. Something he had long since ignored and tired to forget. No matter what he had to go a see what it was, knowing nothing good will come from the visit.

It had been centuries since he last visited the Mediterranean island. He had never thought he would step foot on it ever again. The care takers asked no questions, but kept their haze to the ground, moving out of the Endless' path.

Dream stepped into the small build that had been his son's home for most of his deathless life. Or what had expected to be deathless. The caretakers had already prepared the head of Orpheus for burial.

There was only a handful of being that could bring about the end of Orpheus. Dream knew it was no of his siblings, none would do such a thing. Even Desire, after all his son was a means to an ends for his sibling. He had to wonder who, no what has killed Orpheus.

It could have eazily been missed. Tucked in the corner of the window sill was a flash of reflected sunlight. It was a large metal knife, no dagger. Dream kne that Dager, from one side being solver while the other iron, the worn and loved leather gril, and the protective charm carved in the pommel. The fish time he had seen it, it had been pull on him, the next it was covered in it's owners blood. Now it was clean, not a single drop of crimson. Red however, there was a strand. Near the blade was a strand of red thread, cut red thread.

Sibyl had been there, and somehow involved with the death of Orpheus. While she had powers more so than the average human, no witch would have the power to undo the deal between Death and her nephew. Something wasn't right. Not in the slightest.

Dream pulled up his sleeve, and urge that pricked at the back of his mind. He hadn't known what feelings he felt anymore for that name on his arm. He once loved it, bringing him hope, and was something he protected. But now it left a sour taste in his mouth. He had believed that Sibyl had been different, different for his past lovers, different from all other humans. She was the same as the rest. He knew that the moment she tried taking off his helm. Dispite his best effort to forget them, her words of trust did ring in his ears, causing a sliver of guilt. Had she had a point?

It did not matter anymore, as his arm was baren.

-------

Johanna thought she was finally done with all that. It had been a couple days since Lily last called her in tears or in anger. She couldn't blame her, but it was getting to be a lot. When the magic user felt a precense in her flat, she assumed the witch had somehow gotten in on her own again. Turning on the lights revealed otherwise.

There ein the middle of the room was something she did not want to see again. Even if only in her dreams. "Why are you here?" she asked Dream of the Endless.

"Constantine," he said in a low tone. "I need your assistance with finding someone."

Johana gave him a look of questioning. "Can't you just wait until they fall asleep?"

Dream's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "They have somehow managed to disconnect themselves for myself and realm entirely."

Johana noticed how his gaze lingered down at his arm. She scoffed. "If it's Sibyl Crow you are looking for," she started, "You entirely deserve what she's done."

Dream glared at the woman. "How do you know Sibyl?"

Johana rolled her eyes, "You really think a magic user and a witch living in the same city wouldn't at least be aware of eachother."

"You appear to be more than acquaintances," Dream continued to push.

"That's cause Lily's a clinging bitch," Johanna groaned, "She's so lonely she'd befriend a rabid dog..." No matter what she had tried, she couldn't get rid of the witch. She just gave up after a while.

She had already pulled out her phone to call the witch. Maybe he'd go away if Lily herself told him to fuck off. It went straight to voicemail. Johanna let out a sigh of annoyance, though not concerning.

"Have you tried her flat?" Johanna asked. It was still early into summer break, there wouldn't be a reason for her to be working yet.

"It is warded against my entry," he explained.

"Well lucky for you, I got a key," she answered, pulling said key from a drawer. Sybil had put it on a rediculous key chain of a pink puff ball, as to prevent Johanna from loosing it.

--------

Sibyl's flat was a mess. Not that it usually wasn't. However there was the makings of a pyramid of empty cans, both of energy drink and alcoholic. Lily wasn't much a fan of either, never consumes the in large quantities. Take out Containers filled the trash can, as well as plenty of counter space. Usually she kept her witchcraft neatly packed away in the small dresser that was her alter, yet scattered about her entire apartments were books on anything mildly unnatural in subject, maps of laylines and other things Johanna didn't understand.

Something caused her heart to stop. "She wouldn't," Johanna mumbled, grabbing at the pages of scarred notes about the apartment. She barely payed attention she Lily called her, thinking the witch just needed someone to rant to. Still Constantine caught it in bits and pieces, Sibyl was looking for a way to sever her fate from Dream's. "Lily's dramatic, but she wouldn't pay that price," she tried to reason with herself.

"What do you know Constantine?" the Endless demanded.

"Please tell me her names still on you," Johanna pleaded. She would deny it to anyone who asked, but Sibyl was her friend, someone she could trust her life with. She didn't want to loose her just like everyone else.

Dream looked away, giving the exrocist all the answer she needed. Johanna dropped the pages, which would take her too long to understand at all. "Fuck," she groaned, "Sibyl, what did you do?"

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

Sibyl had severed her fate from his. It fit right in with all other failures of relationships he has had. This one had the most promise, but had lasted the shortest. Dream would teuely never love again. Still Sibyl payed a price because of his actions. If he couldn't pay part of it, he would at least want to know what it was.

Destiny may have had it written in his book, but he wouldn't share it with anyone, nor even his brother unless it said he would. There was a much more for sure way to learn what occurs in fate. To talk to the Fates themselves.

"I, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, summon the fates," he called to the universe. He had gathered his offerings, prepared to pay the price. "The three who are one, the one who is three." Something was different, there wasn't the same reaction of the world around him to the called of The Three.

"I'm gonna stop you there," some called from behind him, "It's one who is one now."

Dream turned around not believing his ears. There stood Sibyl, though not the same as before. Her arms were bare, of both his name and her tattoos. Her clothes shifted colors like an aurora boreal is, her hair floating in a breeze that was not there. Her eyes....

-----------

Sibyl stood in the circle of her own making. Chalk of frowned calf bones, spores from a mushroom grown on the corpse of a deer, and the blood spilled from the womb. Those were just in the outline, Sibyl was not proud to tell what took her to gather everything for the spell. She held her bleeding arm out before her, calling to the universe. "The three who are one, the one who is three, the Hecate."

The wind and rain which had gradually grown around her was all but silent in that moment. "We haven't been summoned by one such as you in a long while, child," a voice beyond years croaked.

Sibyl turned around to find three woman standing before her. She was quick to fall to her knee, stoll holding the offering of her own blood to them. "Please I ask of you, sperate my fare from his," she pleaded, "I do not wish to be bound to someone who can't trust me with the most simplest of things."

"Child, raise your head," a soft voice called out to her. Sibyl hesitantly looked up.

"Oh lovely," the maiden cooed, "We gave you a hard fate, that would come with many reward of you shall over come it."

"We over you this advice for what you have given," the crone continued, "Have hope."

Sibyl gribded her teeth. She was sick and tired of supernatural beings thinking less of her. "I didn't ask for advice," she hissed, "I gave you a sacrafice, just get this name off of me."

The mother reached out and stroked Sibyl's cheek. "You know better than to seek tk your elder than that, your auntie taught you better."

The maiden replaced the mother, her had on the young witch's cheek. "Your blood may be special, but no amount of it will be the price to do what you want."

Sibyl let out a deep breath. "I will pay whatever price," she confessed.

"Your soul," all three said at once. The crone stepped away from the girl. "You're human soul." The wind started to pick up once again.

"It binds you to this world," the maiden said.

"It binds you to the ones you love," the mother.

"To unbind you, we must take it," the croan.

The wind had became much worse than it had before, picking up dirt and howling in the night.

"We three will become one, and you will become we," the unified voice of three bellowed over the wind. "All magic come with a price. You know that well. A price for a price, only for something great. What it will be up to you, and not me."

------

Her eyes held no color, just white. Though she was looking at him, she wasn't seeing him. "Do you need to ask?" she said sarcastically, "As you can clearly see what price I payed." Sibyl gave up her sight to become the physical embodiment of fate, which she did to sever herself from him. He wonders of that was the plan all along. Him fated to be alone, for ever.

[mutasmutosarchive]

bonds of ichor and viscera

summary: no matter how long time kept them apart, the bond of twins always prevails (or your twin sibling shows up to bully you for playing god)

word count: 3k+

tags: @eternally-smitten , @felixrichtershubby , @sugar-and-pearls , @blairyl (lmk if you want to be tagged)

The dull rattle of the wooden door under Mavis fist as she knocked echoed in the night air. She gave a small yawn as she rubbed her eyes. The dark haired woman looked at the paper in her hand. A messily scribbled address on it and a name. She was hoping this was the right place and she wasn't accidentally disturbing some poor sod if the person she was looking for wasn't there.

She could hear the heavy patter of footsteps on the other side of the door as they neared the door before the sound of locks sliding before the door was pulled open. Dark haired man who looked like he could use some sleep opened it and Mavis gave him a bright smile.

“Uh hello, is this the residence of uhm..”

She looked down at the piece of paper to squint behind her glasses as she tried her best to read the messy handwriting.

“Daniel Cain! Sorry kinda of forgot the name.” Mavis chirped.

Daniel rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he looked at his cheery girl who stood on his doorstep in the late hours or the night. There was something oddly familiar about her that he couldn't place exactly and it was a bit uncanny to say the least.

“Yes and you are?” He asked as he leaned against the door.

“Oh sorry, my name is Mavis West. I'm looking for Herbert West.” Mavis waved off before she made a small nonverbal motion for her to come in.

Daniel obliged and let the wavy haired girl bounce on in as she took in the space of his in. He was kind of glad that Megan wasn't there at the moment, it would have been too much chaos after what happened with Rufus.

“Are you two…” He asked.

His question had Mavis letting out a bark of laughter before she frantically shook her head at the man.

“No, No, I'm his twin. I'm surprised he probably never mentioned it but then again it is Herbert so I'm also not really surprised. Is he here?” Mavis asked between her light giggles.

She had swiveled on her old beat up converse all stars as she looked at Dan. She could see the mild skeptical look in his eyes. It was something she was used to when it came to dropping that on people. Not everyone believes the two were of the same womb but in fact they very much were.

Daniel took a moment before he nodded his head and brushed a hand through his hair. He made a idly motion to the basement door, something he wasn't too keen on going towards at this hour of the night. He was still processing everything.

“Yeah, he's downstairs. Whoa you are just gonna go down there?” Daniel asked as he watched her quickly take the motion to be where her twin was.

She was definitely brave, he'd give her that. He wasn't sure if she even knew. Daniel was sure she didn't with the way her strides carried her like there was nothing wrong.

“Uh, yeah. He's my brother, I spent nine months in confinement with that weirdo. Whatever little lab experiments he's up to I can handle.” The young woman waved off to him.

Mavis carried herself in pride as she strode to the basement door before she felt a strong hand on her bicep slightly pulling her back. Her hazel eyes met Daniel's dark ones as they stared at each other. She could see how Daniel was trying to figure something to say to her.

“Wait wait, you should probably know something before you go down there…” Daniel cautiously said.

Mavis didn't get a chance to respond before the sound of the basement door opening and the sound of footsteps followed. Both Daniel and Mavis' heads snapped towards the direction to see Herbert emerging from the basement.

The siblings stared each other down for a moment before a gentle smile came to Mavis lips as she heard her brother speak.

“Mavis?”

“Well speak of the devil, hello dearest brother of mine.” Mavis joker lightly as Daniel let go of her arm.

“I see you've met Dan.” Herbert said as she looked between them.

Herbert’s lips pursed for a minute as he looked between the two. He wasn't entirely sure how to feel about how close Dan was to his sister and in the darkness his eyes squinted a bit in protectiveness.

“That I have. A sweet guy, better not corrupt him. Sorry to cut it short, it is nice to meet you Dan but I do have to talk to my brother alone.” Mavis snorted.

She knew her brother well and knew how he was acting within the shadows. He may not have outwardly shown much emotion most of their life but she knew the little quirks of when he did. Ever so protective of her just like when they were kids.

“Now?” He asked.

“Yes now.”

Herbert had been quick to wave at Daniel, letting the tired med student go back to get some sleep as he and his twin made their way down the stairs. He could just feel there was something she wanted to say to him but didn't get a chance too when he heard her footsteps stop and turned around to look at her.

“So when were you going to tell me you got back from Germany or was that never going to happen.” Mavis asked him as she folded her arms and looked at him.

“I was going to eventually.” Herbert swallowed.

He knew that look in her eyes. It was the same one their mother had when the two of them often snuck off in their teens. A look of worry but also frustration. He felt some remorse, he probably should have told her soon. They were the only family they had left but he had drowned himself into his work.

“It's been six months since you've been back. I sent you a letter and I got one back saying you had left after an accident.” Mavis countered as she let out a huff.

There was hurt in her eyes that he couldn't continuously look at before he went to continue his way down the stairs. Mavis wasn't going to have that, he couldn't worm his way out of this from her.

“Herbert look at me,” Mavis said as she snatched him quickly by his arm, turning him to face her.

“Hey!” He protested but he was quickly cut off.

“What did you do? They said something about being involved with a doctor's murder.” Mavis' voice was low as she looked at him.

There wasn't aggression in her eyes but disappointed muddied by worries in him. But she still looked at him like he was her brother. They were of the same flesh, they were still family even if he had killed someone.

“It wasn't murder, I was giving him life.” Herbert said quietly.

Mavis looked confused but her tight grip on her brother's bicep loosened. She looked at him with a morbid curiosity that brought that strange smile to his face. He knew he had her enraptured by a single sentence.

“What are you on about?” Mavis asked him in a similar hushed tone.

“It's better I show you, Mavs.” Herbert replied.

He pried his arm from her grasp and motioned for her to follow deeper into the heart of the basement.

As their footsteps hit the cement floors Mavis recoiled from the stench of death. She knew it well with her job and it was the sign of decay. She moved around her brother to get a look of the basement. It was small but not super small, it probably only looked as such with the clutter. There were beakers and tubes all around, syringes with remains of a bioluminescent green liquid staining them.

Mavis’ eyes followed around as she pulled a white sheet away from a part of the table before her hazel eyes flickered down and she recoiled a bit. The dead body of a black cat was still on the table, its guts sprawled against matted fur and a soiled sheet beneath it. She instinctively brought her arm up to her face as she dropped the sheet and looked at Herbert.

“What the fuck? Do I even want to ask why you have body parts strewn about?” Mavis' voice was muffled by her arm.

She watched as her brother moved around, the two already falling into a comfortable routine as he stepped to a fridge. She heard the seal of her break as he pulled out a bottle of bright green liquid and what seemed to be animal corpse but she wasn't super sure. Herbert turned around to look at her before the bottle was shoved into her hand.

“Hush, it's important what I need to show you. Hold this.” Herbert told her.

He knew that he could trust her with it, he had always been able to trust her with his research and her vice versa.

“What is it?” Mavis asked.

She looked at the bottle, feeling the cold plastic against her palm as she stared at that flowing liquid that he had shoved into her hands.

“You ask too many questions. But my reanimating reagent.”

The question seemingly confused Mavis to no end, her mind wrapping around it as Herbert had set the corpse of roadkill onto the table. He pulled the adjustable light into place as it shone down onto the creature wrapped in fabric.

“You're what now?” Mavis questioned as she looked at him.

“You heard me. Now fill up the syringe, I would assume your mortician duties have prepared you enough for that.” Herbert snapped back as he met his sister's eyes with that smirk of his before handing her a clean syringe.

Mavis let out a huff and took the syringe from him and looked at the bottle. She shook her head softly before she was taking the top off of the bottle and slipping the tip of the syringe in to draw out the liquid.

“Oh shut up.” She snorted.

She filled the syringe to a certain line before Herbert was stopping her and stood up a bit more straight to talk to her. The way he stood reminded her of a lecture, she almost felt like she was back in a classroom.

“Okay, so this raccoon was killed…” Herbert explained as she peeled the cloth back from the raccoon’s body.

Mavis looked at the raccoon and then back at Herbert before she let out a small laugh.

“That raccoon is a pancake.” Mavis pointed out.

“You are going to keep jabbering or let me explain?” Herbert countered. His hands were placed at his hips like he was reprimanding a talkative student.

Mavis puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes making a motion for him to continue his little lecture with some impatience.

“Sorry Herbie Werbie, continue.” She added.

Herbert rolled his eyes at the nickname but didn't make any comment to correct it. It was endearing to him even if he didn't admit it to her.

“You are annoying. But as I was saying, I was killed a couple hours ago. My reagent in layman terms brings the dead back to life.” He explained to her.

Herbert watched her thoughts swirl behind her eyes as she took in what he said to her. He could see the gears working and the small look of disbelief. He saw it in Daniel's eyes the first time too, it just took a simple demonstration and that look of disbelief would change.

“Bullshit.” Mavis whispered.

Herbert could see she was already leaning to believe. They didn't lie to each other, the other would know somehow. He never understood it but he guessed in this case their strange twin sense was working in their favor. Herbert rolled up his sleeves and held out his hand to her.

“Hand me the syringe.”

Mavis handed the syringe over to him after some hesitancy and followed him quickly like his shadow. Her eyes followed in an unbridled curiosity. She watched as her brother's hands combed through the greasy fur of the raccoon as he traced down its spine to the base of its neck.

She watched as Herbert handled it with great care and precision as he slowly pushed the needle into the spine and drained that reagent into the corpse of the raccoon. She watched as the needle left the critter’s neck and her brother set it down. Her eyes watched the syringe as the reagent left residue behind. Her mind twisted and paced with thoughts before she looked back at the raccoon.

Herbert had backed up a bit, Mavis scuffling back with him as the twins watched the corpse of the roadkill. The room felt deadly silent besides their anticipating breathing as they watched. Herbert made a quick look of his watch, pushing his glasses up his nose before ear piercing screech of agony ripped from the raccoon.

Mavis cringed at the sound and she felt her heart ache as she heard that sound from the animal. It sounded like it was in so much pain but then again the beginning of life was painful too.

“Oh my god. How?” Mavis said over the screeching of the roadkill as it writhed on the table.

“A lot of time and effort but I have found a cure for death.” Herbert said with that almost manic grin as he looked at her.

Mavis was dumbfounded. Her head was running so quickly she couldn't stop herself from the next comment that left her lips.

“You're playing god.” She told him.

“I am not! I'm a scientist and I have found a cure for death.” Herbert snapped. He watched as Mavis flinched a little bit before he took in a deep breath as he knew she need some time to figure out what she was seeing.

“Herbert look at that fucking thing. It's writhing in agony!” Mavis pointed out to him in a frantic tone.

Herbert knew his sister well enough; the whole death fascinated her; she also cared about the living. He was not one to torture his own sister even if he was ever forced too. Herbert let out a huff and walked over to the table of the writhing reanimated raccoon. His hands wrapped around the base of the neck before a loud crack echoed in the room and the creature fell silent. All he heard was the shaky breath of his sister as he covered the body up again.

“It's not perfect, Mavis. I'm still working on it. Figure out the limits but I have conquered death.” Hebert told her.

The silence that had settled between them after as she sat down in a stool next to him was enough for him to speak to her. He had been watching all her little ticks and movements as she worked through her thoughts.

“I know that curiosity in your eyes, sister. You couldn't hide it if you tried.” Herbert added with an easy tone.

Mavis looked up at him and gave a small nod. He wasn't wrong, that was for sure.

“I mean, yeah, fuck I guess I am. I'm fascinated by this.” She told him.

Mavis just looked at her brother as she admitted to him. She wasn't so sure how to feel about the fact this on it's own had so many moral implications but the fact she also wanted to see it work on a broader scale and Herbert could feel that, he just knew.

“I knew you'd be. We've shared the same fascination for years.” He said with a small laugh. A silence filled the basement space again before Mavis spoke up this time.

“Have you started human trials?” She asked him.

“No, I would like to.”

His answer was what she expected. She figured that he hadn't started human trials just yet, it still meant she could help.

“I want to help.” Mavis told him with a hopeful look.

The look threw Herbert off a little bit. He had wrapped Daniel up into this with manipulation but here his own sister was willing to help. It was always nice to have the reminder they were somewhat similar in terms.

“You don't think I'm insane?” Herbert asked.

Mavis looked at him with a pointed look when those words left his mouth before she replied.

“You want my honest answer on that one?”

“Actually, nevermind.”

“It's what I thought.”

After the demonstration and helping clean up the small space, the twins found themselves outside on the porch sitting next to each other. The night was cool with a breeze and Herbert had to admit some fresh air was better than constantly smelling rot and decay down in that basement.

“I want you to know I'm going to be around more.” Mavis spoke.

Herbert looked at his sister as she looked at him. He was a bit taken off guard by those words. He knew she had made a life for herself back up in the Pacific Northwest and couldn't have seen her giving that up to help him with this.

“Huh?” He said in a confused tone.

“I transferred. I'm gonna finish the rest of my schooling out here then out in Washington.” Mavis clarified to him with a smile on her face. She could see that he was thinking about what she had said.

“Why? You've got your own life up there.”

Mavis waved him off and pulled him into a side hug before ruffling his hair as she spoke to him.

“You're my brother, Herbert. Someone's gonna make sure you don't go all Victor Frankenstein on us.” She joked to him.

Herbert rolled his eyes from both the gesture and the comparison as she tried to squirm out of his sister's grasp who just tightened it to put him in a playful headlock with a laugh.

“Oh don't start.” He groaned.

“Oh I'm going to, Dr. Frankenstein.” Mavis teased as she messed up his hair before letting him go. As she let him go her shoulder gently knocked into his in a form of affection.

“I hate you.” Herbert said as he returned the gesture with a smile on his face.

“I love you too.”

[lunarfleur]

Speechless ~ Dwayne

CW:comfort, Dwayne being a sweetie

Tagging: @juneberrie

Additional notes: this was started with no plan whatsoever, so bare with me

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day. Nothing really went wrong. It was just the little things that got to them. It felt like the day was lasting for all eternity.

It started when their alarm clock didn’t go off, making them late to school. Then they realized they forgot to do their homework for the night before, so they would be getting part of those points deducted. Not to mention, they went the entire day looking like they just woke up. Because that had, indeed, just woke up. The day dragged on and on. It felt as if everything was just spiraling into itself, never really ending.

But, eventually, it did. After 8 long, agonizing hours, the day ended. And Y/N was left alone in the quietness of their own room, staring at the ceiling. They did nothing but lay there, not really awake but not yet asleep. They wouldn’t let themself fall asleep just yet.

A soft knock sounded at their bedroom door and they sat up quickly, rubbing their eyes. Dwayne opened the door slowly, peeking in. When he saw them he gave a small smile.

He had seen how their day had gone. He had notice their being late to school. He had watched as they scribbled over the last of their homework at lunch frustratedly. He saw how out of it they were.

When Y/N saw the comforting face of their loving boyfriend, they smiled in relief. They were tired and wanted no more than to be in his arms.

So they stood up groggily, walking towards their door to greet him, but not without tripping and stumbling over a glass of orange juice that was sitting on the floor. The liquid spread quickly, wetting their socks and the clothes that sat next to the glass.

Dwayne reached out, hands grabbing hold of their upper arms to keep them from hitting the ground. He gave them a comforting squeeze to the hip.

Y/N took a deep breath, backed up, and sat on the edge of their bed. They huffed, growing red in the face, and Dwayne watched as they started to tremble. Small sobs seemed to echo around the room. They tugged on the sleeves of their-his-crewneck, burying their face in the cloth.

Dwayne bent down, picking the glass back up quietly. He grabbed a random towel that had been laying on the floor and wiped up all the spilt drink. He left it there and stood back up.

He sat next to them. They leaned into him as soon as the bed sunk. He pulled them into his chest, one hand tracing gentle lines up and down their spine while the other rubbed the back of their head.

“Bad day, lover?” He asked gently. All they could do was nod. Dwayne placed a kiss on the top of their head. They sniffled and sobbed and huffed against him. Dwayne just waited.

He pulled away a few minutes later, hands caressing the sides of their face. He pressed his forehead against their’s and wiped their tears. They took deep breaths while he did. This earned them a sweet, gentle kiss on the lips. They leaned into it. That’s what they had been missing, after all.

“I missed you,” they whispered. Dwayne hummed lovingly.

“I missed you too, darlin,” he responded. They sniffled and pulled away, wiping their face with their sleeves. Dwayne’s hand found a comfortable place on their knee. Then they crawled towards him and Dwayne pulled them close.

“You want to talk about it?” He asked. Y/N shook their head and he said no more. That was one of their favorite things about him. He never pushed, not when it wasn’t necessary.

The two laid there, content in each other’s person space. The homework and the alarm were left long forgotten as the sun set. It was just them in the comfort of Y/N’s bedroom. And, in that moment, that’s all that mattered.

It was cozy, the way Y/N laid on him. They rested their head against his shoulder. They both stayed quiet. It just didn’t feel like the time to talk. And, of course, there will always be things they couldn’t say. But Dwayne would still listen.

[ghostjelliess]

Lu messaged Adon that he finished his worksheets but was too tired to call. He winced with the slightest pressure against his bruised hands as he pressed each letter, rereading the sentence a dozen times before sending, checking for anything that might worry Adon. Adon responded by asking if he was okay, clearly aware something else was wrong, and Lu, so accustomed to the cold, nearly gave in and called to cry about his shaking hands, his crooked fingers, and the hovering fear that he couldn’t paint anymore. The call wouldn’t go through, even the message he’d had to send over their Platform social media profile. Lu had seen what Adon had survived, what kinds of relentless humiliation had forged his steady pride, and he thought that if he couldn’t even find his own way out, then he would only be another burden to Adon, another person in his collection of those in need of care, rather than standing strong and independent beside him. What was the point of being warm if it made Adon cold?

So rather than cry at all, Lu taped his fingers around splints, cutting the tape with his teeth, then pulled out his tablet and drew Adon, and it was the closest he’d ever gotten, his trembling fingers stuttering over the screen, the black ink brush nonresponsive to his gauzed hand, but somehow, Adon appeared, worried, betrayed, hovering between staying and leaving, his head tilted in question, hand held out, waiting for Lu to join him while he held up the world alone. There was a story about that, wasn’t there? Atlas. Adon’s mom should have named him Atlas. 

Lu set the tablet aside, looking down at the only available kin-comms in his phone: Pa, Benny, Unknown. In the quiet of the empty house, as the rails rumbled and stone creaked, Lu called his mother, expecting only silence. 

There was a sigh on the other end. 

“My CAPT is in three days,” Lu croaked, his voice miraculously steady despite his swollen jaw and neck.

Silence and another sight. The rustle of fabric. 

“I need my ID to register….” He felt so small, too cold, curled against their cruel and endless silence, thinking of Adon, waiting for him. A sob finally escaped and his voice was pitched too high as he begged his pillows and the stranger on the phone, “please let me escape too. Let me leave too.” He swallowed his fears of Adon moving on without him, of Pa pushing him like a jumper because the Conductor wanted to laugh, “please. I won’t—”

“C-H-E-L-5-2-3—AOS-12.01, L3RBGGM-X. Don’t call me again.”

Silence. 

Lu blinked, his brow furrowed, still dazed, confused by her accent because he’d only known her as mute. 

He scrambled over himself for anything to write with, scribbling over the sketch of Adon on his tablet before he forgot: Chel523—AOS12.0… .0…. He stared at the keyboard, ears ringing as he added the final one of the family register digit, then sorted through the location tag: Level3, Red-Black-Green-Green, that was a basic Grounder tag for anyone born around his age, then his peer-group: Magenta, and the location of his birth: X, for undisclosed. 

CHEL523-AOS12.01, L3RBGGM-X.

He stared at it numbly. He’d learned more about himself in one second than Pa had ever told him. A name he didn’t recognize, a birthday he’d never known, a generation line only a hospital would disclose, the family register code of grandparents and cousins he’d never known, all of it confidentially enclosed to the paper she’d taken with her from the hospital when she’d left him in the naming room. There were too many questions and answers crashing in his mind as the tears fell and Lu wondered what to do with all the new information, reeling and flailing into a dark place he didn’t want to go. He felt an illusion of Adon’s hand on his back, what would Adon say? What would Adon do? Lu forced himself to relax, inhaling against cracked ribs, repeating: ID, check, CAPT, leave. Only two things left: test and go, test and go, test and go. 

[xiaowhore]

heartbreaker.

premise. in which you claim to be immune to the “bad boy” appeal but fall for his charms anyway.

includes. xiao, albedo, ayato, childe & scaramouche !

note. this is the product of watching too many c-dramas.

xiao as the inconsiderate classmate who closes the door on you even when he notices you walking behind him towards the lecture hall. the guy who never replies when you try to talk to him, like he believes it to be a waste of breath, always ready to put on the headphones resting around his neck and ignore your endless rambling. (the seatmate who quietly places a book upright on your desk when you fall asleep, preventing the teacher from catching you in the act. the boy who sneakily leaves your favorite bread and milk on your desk when he overhears you telling your friends you forgot your packed lunch at home.)

albedo as the haughty honor student who peeks at your test scores and does a little smirk. the boy who draws you with tiny devil horns and pointy teeth in art class. he doesn't roll his eyes when you grab his pencil case to borrow his stationery, but he comes close to it. you can't even begin to imagine what he's going to do if you break anything so you panic when the eraser's wrapping comes off; the cardboard slips away, revealing a name written underneath in elegant scrawls—and to your surprise, it's yours. (back in middle school, everyone believed the person you like will return your love if you wrote their name on your eraser... and succeeded in using it all. it doesn't take a detective to know this doesn't actually work.) (the eraser is only a quarter of its original size now.)

ayato as the jerk who tugs on your hair whenever he sits behind you and nobody believes the tale because “he looks too nice to do that!” (he isn't a 9 year old who bullies the girl he likes, goes unsaid.) the intolerable distraction who takes the seat beside you when you're studying at the library just to bother you, toying with highlighters and doodling small hearts on your notebook. with each sneer he receives, the bigger his smile becomes. (he likes your attention. steals it when you're talking to someone else, demands it back when you try to ignore him.) (he found that you look cute when angry, too.)

childe as the asshole who laughs in your face when he catches you in your pajamas while throwing out the trash. the rich scion who brandishes his wealth in every opportunity, dressed in expensive clothes and switching gold watches every day. randomly invites you to hang out one day without providing further context and frowns at your plain clothes while you gawk at his pressed suit. (he brings you to the mall, forbidding you from checking the price tags. he scours the store for the perfect outfit, grinning in satisfaction when the makeover is finished. “you're my date for zhongli's party today, okay?” ???)

scaramouche as the tyrant who sits at your lunch table without asking because “i can sit wherever i want” and apparently you can't do anything about it. the bully who chucks paper airplanes to your head, writing down stupid notes you pass back and forth via balled up paper and getting scolded by the teacher when he catches the both of you fooling around. (when he notices someone staring at you for too long in class, he smacks their head with a crumpled piece of paper scribbled with “what the hell are you looking at?”)

[itsonlydana]

Hi! Can I request reader x schlatt just laying in bed and cuddling and admiring each other

"tired whispers" ➷ jschlatt

➛ pairing: c!jschlatt x gn!reader

➛ idea: the best way to spend a cold night is in your lovers arms

➛ tags/warnings: fluff, none

➛ an: i loved writing this one, just concentrating on one soft moment.

The cream-colored sheets rustle softly as you settle on your side of the large bed, one knee drawn to your chest and your chin propped up on it. Tilting your head slightly, you watch Schlatt at his desk in front of the window, the paper he's writing on illuminated by the moonlight and the small flickering candle beside it, bathing your bedroom in the scent of eucalyptus and lavender.

Already in his sleeping clothes, he sat hunched over the paper, scribbling away on it with a pen whenever he crossed something out or wanted to remark, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. While brushing his teeth, an idea for his next business meeting had come to him. An odd time to think about work, but Schlatt was inspired even at the most unusual moments, and then rushed to his desk each time to write it all down before he forgot.

You waited patiently for his flow of thoughts, letting him do his work in peace, until he put down his pen and skimmed the now-full pages one last time. Satisfied, he nodded to himself before putting everything away and turning around. As soon as your eyes met, you both had to smile.

Without taking his eyes off you, Schlatt stepped up to the bed, knelt down with one leg on the mattress and bent towards you. Gently, his lips brushed yours.

"Hi," Schlatt's words were a soft whisper, tasting faintly of his minty toothpaste. "I hope I didn't take too long," he murmured, lifting the ruffling blanket, sliding to you. His cold feet brushing your warm ones, chased goosebumps and a giggle through you as you lightly pushed him away.

"Your feet are freezing."

Schlatt laughs as well, deliberately shoving them back in your direction just to tease you and see you give him a playful pouty look as he passed the cold onto you. "Then warm them up."

"I'm not a heating pad."

"You are a little, you're always warm. Feel how cold my hands are"

Before you could object, Schlatt had already slipped his cool hands under your top and was pressing his fingers against your sides, laughing as you squealed in fright and tried to escape his touch.

Instead of letting you go, Schlatt only pulled you closer, so close that his beard scratched your cheek and you felt the laughter vibrate in his chest. His hands stroked your sides, fingertips dancing over your ribs, tracing silent declarations of love on your skin as he spread kisses behind your ear and down your neck.

You raised your hands to his hair, playing with the soft, silky strands or scraping your fingers over the base of his horns, knowing how much he enjoyed the feeling.

At his contented sigh, you had to smile, wandering from his horns to his warm ears, stroking the fur in the same coffee-brown tone as his hair, in circular motions, at which Schlatt stopped in his caresses and halted over your neck instead. His breath hit hot against your skin, the even puffs making you feel him slowly but surely relax and forget about his work.

His hands rested as well, holding you tightly against him.

You liked the feeling of being held by him, he made you feel safe, as if his arms could keep any pain away from you, wipe away any storm with a simple wave of his hand just like that. His arms were your anchor, your home, your refuge in a world where only the two of you existed.

His arms wrapped around you, his legs entangled with yours, you lay in the warmth of his love, feeling every breath on your pulse.

Schlatt turned his head slightly, stubble following his lips as they made their way up your neck, moving away as he laid his head back on the pillow. Your hands slid from his ears to his cheeks, cupping his jaw in your palms before you pulled them away and snuggled against him, resting your head against his chest.

You felt his heart leap, beat faster in a rhythm that resembled the beat of your first dance.

One of his hands rested on the back of your head, gently stroking the hair on the back of your neck.

"I love you."

He didn't have to say it, the way he looked at you every day, as if you were the first sunrise after months of darkness, told you everything he couldn't otherwise say.

At the same moment that he repeated his words a second time, this time in a low whisper, the warm light of the candle on the desk flickered, going out with the last word and plunging you into a cozy darkness.

"Do you always have to be so dramatic?"

Schlatt couldn't help but laugh, continuing to comb through your hair, "I know you love it."

"Yeah" You took a deep breath, mint, lavender, eucalyptus and the so familiar smell of Schlatt filled your nose, a mixture that meant nothing but home to you, and you smiled. "Yes, I love it."

[julek]

read on ao3

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice calls through the noise of the streets, making him turn. He’s wearing a long coat, blue like the ocean and trimmed with white fur, and is graciously carrying a remarkable amount of shopping bags in his arms as the door to the luthier’s shop closes behind him. “Fancy meeting you here, my friend.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow as Jaskier falls into step beside him. “Bard,” he nods.

“What are you doing here, of all places?” He gestures with an armful of satchel and lute, a bright pink notebook peeking out of one of his bags.

“Provisions,” Geralt says, eyeing his, for once, almost overflowing bag. “I’m stocking up. Heading North soon.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, and the feather on his — rather ridiculous, if you ask Geralt — matching blue hat falls just shy of his eyes, clear and bright in the midday sun. “What a funny coincidence.”

Geralt hums. “What do you mean?”

Jaskier playfully swats Geralt’s shoulder, and he’s so pleased with himself Geralt can almost smell it. “Why, it must be fate,” he says dreamily. “I’m also heading North myself!”

“How come?”

“Well,” Jaskier begins, and his tone indicates there’s a story to be told, and no, Geralt, you won’t be getting out of it, as he loops his arm around Geralt’s, “as it turns out, I was invited to take up residence in a castle for the winter.”

“Really?” Geralt asks conversationally, his eyes discreetly scanning the price of rolled oats as they stroll across the market street.

“Really,” Jaskier confirms. His eyes also wander around, trailing after a shiny pendant by a stall. He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present. “An acquaintance of mine realized he and his family would well benefit from my presence this season.”

“Hmm.” Geralt clicks his tongue at the outrageous number scribbled on the price tag of a deck of Gwent cards. Soul-sucking bastards. “And they’re paying you how much?”

Jaskier splutters, not-so-playfully swatting Geralt’s shoulder. “How dare you imply such a thing! I do not sell my company, no matter what one talentless wastrel Valdo Marx may tell you. Of course they’ve invited me as a friend— I’m basically part of the family by now. They’ve been insisting I visit them for years.”

“And this... friend of yours,” Geralt says distractedly, scanning a pair of leather boots on sale. They’re too thin. “How come I’ve never heard of them?”

“Oh, he’s just shy. Or so he says— you should see him drunk.” He takes some inexistent lint off his coat. “He’s addicted to his work — though sometimes he’ll indulge in some small luxuries. Card games and bubble baths, you see.”

“Hmm.” Geralt offers his coin to a merchant for some fresh thyme. “He sounds interesting.”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “Yeah, no. He thinks he’s a big deal, you know— carries himself with importance and purpose, but he’s actually quite dull. You see, he practically had to beg me to come with him this winter.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jaskier continues, carrying Geralt over to a stand with dried flowers and notebooks on it. “So sad, indeed — he was so worried I’d turn him down.” He inspects some dried lavender. “Showered me with praise and gifts.”

“Huh,” Geralt says, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why’d you accept, then? If he’s such a drag?”

“Well...” Jaskier considers, his face scrunched up, the way he does when he’s thinking. “He’s awfully sweet, you know. So attentive, so caring... he’s always there for me.”

“Sounds like a good guy, then.”

“Mmm— hey!” Jaskier exclaims as he’s steered away from an enticing stand full of books. He scowls at Geralt. “He can be an arse, actually. I forgot to mention that bit.”

Geralt smirks. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“Yes, well,” Jaskier says, inspecting his nails as Geralt checks the price of a tall bottle of Skelligan rum. “You are not the one about to spend four months holed up with him, locked away in a freezing fortress.”

“You’re right,” Geralt agrees. “But there’s this one idiot my brothers are forcing me to take to Kaer Morhen with me, so I understand your pain.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes so hard they’re almost closed. “Really!” He says, yanking Geralt by the arm with more force than necessary as they continue to walk through the market stalls. “He sure must be wonderful, if your brothers are so adamant about having him there.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Their judgment is clouded. Too many potions can do that to a Witcher.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Jaskier says under his breath. “Why don’t you just ditch this lovely, handsome, sorely misunderstood friend of yours? Why not leave him behind?”

They’ve reached the end of the square, the murmur of the market now behind them. “Well,” Geralt begins, and his tone indicates that they’ll have to leave soon, and no, Jaskier, we can’t stay another day, as he turns to look at Jaskier, “Unfortunately,” he moves forward, until their noses are brushing, “I’m in love with him.”

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, his breath warm against Geralt’s cheek, lips curled around a smile. “Well, I couldn’t possibly blame you. The man does sound marvelous.”

Geralt slips his hands around Jaskier’s waist, his fingers playing with the fur of his coat. Roach’s waiting for them — he can hear the impatient stomping of her feet in her stall across the street.

He smiles. “He is,” he murmurs, “even though I’ll have to hire four mules and a cart just to carry his doublets.”

“And hats, dear,” Jaskier adds with a grin.

“Oh, yes. And hats.” Geralt nudges his nose against Jaskier’s, reveling in the way it makes him laugh. It tickles, he’d told him once. “Too bad you’ll be locked away with your boring friend. You won’t be able to meet mine.”

A cart drives by, bringing Jaskier closer into Geralt’s touch. Tipping his hat back, he wraps his arms over the Witcher’s shoulders. “Well…” He sighs, like it’s such a hardship to be enveloped in Geralt’s warmth. “Maybe I was a bit harsh on him. He’s quite lovely, in truth.”

The air is thick with the scent of fresh bread from the nearby bakery. “He is, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier says, coy. “He’ll even hire four mules and a cart, just to carry my doublets.”

“And hats,” Geralt reminds him.

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier says with a giggle. “I’m rather glad he invited me to come with him, you know. I’ve got something important to tell him.”

“Yeah?” Geralt squeezes his waist. “And what’s that?”

Jaskier licks his lips. “That I’m in love with him, too.”

Geralt can’t contain his smile as he leans forward and kisses him, sweet and soft. Jaskier tastes like honey — probably from licking it off his fingers from those pastries Geralt bought for him early in the morning, as bait to get him out of bed — and he sighs happily into his mouth.

“Well,” he says when they part, flattening his palms on the front of Geralt’s armour. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time together.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees. “You too.”

Jaskier kisses him one more time, a quick peck to his lips. “Take care. And do give your friend my regards. I hope to meet him someday.”

“Will do,” Geralt says solemnly.

They look at each other for a minute, a staring contest gone to waste as Jaskier’s lips curl around an unbidden smile. Geralt can’t help but mirror him.

“So,” he says brightly, taking Geralt’s hand in his own and starting toward the stables. His eyes gleam and Geralt loves him. “Do we have enough carrots and apples for Roach for the way up? I don’t want her taking it out on my hair, Geralt, you know how she gets…”

[shegavemeroses]

& suddenly i’m covered in the colors of you

Nick and Charlie attend a painting class together

“When is everyone else getting here?” Nick asked as he pulled into the parking space.

“Ooo,” Charlie said with a wince. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Forgot to tell me what?”

“We’ve been ditched.”

“How dare they!” Nick said with mock outrage.

Charlie laughed. “Tao is dragging Elle - her words not mine - to some film festival screening thing, Darcy got grounded, and Tara is drowning in homework.”

“Wow. So it’s just us then, huh?”

“Looks like it.” Charlie took his hand.

“I rather like that.”

“Me, too.” Charlie’s grin grew wider. Then he looked at the clock on the dashboard. “But it starts in two minutes, so…”

continue reading: ao3 // under the cut

“Right with you.” Nick let go of him and grabbed the keys out of the ignition as both boys climbed out of the car. Charlie grabbed his hand again as they practically ran into the building.

“Good morning! Are you two here for the Teen Scene painting event?” a man at the front desk asked them.

“Uh, yeah. We’re not late, are we?” Charlie asked, looking down the otherwise empty corridor.

“I don’t think they’ve started yet,” the man said with a laugh. “It’ll be down the hall, then take a right. I’m sure you’ll hear everyone else to tell you which room it’s in.”

“Thank you!” Nick called as Charlie pulled him down the corridor. 

“Char, slow down!” 

“I don’t want to miss the start!” They rounded the corner, and quickly found the right room, identified by the chatter coming out of it.

“See? We’re fine,” Nick said, following him through the door.

“Yeah, cause we ran here,” Charlie protested, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He squeezed Charlie’s hand before letting go, and they walked to a table near the front of the room. A girl a few years older than them sat at the table, rearranging paintbrushes in cups in front of her.

“Hi! We’re here for the painting class,” Nick greeted her while Charlie looked around the room.

“Wonderful! We’re just about to get started,” she said, handing each of them a paint pallet and cup of brushes. At her words, Charlie turned back to Nick with his eyebrows raised high. Nick lightly shoved his shoulder without looking at him. “Go ahead and fill out a name tag, then pick an easel.” She slid them both a blank name tag and a marker, then pointed to the last two easels open at the back of the room.

They both quickly scribbled their names and pronouns on the stickers, then attached them to their jumpers. With quick thanks, they took the painting supplies and scurried to the back of the room, each taking a stool in front of one easel and setting out their new supplies on the small table between them. 

“You know your name tag isn’t on straight,” Charlie said, pointing to the lopsided badge on Nick’s chest.

“Well…” Nick started with a smirk.

“Don’t say it,” Charlie cut him off, already laughing.

“If you insist.” 

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it when the instructor started the lesson. He settled for lighting kicking Nick’s foot with his own, drawing a smile from him.

The instructor spoke for a while, outlining the project she had planned for the group to do. The aim was a stylized portrait; her examples of different people and animals were on the board. Each one was colorful and vibrant. After she demonstrated the techniques she had used, and let everyone practice them on small sketch pads, she set them loose to freestyle while she walked around, assisting as needed.

Nick turned to talk with Charlie again, but he was already deep in concentration in his portrait, working to blend together some yellows and oranges. Nick watched him for a few more moments, then turned to stare at the blank canvas in front of him. He stared at the canvas, studying the texture of it. Then he looked to his paints, his brush hesitating over them. Then back to his canvas, then around the room for inspiration. Charlie looked over when he heard him sigh.

“Nick. What’s wrong?” he asked, setting his paintbrush in the cup of water.

“I don’t know what to paint.” He looked down, staring at the paintbrush in his hand.

“Well, it’s supposed to be a portrait. And art is best when it’s something you love. So, think of what you love. Or who.”

“Very wise,” Nick said with a smile.

“I try. But please, don’t make me look at Avengers fan art.”

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Charlie laughed. “I will paint whatever I want, thank you very much!” Nick said, jabbing his paintbrush in Charlie’s direction.

“Then do it,” Charlie said, picking up his own brush again.

Nick rolled his eyes, then turned back to his canvas. He peaked over at Charlie and saw he was already back at work, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Nick leaned back to look at his canvas, but couldn’t really see anything yet. He dipped his paintbrush in the green paint and made a series of short, absentminded strokes near the top of the canvas, waiting for inspiration to strike. Once it did, the next hour passed quickly.

“We have about fifteen minutes left, group! As you add the finishing touches, please head over to the sinks to wash out your brushes. You can bring your paints back up to the front,” the instructor said. Nick jumped at her voice; he hadn’t realized the time had passed so quickly. He added a few more strokes of blue, then put his brush in the water cup. 

“Charlie?” he said, looking over at him. The boy in question was still carefully painting, his nose inches from the canvas. “If you get paint on your nose I will not help you get it off.” He walked to Charlie and rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Ah!” Charlie yelped, dropping his paintbrush on the ground.

“Sorry! I tried to get your attention.” Nick knelt with a paper towel to wipe the paint off the floor. “Clearly did not work.” He handed the paintbrush to Charlie, who began wiping the excess paint off with another paper towel.

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlie said with a laugh as Nick stood up. “Well, do you like it?”

Nick looked at the painting Charlie had made. “Well, remember how I said you were good at everything?”

“Yeah?” Charlie’s face brightened.

“I think I wanna take that back now.”

“How dare you!”

“Well…” 

“I am hurt!” Charlie crossed his arms.

“Okay, fine. What’s it supposed to be?”

“It’s Nellie!” 

“I… since when does my dog have five legs?”

“That’s her tail!”

Nick stammered. “The uh… the colors are very nice.

“Shut up. What’s your masterpiece?” They turned, and Charlie looked at the canvas Nick had worked on. “My hair isn’t actually that messy, right?” He paused, tugging at one of his unruly curls. “Is it?”

Nick laughed, running his fingers through Charlie’s hair. “Well, you said to paint something I loved…”

“I didn’t tell you to get sappy on me,” Charlie said, blushing. 

“At least you can tell what mine is,” Nick said with a shrug.

“Hey!” He shoved the brushes at Nick, but he was laughing. “Go wash these out, rugby lad. I’ll bring our paints up.”

“Whatever you say, gay nerd.”

Charlie lightly shoulder bumped him as Nick passed him on the way to the sink, then began gathering up the paints. He took them back to the front of the room, then met Nick back by their paintings. They filled out identification cards to go with their paintings, then turned to leave.

“So before we can take them home, there’s gonna be a gallery show next week,” Charlie began as they walked down the corridor.

“Oh, really?” Nick asked.

“And um…”

“Charlie, are you trying to ask me on a date?”

He laughed. “Maybe?”

“You know the answer is always yes. We have to get everyone else to come. They all deserve to see that picture of Nellie.”

“You are so mean!” Charlie exclaimed.

Once they were outside, Nick pulled him off to the side of the building where they leaned against the wall. “I really do love it,” Nick admitted, brushing Charlie’s hair off his face.

“I really love you,” Charlie said, leaning into Nick’s touch.

“Now who’s being sappy?” Before Charlie could protest that statement, he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you, too,” he said between kisses.

[wildcardjoey]

hhehehe, I heard prev tags and bring you content >:3. -*inhales*- SO, Gem is super into old tomes and books because when she was younger her grandmother had those things, so when she and her parrents moved out to the city she forgot a lot of details in the books but there's one spell/rune/sigil that she remembers, and sometimes just draws from memory, out of bordem. Turns out when you're a busy college student moving around and constantly phoning a demon, you're kinda hard to catch so one night when Gen and a few friends were hanging and Gem got boerd she started doing it again and Implue shows up like, "I've been getting these calls for 3+ years, how have you done this??" and Gems like "Oh that is the COOLEST".

If you're hanging out with your friend in their dorm and have nowhere to actually be, you know the point when everyone has wound down and really should be going back to their own, seperate dorms ad different points in the hall and up or down a few floors, but no one wants to be the first one to leave because you're already comfortable and moving would be a hassle so everyone is just waiting to follow the cue of someone else.

It is this mood that finds Gem finishing the carving of that old sigil she would sometimes doodle while bored into the amethyst piece her grandmother had given her as a gift when she started university. It had supposedly been handed down in their family for generations.

"That's really well done." Pearl leaned over to get a better look at the carving. "How did you get it so circular freehand? I know you only have the one piece so you didn't have practice."

"I guess after scribbling it so often, it just baceme muscle memory at this point."

"Or you inharited your ancestors obsession with specifically shaped amethysts."

"Shut it, Cleo." Gem almost rolled her eyes at that reference. "How do you even know that story? I can't even find reference to it in the academy library-" Gem felt the final wall between the carved portions of the amethyst surface cave and refocussed in on her work. "Oh, I'm done-"

The amethyst exploded, but Gem felt the pain before it finishes. Her hand holding the stone shot out, vaulting the exploding rock across the room.

Gem nearly blacked out from the pain. She didn't want to look down at her hand, both of fear of the mangled mess it may have become, and for fear of looking away from the figure that had materialized from from the blast of purple light to crush her desk, obscured in the lingering smoke.

Gem felt... an odd mix of confusion, fear, and excitement as the details of that half remembered story accompanying the sigil.

Impulesffe, his story focused more on a lust for knowledge annd wanderlust than it did the form of desire one would most associate with a demon called the Embodiment of Lust.

Demons are real. Magic is real. The thought repeated in her head as she stared at the creature in front of her. Wings spread from its back, horns from its head, as it stood even hunched I became clear the room was almost too small for it- him, more correctly. An odd thought that was, remembering that the master in front of her had preferred pronouns as she potentially faced death.

"I am so sorry!" He spoke, and his face was clearly panicked a bit as the smoke cleared enough to see it. "Since you'd been trying to summon me so often I figured it was urgent and now that you finally had a powerful enough catalyst, I materialized as soon as possible without checking my surroundings if it was safe." A sudden realization came over his face. He spoke as he turned to Gem, a more serious look on his face. "Right, why have you called upon me. Summoner?"

"Pfft-hahahahhahah-" Cleo burst out laughing. Pearl looked amused. The demon looked embarrassed now.

"Oh no, has there been a mix up?"

Gem started to lean into how cool the situation was that she had just summoned an actual demon. "Are you Impulesffe?"

The demon seemed to flinch at the name. Most people pronounce it Impulse SV, or just call me Impulse, bust yes. That is I"

"Do you grant wishes? Can I refuse my wishes? I don't really want to sell my soul."

"Um. Okay? No... I... don't do those sorts of deals. You...summoned me by contract."

Impulse motioned to Gem's left hand, which she now realized had stopped stinging. The three girls looed at it, and now noticed there was now a bright glowing violet rendition of the sigil Gem had just carved seemingly tattooed to her hand.

"...So, are you stuck here now until this is brokern?"

"No... you dismiss me when you desire. The contract can't be broken either. We're bound until your death."

"Ah. Goodbye then."

"Wha-" The demon vanished, and Gem forced her friends out of her dorm.

That was a lot of information she's sort through at a later date. For now, she headed to bed, head still spinning. A demon contractor. She had to see if her grandma still had that book.

[sotangledupinit]

run, run rogers - My CSSS 2021 Gift

hi there @ilovemesomekillianjones! here’s chapter three of my @cssecretsanta2020​ gift to you! thank you for being so understanding and patient (still. because i am the absolute worst!).

run, run rogers (chapter 3 of 4)

SUMMARY: The last thing Emma Swan expected to be doing on Christmas Eve was last minute Christmas shopping. But Neal's genius left her in the lurch, and she needs to fix things. And the Uber trip to get this all done? It'll cost her.

RATING: M for Mature (may go up)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 4,284 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Holiday, Uber Driver Killian Jones

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Special shoutout to @mariakov81 who worked with me to create this magnificent piece to showcase the chaos that was chapter two! So much love and appreciation -- thank you!!!! <3 love how this came out!!!!

And another very special shoutout to @snowbellewells​ who looked over this chapter for me as I was unsure about some moments in it, and she ended up fixing a bunch of my grammar and tense issues. A true blessing!!! Very grateful and appreciative for her help as well!!!! Thank you!!! <3 <3

***

Henry Bear’s Park.

It’s the last store of the night. Her last chance.

Brick overlay covers the top quarter of the store’s façade, white lettering spelling out its name. She’d never been in it before and didn’t even know what she was looking for, but the place has good reviews and Emma figures she’ll know what to get when she sees it. Plus, it’s got her kid’s name in it – that has to mean something, right?

Red carpet covers the floor and the walls are painted with lime green and orange, the colors alternating with each pillar. Shelves line the perimeter walls of the door, item display stands forming the configuration of the store. There’s soft plush animals, puzzles, and sporting goods spread throughout. A lacrosse stick crosses her vision and she’s tempted to grab him the equipment but ultimately decides against it. Henry’s never been one for sports, soccer holding only a passing interest two years ago, so she can’t think of a worse gift.

Standing in the middle of the store, Emma feels like a failure. Nothing there is catching her eye as a worthy gift for Henry, and the ticking of the large clock behind the register echoes in her ears despite the high volume of customers milling around her. She wonders if they all forgot a prized gift on someone’s wish list or if their significant other dropped a surprise family member on their doorstep for dinner and festivities.

The faint sounds of Christmas music wafts through the air as her eyes peruse each and every object in the store. There are books she passes by, ones too young for Henry’s reading level and others he already owns, action figures she decides against as he’s begun to grow out of them, and trading cards which never held his interest.

She nearly gives up, her eyes glancing at the clock to see the time reads 8:26, when a line of figures on display beside the registers catch her eye.

The figures are wooden, hand-carved by the looks of it, and shaped with intricate detail. They resemble different fairytale characters and it reminds her immediately of the story that Henry’s crafting. He leaves Post-It notes and scraps of paper for it all over their new house, and the sight always brings her joy, even if she’s constantly picking it up. Throughout her time in foster homes, she kept her belongings closely guarded. Anything she had, she locked away in the small duffle bag she hid underneath her bed, a parting gift from a former foster family so she didn’t have to use a garbage bag as they sent her back to the group home.

Henry’s scribbles were a sign of his comfort and trust in her and was the greatest gift she ever could have asked for.

“Hello, Miss?”

Emma turns around to find an elderly man behind her. White hair rounding his head, he’s dressed smartly with a nametag pinned to his vest that states ‘Marco’. His smile is small but kind and a bead of sweat trails down his temple, his hands wringing together for a moment as he gathers his breath to speak again. The shop has been packed since Emma walked in and she’s sure it’s the cause of Marco’s exhaustion.

“Can I help you find anything?” he asks, an Italian accent coloring his words.

“Those figures… I’d like to buy them.” Her hand points to the display and her smile is wide. The weight that has laid on her chest since dinner at Neal’s has finally lifted and she feels relief flood her system. The holiday isn’t going to be a total waste. A gift, a perfect gift, sits in front of her and she can already imagine the glee on Henry’s face as he unwraps it.

“Oh…”

That simple word, said with such pained hesitance, grips her ankle and pulls her swiftly down from cloud nine. Her heartbeat echoes loudly in her ears as Marco’s eyebrows pinch together and a frown mars his features. “My apologies, Miss. Unfortunately those are not for sale.”

“What?”

“They’re not for sale.”

Desperation clings to her throat, words difficult to come by. She licks her lips and eyes the figures frantically. “If someone’s already bought them, I will pay triple. Or just name your price and I’ll pay it. Please, it’s for my son.”

Marco shakes his head at her, smiling sadly. “They haven’t been purchased, they just are not for sale. They were crafted by my son. We lost touch some years ago,” the old man says, sucking in a breath as tears glisten in his eyes. “And these were the last things we worked on together before he left.”

It’s as if with those words the world caves in on her. Emma nods absentmindedly through his apologies, offers for her to come back on January 2nd if she’d like to special order a duplicate of the set he could make her, and ushering her out of the store as they close.

Stepping onto the sidewalk outside of the store, the stragglers of last-minute shoppers filing out behind her, she stands in a state of shock until the click of the store’s lock behind her brings her out of her stupor.

The breaking of her heart rings loudly in her ears as her eyes sting and begin to blur.

She’s failed him.

She had all night to find Henry a new gift, a perfect gift, for him to open at her house that’s not the same exact things Neal decided to give him, and she couldn’t even do that. Swallowing down a sob, the image of Henry’s smile dimming into disappointment projects itself in her mind. He’d do his best to conceal it, manage to meagerly grin through his confusion, and try not to let on how much he was let down. It tears at her.

Emma comes back to the car, tears in her eyes as she approaches. Killian is leaning against the passenger door with her coat and scarf slung over his left arm, and she can see Will sitting inside the car behind him, playing Candy Crush on his phone. The moment he spots her, Killian stands up straight, gaze roaming over her person. “Swan, are you okay?”

She chokes back a cry and blinks furiously. “I’m done. I’ve failed and completely ruined Christmas for Henry.”

“That’s not possible, Emma.”

“No, trust me, it is.”

“This isn’t your fault, you have to know that.”

“It is, because I knew my ex was an asshole and I should have expected him to ignore the explicit instructions I gave him like he ignores everything else because it’s such a Neal thing to do. If it isn’t directly about him, then he just wings it. And now I’m left with nothing to gift Henry tomorrow morning. He has nothing to open under the tree except what he already got! How does that make it a great Christmas?”

Her feet travel back and forth in front of Killian’s car. Hands clenched at her sides, all she wants to do is scream at the top of her lungs and lock Neal out of her and Henry’s life for good. All he’s done since finding out about Henry is disrupt the small foundation of stability that Emma has built for her kid. Their lives would have been much better without him in it.

But she knows she can’t cut him out, especially not when she admits that he’s not a terrible father. Sure, most of the time he acts more like a friend than a parent, and she suspects that’ll cause issues in the future, but her kid is smart and he can already see the cracks in Neal’s façade, the pedestal created when finding his father already beginning to crumble.

Still, it was Neal’s actions that led her to this moment. Christmas Eve without a new gift for Henry.

Every time he unwrapped a gift in Neal’s living room, a bright smile on his face and exclamations of the gift being exactly what he wanted, she forced a smile as her stomach dropped. Swallowing was a difficult task and anger brewed in her chest. There were specific items on Henry’s list that Emma didn’t get, leaving them to Neal. And now Henry won’t get them at all.

“Henry’s going to be so upset,” she says to herself, blurred eyes cast on the pavement.

She didn’t even realize she’d begun to pace until she feels Killian’s hands on her shoulders bringing her to a stop. “Henry’s a bright lad. He’s not going to care as long as you still make it a great day for the two of you.”

“I don’t know how I can do that,” she whispers. “I don’t want him to have the Christmases I had.” Tears completely block her vision without her permission and she hiccups as she speaks. “I want better for him. I want to give him everything he ever wished for.”

Her mind recalls Henry’s letter to Santa once more in her head. It was by no means extravagant  but it presented a multitude of options. Options she couldn’t take advantage of now.

Though they’re several steps from the car now, her eyes zero in on Will’s phone through the window. Snow slowly starts to fall from the sky, and she watches as small flakes drift towards Rogers. At least Henry will have a white Christmas, she thinks lamely to herself. Not that it is anything she actually did for him though.

Killian brings her focus back to him when he offers a handkerchief to her. It hadn’t even registered to her that the wetness on her cheeks wasn’t the newly fallen snow and instead was her tears having spilled over. She sends him a small, grateful smile before cleaning her face, taking deep breaths. She presses the cloth to her eyes until she sees stars dotting the back of her lids.

“I just want him to have something new, something just for him that he hasn’t gotten already. Something that’s his.” Her voice is low enough that she’s surprised he even heard her behind the handkerchief. As in tune with her as if they were one, he gently moves her hands away from her face.

There’s a gaze in his eyes like he can see to her soul, and it unnerves her for a moment. Killian reads her like an open book, like every expression she allows to grace her features and every wall she’s built is familiar to him. She wonders how that came to be.

“Wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.” Emma eyes him wearily. “Tell me? I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Suddenly bashful at his request, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his winter coat, and Emma sniffs, admiring the sight. He’s usually so cool and calm, collected even in stressful situations.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she chokes out, offering a tiny, watery smile.

“The beginning is always a good place.”

She’s not sure what makes her do it. Perhaps it’s the snow falling, drawing them into their own little world where the pain doesn’t hit as hard or the impossible feels real. Or maybe it’s that look in his eyes, the one that is starting to remind her of herself. The one that seems to mirror every hurt she’s experienced and is beginning to understand the struggle of getting through it.

Drawing a shaky breath, Emma nods to herself. It’s like her mind is full of crossed wires or tangled Christmas lights and she has to close her eyes to get a semblance of organized thought. Then it all spills out.

“My parents abandoned me as a baby. They didn’t even bring me to a hospital. Just left me on the side of the highway to die like roadkill.” She kicks her toe at the ground, frowning as she realizes she left a mark on her brand-new boots. Not enough snow has fallen yet to have softened the blow. “From there, it was foster home to foster home until I met Neal.”

She hates the way her voice cracks over his name. More than a decade later and the pain still echoes in her chest from time to time. Will she ever get over his betrayal? At times, she doubts it. Neal was the first person she trusted, the first person she let into her life, and the first person  she offered everything to. Emma tells Killian as much.

“What made him different?” His voice lacks the judgment and pity that fill so many others and it hits her square in the chest. The unexpected notion takes her breath away and she shivers. Killian is quick to pull her coat over her shoulders and drape the scarf around her neck, the warmth that fills her from the action having more to do with the intention than the clothes. He moves without a second thought and continues as he rubs his hand and wrist over her arms in a desperate attempt to drive away the chill. Sincerity in his small smile encourages her to keep going.

“I was a kid and excited to have an older guy like me. He’d tell me all these things about how alike we were, acted like we understood each other and were cut from the same cloth. Lot of good that did me. He ended up setting me up for a bunch of luxury watches he stole,” she pauses, looking up at him briefly before straightening her shoulders and rushing out, “and I ended up going to prison for almost a year while he ran off to Canada.”

Her companion’s face still lacks any judgment or hesitation. Instead curiosity colors his features, a frail effort to cover the brewing anger she senses from the way he clenches his fist. She feels the fingers curl in on themselves, his tightly closed hand resting against her arm as he stops his warming motions. “When did you have Henry?”

“In prison.”

A myriad of emotions flicker across his face. Pain – the pain of being abandoned, the pain of being left alone – most prominent. He takes on her hurt like it’s his own, and she can’t handle how heartbreak looks on his features under the falling snow.

Word vomit. She’s convinced she’s suffering from a case of the worst of it because suddenly she’s telling him about her time in prison, finding out she was pregnant the same day she got confirmation Neal snuck across the border. How she gave birth shackled to a bed and had to give Henry up because she couldn’t care for him behind the iron bars of her cell. Of David and Mary Margaret Nolan being a godsend when they took Henry in as a foster, giving him the best first years of his life that Emma could have ever asked for. The way they let her see him as often as she wanted while she got herself back on her feet.

She tells him of how they became the only family she’s ever truly known, how they helped her build a home for herself and her son, how they understood the complexities of her job and offered to babysit Henry when she had to work late.

She tells him of the loneliness that settled in her chest when Mary Margaret was offered a job at a school in Boston not long after Emma gained full custody of Henry again and how Emma couldn’t bear to part from them.

“I owe them everything,” Emma says. “They’re my family. That’s why we moved here.”

“And your ex,” Killian asks next. “How did he come back into your life?”

Huffing only blows a small cloud of white smoke out of her mouth. It billows towards Killian’s face and makes her realize just how close they’ve been standing. She takes a step back as she clenches and unclenches her fists, his own arms dropping to his side. Wills cheers something loud from inside the car, Candy Crush still visible on his screen as his hand reaches up to pump his fist.

Clearing her throat, Emma attempts a wry smile. It only lasts a moment before the corners of her mouth tilt down in a frown. “I was trying to catch a bail jumper a few weeks after we moved here. Tackled the wrong guy. I ended up running into him with Henry a couple days after that and Neal put two and two together. It’s made my life hell since then.”

Fury rolls over her as she remembers their first interactions after over a decade apart, how he claimed she deprived him of raising his son as if he weren’t the one who completely abandoned her and destroyed her life.

“I have been trying to finally give Henry a stable life with an actual home and being around family, and Neal’s been fucking it up every which way. He comes by without warning to take Henry to baseball games, concerts, the park – and how do I deny my kid time with his dad? Then he tries to pit Henry against me as if he’s fucking Father of the Year and not some deadbeat that set me up for his crimes without an ounce of regret, never looking back.”

“This Christmas was supposed to be the first one where I could really spoil Henry, you know? I had a plan for it all and I told Neal what I got him so he could get the rest of the stuff on his list. And what does Neal do? Buys those things again. So here I am,” she continues, and throws her hands up at the closed storefront behind her, “getting the doors closed in my face on Christmas Eve and without any other gifts for my son on his wish list.”

Killian remains silent.

“I want him to have a better Christmas than I did. I don’t ever want him to wake up on Christmas morning and hope that someone cared about him enough to leave a gift under the tree only to see nothing there. I don’t want him to feel insecure about his place in my life or think I don’t care about him or consider him worth my time. I’ve been there. Some foster families tried to include me; they got me little knickknacks, sometimes ones I already had, but never anything personal. Others just didn’t bother.” She sucks in a ragged breath. “Honestly what’s less thoughtful? What’s a worse way to let someone know you don’t care about them – no gifts or the same ones you just got? How many more chances am I going to get with him to fix my mistakes? I feel like I’ve already run out.”

He sees the fear of vulnerability in her eyes as her walls begin to crumble and reconstruct themselves in the same breath and lets his own down in exchange. Biting his lip as his gaze becomes hooked on the snowy sidewalk, he takes a moment. Once he’s gathered his confidence again, he steps towards Emma but keeps his eyes averted, instead fixating on Will.

“My father moved my family here when I was still young – not much older than your lad’s age. Shortly after that, the only presence he had in my life was a title. When he abandoned us, he lost even that. Mum struggled to make ends meet after he left, and our Christmases became small affairs. My brother Liam and I would receive the necessities and a small trinket or two.” When he finally looks at her, she smiles sadly, but he shakes his head.

“When I look back, I don’t even think of his absence. You know what I remember the most about those Christmases?” he asks her.

“What?”

“Music.”

“Huh?” Emma inquires, tilting her head to the side. “‘Frosty the Snowman’, ‘White Christmas’? That sort of thing?”

Killian shots her a small, amused smile. “Yes, but not in the way everyone else remembers it.”

Will yells something unintelligible in the car, but her attention remains on the man before her. Snowflakes land gently on his facial hair and his blue eyes seem impossibly bright in the cold winter night. Perhaps it’s the watery sheen making them twinkle, but she feels like she’s staring at the ocean preparing to jump in.

“You see, we had this rickety old piano left in our apartment from the previous tenants. It sat and gathered dust most of the year, but around Christmas, Mum cleaned it off. Mind you, she only knew a song or two. Still, every Christmas Eve she’d gather Liam and I around the piano before bed and play us one of the songs she knew, make us sing along with her and everything. She made a big deal out of the whole thing even though neither of them could carry a tune.” The chuckle he lets out is watery and his gaze holds a pensive sadness she’d never seen on him before. “Then she’d send us off to sleep and play a song by herself as we began to drift off. The radio would go on next and she’d play it all night long through to the morning.”

“I always thought it was a way to ring in Christmas and get us excited for the morning. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized she did it so we wouldn’t hear her wrapping the gifts.”

The thought makes her giggle. She thinks of a boy with black hair all a mess and blue eyes filled with wonder falling asleep to the notes of a classic Christmas carol. She thinks of a woman staying up all hours of the night with one ear out for the softest of sounds that might reveal that her ruse has been foiled. She relates to the woman she’s imagined in her mind, to Killian’s mother, and feels her heart flip in her chest. A mother who would do anything to give her kids the best holiday.

Killian’s fingers fiddling with his rings bring her attention to his hand, and she realizes that he shoved his gloves into the pocket of her coat. His exposed prosthetic hadn’t even been a thought in her mind until now.

“When she got sick and her fingers couldn’t move as well, I played for her. I expanded our repertoire too, and I will never forget the smile on her face when she realized what I’d done.”

Tears sting her eyes, a longing pinging in her heart.

“The first Christmas after she’d passed was the quietest. Liam had to sell the piano to make rent and neither of us were in the mood to celebrate. It wasn’t until the following year that I’d be in the department store and heard one of her songs that it made me smile. It made me think of her and it brought me joy.”

Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “What was the song?”

“‘Little St. Nick’ by the Beach Boys.”

Emma huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes as Killian grins wide at her. She opens her mouth to speak when his smile begins to fade. She waits.

“Every year without fail she’d sit us at the piano and make us sing along before sending us up to bed. She kept up her tradition with the radio even when Liam and I both knew why she was doing it. Now every Christmas Eve, I play the radio through the night. It reminds me of her. It makes me happy, like it’s a little piece of magic she keeps giving me.”

His hand reaches out to take one of hers, pulling it from the pocket of her coat. Despite the icy feeling of his fingers, his skin sends sparks down her spine. The small step he takes in her direction makes her breath hitch, and the pure sincerity in his gaze leaves her heart hammering against her chest.

“Emma, gifts can be great, but what is going to stick with Henry is what you do to make the day special. That’s what will stay with him as the years pass – not what you got him which year. Because even when you have nothing, the memories are everything.”

She gets it. There’s a hole in her heart, carved out at a young age for the families that would house her but never truly accept her. Always the outsider looking in. What she would give to have memories to hold onto like Killian does. Not to be the other, the asterisk at the end of every family name.

The Swans*.

*And the foster kid Emma.

Emma tilts her head back towards the sky and takes a deep breath. Snowflakes land on her cheeks and set an icy burn to her skin. “I don’t know if I’ll be enough.”

One side of Killian’s mouth tilts up, his face coming all that much closer to hers as if he’s about to tell her his deepest secret, and she can’t help but drop her head to face him without barriers. No walls, no diverted gazes. “You just spent your Christmas Eve traversing Boston in the mightiest of crowds, all in an effort to give your son the best Christmas you could ever wish for him.” Then he does that thing – that one where he raises his eyebrows to drive his point home –  and her stomach swoops at his words and the total confidence he has in her. “I’ve yet to see you fail.”

[starlightinhumanform]

Nothing Sweeter

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Moxiety, Platonic Analoceit (only mentioned)

Summary: When Virgil agreed to work a cashier shift at the bakery, Logan had assured him that they never get customers that late. Instead, Virgil comes face to face with the cutest customer he’s ever seen.

Warnings: None! (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Bakery AU, Tooth-rotting Fluff

A/N: This was written for a request for @catemons-blog ! I haven’t written these babies in such a long time and to was so nice to write them again!! All reblogs and replies are greatly appreciated <3 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Virgil could feel flour beneath his nails, the warm dough under his hands, his arms moving automatically in the comforting, repetitive shifts of kneading bread. The bakery was like a second home to him but, more specifically, he loved the kitchen. He loved the whole cafe but the front wasn’t where he belonged— Logan and Janus took care of that— but this world of warmth and sweetness and soft scents, that was his.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, they just didn’t seem to click. It seemed like he was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time or missing some social cue that was apparently obvious to everyone else but invisible to him. No, Virgil loved people and he loved to share what he made with them; it was just a lot lower stress to work behind the scenes.

So he surprised even himself when he agreed to run both the front and the back of the cafe for the night. Maybe it was Logan’s promise that nobody came in on a weekday in the late evening. Maybe it was Janus’ bribe that he would make Virgil an extra special mocha coffee tomorrow. Maybe it was the combined power of their pleading eyes. Whatever the case, Virgil found himself alone in the cafe on a late Wednesday evening, with nothing but his hands and his work for company.

Logan had been right— Virgil hadn’t seen a customer since his shift started at 7:00 and as the time stretched forward, it began to seem less and less likely that some would order a coffee this late at night.

When the door chime ran at 10 pm, Virgil was half-expecting it to be Logan or Janus stopping by to see how he was doing (and probably to steal a jam-filled cookie or two).

Virgil walked into the front of the store to say hello but was instead faced by a stranger. They had a round face with large blue eyes and a mop of curly blond hair sweeping down their forehead— their face wasn’t ringing any bells. But Virgil didn’t really know the customer’s; he knew their orders .

He quirked an eyebrow as went down the list of regular customers this stranger could be and began taking guesses, “A dozen maple doughnut bars?”

“Um, no actually I want—” Their voice was soft but had a gravely quality that bite at the ends of their words. The voice was unfamiliar to Virgil but for some reason, he wanted to hear it more.

“Hmm, a ciabatta loaf and three everything bagels?”

“No… I was hoping you had—”

“Oh, I know! A loaf of rye, a loaf of pumpernickel, and a loaf of sourdough?”

The stranger began laughing. It was a nice laugh, Virgil guessed, but he couldn’t figure out what was so funny. He could feel his cheeks beginning to turn red; he had said something wrong again, hadn’t he?

They stopped laughing long enough to flash Virgil a bright, amused smile, “Are you going to keep guessing the entire night until you get my order right?”

The customer didn’t seem mad, he wasn’t even laughing at Virgil; he was laughing…  because of Virgil? Virgil had made them laugh and that felt very very different than being laughed at. Their laughs ran through the empty little dining area and bounced off the display case, almost entirely empty by this time of day. Their laughs made Virgil feel good, even if he didn’t quite understand what was so funny.

Virgil let himself take another look at the person in front of him. There was a warm, sweet sensation beginning to flutter in his stomach and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The customer was cute, no doubt about it. They were wearing large, round-framed glasses, nearly as gold as their hair. Behind the glasses, their eyes were one of the bluest blue Virgil had ever seen— like water drawn in a saturated kid’s cartoon. They were wearing a blue top tucked into a white pleated skirt and white mary-jane shoes. The skirt had attached suspender straps, one of which had a small pin on it. Looking closer, Virgil realized the pin was a small transgender pride flag with the pronouns “he/him” stamped over it. Ok, so the customer was a he ; and he was really, really cute.

Virgil tried to snap his mind back on focus. The man in front of him had stopped laughing but was still looking at him with a soft, somewhat lopsided smile.

Virgil looked down at his hands, feeling like making eye contact with this person was just a little too much right now. He cleared his throat, “So, uh, do you want to order something?”

“No, I actually was just planning on standing here for the rest of the night.”

“Really?” Virgil could feel his eyebrows furrowing together.

“No, no,” He stepped closer to the counter Virgil was behind, “I was just joking, sweetheart.”

Sometimes Virgil had a hard time catching social cues but the way he said “sweetheart” held too much kindness and sincerity for Virgil to miss its meaning. Virgil’s blush grew to a deep crimson.

He walked all the way to the counter so he and Virgil were only a foot apart. Virgil wasn’t sure if he wanted to flirt with him or run away to the kitchen. Somehow, putting a stove fire out seemed easier than talking to this customer.

Virgil shook his hands below the counter, hoping stimming would help release all of the energy and feelings bouncing around in his body. He tried to remember what Logan had told him in case customers did come in; there were specifically steps Logan was very particular about, “Could I get a name for your order?”

“Of course! My name’s Patton!”

God, even his name is cute.

“Your name’s Virgil?”

Virgil glanced down at his name tag as if he needed reminding of what it said. He nodded in confirmation of Patton’s question.

“That’s such a pretty name,” Patton’s smile reminded him of opening an oven door on a cold day, the warmth and sweetness rolling over him in waves. He felt like he was melting.

Patton’s eyes wandered over the menu board, licking his lips absentmindedly as he tried to make a decision. Virgil wished he could stop looking at his lips.

Finally he looked back over at Virgil, “Could I get three muffins—”

“Uh huh,” Virgil nodded as he jotted the words down on the receipt the way Logan had asked him to.

“—and, uh,” Patton leaned forward even a little closer, “Could I get your number?”

Virgil forgot how to talk in that moment, feelings of happiness practically vibrating through him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he just exploded, just nodding his head to answer Patton like his life depended on it.

Virgil moved as if he were in a dream, packaging the muffins as Patton paid. He felt like the planet’s gravity had suddenly been turned down and he was floating a few inches off the ground. He quickly scribbled his phone number on the bag before handing it to Patton.

“Oh! I almost forgot something!”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow at Patton’s exclamation, “You did?”

“Yeah! Your tip for such great service.”

“No, no you already gave a tip. See, it’s on your receipt beneath—”

Virgil froze as Patton leaned forward and planted a kiss on Virgil’s cheek.

“There! Extra tip for being so cute,” Patton gave him that lovely, warm smile before turning with a wave and walking out of the bakery.

Virgil sank to the floor, disregarding whether or not that was a health code violation. He didn’t care about that right now. His face was tingling and his heart was racing and he felt out of breath. He clapped his hands together, happy stims taking over for a moment as he processed the interaction he had just had with the cutest boy he had ever seen. Maybe working in the front of the bakery had its own benefits…

Virgil couldn’t stop smiling.

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