#I won’t go into detail about real life except that it was. well. a Trip

[kimtaegis]

👋 2022

[maudie-duan]

Summary: In a crowd full of adoring fans, Harry can’t seem to take his eyes off the girl standing front row, who won’t look up from her phone—I mean, why the hell come to a One Direction concert, have one of the best spots in the house, and not look at him, at least once??? What happens when Harry takes it upon himself to get Romee’s attention? Will he be “that” asshole, or is he as charming as he thinks?

Word Count: 768

A/N: I had a little inspiration from @howling-wolf97 

I read their One Shot called “Your Texting!” <— 

I couldn’t stop thinking about how well they nailed Harry on stage, and so this is what my brain came up with—of course, we're getting Harry on stage being Harry, eventually, but different era. 

Warning: Mature, Eventual Smut, Strong Language, Angst.

I thought it was an asshole move to steal the phone of a fan for self-amusement, but maybe that was Harry’s thing—I guess he didn’t physically take the phone from my hand; my friend did—I knew nothing about One Direction except that they were a boy band and that my best friend was obsessed with them. She had been begging me for months to go to this concert. Eventually, I said yes, but let me back up and explain how this all happened and how Harry Styles ended up with my phone.

Let me start by telling you that just to get to the concert, I had to take two different planes. I couldn’t for the life of me find a round trip from Oklahoma to LA. Nothing about the trip had been easy, so I wondered if this would be the fate of everything that was to come. 

Did I mention that there was a twelve-hour layover?? By the time I got to California, I felt dead. All I wanted to do was crawl into my friend's bed and cry—because I should also tell you that sometime during my flight to LA, my boyfriend messaged me and basically said, “I think we should see other people…”

Well, actually, it said this:

This was one of the first things I saw when I landed, so I think you can understand how the concert was the last thing on my mind—Who sends their girlfriend of four years a shitty half-ass breakup—because that was essentially what he was doing, right?—And why would he wait until I left town to tell me this?—It had been less than 24 hours since his dick was inside me—to say I was pissed was an understatement.

I didn’t message him back. I didn’t want this to ruin my trip, and I was so excited to see my friend, who I rarely got to see anymore since she was going to college in California. I wanted to go and not only have a good time with Clara, but I also wanted to celebrate her because it was a big fucking deal to finally get out of Oklahoma like we had always dreamed of doing, and here she was. I was so proud of her and wanted to share these memories with her. 

The concert was the first thing on our list. Clara kept droning on about how her dad “outdid himself” and sarcastically spilling about how her parents’ divorce had finally been working in her favor. 

“I’m just saying, Rome, we’ll be so close that we’ll be able to see them sweat.” Clara gushes. 

I roll my eyes, “Clara, how old are they?” I ask, genuinely curious to see if she should be this excited about a group of “boys.”

Clara grabs her phone, pulling up each of their Instagram profiles. She made a point to over-explain minor details that I’m sure I would have no use for later, but as she went on, I got sucked in:

“So you’re telling me that people—” I start.

“No fans—” Clara corrects me, “They’re not just people. We’re faaaannnns,” she draws out.

“Okay, so “fans” really believe that. Wait—” my eyes search her face, trying to remember each of their names, “Is it Larry?” 

She belts out laughing like it’s the funniest thing I’ve said all night, and I know I’m more amusing than that, but I shrug it off and listen. “No—H-A-R-R-Y,” she over annunciates “And, Louis.”

“So, Harry and Louis are a thing?” I questioned, a little skeptical because she had yet to show me any real evidence, except for a few videos that “maybe” could have been edited.

“Like they’re just fucking behind the scenes?” I ask.

She silently nods, gazing down at her phone, smiling a smile you would give a newborn baby, “Yeah…” she breathes out, “They’re perfect…”

“Wait—wait—wait—” I say, snatching the phone from her hand. “So you’re telling me…that this hot fucking dude…is gay?” 

We’re both staring down at a picture of the guy with longish brown hair covered in tattoos, and I’m having the hardest time accepting that he is even the slightest bit gay—I’m mean, if he is, good for him, but I’m not even a fan, and selfishly I want every odd to be in my favor. 

“I know, he’s hot, right?” She voices, stealing my exact train of thought. She has the same look as before, admiring her beloved “boys.” —and I fall back on the bed, grabbing my phone to re-read Shawn’s message. Thinking of what I’ll say when I finally see his stupid fucking face. 

A/N: This was just for fun. Not sure if I'll continue. If you're interested, I'll definitely start a tag list!! let me know! hope you guys enjoyed!!

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x F! reader

Description: The boys and reader come to the aid of Sam's old college buddy after he is accused of a murder he swears he didn't commit. They discover a shapeshifter is adopting the likenesses of others and murdering people.

Warnings: cannon violence, not my GIF, shapeshifters, teasing, tension 🤭, choking, kidnapping, mentions and usage of guns, being tied up, murder

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose, @ada--44

Word Count: roughly 8,000

(Not my GIF but we can still appreciate it)

Skin

(Master list, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

The Impala comes to a stop in front of a gas pump, the slightly warmer breeze of late February brushing through the car as Dean opens his door, half sitting out the door.

“Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” Dean announces. I hum in agreement with a little nod of my head, Dean looks back at me in acknowledgment and then at Sam, who has given no response or recognition.

He rolls his eyes, “Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy.” Sam shrugs his brother off, looking down at his PalmPilot.

“Busy doin’ what?” Dean shoots back.

“Reading e-mails.” Sam says simply, not even bothering to look up. Dean gets out of the car and rounds it, beginning to fill the tank with gas, “E-mails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford” Sam replies.

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean scuffs.

“Hey I don’t see anything wrong with that” I chime in truthfully.

“Well, what exactly does he tell ‘em?” Dean switches his gaze to Sam now, “You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

“Thank you Y/N.” Sam begins with before actually answering Dean's questions, “I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother and best friend. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.”

“Oh, so you lie to ‘em.” Den acknowledges.

“That’s not technically lying, he's just not giving all the details” I point out.

“Yeah, that’s still called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.” Dean responds.

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?” Sam asks, Dean shrugs, “You’re serious?” he adds.

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.” Dean states.

“Okay well, what about Y/N? We’ve known her for a long time but she’s not blood related, and I'd say you’re pretty close to her.” Sam brings up smiling to himself as if he knows he won, before quickly adding, “No offense Y/N.”

“Non taken” I answer, curious to hear Dean's response.

Dean goes quiet, just staring at his younger brother with big eyes and a tight jaw as if to tell him to stop. Finally he answers, mumbling, “That’s different.”

Without missing a beat Sam immediately follows up with, “How so?”

This time Dean really doesn't answer, just kind of looks awkwardly around. Realizing he won’t get an answer Sam adds, “Exactly.”

Dean rolls his eyes, half turning away to check how much longer he has to be there for.

Suddenly Sam speaks up again, except this time without his cocky smile and sassy attitude, “God….”

Dean turns back ‘round quickly, “What?”

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.” Sam begins.

“Is she hot?” Dean cuts in, getting a look from both Sam and I before going back to the real situation at hand.

Sam ignores him, continuing his explanation, “I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

“Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?” Dean exclaims, putting the pump back in its place and closing the tank he rounds the car again.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.” Sam assures as his brother gets back in the car.

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.” Dean offers.

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.” Sam orders.

Dean chuckles, “Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

“It is our problem. They’re my friends.” Sam shoots back.

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean says, looking through the rear view mirror. He meets my eyes and I give him a pleading, knowing look. He sighs as he pulls out of the gas station, he makes a U-turn now driving back the way we came.

“Oh my God, Sam!” Rebecca greets happily, the long haired blonde smiling brightly.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky.” Sam jokes bending down slightly with his arms open for a hug. She wraps her arms around him tightly, “You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.”

It’s odd but endearing to see Sam like this, being able to have a peek into what his life was like when he was away at college. When he was happy, things were a little bit simpler.

They break away and Sam turns serious, “I got your e-mail.” Her smile falters, “I didn’t think that you would come here.”

Dean steps forward and extends his hand, “Dean. Older brother.” She shakes his hand looking at him with a hint of confusion, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dean says back with his cocky smile.

Her eyes wander over to me, as if signaling it’s my turn to introduce myself with a little wave, “Hi! I’m Y/N a, uh, good friend of these two.”

“Nice to meet you” She smiles back.

Sam, rightfully, cuts in, “We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.”

“Come in.” She steps aside leading us further into the house, Dean being the one to close the door.

“Nice place.” Dean compliments looking around the cozy well loved home.

“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free.” She explains, as we follow her through the house.

“Where are your folks?” Sam asks.

“They lived in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.” She answers as we enter the kitchen, “ Do you guys want a beer or something?”

Dean smiles, “Hey—“

“No, thanks. So, tell us what happened.” Sam cuts him off, definitely for the better. This isn’t the time nor the place for drinks.

She leans against the island as she begins, “Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Her voice gets all crackly, tears freely flowing, “So, he called 911, and the police—they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.” Sam offers.

“We could.” Dean adds

“Why? I mean, what could you do?” Rebecca asked.

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam clarifies, nudging his brother.

Dean laughs, “Detective, actually.”

“Really? Where?” Rebecca gushes.

Easily Dean shrugs, “Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.” It always amazes me how easily these two lie, well mostly on Sam’s part.

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just—I don’t know” She stammers

“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.” Sam explains, eyebrows scrunched together in seriousness.

“Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.” She leaves us alone in the kitchen, walking down the hall to get those keys.

“Oh, yeah, man, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends.” Dean comments, lightly shoving his brother.

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help” Sam pleads.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.” Dean shrugs.

“Oh come on Dean, it's the right thing to do.” I add, joining the pleading party. “Yeah and two places at once? We’ve looked into less.” Sam points out. Dean sighs but remains silent in defeat, he won’t win this one especially when it’s the both of us pleading with him. He didn’t stand a chance.

The Impala pulls up across the street from Zack’s house, the white building in contrast with the yellow crime scene tape plastered on its outside.

We get out of the car, Rebecca having rode with me in the backseat, “You’re sure this is okay?” She asks Dean. “Yeah. I am an officer of the law.” Dean says all nonchalant as he leads us to the house.

Opening the door to this taped off house revealed a mess of blood. There was blood smeared on the walls and the furniture, a table cluttered with fruit, playing cards and newspapers as if a life was interrupted. And it was. One life physically gone and never coming back and another life, who is potentially innocent, sits rotting away in a jail cell. Rebecca remains strigid just outside the constraints of the police tape. Sam turns back to her, “Bec, you wanna wait outside?”

“No. I wanna help.” With tears in her eyes she ducks underneath the tape.

Dean and I walk slowly around the house, observing the messy crime scene. And although neither of us are actual police officers or forensic scientists it doesn't take a genius to figure out there was a struggle, based on the upturned furniture and the blood splatter alone.

Meanwhile Sam stays with his friend,“Tell us what else the police said.”

“Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers—they’re already talking about plea bargain.” She looks around the room and begins to cry, “Oh, God…”

“Look, Bec, if Zack didn’t do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?” Sam asks her, over the loud noise of a dog barking nearby.

She shakes her head, “Um, there was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes—Zack’s clothes. The police—they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.”

Sam walks away from her with a nod. I then walk over to the half open front door, looking at the neighbors dog who hadn’t stopped barking the entire time we’ve been here.

I feel her come up behind me, “You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.”

“Oh, what happened to him?” I ask her, still looking at the black dog who bared its teeth as it barked relentlessly. If she hadn’t said anything I would think this dog was always aggressive, mean even.

“He just changed” She replies, half shrugging.

“Do you know when that change occurred?” I half turn to her.

“I guess around the time of the murder.”

I nod in confirmation, making a mental note, walking away towards the boys, a comforting hand on Rebecca’s shoulder.

The brothers stand in the hallway looking at a framed photograph of Sam, Zack, and Rebecca all together, talking over something I couldn’t quite catch. It’s bittersweet to think that even after Sam left for his “road trip” that his friends hadn’t forgotten him, had even kept up a photo of them all together.

“Apparently the neighbors dog suddenly became all aggressive around the time of Zack’s girlfriend's murder.” I retell the information I just gained. “Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal.” Sam adds.

“I was thinking the same thing” I nod along.

Sam turns to his brother, “So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

“No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.” Dean answers simply.

“Yeah.” Sam says

“Yeah.” Dean says back just as Rebecca walks over to us, “So, the tape. The security footage—you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

“I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of a cop.” She answers, causing Dean to laugh (a little uncomfortably), “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

“All right.” Dean says with the slightest hint of a smirk, leading us out just as he led us in.

After seeing the crime scene, Rebecca’s home stood as a total contrast. The clean cozy vibe of the home being completely absent of blood and the act of murder.

“Here he comes.” Rebecca turns her laptop towards us, pointing to the tape of Zack entering his house.

“22:04, that’s just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30.” Dean points out.

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.” She explains.

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?” Sam cuts in, and if I hadn’t known him. Hadn’t known it was probably because he’d seen something he couldn’t exactly say with her around then I’d say it was a jerkish move.

“Oh, sure.” She gets up from the couch.

“Hey.” He calls out, forcing her to turn around, “Maybe some sandwiches, too?”

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” She replies back as she leaves the room. If I hadn’t known if I liked her before this I definitely do now.

“I wish.” Dean muttered in a hushed tone. I lightly smack the back of his head in warning. His head snapped towards me, and his eyes widened with confusion. “Don’t give me that look; you know what that was for!” I whispered, my words sharp as I poked his chest. He seized my wrist, his grip tight enough to send a shiver down my spine. The room seemed to grow smaller as my mouth fell slightly agape, and I gazed up at him through my eyelashes. He peered down at me, his green eyes seemingly a couple shades darker, a cocky smile on his face.

"Guys!" Sam whisper-shouted, and the small moment between Dean and me shattered like fragile glass. Dean quickly dropped my wrist, the cocky smile vanishing as he was caught in the act. My head reluctantly turned towards the taller man, although all I wanted was to keep my eyes on Dean, to feel his attention solely on me, but now it was all disrupted.

"Check this out," Sam rewinds the tape, seemingly unfazed by what he just witnessed. I clear my throat, attempting to dispel the lingering, fuzzy feeling that Dean's touch had stirred within me. This wasn't the time or place for distractions. Shifting my focus back to the reality of the hunt at hand, I watch as Sam rewinds the tape once more. In one of the frames, Zack stares directly at the camera, his eyes an eerie shade of silver, far from anything normal. Sam pauses the tape once again.

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare.” Dean shrugs, skepticism lingering in his voice.

“That’s not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen. You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul.” Sam informs.

“Right.” Dean says, unamused.

“No! Sam’s right! The belief has deep rooted ties to certain Native American cultures, it stems from the idea that a photograph freezes a moment in time and can capture a person’s spirit or energy at that moment.” I explained with a beaming smile, happy to share the fact.

“Do I even want to know why you know that?” Dean asks me to which I just shrugged, “I love fun facts.”

“Anyway” Sam continued, “Remember that dog that was freakin’ out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him.”

“Like a Doppelganger.” Dean concluded.

“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was two places at once.” Sam finished.

As dawn broke, the persistent nudge of the boys broke me from my slumber, rousing me from a deep, cozy dream. With a groggy sigh, I realized it was just 5 a.m., way too early for me. Regret gnawed at my bones as I recalled having given them the spare key to my motel room for precisely these sort of moments.

Reluctantly, I rolled out of bed and slipped into the comforting embrace of leggings, a sports bra, and a thick zip up sweater to fend off the early morning chill. As we piled into the car and set out for Zack's home once more, the chill weather and the steady movement of the car nearly brought me back to the darkness of sleep.

The car was now parked discreetly behind the house, and we stepped out, greeted by the morning's biting cold that nipped at our cheeks. "Alright, so why are we here at 5:30 in the morning?" Dean inquired, as he nursed a cup of coffee. "Mmm, yeah, it's way too early for all of this," I mumbled groggily in agreement.

"I realized something. The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out," Sam explained, gesturing toward the house behind him. "So, he came out the back door?" Dean pointed out, leaning against the hood of his car, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue," Sam clarified, walking up to a large red garbage can. "Because they think the killer never left. And they caught your friend Zack inside. I still don't know why we're here at 5:30 in the morning," Dean grumbled, taking another sip from his coffee.

Sam walked away to scour the area only to stop near a telephone pole, noting, "Blood. Somebody came this way." Dean and I exchanged a perplexed look before joining Sam near the smeared blood. "The trail just ends...?" I inquired, glancing around to confirm what we were all seeing.

Suddenly the loud blaring of an ambulance sped past us, the red, white, and blue lights illuminating on the houses it passed. Once again, we exchanged a glance that balanced on the edge of caution and curiosity. With that unspoken understanding, we swiftly returned to the car and pursued the blaring ambulance.

Upon our arrival, a slightly older Asian man was being forcibly guided into a police car, his wrists cuffed tightly. Exiting the vehicle, we approached a woman nearby, clad in running wear. I asked her softly, "What happened?"

"He tried to kill his wife. Tied her up and beat her," the woman explained, causing my eyes to widen and my eyebrows to shoot up in shock.

"Really?" Sam inquired.

"I used to see him heading to work in the morning. He'd wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy," the woman sighed, her gaze fixed on the man being taken away.

Moments later we had split up, Sam and I together to semi-explore the crime scene, meaning the surrounding area since the police and a sizable forensic team were diligently at work. We were on the side of the house, scouring for any clues. Oddly enough, Sam sifted through garbage cans only to come up empty-handed. All we discovered was another trail of blood that suddenly terminated. We rounded to the front of the house.

"Hey," Dean called out, causing us to turn around. "Remember when I said this wasn't our kind of problem?"

"Yeah," Sam confirmed.

"Definitely our kind of problem," Dean nodded, sort of throwing his arm into it for emphasis.

"What caused the change of heart?" I inquired, stuffing my hands into my pockets to ward off the chill.

"Well, I just spoke to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex's story. Apparently, the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked," Dean elaborated, nodding towards a burly police officer standing nearby.

"So, he was in two places at once," Sam stated rather than asked.

"Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house; the police think he's a nutjob," Dean shot back without missing a beat.

"Two evil doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way, how sweet," I remarked sarcastically.

"Could be the same thing doing it, too," Dean suggested. Sam looked up in thought, "Shapeshifter? Something that can make itself look like anyone?"

"Well, you know, every culture all over the world has shapeshifter lore. All sorts of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or the other way around or even into other men, like skinwalkers, werewolves, nanaue, etcetera," I reminded.

"We've got two attacks within blocks of each other. I'm guessing we've got a shapeshifter prowling the neighborhood," Dean added.

"Let me ask you this Y/N—in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?" Sam asked me.

"Uh…no?" I answered.

He turned to Dean, leading the way, "Well then we picked up a trail here. Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way."

"Just like your friend's house," Dean confirmed.

"Yeah. And, just like at Zack's house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared," Sam explained as we followed the trail of blood all the way to an empty street at the back of the house.

"Well, there's another way to go—down," Dean replied. The three of us peered down at a manhole.

"How lovely," I mumbled, not particularly thrilled about having to go into the sewers.

Sam lifts the grate up, allowing Dean to go in first with a smile with me following next down. Surprisingly the ladder wasn’t sticky and full of muck like I thought it’d be, but still it was gross to be down here and I don’t think two showers would be enough after this.

The tunnels were dark and leaky, a constant dripping sound coming from somewhere. “I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too. The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.” Sam says, looking around.

“I think you’re right. Look at this.” Dean answers bending down in front of a glossy slimy pile of blood and skin. He takes out his pocket knife, pulling some of the skin up the slime of it glistening in the dim lights. I had to stop myself from gagging.

“Is this from his victims?” Sam inquires, a scrunched look of disgust on his face.

“You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.” Dean pointed out, letting the goop of the skin fall back to the floor.

“Why would you say that?” I cringe, my question more rhetorical than anything.

Dean opens the trunk of the Impala, taking out some bullets and entering them into the slots of the gun. “Well, one thing I learned from Dad, is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”

“Silver bullet to the heart.” Sam smiles, dimples on display.

“That’s right.” And as if on cue Sam’s phone rings.

“This is Sam.” He answers walking to the front of the car, remaining just in hearing range. And just as much as I hate to admit it, Dean and I stayed quiet to eavesdrop.

“We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out.

…

What are you talkin’ about?

…

Why would you do that?

…

Bec—

…

We’re tryin’ to help.

….

Bec, I’m sorry, but—“ His hand drops to his side, sighing as he looks down,

Dean walks over to his brother with a half frown, “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” He pauses before continuing, “You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked.” Again he pauses, “It’s just—it’d be easier if—“

“If I was like you.” Sam finished his sentence.

Dean breathes out looking around, “Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people.” He pauses for a third time, “But I’ll tell you one thing. This whole gig—it ain’t without perks.” He holds up a gun at hip level, Sam takes it with a sigh and begins tucking it into the back of his jeans. He begins to walk away leaving Dean and I behind.

Dean walks back over to me by the open trunk, he leans against the car as I hand him a flashlight. “What’s with that pout?” He asks me, tilting his head down to catch my eyes.

“I’m not pouting” I smile, nearly laughing. “I happen to know you quite well, you were definitely pouting sweetheart.” He smiles now too, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I closed the trunk, Dean taking another flashlight from me so I could tuck a small gun into the side of my leggings as I balanced my own flashlight. “I’m thinking that…this job is destructive” I look up at Dean who waits for me to continue, “Seeing Sammy with Rebecca and how happy he was just seeing a friend from college, or that photo with the three of them all together. It was bittersweet to see that really, knowing that he was and can be happy without all this” I motion to the flashlights and the guns neatly tucked away.

“I know” he sighs, “lasting relationships ain’t exactly part of the job description” he smiles sadly and I know he didn’t really know what to say to me.

I gave him a slow nod, giving his upper arm a squeeze as I walked past him, “We should go before Sam starts bugging us for taking so long.”

With guns and flashlights drawn, we cautiously treaded through the sewer, a squishy, unpleasant noise underfoot with each step. I’d definitely need to burn my shoes and clothes after this ordeal.

The sewer resembled a labyrinth, an intricate network of pipes and tunnels twisting and turning in every direction. Drips of who-knows-what fell from the ceiling. Despite our careful steps to avoid the puddles on the ground, I still felt utterly disgusted. There was not enough showering in the world to cleanse me of this event.

With Sam leading the way, his gun extended ahead of him, Dean broke the silence, "I think we're close to its lair."

"Why do you say that?" Sam murmured without turning back to acknowledge his brother. "Because there's another nauseating pile next to your face," Dean retorted, using his flashlight to reveal a slimy heap of skin clinging to a pipe. Sam leaped back, repulsed. "Oh, God!" He glanced down at his shoulder, which had been perilously close to the pile.

I moved my flashlight just past Sam, revealing a pile of discarded clothes. "I think it's lived here for a while."

"Who knows how many murders he's gotten away with," Sam added, turning to face us. "Dean!" He suddenly shouted. Both of us spun around to see the shapeshifter, still in its last victim's form, right behind us. The shapeshifter struck Dean, sending him crashing to the sewer floor, then sprinted away. Sam fired twice, the bullets whizzing just above my head. He missed.

I bent down to assist Dean, who clutched his left shoulder, grimacing. "Get that son of a bitch!" He grunted and nodded as Sam took off, leaning against the wall. Dean gestured for me to follow his brother.

Running in a sewer was just as challenging as walking, with overhead pipes requiring us to duck to avoid collision.

Sam reached a ladder and began ascending it, lifting himself up and out. I followed, feeling the cold night air surrounding me as I emerged. We stood in a park, a distance from where we had entered, scanning the surroundings. Dean struggled out of the manhole, still holding his shoulder.

"All right, let's split up," Sam suggested, concealing his gun within his jacket, out of sight from the passersby in the park. The fact that they hadn't noticed us emerging from a manhole was beyond me, but I didn't question it when it worked in our favor.

“All right, I’ll meet you guys around the other side.” Dean agreed.

“Copy” I answered in confirmation, I twirled to the left as Sam headed right, and Dean proceeded straight. Despite the cold air, I unzipped my thick sweater to conceal my gun while ensuring I could still draw it swiftly. Even though I was comfy I began to regret just wearing a sports bra beneath my sweater, my stomach and above my breasts open to the frigid air.

I walked cautiously, weaving through crowds, scanning both people and the shops that remained open. Yet, street after street, there was no sign of our quarry. No more than five to ten minutes passed before I spotted Sam standing by a crosswalk. I tucked my gun into my leggings, finally able to zip up my sweater. He must have caught sight of me approaching from the corner of his eye.

"Nothing?" he asked, even though he likely knew the answer. I nodded in confirmation.

"Hey," Dean's voice called out from behind us, prompting us to turn toward him. "Anything?" he inquired, arms outstretched. "No. He's gone," Sam replied as his brother approached.

"Alright, let's get back to the car," Dean ordered, and we complied, turning to cross the street.

“You think he found another way underground?” Sam asks, stopping at the side of the Impala.

“Yeah, probably. You got the keys?” Dean retorts.

“Hey, didn’t Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?” Sam turns around facing Dean.

“Oh, that was Austin. It turned out not to be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?”

“Oh, right. Here ya go.” He throws Dean the keys who catches it with his…left hand, he opens the trunk of the car. Sam walks off towards the front of the car but I hang back, maybe I'm overthinking it but this isn’t something that I can just let slip by.

“Hey, Dean” I call out my gun trained carefully on his back, “Yeah sweetheart” He answers turning around. I fight the urge to cringe hearing the usual endearing pet name curl off the lips of someone who wasn’t Dean, even more so a being who looked like him.

Sam sees my movements and swiftly moves to the right side of his brother, “Y/N! What are you doing”

“Yeah, chill. It’s me, all right?” ‘Dean shoots back his arms raised in defense.

“Sammy, he caught the keys with his left hand” I explained through gritted teeth. In my peripheral vision I see Sam’s eyes widen in realization, he mumbles, “Your shoulder was hurt.” His hand moved to the back of his waistband, searching for his gun. But before he could reach it, the shapeshifter swung a crowbar from the trunk, striking Sam down. My gun went off twice, the first bullet missing entirely, allowing the shapeshifter to hit Sam once more.

The second bullet nearly finding its mark, grazing his shoulder. He turned his head slowly toward me, glaring up at me through his lashes. A bullet grazing his shoulder didn't seem to slow him down. He stalked toward me, like a predator closing in on its prey. But before I could pull the trigger for a third time, he used the same crowbar to knock the gun out of my hand. The sharp metal sent the weapon tumbling, 'Dean' kicking it behind him, it sliding beneath the car.

He grinned at me, and my eyes widened with a mix of fear and determination. As he swung his arm back, ready to strike me with the crowbar, I grabbed hold of it, both hands clenching the cold metal. He was undeniably stronger than me, so I braced my feet even harder against the ground, bending my knees for added leverage and pushing up against the weapon.

His feet swept under me, sending me crashing hard to the ground, my back absorbing the brunt of the impact. I grunted, pushing myself up on my elbows, preparing to rise. But he quickly knelt over me, a knee on each side of my hips. 'Dean's' large, veiny hand closed around my throat, gripping it tightly. I used my hands to try and push him off, but it was futile. With his free hand, he seized my wrists, pinning them to my chest. My head lolled back against the concrete street.

My chest began to burn with the desperate need for air, and tears welled up in my eyes from the pain. Black spots started to invade my vision as I gazed up at 'Dean' through half lidded eyes. “Come on, baby," he growled, his voice raspy as his grip tightened even further. It was the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

In and out, voices sang in a disjointed melody. Dim lights blurred behind my closed eyes. Fragments of Sam's voice pierced through the darkness, the words struggling to piece together. "Where...he...?...Dean?"

I blinked slowly, my head swaying to the side and then back. With a deep breath, my eyes snapped open. We were in the sewer.

Sam sat directly across from me, tightly bound to a pole, a rope encircling his neck. Strangely, it wasn't a rope that constricted my neck but something cold. I lurched my shoulders forward, feeling the restrictive, itchy rope around my ankles, wrists bound behind my back, and right beneath my breasts. It was then that I noticed my sweatshirt was missing.

"I wouldn't worry about him. I'd worry about you," 'Dean' told Sam, seemingly unaware that I was also awake.

I attempted to move my bound hands, intending to use my magic to free myself from the ropes, but nothing happened. I couldn't sense my magic at all. Panic began to well up within me. I kicked my feet out in frustration, though beneath the surface, I was terrified. I couldn't feel my magic.

'Dean's' head snapped toward me, his gaze drawn to my soft whimpers of fear. "Are you wondering why you can't just...poof out of there?" I didn't answer. He crouched down in front of me, tapping the cold, constricting object around my neck, the sharp clicking of his nails against metal audible. "Iron," he whispered. He firmly grasped my chin, moving my face as though to savor what he'd done, offering me no chance to evade his touch. "From what I've learned from you guys, this has never happened to you," he murmured. He was right; while I was aware of what could inhibit a witch's powers, it had never been used against me

"Fuck you," I spat out, the curse word feeling alien on my tongue. I wasn't one to curse often.

"Oh, right back at you, sweetheart," he chuckled, rising from his crouched position and strolling over to a nearby table.

"What do you mean, 'learn'?" Sam asked him. The shapeshifter paused, gripping his head in pain and grimacing, then suddenly relaxed.

This time, he moved over to Sam, his voice laden with resentment. "He's got some serious issues with you. You went to college, and he had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home with Dad." He corrected himself, "You don't think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?"

Sam brushed aside his comment and pressed, "Where is my brother?"

The shapeshifter leaned in close to Sam, his words oozing with bitterness. "I am your brother. See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You have friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I'm a freak. Sooner or later, everybody's going to leave me." He retreated to another table, this time picking up a knife.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothing, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It's not without its perks," he laughed darkly. "I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky."

His gaze shifted to me now, his head tilted to the side in a taunt "You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance." I strained against my restraints, and he turned back to Sam. "Let's see what happens." He walked away, grabbing a bag on his way out.

As soon as the shapeshifter was out of sight, Sam and I began struggling against our restraints. "Damn it," Sam grunted.

I mirrored his efforts, but anxiety washed over me, and my breathing became rapid and shallow. Panic coursed through my veins, I couldn’t feel my magic. The unfamiliar absence of my powers only added to my distress. Leaning my head back against the pole, I hoped that somehow, it would rid me of the constricting iron collar around my neck.

"Y/N, you've got to breathe," Sam urged through gritted teeth as he continued to struggle against the bindings. I tried to listen to him, taking a deep breath that got caught in my throat as I attempted to swallow a sob, releasing a low whimper.

Suddenly, Sam ceased his struggles, and we both listened. We heard movement and coughing coming from somewhere behind him.

"That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature," Dean's voice called out from a corner his, also tied to a pole.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam chuckled. "He went to Rebecca's, looking like you," Sam added as he continued to struggle against his ropes.

"Well, he's not stupid. He picked the handsome one," Dean joked as he continued working on his own ropes. “Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you.” Sam explains further.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories.” Sam shrugs as well as he can in his confinement.

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?” Dean references, escaping his ropes. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. I mean, maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us.” Sam suggests.

Dean walks over to us, standing between the two of us. I urged him to release Sam first, my voice trembling. He nodded and moved behind Sam to undo the ropes. “Maybe he needs to keep us alive. Psychic connection.” Sam was quickly freed and stood up to stretch his neck and flex his hands. "Go see if you can find a drill or something for that," Dean ordered, pointing at the metal collar around my neck. Sam nodded and began searching the nearby tables.

Dean crouched next to me, undoing my restraints as he inquired, "What is that thing?"

"Iron," I mumbled, and his eyes widened in realization. He pulled out a pocket knife, I assume he picked up from the nearby table. I flinched slightly, even though I knew this was Dean, the real Dean who would never harm me.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm just using it for the ropes," he reassured me, raising his hands in defense and displaying the knife. He glanced at his brother across the room, and I couldn't decipher their exchanged looks. I felt silly.

Sam approached with the drill in hand, "I got it," he said, kneeling on the other side of me to begin unscrewing the collar. It seemed to be a rectangular piece of iron cut from a sheet and then drilled into the pole around me, creating this confining device. The whirring of the drill close to my ear did little to ease my anxiety.

The rope around which had rested just below my breasts, fell free. Dean quickly moved on to the one binding my wrists, which came apart more easily, and then to my ankles. I placed my hands on my lap, my wrists slightly bruised from the rope, and finger imprints marked into my skin. I now dreaded seeing what my neck looked like.

Dean's large hands cupped my wrists, gently massaging my sore skin. His movements faltered when he realized his hands and fingers matched perfectly with the bruises. The whirring of the drill stopped as Sam shifted the metal slightly, allowing me to slip free. I shuffled away from the collar, standing up quickly, nearly stumbling over myself. The sensation of my abilities returning enveloped me, offering a sense of comfort.

Both brothers stood up from their crouched positions, and Sam walked away to place the drill somewhere.

Dean approached me slowly, as if I were a frightened animal. He paused just inches in front of me, his eyebrows furrowing as he scrutinized my bruised form. His hand reached up slowly, giving me the chance to evade him, but I didn't. I allowed him to cup my cheek, his touch gentle and in stark contrast to the shapeshifter. I reminded myself that the shapeshifter wasn't him.

His gaze was soft as he observed me, carefully tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. He'd already seen the bruises, but his eyes dipped to my neck again, a touch of sorrow evident in his gaze. Just like my wrists, if he put his hand to my neck, it would match perfectly. I knew he would blame himself for this later.

With his hand still cradling my cheek, he brought my face closer to his. His lips pressed to the crown of my head, lingering there for a moment, and I melted against him. The urge to cry washed over me again, though this time it wasn't from fear, but rather from the overwhelming relief.

"Sorry to ruin the moment, but we've got to go," Sam's voice broke the silence from across the room. Dean didn't jump back or withdraw, instead his lips left my head as his hand slid from my face gently. His hand sought mine, and we followed Sam as he led us out.

Sam kicks open a grate, going out first into an alleyway. I crawl out after him, Dean following closely behind. The cold air nipped at us, our jackets nowhere in sight, and though that mixed with my bruising wasn’t the greatest fun in the world I at least got to see Dean in a tight light gray shirt. This probably shouldn’t have been on my mind at this moment but it was a nice distraction.

“Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.” Sam orders.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re gonna put an APB out on me.” Dean exclaims.

Sam shrugs, “Sorry.”

“This way.” Dean runs off down the street.

We stood in front of a store window, a bunch of little tvs broadcasting the same news channel.

The reporter announces, “An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.” A sketch of Dean appearing on screen, “

“Man! That’s not even a good picture.” Dean throws up his arms.

“It’s good enough” I answer, looking around at the passerby, “We should move somewhere more out of sight.”

“Agreed” Sam says walking off. “Man!” Dean complains following after his brother.

"Come on," Sam paused in the alleyway. "They said attempted murder. At least we know—"

"I didn't kill her," Dean cut him off.

"We'll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she's all right," Sam suggested. But I couldn't picture her wanting to see us.

"Alright, but first, I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him," Dean declared.

"We have no weapons. No silver bullets," Sam pointed out.

"Sam, the guy's walking around with my face. It's personal. I want to find him," Dean argued, crossing his arms.

"Okay. Where do we look?" Sam asked.

"Well, we could start with the sewers," Dean suggested.

"We have no weapons. He stole our guns. We need more," Sam reasoned.

"Oh," I laughed. "You want guns. I'll give you guns." I flicked my wrist, and a gray revolver appeared in my hand, just like when I produced the flare gun back during the wendigo hunt.

I handed the gun to Sam, adding, "How many do you want?"

“I don’t think I can wait, I'm gonna go check on Rebecca now.” Sam said as we walked around some back streets, near the person in question's house.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? No offense” I ask him.

“Yeah. You guys just wait for me don’t go into the sewers alone” Sam orders

“Sorry Sammy but do you really think i’ll be able to listen to that” Dean responds chuckling.

“Alright, fair point. Go, i’ll stay with Becca just don’t split up” Sam comprises, turning away to go to Rebecca’s.

Guns raised, Dean leads us across a ‘room’ in the sewer. The chamber filled candles and chains, more piles of disgusting skin and blood on the floor.

A muffling noise echoes through the halls, Dean and I share a look gripping our guns tighter as we approach a figure covered with a sheet.

Dean bends down to the figure, removing the sheet to see Rebecca beneath it. Her hands and feet were bound.

“Rebecca?” Dean and I ask at the same time.

“What happened?” I ask as Dean begins to undue her binds.

Rebecca begins to cry, “ I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay.” Dean finishes untying her, “Come on. Can you walk?” She nods, “Okay, we’ve gotta hurry. Sam went to see you.”

Even from outside her house you could hear the commotion and most likely fighting that happened inside. Dean crept the door open, gun drawn as he snuck in. I mimicked his movement falling after him into the living room.

The shapeshifter was on top of Sam, pinning him down.

“Hey!” Dean calls out to the shapeshifter. He gets off of Sam turning to the voice that beckoned it. Two shots ring out, through the heart and down the shapeshifter went.

Rebecca enters running over to her friend, “Sam!”

Meanwhile Dean went over to the shapeshifter that looked like him yanking back his necklace that was stolen, and it was probably bad that I hadn’t known it was gone till now.

I sat in my usual spot in the back seat of the Impala, cozied up with my halloween blanket regardless of the fact it was early March. It’s my favorite and I won’t accept any criticism.

The early morning sun shone through the windows, we hadn’t slept last night, spending the entire time busy with the hunt and by the time it was over morning was already breaking and we had to leave to avoid the police. We stopped at the motel for our bags but that was it, we were going to bid our goodbyes and then head to the next state over to rest up. I wasn’t even able to shower, which was okay in retrospect, I'd feel cleaner mentally once we drove away from here. I’d thrown a random t-shirt I had over the sports bra I had been running around in for hours. We eventually did find our coats but I hadn’t taken mine with me, memories I hadn’t wanted to keep sewn into its fabric.

Dean leaned on the outside of the car looking at a map while Sam talked to his friend. Neither boy bothered me or had talked to me much in the couple of hours since the end of our hunt, perhaps too afraid to ask if I was okay or maybe they didn’t know what to say.

I looked out the window watching the trees dance slowly in the wind after waving bye to Rebecca, listening to the boys talk in front of the car.

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asks now ignoring the map.

“ Cops are blamin’ this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder.” Sam jokes smiling, “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.”

Dean rolls his eyes, scuffing, before getting into the car.

We’ve only driven for a couple minutes before Dean brings back the subject of the hunt and everything that had unfolded, “Sorry, man.” Dean suddenly began.

“About what?” Sam responds.

“ I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be….Joe College.” Dean confesses.

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.” Sam admits too.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak.” Dean smiles that charming sweet smile.

“Yeah, thanks.” Sam laughs.

“Well, I’m a freak, too.” Dean adds

“You already know I'm one!” I topple on.

“See, we’re right there with ya, all the way.” Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I know you are.” Sam looks between Dean and I as he speaks.

“Those who freak together, stay together?” I offer with a smile, the car falling into laughter. The kind of laughter that lasts in the air even after it was over with, it was stupid of course but it left a warmth in my heart that blanketed me with just enough comfort to last me till the next state over where I'd be safe.

The car fell silent, big smiles on all our faces, “You know, I gotta say—I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.” Dean announces randomly.

“Miss what?” Sam laughs lightly.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?”

[adamwatchesmovies]

It Follows (2014)

When you think horror movies, you obviously think Halloween, but you probably associate the genre with summertime too. It, Friday the 13th, Sleepaway Camp, I Know What You Did Last Summer, The Burning, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and countless others take place during summer camps or warm summer months. It Follows captures the feeling of summer/end of school so well it’s destined to be a seasonal staple - and that’s even before we consider how well constructed or frightening it is.

After Jay (Maika Monroe) and Hugh (Jake Weary) have sex, he gives her a grave bit of news. She’s now the carrier of a curse. In the distance, invisible to everyone except those who've been infected, a creature is coming for her. It doesn’t move quickly, but it’s relentless. It won’t stop until it kills her. The only thing she can do is pass the curse to someone else before it's too late.

Writer/director David Robert Mitchell has taken an iconic horror idea and given it a fresh twist. When you hear Hugh explain to Jay about the entity and how she has to pass it on, you think of The Ring. It too has a supernatural creature coming after you - not right away, but eventually - that you have to pass to someone else if you want to live. The additional rule is that if the person you pass the curse to dies, you become the entity's target again. It’s not enough to trick some fool into taking the curse from you; you have to pass it to someone who will believe you when you tell them what happened and who can pass it on. You have to give it to someone you know, someone you trust… but how could you? The fact that you give the curse to someone by having intercourse with them - the most intimate kind of contact - creates this wonderfully twisted contrast. At one point, you can feel Jay’s desperation. She’s all alone and sees a boat in the water with three young men on it. What is she going to do? Will she approach them so she can have sex with one - or maybe all of them? - It’ll guarantee her safety, but only for a while, since convincing anyone of what’s happening is nearly impossible without proper buildup. And then what? Live with the shame of what she had to do to survive?

There’s more to be said about the shapes the monster takes - it can look like anyone - and the fact that the film doesn’t give you many answers about what the entity is, what it wants, or why. Even some details about the curse are hazy. We don’t have all day, so instead, let’s discuss how summer-y It Follows feels. While the biggest summer memories may be of hitchhiking, vacationing or camping, most of the year's warmer months are not spent on grandiose plans. You did a lot more floating in the pool, going to the movie theater, hanging out with your friends doing nothing and riding your bike. We see Jay and her friends Paul (Keir Gilchrist), Yara (Olivia Luccardi), Kelly (Lli Sepe) and Greg (Daniel Zovatto) do all those things. We see Jay go to class, but she already knows she’s graduating so going away for a few days on a whim doesn't raise any alarms. It’s not just the impromptu trips to the beach or aimless drives around town, however, it’s the movie's feel. The end of the school year/beginning of summer are milestones. Whether you're graduating or not, you realize you've gotten older. You're growing up and forced to think ahead, to the fact that you’re going to die - in this case, at the hands of some creature that no one can see coming but you. The entity in It Follows is not some boogeyman hiding in a closet, it’s something that’s coming for you all the time. There’s no banishing it by turning on the lights or hiding beneath the covers. Real life doesn’t work that way. Adults know that because to adults, summertime is not a break from everyday life, it's just a sign that the end is getting closer.

It Follows is a rewarding film to rewatch because there is so much that’s only hinted at (What really happened on that beach with Jay and those three guys?) and you’ll frequently look in the background in case you can spot the monster coming. The last shot, in particular, is one to sit and think about. Seeing it more than once allows you to further appreciate the story and the filmmaking - the different forms the entity takes, the incredible score by Disasterpiece, the themes, etc. It packs a lot but it's not overcomplicated. There’s a sequel coming and I’m anxious to see what it’ll be like. (June 20, 2024)

[rogeriswater]

Don't Leave Me Now

xxxii

This work contains fictionalized versions of real events and people. Most details won’t be accurate to real life.

tags for this chapter: just a sad chapter, some special guest appearances ;)

February, 1969

~m.r~

I was all packed up for our family trip to Scotland. We have a farm there that was handed down to us from our grandparents on our father's side. He grew up on that farm so it was very dear to us. "Billy, are you all packed and ready to go? Lee will be here to pick us up any moment" I said.

"I've got everything, my love" Billy said. The honk coming from outside, indicating Lee was here to pick us up. "Seems your brother is here for us"

"You go out to the car. I have a call to make" I said. Billy nodded and gave me a quick kiss before he made his way outside with both of our bags. I needed to give Roger a call before we left. I picked up the phone and dialed his number. It only rang once before there was an answer.

"Hello?" He spoke.

"Rog!"

"Sunshine! I thought you were leaving for Scotland" He asked.

"I wanted to call you before I left"

"So, three weeks huh? Don't know how I'm gonna go that long without seeing you, darling"

"I'll be home before you know it, my love" I promised him. "And I'll make sure to call you every night, okay?"

"I'm gonna be holding you up to that promise" I could hear Roger's smirk.

"Maybe I'll take you to the farm one day. My dad grew up there, so it's a very special place for me"

"I would love that"

"I wish I could stay on the phone with you, but I have to go"

"I love you, Maggie"

"I love you too, Roger" I had to force myself to hang up the phone. Three weeks without seeing Roger was gonna drive me mad, but I remembered exactly why we were going up to the farm.

It was dad's birth month. He was born on the 25th of February. We had always went out to the farm to celebrate his life, but we had neglected to do that the past two years. I finally made my way out to the car. Lee had rented out a van that we would be taking out there. We always travelled by ferry when we did this trip. I got in the van. "Hello, magpie" Lee greeted me.

"Mum didn't want to come again?" I asked, noting her absence. We always invited her to join us but she never came. We had Steve to thank for that.

Ronnie sighed. "You know what she always says. Steve doesn't want her gone for long"

"Guys, these next three weeks are about Victor" Ginny chimed in. "Think about him, alright? He wouldn't want you sulking over Steve" Ginny was right. This was the time to be thinking about our actual father.

~

It had been a long and tiring trip but we finally arrived on the farm. There was a neighboring farm not that far from ours. It had been empty for a while but apparently it had been bought within the last two years. "I wonder who bought that farm" Ronnie thought out loud. "Poor place has been empty for years. It'll be nice to have some new neighbors"

We pulled up to the farm. Our grandparents had been sitting outside on their porch. They lived here all year long. The two of them were quite young for grandparents. It's a long story that involved Gran getting pregnant with my father when she was only fourteen. Gran and Pops met when they were both 18 and got married only three months later. They've been together ever since.

"Gran! Pops!" Bobby bounced with excitement when he saw them.

"Go on, I'm sure they're excited to see you too" Ginny urged Bobby. The boy ran fast to his great-grandparents who greeted him with hugs and kisses. Lee and Billy got all the bags out of the car while the rest of us approached the farm house.

"Our girls!" Gran greeted us. Her eyes went to Sandy. "And you must be Sandy! Ronnie has told us all about you! I tell you, it's about time that girl settled down with someone" Sandy seemed surprised that Gran was being so nice to her. She was probably expecting homophobic behavior from them, but Gran and Pops loved everybody. Well, except for Steve.

"Ginny! Is Lee still treating you well?" Pops asked her. Bobby was currently seated on his lap.

"I wouldn't still be married to him if he wasn't Pops" Ginny laughed.

"And now for the famous musician of our family" Gran looked my way. "We've listened to the records you sent us! You have a lovely voice, dearie. And we've seen you on tv! Those boys are quite handsome too! Especially the long faced one!"

"That would be Roger"

"Maggie, there's something different about you" Pops noted. He rubbed his fingers against his chin. "There's a certain glow about you" Oh yeah. I haven't exactly told my family about the pregnancy yet. I was gonna tell them during the trip. Pops waved his hand. "Ah, it'll come to me! And here are the boys!"  Lee and Billy joined us, setting the bags down. "Lee! Billy! Good to see you both!"

"Hi, Pops!" Lee waved.

"Oh, Lee, you look so much like your father!" Gran cried. "He would've loved you so much!" She looked between me and Ronnie. "And he loved you two so much. You were his whole world!" Gran got out of her chair. "Anyways, come in! I have lunch ready! You all must be starved!" We followed Gran and Pops into the house.

"Gran, is it alright if I use the phone to make a quick call?" I asked.

Gran's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry, dearie! We don't know what happened but the phones are down and we won't be able to get that fixed until next month unfortunately"

My heart dropped into my stomach. How was I supposed to call Roger? I promised him I would call every night! "Who are you supposed to call if there's an emergency?" Lee asked.

"We have the truck, and both of us are perfectly capable of driving into town" Pops insisted.

"And besides, there's the new couple that bought the farm next to ours. They come and see us every day while they're here" Gran said.

"Who's the new couple?" Ronnie asked.

"Well one of them is a musician, like you Maggie! He's in a band! Though now it's slipping my mind which one it is"

"Come and eat!" Pops beckoned us. "Your Gran worked very hard on this meal!" Well, we weren't about to say no to one of Gran's home cooked meals.

~

After lunch, I went to go sit outside for a bit. It was fairly cool so I had a blanket wrapped around me. I know Roger was going to be upset with me when I got back. He was probably sitting by the phone waiting to hear from me right now. I couldn't help but notice the car that was coming up the drive way. It was one of those cars where you could roll the top down. A pretty blonde woman was driving it and she had a little girl with her. The woman got out of the car and she had a large bowl with her. The woman saw me and her eyes lit up. "Oh, hello! Do you know Midge and Jerry?" She asked me.

"They're my Gran and Pops" I answered.

"Oh! So then which one are you? Maggie or Ronnie?"

"I'm Maggie" I introduced myself.

"Pleasure to meet you, Maggie! My name is Linda" The woman introduced back. The little girl that was with her was hugging her legs. "And this is Heather!"

I smiled at Heather. "What a pretty girl you are, Heather! You look just like your momma!"

Heather grinned at me. "You're pretty too, Miss Maggie!"

Linda lifted up the bowl. "I have a vegetable stew for Midge and Jerry"

"Of course! Come inside, Linda" I beckoned her. Her and Heather followed me into the house. "Gran! Pops! There's a Linda here to see you!"

"Linda!" Gran came to greet her. She kissed Linda on the cheek. "Is this the vegetable stew you were telling me about?" Gran took the bowl from Linda. "Jerry and I have been so excited to try it!"

"I hope you like it!"

"Kids! Come and meet Linda!" Gran called out for her grandchildren. Everyone came into the living room. "I want you all to meet Linda! She and her fiancé own the farmland next to ours"

"You're getting married?" Ronnie's eyes lit up. "When's the wedding?"

"We're looking at hopefully next month" Linda smiled. You could tell she was in love with her fiancé. Linda looked at Ronnie's hands. "Are you a photographer by any chance?"

"Yeah! How did you know?"

"You just have those hands. I'm a photographer too" Linda shook her head as she laughed. "It occurred to me I don't know your names yet"

"Well this is my husband, Billy" I started introducing everyone. "That's my sister Ronnie and her girlfriend, Sandy. And then this is my brother Lee and his wife Ginny, and their little boy, Bobby"

Linda looked at Lee with an amusing smile. "You have the same name as my father"

Lee chuckled. "Well, whataya know! Lee is short for Leopold"

"Like my father" Linda looked down as Heather tugged on her skirt. "Oh, how could I forget? This is my daughter, Heather"

"We're all pleased to meet you Linda" Ginny said.

"Why don't you all come on over for dinner tonight?

"That would be lovely, Linda!" I agreed. We all said our goodbyes to Linda and Heather. She did seem very sweet but I can't help but feel like I've seen her somewhere before. "Is it just me or does she look familiar?"

"It's probably just you, magpie" Lee shrugged.

Ginny picked up Bobby. "Let's get you in the bath! Have to look all nice for dinner with Linda tonight" She took him to the bathroom for a bath.

"Pops, did you figure out the name of that musician yet?" Lee asked.

Pops shook his head. "No, but I'm sure it'll come to me. We tend to see only Linda. I don't think we've ever met her fiancé"

~

We all drove down the road to Linda's farm. While we were there, I was gonna have to ask to use their phone. It's the least I could do to let Roger know about the phone situation. We pulled up in front of the house. We walked to the front door. I knocked. I opened the door, expecting Linda to answer, but it wasn't.

It was Paul fucking McCartney!

"You're Paul McCartney!" I gasped, pointing at him.

Paul chuckled. "Yes I am! You must be the Fox family! Come on in!" He invited us inside.

"Ah, yes, now I remember!" Pops spoke. "He's one of those Beatle fellas!"

Lee shook his head. "We can see that, Pops"

"Are they here?" We heard Linda. She came out to greet us. "I'm glad you guys could make it!"

"Paul, did you know Maggie is a musician as well?" Gran spoke.

Paul's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Ronnie smirked. "Yeah, have you ever heard of Pink Floyd?"

"So that was your voice on A Saucerful of Secrets?" That surprised me. Paul McCartney of The Beatles has listened to our album. He has listened to me. "You've got a splendid voice!"

I blushed at the compliment. "Why thank you!"

"Are you recording anything new?"

"We just finished a soundtrack for an upcoming film"

"You two can talk all about it over dinner!" Linda laughed.

~

We were having an enjoyable dinner with Paul and Linda. They made a lovely couple and you could tell they really loved each other. They reminded me of Roger and I. "So, Billy, you and Maggie are married, yeah?" Paul asked us.

"We're coming up on eight years in June" Billy smiled.

Linda smiled. "Any children?"

Well, if there was anytime you break the news to my family, now would be the time. "Well, I actually have some news to share" I said. "I'm pregnant"

"You hear that, Jerry?" Gran said to Pops. "We're gonna be grandparents again!"

Pops laughed with pride. "This is wonderful news!"

My siblings all broke out into cheer. Linda put her hand on my shoulder. "Congratulations! How far along are you?"

"About a month"

Linda put her hands on her stomach. "I'm about three"

"You hear that, Bobby?" Ginny cooed to her son. "You're going to be a cousin!" The young boy smiled and clapped.

Paul chuckled and pat Billy on the back. "You must be very excited!"

Billy smiled at me lovingly and he grabbed my hand. "I am!" He rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand.

"Oi, when are you two gonna have kids?" Lee asked Ronnie and Sandy.

The two girls looked at each other and shrugged. "Who said we were?" Ronnie said.

"We don't need kids to feel complete" Sandy added. "Vee and I are happy the way things are"

"Though we have talked about the possibility of adopting"

"But that's way down the road"

We had a fun night with Paul and Linda. After dinner, we listened to music and played some games with them. I was having so much fun, that it completely slipped my mind to ask to use the phone so I could call Roger.

~

When it was the 25th, we took a drive up to the hill where we had a memorial in place for our father. We would always take a bunch of flowers and set them down at the memorial, and then we would talk to father like he was still there with us. "We miss you, son" Gran spoke. She wiped a tear that was threatening to fall down her face. "You have such wonderful children. You'd be proud of all of them"

"You kids have any words you'd like to say to your father?" Pops asked us.

Ronnie and Lee both took their turns saying what they wanted to say to dad. Ronnie always went first because she was the oldest. Then I always let Lee go before me because I always broke down really bad when I tried talking to dad. I think it was easier for Lee to talk to him, since he never even met dad in the first place. Dad did die the day Lee was born after all. Finally, it came to be my turn.

I turned to my family. "Can you give me and dad some privacy?" I asked. I never usually asked but there were some things I wanted to say that I didn't want them to know. They left me in peace with dad. "Hey, dad. It's been awhile. Almost two years. I'm in a band now. Pink Floyd. I quit law school so I could join. If you were here, you'd call me crazy for doing that but you'd be so proud of me at the same time. I'm pregnant, but I'm not quite sure who the father is. You see, there's this guy named Roger. He plays bass in the band. You've met his dad actually. Eric. Anyways, I love Roger so much dad. I know you would've loved him, and I really hope it's his baby"

I said the last of what I wanted to say to dad before I went to my family. My face had become wet with tears. Billy noticed, and he pulled me into a hug, letting me cry into his shoulders. It might have been because of my emotional vulnerability right now, but that safe feeling of being in Billy's arms came over me. Once I had cried it all out, it was a quiet drive back to the farmhouse.

~

It was late, and Billy and I were getting ready for bed. I was sitting on the bed, brushing my hair. The bed dipped behind me and I felt Billy's arms wrap around my waist and his lips touching my bare shoulder. "I know it was a hard day for you, my love but you got through it" Billy softly said to me.

"I'm sorry" I suddenly squeaked out.

"What are you sorry for?"

I started crying again. I don't know if this was due to the already emotional day or my pregnancy hormones. "For being a terrible wife to you lately"

"Hey, hey" Billy moved off the bed so he could kneel in front of me. He grabbed my hands and kissed them both. "You're not a terrible wife. If anything I've been a terrible husband. We'll get through this, okay? You'll see. When this baby comes, things will get better between us, just you wait and see"

I leaned down to touch his forehead to mine. "I love you"

"I love you, too" Billy repeated. I gave into my urge to kiss him. And for once, a kiss with my husband felt right. It was just my emotional vulnerability right now. That's what I told myself as I pulled Billy back onto the bed and we proceeded to make love that night. Making love to my husband finally felt right again. But again, it was just my emotional vulnerability right now. Right?

~

At the end of the week, me made our return home to London. I was dying to see Roger again. It had been the longest three weeks ever without him. I tried not to think about the fact that Billy and I made love that one night, and the fact I actually enjoyed it. But it didn't matter. I would be asking him for a divorce soon anyways. Probably not the wisest decision for a woman to make while she's pregnant, but I would have Roger.

Lee dropped Billy and I off at our flat. When we got in, Billy immediately took a shower. I decided that I would give Roger a ring. I hope he wasn't too mad that I didn't call. Though I'm sure if I explained the reason, he would understand. I gave him a rang but there was no answer. I decided to try calling again but no answer. Perhaps he was busy with something at home and couldn't get to the phone at the moment. Nothing a little surprise visit couldn't fix.

I opened the bathroom door to let Billy know I was going out. "Honey, I'm going out for a bit!"

"Alright!" He acknowledged. With that, I grabbed my coat and my bag, and made my way to Roger's flat.

I had got there and knocked on the door waiting for an answer. But there was nothing. So I tried knocking again. No answer. I was about to knock again when one of the neighbours spotted me. "I'm afraid you'll get no answer, miss" He said.

"And why is that?" I asked.

"Roger and Judy are out on their honeymoon" Honeymoon!? What the fuck did he mean honeymoon?

"I'm sorry, honeymoon?"

The elderly man nodded. "They got married just last week. It was a small, private ceremony from what I understand"

Roger and Judy got married? I felt my heart shattering into a million pieces. "Do you know when they'll be back?"

"Next week, they said"

I couldn't really say anything else. I just walked away from the flat. When I got in the car, I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. I began to cry. I needed some answers. And the first place I thought to go was to see Nick and Lindy. I'm sure they would know about Roger and Judy getting married.

~

"I'm sorry for just dropping by like this" I apologized as I followed Lindy to the living room.

"Don't worry about it! You can come over whenever you like, hun" Lindy assured me. Her and I sat down on the couch. "Sorry you missed Nick. He's out with David and Roger"

"It's alright"

"How was the trip?"

"It was actually really good. We met Paul McCartney"

Lindy's mouth gaped open. "No way!"

"Turns out he and his fiancé own the farmland next to ours. Lin, I have to ask something"

"What is it?"

"Is it true that Roger and Judy got married?"

"Yeah. It was a spontaneous decision on Roger's part. It was just a registry wedding. Nick and I were there as witnesses"

"I see" I said.

"Roger was really mopey before the wedding, though. Like, more pissed than he usually is" Lindy mentioned. Yeah, that was probably my fault for not calling him when I promised I would. But it's not my fault that phone was down. Then I realized I forgot to call when we were at Paul and Linda's. Fuck, I probably drove him to marrying her and he was doing it just to spite me.

"Did he seem happy at the wedding?" I asked. I needed to know. Was it a genuine marriage or was he doing it to get back at me?

Lindy smiled. "He did. I don't even know if I ever saw him so happy" Well, there's my answer. Maybe this was a sign from the universe that maybe Roger and I weren't meant to be together after all.

"Well, then I'm happy for him and Judy. I feel like they're gonna be together for a long time" I said. I guess now I really had no choice but to make things work with Billy. Perhaps it was for the best. Now I could devote trying to make things right with Billy.

~

Billy had surprised me the next week by buying a house for us. So we had spent that next week moving into it. It was in a richer neighbourhood so the house was a bit bigger than I was expecting. David, Nick, and Rick were helping us move in. They didn't need to but it was sweet of them to offer.

David and I were carrying in some boxes together. "Did you hear that Roger and Judy are supposed coming home today?" He asked me.

"I did" I nodded. I really wasn't ready to face Roger yet.

"You seem upset about it" David noticed.

"It's just a shame I didn't get to be at the wedding" I said.

"Well they're going to have a party to celebrate their marriage. I'm sure he would appreciate it if you offered to host it here" Are you crazy David? I don't want to host that reminder in my new house! God, that made me sound so selfish.

"Y'know what, that's not a bad idea" I can't believe I was agreeing to that. But Roger was still my friend, and Judy was too. I needed to support them.

"I still can't imagine you living in a place like this"

"It's not so bad" I shrugged. "Though we have more bedrooms than necessary. Billy is insisting it's for our live-in nanny"

"You don't sound too thrilled at the idea of a nanny" David raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not" I said. I sighed as I set down the box. "He's already put an ad in the paper"

"Any responses to it yet?"

"Not yet, thankfully" The doorbell rang. Was that an applicant? I sure hope she wasn't young at least. I wasn't going to trust a girl fresh out of high school to watch my baby when he or she gets here. I answered the door and was surprised to see Roger. "Roger, how did you know where my new house was?"

"I went to your old flat but I was told you moved out" Roger explained. He rubbed at his nose and that's when I noticed the wedding ring on his finger. It made my heart hurt. "So I called Clea and she gave me your new address"

"Well, would you like to come in then? Everyone else is here helping Billy and I move in" I offered. Roger nodded. I stepped aside so he could enter the house.

"This seems bigger than you would like" Roger noted.

"Yeah, well, Billy insisted that we needed the space"

"Can we speak somewhere in private?" He asked. I nodded and I led him to one of the still empty rooms. We stood on opposite sides of the room, both of us leaning against the wall.

We were quiet for a good minute or two, until I decided to be the first one to speak. "So, you and Judy got married"

Roger's jaw clenched. "I can explain"

"Is it because I didn't call you while I was gone?" There was no arguing between us. We both stayed calm.

Roger looked down. "It made me think you didn't love me anymore. That you were spending all your time with Billy and it made you forget about me"

I sighed and hand down my face. "The phones were down. I wanted to call you but—"

Roger put his face in his hands. "God, I'm such a fucking idiot!"

"Roger—"

"I can't believe I thought you didn't love me anymore! And that I actually went through with marrying her"

"Were you happy on your wedding day?" I suddenly asked.

Roger looked at me with confusion. "What?"

"Were you happy when you married her?" Roger seemed hesitant to answer. "It's okay if you were"

"I'm sorry" I'm not sure if he was apologizing for the fact that he did in fact marry Judy or that he might have actually been happy that he did. "During our honeymoon, those old feelings I had for her, they came back and..."

"Do you love her?" Roger couldn't look me in the eye as he muttered out a quiet yes. "Then maybe you should devote yourself to her instead of me"

Roger looked up at me with sad eyes. "What? No!" He finally came over to my side of the room and stood in front of me. I grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight. "I don't want this to end between us! Please, I love you too much!"

"And I love you too, which is why I think it's best that we end this" I had to keep myself from crying as I said it. "And just...try to go back to being friends. Judy needs all your love and affection now, yeah? Be good to your wife. And meanwhile, I need to really work on trying to make things right with Billy. We have a baby on the way and things need to be better between us before the baby comes"

"That's my baby!" I could that Roger's eyes were glossy with tears. "And you know it is!"

"You think I don't believe that, Roger?" No I was the one who started to cry. "But I think it's best that we pretend it isn't. That we just go back to being friends. That means no sneaking around, no kissing, and no sex. Do you think you can do that? For me?"

"Maggie, you know that I can't help myself around you. I need you"

"And if we are truly meant to be together, fate will somehow make it clear to us, okay?" I gently cupped his face in my hands. His eyes closed as he sighed at my touch. "I will always love you, Roger. Even if we can't be together the way we want to anymore"

"I'll always love you too, sunshine"

"So, what say you? Friends?"

Roger smiled at me. "We're best friends"

~

I made the boys some sandwiches for lunch. They were such a big help for me today. I could hear my bandmates chatting away on the porch outside in the backyard. As I was making up the sandwiches, I get a pair of arms wrap around my waist. I held onto Billy's arms and leaned against him. "I never asked you, my love. Is the house suitable to your liking?" He asked me.

"It's perfect, my love" I told him. "Perfect place to raise our baby"

Billy chuckled as his palm stretched over my stomach. "I think you mean babies"

"You think we'll be having more than one, huh?"

"Of course we will" He let go of me so he could turn me around. He stroked my face with his fingertips. "You're still just as beautiful as the day we met"

"I'm ready to renew our vows whenever you are. But we treat it like an actual wedding because we never got one"

"Whatever you want, Maggie. I want to do whatever will make you happy" Billy grabbed my hands. He brought them up to his lips and started kissing them. "I love you so much"

"I love you too" I said before leaning in to kiss Billy. Ever since we came back from the trip, I could feel the sparks coming back whenever Billy and I kissed. After we kissed, the two of us just held each other. When I opened my eyes, I saw Roger standing there. Even from this distance, I could see the heartache in his eyes but even so, he smiled at me.

It was painful but this really was the best for both Roger and I. We were both married now, and it was time for us to devote our time and affection to our spouses. And I really had to make things work again with Billy before this baby came. Maybe now that so much of my time wouldn't be spent sneaking around with Roger now, that we could make that happen.

 And as for Roger and Judy, I hope their marriage works out. I know Judy really loves him. She must be in bliss now that they're married. And Roger, I know deep down he still loves her that way he once did before he met me. And who knows, maybe they'll have their own kids soon.

However, with all that being said, I still really loved Roger and I knew he loved me. But maybe with time, those feelings will fade. Perhaps what was between us was just a short lived affair and now that it's run it's course, we can both be with the one's we are meant to be with. Or if Roger and I did truly belong together, the universe will find a way of bringing us back together again. Only time will tell.

[smp-live]

The apocalypse happened a few years ago. And- it's vague, the apocalypse. It's not some big earth-shattering moment. It's confused tv reports and impulse decisions and little growing bits of tension until the pot boils over.

The details are fuzzy; it all happened so quickly that many civilians were left unaware of what exactly went down. One day, they were living, and the next, most weren't.

Nukes, EMPs, solar flares - the survivors find it doesn't matter. One way or another, the world ended, millions died, and everything’s different. Hostile. Harsh. Unforgiving. The sun is bright and searing, and radiation burns skin not covered head-to-toe.

People are cruel and will take advantage of anything they can. If you're not a part of an already-existing group, good luck.

Somehow, two men end up on a wooden pallet floating in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was a plane crash, one of the few still running downed by a stray shot; maybe a boat capsized, embrittled by the radiation. Same as the apocalypse, it doesn't matter. What does is that now they’re surrounded by debris and a shark thirsting for blood and there’s one thing they both know: trust no-one.

So they don’t. Names hold power, as they’ve learnt over the past few years; names imply trust. When it becomes apparent they’re stuck together and the time comes to introduce themselves, the elder of the two stares out to sea and says, “Call me...” And that phrase brings back memories of a book he’d read long ago, in the Before Days, and so he finishes, “Ishmael.”

The younger panics and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m Gunk.”

‘Ishmael’ raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly amused. “Gunk,” he repeats. And ‘Gunk’ nods, crosses his arms.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s...” his mind blanks, “Russian.”

Ishmael’s brow climbs further, and he looks on the verge of laughing, lips twisting ever-so-slightly upward. “Last name?”

“Uh,” Gunk wracks his brain, and something from a history class, years ago, stands out. Nearly forgotten amongst all the useless information - what he calls anything that doesn’t directly contribute to survival, nowadays - and only clinging on through his brain classifying it as ‘important’ for God-knows-why. “Gorbachov.”

“Like... Michael Gorbachov?” There’s a hint of laughter in Ishmael’s tone now, the first in a while. He tries not to let that thought depress him.

Gunk nods, relieved at the reminder of the rest of the name, even if he still can’t place it. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Michael Gorbachov, eighth and final leader of Soviet Russia, was your father,” Ishmael deadpans, and, frustrated at having been outplayed, Gunk scowls.

“What of it?” he challenges, which makes Ishmael laugh, throwing his head back to the blistering sun high above.

“Okay, Gunk,” he says, and yet it doesn’t feel patronizing.

They both know the other is lying, that much is obvious from the constant teasing and jokes about Gunk’s ‘father.’ But it doesn’t matter, because in the slow turning of the days, they grow close. After all, there’s not much to do on a makeshift raft in the middle of the ocean, other than chat.

Ishmael is handy, and the main reason for their survival. He knows how to purify water and fillet a fish, how to add on to their raft without nails and swim against the ocean current. Gunk wonders where he picked all that up, but never asks.

(A survivalist father and paranoid brother, whom Ishmael hasn’t seen in half a decade. The thought that they’re probably still alive brings him comfort.)

Gunk, on the other hand, does most of the grunt work. Fishing in debris that floats by, diving down for rocks when they briefly dock, and the ever-important duty of keeping the shark they named Clive from destroying their miserly raft. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter through it all, and Ishmael thinks that’s what makes the monumental effort to go on worth it. Then, he wonders when he let himself get attached.

(It was a week or so in, when Gunk had fashioned himself a shelf out of the bottom of a storage bin and some planks, and proclaimed it his ‘comfort shelf.’ Gunk felt the same when Ishmael didn’t tell him to dismantle it, only pushed it aside, even though they were supposed to use that wood to repair Clive’s last attack.)

They survive, they grow closer, they hesitantly trust, and yet, they don’t pry. They don’t share their real names. Not until one day.

Ishmael goes swimming out to a nearby island to scavenge for food and chop down a few trees, if he can manage. Gunk stays on the ship - an anchor is next on their to-do list, and so he’s responsible for keeping it from drifting off with his tiny paddle. Except it’s not well-crafted, and grey jaws reach up to snap at the wood he’s standing on so he uses it to stab Clive, and the tip breaks off. The raft starts drifting away.

“Ishmael!” he calls, then again, louder, “Ishmael! Fuck, man!” But he’s nowhere to be seen, and the current is dragging Gunk awfully far out from the island.

He keeps calling, shouting, screaming, increasingly panicked at leaving his friend, the man who’d helped him survive for months, now, behind. Until his voice grows hoarse the way it never did from rambling for hours on end, and a little speck appears on the beach of the island.

Ishmael waves widely at him, and he must be shouting but Gunk can’t hear it over the lapping of the waves. So he assumes what was said, hollers, “I can’t fuckin’ come back, arsehole!” and raises the remains of the paddle over his head to clarify.

The speck stills, then bursts into motion, tossing everything he’s holding aside and shucking his shoes. Gunk can practically hear him mutter about what an “ridiculous child” he is, because although they’ve never shared their ages Ishmael’s decided he’s the elder of the two, which obviously means Gunk is a child.

And then Ishmael dives into the water, and he’s closing the distance between himself and the raft with each stroke. He cuts a straight line through the waves, until he suddenly swerves to the left. Gunk is confused a moment, before he notices - a grey fin jutting out of the water next to him.

Clive goes in for another pass, then another, and Ishmael jukes him out both times. He’s maybe five meters away, now, but the shark is coming back so Gunk screams. But Ishmael’s head is underwater, and he doesn’t hear. Just keeps going, towards safety he won't make it to.

Clive barrels into him. Ishmael vanishes underwater.

He doesn’t come back up.

Gunk is diving in before he can properly think, pushing past the cold shock of the sea, as he uses his self-taught skills to bring him to where he guesses Ishmael last was. Then, he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes under.

After a nervewracking few moments, his elbow bumps into something and he latches on, desperately dragging it upwards. They break the surface and he gasps for breath, Ishmael limp against him.

The trip back is agonizing. Ishmael is deadweight, their clothes are waterlogged, and Gunk has never been the best swimmer. But Clive is still lurking, and he refuses to drown after all this time, so he manages to drag them both back to the raft through pure willpower and spite.

Gunk collapses next to where he’d heaved Ishmael onto the planks, taking a second to compose himself. Shivering violently, he curls into a ball - he'll have to go for a spare change of clothes. His eyes drift shut. In a moment.

Then, panic seizes his heart as he becomes aware of how still Ishmael is. He jerks up, staring at him, searching for any sign of life, anything-

But a moment later he relaxes, when Ishmael rolls over and starts heaving out saltwater. Gunk reaches over and pats him on the back until it subsides, and he falls back onto the wood.

“You,” Ishmael says, letting his eyes flutter shut, “are so stupid.”

Gunk feels a burst of indignation. “Hey, what the fuck! I just saved your dumbass, Ish-ma-el.” He scowls at Ishmael’s placid little twist of the lips.

“Wilbur,” he murmurs, hands folded over his chest.

“What?”

“My name is Wilbur.”

Oh.

“I’m Tommy,” he says after a moment of silence where it sinks in, what he’d just been told, the trust laid on him, and then lays down next to Ishmael - Wilbur, now.

Wilbur just hums and wraps an arm under his shoulders, tugging him close - which is new; they’re really going all-in with this trust thing, huh? - then says, “So, so stupid.”

“Oi,” Tommy protests, but leans in closer.

Things aren’t really visibly different, after that. They still bicker, still do the same daily tasks, still slip up and call each other ‘Ishmael’ and ‘Gunk’ - though it becomes less and less common, other than with a teasing tone. They finally get their anchor, which means Tommy has the chance to go on land; though he quickly grows to dislike it after an incident with a particularly pissed-off boar.

To an outsider, everything remains the same. But to the inhabitants of the raft, it feels different. More homely. Warmer.

Once, after Wilbur chides Tommy over something or another, Tommy rolls his eyes and says, “You know, we really are like brothers.” He tries to keep his tone joking, and to not let himself hope for the words to be true.

Wilbur freezes. “Don’t say that; I’ll cry.” He blinks once to keep the tears at bay, and tries to push down the warmth in his chest.

(They both fail.)

About four months in, a light appears in the distance, at night. They angle their sail towards it and the dark shadow on the horizon. A few days later, it becomes apparent what it is: a lighthouse.

Inhabited land. Civilization.

They gather their meagre supplies once they dock, then ditch the raft in favour of climbing the lighthouse. And, from the top, off over a hill, Wilbur spots it first, points it out to his brother, who squints-

A Dome.

[assaily]

I'd love to hear about what Five would eat!

This has been such a hard ask to answer because I have so much detail to back every assertion, I could write a fucking book. I had a lot of fun thinking about this though, and there are a lot of subtopics to explore. But in the spirit of keeping things under a kip... :)

The answer to “What would Five eat?” is Literally Anything with Caloric Value. So I am going to answer the more specific question: What are Five’s comfort foods? Or: What kind of food could his sibling keep in the house to make him feel more comfortable?

From what we’ve seen him eat in the show, Five seems like the kind of person who finds comfort in the familiar. Literally the first thing he fuels himself on is a fluffernutter, something he loved as a child. A fluffernutter sandwich is not just a nostalgia trip, either, when taken into consideration.

Five very obviously operates on carbs, that’s his main source of fuel (not the caffeine). Bread and marshmallows are all sugar. Peanut butter is a superfood, it has all the important things - fat, carbs, and protein with the plus of being easy to digest. Peanut paste is commonly used to treat severe acute malnutrition. Peanut butter being a common snack for Five would absolutely track, regardless of the fact that it’s obviously something he would actually like if he had even a remotely normal relationship to food. It was likely one of the first things he was given to eat when the Commission picked him up, and by far one of the best tasting things.

That’s another thing that should be taken into consideration. Five went the vast majority of his life without basic spices. Not even table salt. I can't imagine Five needs a lot for something to be very savory or tasty to him. Which also means it wouldn’t take much for something to be too rich, either. He probably can’t do spice anymore, or at least will really have to work himself up to it.

The real exception to this is sweet stuff. Five has a sweet tooth a mile wide even when he tries to deny it. It could also be partially instinctual for him to seek out foods that are fast metabolizing, or it could just be his preference for quick energy. He’s obviously got trauma around a twinkie incident, and it would be fair for him to not be able to stomach vanilla cakes or those types of desserts anymore. I like to think he’s a fresh fruits lover at heart, and while he likes his candy, he’d go for sweet fruit if given the choice. This would be a post-apocalypse discovery for him, as fruit wouldn’t be on his radar unless he could grow some. Fruit can be hard to grow though, and I really think he would stick to tubers for their ease and high yield.

The last thing is canned food. Canned food doesn’t actually last forever. It has to be stored in specific conditions, undamaged, and sheltered from the elements. The cans that do survive and are edible after a decade or two would stop tasting good. I suspect Five only lived on canned food for the first two decades at most, and had to have moved to gardening and hunting at some point once the weather cleared. The ultimate time of scarcity would be the back half of the nuclear winter, when the cans were scarce and there still wasn’t enough sunlight reaching the surface for nature to start coming back. It would be a war between Five, the scavengers (rats and vultures mainly), and whatever else managed to survive. I imagine having a supply of non-perishable foods would be a massive comfort to him.

So if his siblings were to stock a kitchen for Five: Canned foods - mostly fruits, veggies, beans, and soups. They would absolutely catch Five eating straight out of the can, utensils optional. He would eat them mostly to keep a rotation going, but his favorite would be the canned fruits.

Sweet treats - mildly sweet cookies, likely nothing vanilla or sugar flavored, tho. Chocolate, toffee, peanut butter, and maybe caramel would be winners in Five’s book. Fruit for sure, and maybe fruit flavored hard candies.

Nutrient dense foods/ easy foods - protein bars and shakes, oatmeal (likely nostalgic as well, since they apparently ate it a lot as children), lightly salted trail mixes, rice and bread. Basic easy things that Five will seek out on his own.

Opinions on meat: I doubt Five would eat very much red meat, likely too rich for him. Poultry and fish would be the only meats he’d eat, and are really the only meats he could have had access to in the apocalypse.

Dairy: At a minimum. His teenage body wouldn’t likely be lactose intolerant but his older body sure as shit would have been. Ice cream would be the one thing he indulges in for that.

Oh, and Five absolutely has basic cooking skills. Knowing how long to heat something so it won’t give you a parasite is an important skill to have, regardless of if you're cooking on a stove or over a fire. He can’t bake, or do anything fancy, but he can make a decent stew if asked.

[something-tofightfor]

Magnetic: Chapter 3 - The Mandalorian

Pairing: The Mandalorian x You (Sort of. You meet him.)  (female reader insert; no ‘Y/N’)

Word count: 6,635

Rating: None necessary. 

Summary: Your journey across the galaxy to meet the Mandalorian with Grogu is well underway - but what will you find when you reach Nevarro and come face to helmet with him for the first time? ... And where will you go from there? 

Author’s note:

Check out the earlier parts of this story by visiting my Masterlist

Here we go! I know the first couple chapters have been build up, but ... it kicks in here. Thank you all so much for reading this one and sending messages and leaving comments. I can’t wait for you to see what’s coming. I’m still adding people to the tag list, so if you want on ... LMK. 

* Cara Dune is mentioned in this chapter and in future chapters, but the only physical detail I mention is her hair (I think) - so just imagine her as someone else if you need to. I get the controversy over the actress, but I love the character and she needed to be there because Reader needs another female to speak to about Mando that’s going to tell it like it is.*

(banner made by @malionnes)

For the third morning in a row, you were curled up on the floor in the cargo hold of the light freighter transporting you from the Academy’s planet to Nevarro. Your destination was a barren planet located smack dab in the center of the Ash Worlds sector, and you’d never been so far from home. 

 It was a long trip, even traveling through hyperspace, and you were growing anxious. But it’s the last day. You sighed, stretching out, and were surprised to see that Grogu wasn’t next to you anymore. I wonder where he… But you figured it out quickly, following the sounds of laughter into the cockpit, where the child was sitting in the copilot’s seat, staring out the front window of the ship and into space. “You’re not bothering Terys, are you, kid?” He turned his head up and toward you and the woman laughed, shaking hers. 

 “He’s not. He climbed in here all on his own, but he’s just been sitting and watching.”Good. You weren’t uncomfortable on the ship, but were looking forward to stretching your legs when you landed, breathing fresh air and figuring out what came next.For both of us.  “We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace in about an hour, and then it’s only a few more from there. We made good time.” 

 “No, Terys, you made good time.” Sliding around the seat, you reached down, picking Grogu up and settling him in your lap, facing forward. ‘I’m surprised they let you pilot us out here, I’m sure you have so much more to do, you’re the -” 

 “I wanted to.” She turned her head toward yours, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Never seen a real Mandalorian before.” You laughed at that, feeling her excitement, though you’d been practicing keeping yourself more closed off in preparation for meeting him yourself. You’d told Grogu what you were doing, telling him that you didn’t want to overhear anything you weren’t supposed to, but he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezing. Harder with beskar. 

 You hadn’t even considered that. Beskar was exceedingly rare, and the only time you’d seen it in person was when you’d handled the pendant Grogu wore around his neck; gleaming silver in the shape of a Mythosaur. You knew it was strong, knew that it was valuable, and also knew that the Mandalorian was covered in it, mainly as a result of the spoils of his assignment to find and return Grogu in the first place. But Grogu could read him, at least partially, because he …  “You might not even see one this time, Terys. He might not be there when we land, there could be delays, or -” 

 “Master Skywalker sent a transmission. He’ll be there, he’s already landed.” You couldn’t help smiling at the thought that within a few hours, Grogu would be reunited with the man, and your adventure would begin. “I’m going to land the ship and head into the town with you, spend the night, refuel,  and then leave tomorrow. There has to be a reason I’m there, so I can’t just touch down and then take off.” She was right - but you didn’t reply right away, focusing on Grogu, who was babbling away on your lap, one hand clutching the pendant, the other resting on your forearm. Keeping yourself occupied, kid?  “He … they trust you, but I’m supposed to make sure that -”

 “That the kid’s safe, right?” You looked down. “I get it. He’s important, and he’s … it makes sense.” You knew that once you left the ship, you’d need to keep it with you at all times, but your lightsaber was tucked into your bag, along with your cloak and the few other things you’d brought from the Academy. Essentials, you thought. Packed light, just like he … Since you didn’t know how long you’d be gone, you’d cleaned out your quarters, storing everything you didn’t take in one of the unused lower rooms. You carried more credits in your bag than you ever had before in your life, and you knew that Grogu also had his fair share tucked away, packed by someone else while you took care of everything you needed to. “Gotta make sure everyone’s who they say they are, right?” 

 “Yeah.” Terys settled back in her chair, rotating it slightly toward you. “Marshal on the planet’s name is Cara Dune, I’ve been in contact with her, and she -” But you widened your eyes, looking down at Grogu. Cara! Your friend! You bounced him on your lap a few times, hearing the sound of his laughter. “She’s excited to see him again, I guess she was there when Master Skywalker found Grogu.” Of course she was. 

 It was fuzzy, because he’d been groggy, but Grogu’s memories were filled with the people that had been on the ship - and in the room with him - when he first met Luke and the shiny blue and white droid that rarely left the man’s sight. You knew their names and faces well, knew how he felt about each of them, and were ready to meet them yourself, if given the chance. “Who wouldn’t be excited to see him, hmm?” Grogu’s grip on your arm suddenly tightened, and you went quiet, thinking. Use the fresher, change clothes, get Grogu ready. You knew you had time, but you were restless after waking, and weren’t ready to eat. Go. Fine here. He was making noises again, turning on your lap, and only a few seconds later, Grogu was looking up at you, hands hanging at his sides. “What?” He blinked slowly, tilting his head, but Grogu didn’t reply - and you didn’t catch a single one of his thoughts. 

 --- 

 The drop from hyperspace hadn’t been as sudden as you thought it would be, and by the time you’d begun the landing process, you were giddy with excitement. Everything’s new. Everything is … I’ve never done any of this before. Grogu was in his floating cradle in the cockpit, giving you the opportunity to gather all of your things together, but you were somewhat concerned with how quiet he was. You ok, kid? Pausing as you loaded the bags next to the ramp, you concentrated on him. You’re quiet. Fine. There was a pause. Scared. Dropping the last bag, you quickly went back to where he and Terys were, scooping him out of the container and sitting down again, strapping yourself in. Why are you scared? Been too long. “Oh, Grogu.” You dropped your head, kissing the top of his, and saw that Terys was pointedly trying to ignore the two of you, hands on the navigational equipment as she guided the ship toward the planet. What if -

 You could feel that he was nervous, the apprehension making his tiny body rigid. Oh, no. You have nothing to worry about. He’s gonna be so happy to see you. He relaxed - slightly - and you continued to think, keeping your eyes forward. He’s your dad, kid. He loves you. He missed you. You’ll see. He didn’t answer back, and though you couldn’t hear his actual thoughts, you realized that you could still feel his emotions. You hiding from me now? A single word came back - the force of it surprising you. Yes. Well fine, then. You kissed the top of his head again, holding back a smile. I didn’t want to know what you were thinking anyway. He laughed at that, and you watched Terys turn her head toward you, smiling too. “You talking to him?” 

 “Yeah.” You sighed, eyes still on the planet in front of you as it came into focus. You were beneath the clouds, but high enough to keep you well above the jagged peaks of the arid landscape below you, and it was unlike anything you’d expected. There aren’t any trees, there’s nowhere to… The planet that the Academy was on wasn’t as forested as your home planet, but this was a drastic difference from both. Instead of trees and water, you saw only scrubby brush and cracked, dry ground - presumably from the lava fields you knew ran across the planet. There’s water somewhere, though. Otherwise … “Yeah, it’s easier to think sometimes, just makes the conversation go faster, you know?” She nodded in agreement. “I’m so used to just thinking when I’m with him, not having to speak, and it’s going to take some getting used to since the Mandalorian isn’t …” 

 “I’ve heard they’re hard to handle.” Terys pressed a few buttons above her head and the ship began descending slowly. “Especially this one. He’s got a reputation. People don’t … people don’t cross him.” You stayed silent, waiting. “And how that he’s King of Mandalore? People talk. I hear a lot when I fly between planets, and I think that between the two of them?” She gestured to Grogu with one hand. “You’re gonna have your hands full.” Considering her words, you rolled your eyes. 

 “I’m not here to have my hands full of anything except this little one.” You tightened your hold on Grogu briefly. “The Mandalorian is an -” 

 “He’s waiting for us.” She paused. “Well, for the two of you.” Squinting your eyes, you saw that she was right, and you felt your heart rate increase. “Looks like there’s a couple speeders, too. At least we won’t have to walk.” You locked your eyes on the single figure in the distance, watching as it grew larger by the second. There he is, kid. Grogu grew restless as you got closer, and by the time you were able to see the sunlight glinting off the top of his helmet, he was struggling to get off of your lap, the sounds coming out of his mouth a combination of frustration and excitement. 

 “Hey, buddy. Hang on.” You tried to comfort him, even though you knew it was useless, and as soon as you felt the gentle thump of the landing gear making contact with the planet’s surface, you were unbuckled and out of your seat, heading for the door. “I think we can leave the bags for now, and maybe his carriage too. We’ll get it all later.” Down. Down. Down. Terys’ reply was lost in Grogu’s high pitched squeals, and with a short laugh, you crouched down, setting his feet on the floor and tugging his robe - the one he’d come to the Academy in - back into place. “Please be careful. The last thing I want is for you to trip and fall, and for him to think -” I’m fine. He shuffled closer to the ramp, and before you could say anything else, it began to lower, the hot, dry air rushing in. 

 Grogu moved as soon as he could, following the ramp as it descended, you only a few steps behind him. You’d never seen him move so quickly, and even though you wanted to call out to him, telling him to slow down, you didn’t, hanging back and crossing your arms over your chest as you followed his footsteps through the dirt and dust toward the Mandalorian. He’d moved too, in the time that it took you to land and settle in, and you figured that the man was only twenty yards away from the ship - but you didn’t focus on him, instead watching Grogu’s path. Go get him, kid. 

 He wasn’t yelling; instead, as he moved, he made a noise you’d never heard before, a series of coos and warblings that rose in volume the closer he got. Close your mind. You let out a deep breath, reminding yourself that you weren’t here to listen to others - there was no reason to - and you didn’t want to intrude on their reunion. 

 When Grogu was only a few yards away, you finally glanced up, watching as the Mandalorian’s cape fluttered in the breeze, the man dropping to one knee and holding an arm out. “Grogu.” You didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking; it was perfectly clear in the single, heavily modulated word, the last syllable catching in his throat. The child’s head barely reached the man’s knee level, but he kept his arms stretched out, ears flapping with each step as the final gap was closed. You felt the moment that they made contact with each other; a blindingly joyful reunion, and your lips parted, one hand reaching up to cover them as your teeth dug into the muscle between your thumb and forefinger, not wanting to make any noise. Oh, stars. 

 The Mandalorian stood after gathering Grogu into his arms, and you finally took a few more steps closer when you saw the child reach up with both hands, fingertips touching either side of the helmet as the man lowered his forehead toward the child’s. He’s so tiny. He’s never looked this small before. They stayed like that for long moments, heads bowed together, and though it was brief, you saw the shake of the heavily armored shoulders, the rise and fall of the man’s chest as he took in deep breaths. How it should be. This is … “Thank you.” You sucked in a breath, hand dropping to your side as the Mandalorian straightened up, tilting his head to the side and looking in your direction around Grogu’s head as he said your name. “For bringing him ho… here.”

 “Of …” You swallowed hard, moving closer. “Of course. I’m more than happy to…” Glancing between the two of them, you watched as he shifted Grogu effortlessly into the crook of his elbow, the kid facing you once more. “And look how happy he is. Totally worth it.” The man glanced down at Grogu and then back at you, wordlessly. “Right, kid?” His ears down, Grogu only looked at you for a few seconds before he stared back up at the man holding him, his grip on the gloved fingers and forearm tightening. 

 “Your things, are they on the -” You heard the tightness in his voice, the man hesitating when he spoke. “Are his -” He doesn’t want to do this now, he just wants … 

 “They are.” You gestured toward the speeders, noticing that only one was a single rider. “But go.” He cocked his head slightly, waiting. “Terys - the pilot - and I will load everything. Take him and go back into town. You guys have some catching up to do. You need some privacy.” The Mandalorian shifted on his feet and then turned, taking two steps toward one of the speeders before he glanced back over his shoulder, the side profile of his helmet almost more intimidating than looking at it head on. 

 “There’s a small cantina, next to the inn?” You acknowledged the words. “Go there after you’ve settled into your room, I’ll… we’ll meet you there.” That isn’t enough time for you.  

 “Mandalorian?” You finally spoke, willing your voice not to shake. “Take your time. How about … I’ll meet you at sundown? That’s a few hours from now.” He didn’t answer, and you spoke again, reaching up to rub at your outer bicep, your skin warm and dry beneath your fingers from only a few minutes in the bright sunlight. “There’s no rush.” You didn’t think that he would speak again, but he surprised you and did, after giving you a single nod and then turning his head to face forward, toward the arch leading into town. 

 “No, there isn’t.” Staying in place, you watched as he carefully loaded Grogu into one of the side bags, tightening the straps to make sure he didn’t fall out. Starting the speeder, the Mandalorian took off in the opposite direction - without looking back. Bye, kid. See you soon.

 “Well that was something.” Startled, you spun back around toward your ship, seeing that Terys was standing a few feet behind you, both hands on her hips and her eyes following the plume of dust from behind the moving speeder. “Guess we’re on our own?” She was amused, you could hear it in her voice and see it written on her face, but she wasn’t mad. She still didn’t get to meet him.

 “They needed time. And obviously, this is … he planned this. We’re close enough that we didn’t need the speeders, but he…” You felt yourself smile and you looked down at the ground, nodding. “He did this for Grogu.” You had seen countless memories of riding speeders from Grogu’s point of view; the landscape flying by, almost able to feel the wind against your skin. “It’s fine. We don’t have much to load, and that speeder’s plenty big enough for both of us.” You turned to face her, a wide smile on your lips. “I’ll buy you a drink once we get into town and get our rooms.” 

 “Deal.” 

 --- 

 A few hours later, you and Terys were sitting at a table in the corner of the small cantina, cups of ale in front of you. You’d already eaten, and though the food on the ship wasn’t bad, it was nice to have a freshly prepared meal in your stomach, something both of you agreed on. “How is it, for you?” She lifted her cup to her mouth, taking a long drink. “Are places like this worse than the Academy, because everyone’s just -” I didn’t … no. You blinked, realizing that even though there were plenty of people in the room, their thoughts weren’t overwhelming you. “Actually …” You took a drink of your own, eyes moving over the others gathered in the space. “When I was in training, before I stopped?” She nodded, waiting. “One of the Masters told me that everything depends on how … prevalent, I guess, the Force is.” Explain it better. “It doesn’t matter how many people there are somewhere, because it’s everywhere, it just… there are certain places in the galaxy where it’s stronger, where more people … are aware of it?” You stopped. “I’ve never really explained it before, because I’ve only really been a few places for longer than a few days at a time. But it’s not as strong here, so I can sort of feel what people are thinking, but I’d have to really concentrate to hear them clearly. At the Academy, I have to actively close myself off just to keep myself from overloading sometimes.” It had taken time, but as the months passed, you found it easier. People still get through, like Bari, but … “Since everyone there is… at a different level, I guess? When it comes to using the Force? Some people can keep their thoughts from me on their own, and others … can’t.”

 “That makes sense.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Can you still feel Grogu here, though? Wouldn’t it be dangerous to send you off knowing that, if - “

“I can. I can always feel him.” You took another drink, the liquid cold against your throat. “And I think it’s because we’ve been so close for the last year. But like I said, I’d have to really work to have a conversation with him at this distance in a place like this.” Luke and the other Masters were much more knowledgeable than you, and you figured that they knew what they were doing sending the two of you off. If it was dangerous, it wouldn’t have happened. “It’s good, though, it gives him … them privacy. And they deserve that.” 

 “They’re here.” She widened her eyes. “Listen.” You did, not understanding at first, but then you got it. The room had gone almost silent at the entrance of the Mandalorian and Grogu, who was once again nestled in his floating carriage, which you and Terys had dropped off at the inn’s counter. He’s got a history here, but they’re … they’re afraid of him. You turned in your seat, making eye contact with Grogu, who peered over the edge of his carrier, waving at you. Hi, you. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Terys whispered. “It’s not like ... “ Not like what? 

 Others would likely have felt at a disadvantage if they were suddenly unable to read the room entirely, but it was almost a blessing to you. Sensing the emotions of those around you, you could handle. But constantly hearing their thoughts at random? I’m glad for the break. The Mandalorian stopped next to your table, and out of instinct, you reached for Grogu with both hands, freezing as you realized that you didn’t have to. Oh, I … Fighting back a frown, you winked at the kid instead, lowering both palms to the tabletop. This is going to take some getting used to. “Can I sit?” His words surprised you, but you didn’t hesitate. 

 “You don’t need to ask permission.” You looked up, shrugging your shoulders as your eyes landed on the darkened T-shape of his visor. “This is more your town than mine.” 

 “It’s not.” He lowered himself into the seat with more agility than you would have thought possible for someone covered in so much beskar, hands resting on his lap. “Not … not anymore.” Slowly, the conversation in the room began again, but the Mandalorian didn’t speak, and neither did you, instead turning your attention back to Grogu, who’d settled down, head turning back and forth between you and the man. 

 Unsure of how to fill the silence, you glanced at Terys, who shrugged, and then back at Grogu. “Have you eaten, kid? We can order you something.” 

 “We did.” The modulated voice came again, the Mandalorian’s head angling down toward the carriage. “I don’t know when he usually -”

 “Set mealtimes, but he snacks a lot.” You admitted it, finally reaching for Grogu and rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m sure you know how much he loves eating.” He does. It was a relief to hear Grogu’s thoughts again, even after only a few hours, and even moreso to hear how relaxed he sounded. “Can’t blame him though, he’s really busy all day, so -” You saw the Mandalorian lean back in  his seat, your gaze rising from Grogu to the man. Oh, I should introduce … “This is Terys, by the way. She’s our pilot, and -” 

 “You made good time.” He spoke directly to the woman without addressing her, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew by the shift of his head’s position that he was looking at her - or at the very least, was looking in her direction. “Have you flown to Nevarro before?” 

 “N-no.” She straightened up, the tremor in her voice audible. “Flown a lot of places, but mostly mid and inner-rim lately. I used to exclusively fly in the Core, but …” She lifted her cup again, gesturing with it. “Things change.” 

 “They do.” His tone gave nothing away, and you found yourself leaning slightly toward him, just watching. “Fast.” You wondered how quickly his life moved in his mind, what it felt like to be the man, how much he thought about all of the changes that had taken place throughout his lifetime. Ask. Your attention snapped back to Grogu in surprise. No way. You glanced at the Mandalorian and then back at the child. I wouldn’t ever. 

 “So.” Terys cleared her throat, still holding her cup in one hand. “You know Nevarro well?” She was focused on the Mandalorian, her eyes on his helmet. “I hear it’s changed a lot in the -”

 “It has.” You looked up and toward the source of the new voice. “I’m Cara Dune, Marshal of Nevarro for the New Republic.” She stuck out her hand and you reached up to shake it, grinning at the woman. Pulling her hand from yours, she gave Terys a quick nod but didn’t offer to shake her hand, instead leaning over and scooping Grogu out of his carriage, lifting him up as she squealed in happiness, his arms waving. The Mandalorian followed the movement with a subtle shift of his body, the lower edge of his helmet engled upward. “Oh, you little womp rat, you got big.” Cara moved to the other side of the man, sitting on the bench seat and keeping Grogu close. “Wanted to come see you earlier, but I got told no and so did Karga. He’ll be here soon, it’ll be like -” She glanced at the Mandalorian, wrinkling her nose as Grogu’s fingers closed around a loose lock of her hair. “Like old times.” 

 “Karga’s coming? Tonight?” The Mandalorian let out a breath. “Dank farrik. I thought -” 

 “He wouldn’t miss it, Mando.” Cara tweaked Grogu’s nose with her fingers and then leaned over, placing him back atop his blankets. “You know how he is. Plus I thought -” 

 “I do.” It was only two words, but you heard the finality in them. “Can I … talk to you?” He swiveled his head toward you, one gloved hand landing on the tabletop. “Outside?” Though confused at the abrupt shift in conversation, you nodded and then stood, draining the rest of your drink and telling Terys to order you another if she wanted. He stepped away from the table and you followed the Mandalorian back through the cantina, trying to ignore the looks you got from the other patrons. Once outside, you glanced up at the slowly darkening sky, smiling at the sun setting in the distance as you walked next to the Mandalorian, headed slowly in the direction of the ships. “I wanted to talk to you.” I figured, otherwise… But you stopped yourself, realizing that you needed to disregard everything you assumed about the man, waiting for him to reveal the truth to you. 

 “That’s probably a good idea, since we’ll be in … well, since we’ll both …” The Mandalorian stopped suddenly, turning his entire body toward you. His hands hung at his sides, and you stared at him, waiting. You noticed the blaster at his hip, the bandolier across his chest, a smaller one secured around his boot. He would have been imposing without the ammunition, but it added to the overall effect - you knew it and he knew it, though you didn’t think he considered it much. It’s just his life. 

 “I’ve heard about you.” He paused. “About people like you, that can … like him, like Ahsoka.” You waited for him to continue, and after a few seconds, he did. “I know Grogu can talk with you, but Skywalker also warned me … can you read my mind?” It was blunt, but you appreciated the candor from him. “Do you know what -” 

 “Can I try?” It was bold of you, but you knew that sometimes, the non-Force sensitive could feel when you were listening to them, and you didn’t want to shock him if that was the case. “You might feel a -” 

 “Yes.” Turning your attention toward the Mandalorian, you looked again at the visor, thinking. Wait. 

 “If there’s anything you don’t want me to know, try to … not think of it. It’s… Sometimes I just see everything, and I…” You swallowed. “I know that your name isn’t something you give freely. I know that to see your face is … unacceptable.” He straightened his shoulders. “Grogu’s … I know he’s seen your face, and he’s kept it from me this whole time, even without me asking, so you don’t have to …” He stood still in front of you, and when he didn’t speak, you lowered your head, sighing. “Alright. Anyway.” You brought your eyes back up and looked at his head again, focusing. 

 You could feel the man’s presence when you concentrated, a low, thrumming energy, and you realized that he was tightly coiled, though his posture didn’t betray him. He’s always ready, he’s always on edge, and he’s … You felt that he was relieved, too, but there were no solid thoughts, nothing in focus. Frowning, you took a deeper breath, still eyeing him, and even though you picked up on some of the people around you, you couldn’t get a read on the Mandalorian. “Well?” 

 “I …” You lifted a hand, head shaking back and forth. “Can I touch your arm? Or maybe your hand? Even through the glove, it …” He didn’t move for long seconds, but then he lifted his right arm from his side, turning his palm up toward you. You didn’t hesitate, reaching up and placing your hand flat atop his and closing your eyes in concentration. The emotions were stronger, and you sensed more anxiety, discontent deep within the man, but still no clear words or thoughts except - “Grogu.” You opened your eyes, pulling your hand back. “All I can … I can feel you, but … the only thing I know you’re thinking about is the kid. I think it’s the beskar, it interferes with …” You chewed on your lip. “Your thoughts are safe, Mandalorian. I’ll be … the stronger your emotions, the more likely I am to feel them, but I… oh, stars, it’s going to be amazing traveling with you. The kid’s trying to hide more of his thoughts from me. I can’t read you. It’s going to be silent for once, and I won’t have to -” 

 “I thought of him every day.” His voice was quieter than it had been. “I promised him I’d see him again, but part of me thought …” His arms were crossed over his chest, head turned to the side. “I … thought -” 

 “Well he’s here now. And he will be for a while. I’ll try to keep out of your way as much as possible. This trip isn’t about me, and I don’t want -” 

 “He needs you.” The Mandalorian’s helmet was facing forward again. “You’re here because he needs you. I saw you reach for him earlier, and then stop. You don’t have to do that.” I do. I do, because he’s not … 

 “If you say so.” You shrugged, deciding to follow his lead. “Did you bring me out here just to make sure that I couldn’t read your thoughts? Or -” He chuckled, or at least you thought he did, and then went quiet again. 

 “You aren’t afraid of me.” It wasn’t a question, but he didn’t give you a chance to reply before he continued. “I’m glad. But … why? Have you met other -”

 “No, you’re my first Mandalorian.” You rubbed a hand against your cheek, looking down and then back up. “But the kid, he … he’s told me a lot about you, and I guess… he trusts you. So I do, too.” 

 “Trust is earned.” The Mandalorian said your name, taking a half step closer and ducking his head slightly. “It has to be. Otherwise it means nothing.” He was right, but you were steadfast in your resolve, at least on your end. I have no reason not to trust you. Luke wouldn’t have sent us here if there was reason to doubt you. “Then I hope to earn yours.” You smiled at him, reaching up to push hair behind your ear. “Also, I … I know I asked if I could call you ‘Mandalorian’, but I didn’t even consider … you’re the Mand’alor, so should I call you that instead? I don’t want to -” The last thing you wanted to do was offend him, so you figured getting things out into the open as quickly as possible was the best call. 

 “You can call me Mando.” He straightened up, and you watched him look around at the still busy street. “When we get back to Mandalore, that may change, depending on …” He stopped. “But we aren’t going back to Mandalore right away.” We’re not? But I thought … “Meeting on Nevarro wasn’t just because it was convenient. I’m here to …” Eyes widening, you glanced down as you felt him growing excited, the anxiety slipping back slightly. Oh, he’s here to… “I didn’t want to talk about it in front of the pilot, because it’s not her concern, but …”

 “You’re here for bounty pucks.” You whispered  the words, feeling your own heart rate increase. “But I thought you wanted to spend time with -”

 “I do.” He sighed again. “If we go back to Mandalore right away, I won’t get to … when I’m there, things are … more political.” Of course they are, you’re  the King, and you’re expected to … “But here, or up there?” He pointed toward  the sky. “It… isn’t.” 

 “I understand.” You did, and hoped that he knew you were telling the truth. “And he hunted with you before, so…” You shrugged again. “You’ll keep him safe, Mando.” Saying it for the first time, you felt the sound of it pull at your lips before you smiled again, closing your eyes. 

 “No.” Your eyes reopened, head cocked to the side in question as he stared at you. “We will.” 

 --- 

 After returning inside, you’d gone back to your table, sliding back in and lifting the new drink, toasting with Cara and Terys, the Mandalorian again leaning back in his seat silently. By the time Karga arrived, clapping a hand down onto the other man’s shoulder and introducing himself loudly to you and the pilot, you were feeling more at ease than you’d ever felt out with the others from the Academy. It’s because there’s no pressure. I don’t owe any of these people anything, aside from Grogu, and … it feels good. 

 Cara and Terys stepped away to play darts, leaving you, Mando, Karga and Grogu at the table, the little one climbing out of his cradle and toddling over the bench to the second man, climbing into his lap and settling there for a few minutes, the newcomer welcoming him excitedly. He really does have friends here. You smiled at the sight, introducing yourself and striking up a conversation with the man while Mando again sat back, letting the two of you talk. It hadn’t taken long for Grogu to climb from Karga’s lap and into his father’s, and even as you continued your conversation, you saw the man’s gloved hand rise, his thumb stroking over the top curve of the kid’s ear. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. 

 Grogu nodded off after only a few minutes, but Mando made no move to put him back into the cradle, instead asking Karga directly for the discussed pucks, one hand curled protectively around the kid’s body. “She knows. I told her earlier. You don’t need to hide them.” 

 “I don’t need the Jedi on my tail.” Karga eyed you. “You won’t -”

 “I’m not a Jedi. And it’s not like I’m checking in with them daily, either.” You shrugged, finishing your drink. “You don’t get a reputation like his without being good at what you do. As long as they know the kid’s ok, they don’t need anything else.” You looked at the Mandalorian, giving him another smile. “And you don’t have to worry about me saying anything about what he does, or what you do.” 

 “His reputation?” Karga laughed. “I have one too, you know.” But he was still smiling, reaching into his deep pocket and pulling out a handful of the pucks, quickly stacking them and sliding them toward the man that sat to your left. “Five of them to start. You know the rules. I picked mid-tier, just to -”

 “That’s fine. Standard payment?” Karga nodded. “Good.” He reached for the stack, picking it up and glancing at the discs before reaching down and securing them in one of his waist pouches without flipping through them.  “We -” 

 “So, Mandalorian.” Terys was back at the table, Cara a few steps behind her. “What -” 

 “Terys, stop.” You whispered the words, reaching forward to touch her arm. “You don’t -” You could feel the interest rolling off of her, and you were irritated that you hadn’t picked up on it earlier. She wants to go to bed with him, that’s… “You’ve had too -”

 “I have not.” She cleared her throat and you watched as Grogu was shifted from the Mandalorian’s lap and back into his cradle, the sides closing with a few punches of the buttons on his vambrance. “I just know what I want.” I tried. She dropped back into her seat and propped her head on her hand, eyes bright. “You’re a man under there, right? So you -”

 You watched as Cara’s eyebrows rose and she turned away from the table, headed for the bar, Karga not far behind her. Oh, boy. How do I … “I’m not… interested.” His voice was even, but you heard no emotion in it, the Mandalorian’s visor pointed directly at the pilot. “It wouldn’t … no.” She pouted for a few seconds, and you took the opportunity to stand, looking down at where the man still sat. 

 “I’ll see you in the morning? Which ship is yours, I can meet you there.” You glanced at the carriage. “We -” The Mandalorian’s attention shifted to you; the whole upper half of his body turning along with his head.

 “I’ll need to unlink his carriage, otherwise -” What? No. 

 “He’s staying with you tonight, Mando.” You gave him a gentle smile. “Not me.” You watched the set of his arms tighten, keeping the smile on your face. “So just tell me -”

 “But you said he comes to your room at night. What if he wakes up and -”

 “He won’t.” You were sure of it. “If he wakes up, he’ll know you’re there, and won’t even try to find me.” He doesn’t need me anymore. You caught Cara’s eye and the woman tilted her head toward the door, one eyebrow raised. I’m trying.  “Goodnight, Mando.” Holding a hand out toward Terys, you laughed again, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you to bed. You’re gonna need sleep to fly out tomorrow.” 

 As the woman stepped around the table, she reached out with one hand, settling it on the Mandalorian’s shoulder briefly. He stiffened immediately, but you doubted the stumbling woman noticed. He doesn’t like to be touched unexpectedly. Good to know.  “I’m in room 5 if you change your mind.”  But she let you lead her from the bar, and you waved goodbye to the other two before stepping out into the darkness of the street. “You shoulda helped me. Did you see the size of him? He would have -” 

 “You just met him, you can’t expect…” But the woman laughed, the two of you headed back for the inn, and though it was only a few steps away, it seemed to take forever. It’s a good thing we aren’t sleeping on the ship.

 “He’s a bounty hunter turned King, he has to live in the moment.” She sighed and unlocked her door. “Maybe he’ll show up.” Yeah, I doubt that. “Could you read him?” She leaned in the doorway, frowning. “What’s going on in that head of his? Could you see what he looks like under there?” 

 “I don’t know. I couldn’t really see anything.” You wrinkled your nose. “And I have no idea. I don’t want to.” That’s a lie. “Goodnight. I’ll see you before we go our separate ways tomorrow.” She closed the door and you walked to your room, locking the door behind you and laying down on the bed without even changing. There’s no point. I’m just … 

 Stretching out, you realized how exhausted you were - and how much you appreciated the small but soft mattress. Back onto a ship tomorrow. Hopefully there’s a bench large enough for me. Sighing, you closed your eyes, replaying the day - and your interactions with everyone on Nevarro - in your mind. What a busy few hours. But that night, you dreamed about the man’s eyes again - and this time, you could see the skin at the outside corners of them - both sides deeply creased, as if he was smiling. 

 ---

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List:

@the-blind-assassin-12​ @pheedraws​ @alraedesigns​ @malionnes​ @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove​ @siegfriedkingsglaive​ @valkblue​ @hehe-oof @jynrumbly​​

[mysticgoblinwriter]

Driving In A Cold Sweat; There Is No One On This Highway

Warnings- Murder, infidelity, swearing, food imagery, shitty parents, i made Steve the villain who’s in the HOA and a politician, adult content, dark!reader, cheating, a bit of flirting, mental health joke (mental health is NOT a joke, y’all), religion symbolism, dark!steve, peggy x bucky,

Word Count- 1.9k

kudos to @blackberrybucky for being my soundboard, and @fandomsandxfiles for being my beta reader. Love y'all

a/n- This is inspired by Hypothermic by Goodnight Texas.  Its really dark, and I surprised myself writing this but I like it. I also changed the landscape to desert. Leave comments if you want! As many as you like, I fangirl over my work too. All writers should, its selfcare.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING FLUFFY AND SOFT TURN AWAY NOW; MINORS DNI

DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE. A REBLOG IS APPRECIATED. A REPOST IS NOT.

Bucky looks you up and down, taking you in like you are the gods own ambrosia.  “So, doll.  What brings you to this shit hole?”

You laugh to yourself.  “I murdered somebody.”- was the sentence that also inspired this but its not in the actual story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The radio gave out miles ago.  It was emitting nothing except for crackling and static.  Every now and then it would cut back to a sermon, funnily enough it’d been the same one that was on when you started your trip.  Sunset was a little ways off.  If you looked hard enough you could see coyotes just off the asphalt.  Alive, yes.  But just how long had their souls been gone?  Someone was screaming.

A man.  You’d heard that scream before.  Seared into you memory like that steak you had for your 15th birthday. It was right next to you.  Oozing blood and raw-red.  You could hear the clink of the knife as it scraped against the plate.  Shaking your head to clear it, you notice an exit with a gas station.  “Now’s a time as good as any to stop.”  Gravel crunches as you slide up next to the pump. The neon beer lights from the bar across the road are calling.  But you can’t answer. The gas handle is slick and grimy, you’ve felt something like that before, but you can’t remember what.  A fuzzy noise in the back of your ears gets your attention.  Another truck has pulled in.  Right in the spot next to yours, never mind the dozen others that are free.  A bulky man steps down, his face hidden by a rangers hat.

You could tell he worked out though.  And had hair in need of a washing.  Clunk.  The tank was full.  You thought it best to leave before anyone could place you, but your stomach needed something other than greasy two-bit fast food.  You glance around, looking for any sign that promised a hot meal.

“Looking for something, doll?” You let out a small gasp.  He was staring straight at you now.

“Does this shithole have a place to eat?  I might have to start eating the cactus.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, there’s a diner about half mile down the road.”

His face brightens like he just thought of something.  “You wanna meet me there?  I’ll buy dinner?”  You weigh the options.  You can’t have anybody recognize you; but your cash is getting low and however you can stretch it, you must.  You nod once.  “Sure.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The diner is every trope you’d seen in the movies your pops watched when he got off work.  Flies buzzing, neon sign flickering, checkered tile.  It even had the shiny red leather booths.  What a dream.  “Getcha a seat anywhere, honey.  I’ll be right over,” came a perky voice from the back.  Presumably a waitress. You choose the booth near the back exit.  Its always good to have a backup plan.

The man said he needed to get something at the mini-mart, that you could go ahead and he’d catch up.  Somebody screamed right next to you, causing you to jump out of your seat.  You whip your head around.  No one was even in the dining area.  It sounded so real.  Like you could reach out and grasp the shattering inky blackness.  You take a couple of deep breaths.  Try to remember your happy place.  Tahiti, its a magical place.  Or so you’ve been told  You just picked it from a magazine that was open on the coffee table the night your mother set fire to the curtains in the living room.  The flames had licked up the page, burning the island resort into ash.  Boots thudded as they made way to where you were.  He slides in across from you.

“Um, the waitress’ll be right out,” you said softly.  He barely heard it over the rickety air conditioning.  He nods to show he heard.  He’s sitting close.  Closer than you’d thought another human would ever sit next to you again.  His hands are rough and calloused.  The sleeve cuffs of his hoodie are frayed; as if someone clawed at them.  Eyes traveling up his body, you take in more details.  The hoodie isn’t faded, its brand new.  He wears a bracelet of leather on his right hand, with a charm you can’t quite see.  His necklace is corded hemp, plain and understated.

A light stubble that’s maybe three days old covers his jaw.  His eyes... are piercing right through you. You take in a quick breath, not being able to look away.  You’d never seen that shade of blue before.   He’d been watching you watching him.  Quirking an eyebrow, ”See anything ya like, doll?” You start to sputter an answer but the waitress comes over.  “Sorry about the wait.  Here’s your-”  Blue eyes interrupts her, “We don’t need those.  I’ll have the special and she’ll have the ‘Its Impossible To Go Away Hungry’ plate”  “Okay, then.  I’ll get that right out to ya folks.”

You glare at him, he mirrors it with dicky nonchalance. “Why did you order for me?”  He leans forward, tilts his head the right the tiniest fraction.  “You’re starved.  I really don’t give a damn what kept you from eating but I ain’t gonna let you go without giving you a meal.  The steak plate is the biggest meal they have.  You can take a to go box, that is if you don’t eat the whole thing.”

“Oh.”  You cast out a huff, “Well, thank you.”  He flashes a killer smile. Pearly white teeth in a straight line.  Not an imperfection to be found anywhere.  A silence falls between the two of you.  You can’t decide whether its comfortable of not.

“My name is Bucky.  I thought you wouldn’t like eating with a stranger.  I like to doodle in the margins of my books sometimes.”  “Please tell me not library books.”  He scoffs as if you suggested the impossible, “Never.  Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Jury’s out on that, Bucky.”  He looks at you more intently now.  “Really?  Same could be said about you.  When I first spoke to you it was like a deer in headlights.  Ya running from something, sugar?”  He’d said it jokingly but you didn’t laugh.

“No.  Nothing like that.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shirley came back with your plates, and two root beers.  She left the check at the end of the table and Bucky swooped it up.  The meal passed by in the comfortable sounds of silverware clinking and ice clacking in the cups.  You both ate in record time.

You were careful to save enough for a second meal. That went into the to go container.  Now both cups were drained and plates scraped clean.  You start to slide out of your seat, mumbling a thanks but Bucky stops you.  “Wait, won’t you sit here a while longer?  I’d be kinda sad sitting here alone.”  After a moments hesitation, you resume your position.  “What do you wanna talk about?  It can’t be the weather.  Its been dry as bones for weeks.”   He ponders for a moment, “You.”  He shifts a little, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I want to know what you’re running from, and see if I can offer...a distraction.”  That shocks you.  “Life?  Aren’t we all running away in some form or another?  I just happened to take the mobile route.”  You shrug, “What do you want me to say?  It was all shitty so I left it behind.  And as for the distraction part, I got a whore last night, so don’t bother.”  He is silent.  Just sits there and gazes at you.  You cock your head, getting impatient.  “Am I allowed to leave now?  Or do you want to talk about our feelings?”

“I slept with my best friends wife.”

“I-I’m sorry you what??”

“I slept with my best friends wife.  He owns half the town, what with him being mayor and all.  I couldn’t take it anymore, he’s always been the golden boy.  Always been the beacon of light.  I just wanted a slice of what he had.”  He looks up, his eyes are dead.  “She was willing, and I just... took her.  There on his desk.  He’d been out for lunch with some bigwig, and I made her cum twice on my cock.”  He chuckles darkly.  “That’d been the first time.  All the other times don’t matter, he doesn’t know about those.  But he does know about the time in the craft shed.  Peggy did pottery.

Had a nice little workshop, it was connected to the mansion they had.  I wanted to bring her pleasure in the place where she gets frustrated often, so she’d have something else to think about.  Steve caught us on the floor.  A big bunch of daffodils in hand.  Stupid, those weren’t even her favorites.”  He was gone now, lost in memories, not even knowing he was talking.  “Said he had come by to take her to lunch.  That was always like Steve.  Expected her to clear her schedule at the drop of a hat but never doing the same for anybody. He didn’t even get mad.  He just walked away, muttering something about his office.

Peggy said she could talk some sense into him.  The next day I found her in the garbage when I took out my trash.”  Your sharp inhale and big eyes do nothing to catch his attention.  “Steve comes strolling out of nowhere, said that she was a threat to his image.  Said that I need to leave or face the same.  I asked why he left me alive and he said ‘So you can remember the pain until you lay down in the ground and the mice and carrion drag your body up from its silk cocoon to feast.”

But that’s not all.”  He said the last bit so quietly, it was as if he said nothing.

“What?”  He’s crying now, tears are forming rivers in his eyes.  “She knew.  She knew  he was going to be there and that’s how she wanted to go out.”  Your puzzled expression makes him laugh.  “Don’t know many politicians, do you?  Good.  Keep it that way.  That day when the mail came I got a letter.  From her.  It said how she wanted to divorce Steve ever since he became the HOA president.  But she couldn’t.  He had threatened her once, just once and what he said was so blisteringly awful.  And he did it.  He is a man of his word, after all.  He kept his damn word.”

“So...she used you as an out?”  He winces.  You hadn’t meant to sound like that.

“Yes.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Out in the diners parking lot you say goodbye to James.  Wait.  No, no.  His name is Bucky.  He’s got a green  Chevy and blue eyes.  Or was it red?  It doesn’t matter anyway.  You back out and head for the next state, ignoring the blood leaking from the tarp in your trunk.  The screams have stopped.  And the moon is bright.

[nancywheelxr]

based on yet another genius conversation @ptadadwenkexing and i had that basically started with: “what if Ye Baiyi adopted Wen Kexing after his parents died?” and then spiraled from there

*

in a city sorrow built

[before]

The world is a foggy forest.

Or, perhaps, a murky swamp, but Zhen Yan has never seen a swamp before, he doesn’t think. All he knows is that his head feels stuffy and it hurts so much. Like he’s on fire. Like when he tripped and skinned his knee except it’s burning everywhere.

When did he skin his–

He can’t think, it’s so hot in here, and it hurts, and–

There are voices around him. Is the Ghost King back? Anger sparks somewhere beneath the hurt, but fear does too, so much of it, and Zhen Yan wants his mom, wants to go home, wants– 

The arms holding him shift and even through the haze, he curls up further, fingers grasping uselessly at robes. “Luo-yi,” he tries to say, feeling tears gathering up in his eyes– she can’t leave too, she can’t, please, don’t leave him alone, please–

“Shhhh,” her voice comes from above, a finger sweeping over his brow even as he’s passed to another set of arms, “it’ll be okay, you won’t remember this.”

“And you think he’ll thank you for that?” This voice, Zhen Yan doesn’t recognize, it sounds cold and harsh, and he wants to push away, but his body feels heavy and so far away, and thinking too hard hurts, so he can’t do anything, except–

*

The next time he surfaces, he no longer feels like he’s burning: instead, he’s terribly cold.

“ – no place for a child,” that same voice from before is saying, and Zhen Yan still hates it, still wants his mom, his dad, even Luo-yi, but he’s so cold– he’ll, he’ll– something, he’ll do something, later, he will, but now, he can only burrow further into this person’s arms, seeking any warmth. The hold on him tightens, something is draped over his shoulders. “Hey, are you awake, kid?”

Yes, and I’ll kill you, you’ll see– the pain spikes again, and he’s dragged back into the darkness.

*

“ – you think you can just replace him?!”

“What did you want me to do? Leave the child in that place?”

“How is bringing him to this damned place any better? The great Sword Immortal could not think of anywhere else?”

“Please, you two, you’ll wake the boy–”

“The child is– his parents died for him, it’s my responsibility–”

“Is it? Or is it your guilt?”

*

A hand presses to his forehead.

“The fever has gone down,” a new voice says quietly, kinder and softer than the first two from before, and Zhen Yan leans into the touch.

Mom, is it you? Did you come back for me?

*

It’s not. She didn’t. When he wakes up again, the fog in his mind is nearly gone.

The winter of his memories is nearly gone, snow melted into a spring river. It’s still there.

He did it.

It’s still there.

*

In the morning, he wakes up with the sun filtering in through the window, brighter than he’s ever seen it. It lights up the room he’s in, allowing him to see how sparsely furnished it is– just the bed he’s in, a desk by the window with a chair, and a large sword resting in a shadowed corner. Over the chair, a white over robe is draped and on the desk, he notices with staggering relief his jade hairpin.

The key is safe.

How long has he been here? He doesn’t remember much after drinking the water Luo-yi gave him. Had he thrown it all up? He tried later that night, but then– what? Oh, he thinks he might have thrown up blood too, that’s probably not very good-- 

The door slides open. 

He means to pretend to be asleep, but the movement startles him, and the man by the door freezes, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. The man doesn’t look threatening, with a water basin in his hand, but the little time he’s spent in the Ghost Valley has already taught him not to trust appearances. 

The man sighs, unsticking from the doorway to set the basin at the table. His movements are slow and precise, clearly telegraphed before moving, and when he finally turns to face the bed, his face is tired, weary like Luo-yi’s only ever was that first night when she was cleaning up blood from his face. 

“Alright, what’s your name, then?”

Something terrible caves in his chest, breaking off jagged edges, sharp and cutting, and the words all turn to ash in his mouth. What is his name? His mom told him to never use the Zhen surname again, didn’t she? And she– now, he’s– 

Besides, it feels very far away, that life. Maybe Zhen Yan should stay with that boy in his memories who had a mother and a father that were all alive and well. Maybe– 

“Aiya, why are you crying,” the man says, taking a step towards the bed but stopping when that only seems to make things worse, “if I was going to hurt you, do you think I’d waste my time taking care of you first? Little Idiot, did you forget your own name? That’s a real concern, so you have to tell me the truth.”

“I’m not an idiot!” It rushes out of his mouth before he can stop himself, but surprisingly, along with the man’s awkward blundering, it makes him feel a bit better. “And of course I know my name! It’s– it’s– Wen Kexing!”

There. Mom, is that okay? I’m sorry, I’m listening to you now, see? 

The man does not look like he believes him. “Wen Kexing, sure. How much do you remember, then?”

Wen Kexing. It sounds foreign. Unfamiliar. But not– not bad? He could– it sounds like someone he could be. Wen Kexing. Still the same characters, still him, just– just pieced together a little different. Yes, just different. “Who are you? Where am I? Why did you bring me here? What do you want?”

Another sigh. “You’re going to be a pest, I can tell,” the man scowls, shaking a finger in his direction, “so disrespectful! I’m letting it go this time, but see if I won’t have you kneeling outside to learn some manners in the future.”

He– Wen Kexing scowls right back. “I’ll bite you!”

While he had been prepared to take a hit for that, the only thing the man does is snort. “Silly boy, do you think you are a little ghoul? Now, now, come on, what do you remember?”

Too much. Not enough. Wen Kexing doesn’t know how to answer that. He remembers his dad killing himself and he remembers his mom lying on the ground. He remembers screaming until his throat gave out and he remembers the Ghost King laughing. He remembers– another boy? He doesn’t know what his mother looked like smiling or how his father called him, but he remembers how blood tastes on his tongue.

What do you remember?

Tears are welling up again and Luo-yi told him once not to cry in front of other people, but everything is so terrible, he just wants to curl up under the blankets and not wake up again, and, and–

“Oi, little ghost, don't start crying again,” the man sounds a little panicked even if his face doesn't really show it, but now that he has started, Wen Kexing can't stop crying, choking out sobs so much, he can barely breathe. A hand falls on his shoulder over the blankets, and he looks up to find the man is kneeling by the bed now, looking very uncomfortable, “alright, if I tell you my name, will you stop crying? My name is Ye Baiyi.”

Wen Kexing hiccups. “Where's Luo-yi?”

“At the Ghost Valley with the other ghosts,” Ye Baiyi says, voice kinder than before, “she gave you to me to get you out of that damned place.”

“Why?”

“Because that place is no place for children, not even rude little ghosts.”

“Why?”

“Because– ai, is that the only word you know? Come on, if you're well enough to be a pest, you're well enough to get out of bed to eat.”

“I could be dying,” Wen Kexing sniffs, slowly crawling out from his nest of blankets. There is a lot he wants to ask, but this man doesn't seem to be bad, even if he's rude. Besides, food would be nice. He pokes his head out, glaring. “No funny business, or I'll really bite you.”

Ye Baiyi laughs. "Such a fierce little ghost,” he allows Wen Kexing to get to his feet on his own and doesn’t try to get any closer, only gesturing for him to follow, “put on that robe too, it’s cold up here and there’s people you need to meet after you eat. Well, one person, but she’ll come around later too.”

If they’re going outside later, maybe Wen Kexing could try sneaking out. If this really isn’t the Ghost Valley, then– then, maybe he could run away. To somewhere. He doesn’t know yet, he’ll figure out the details later. 

But food first, he really is hungry.

***

[now]

The inn is bustling with people, the happy chatter reaching even the top of the stairs, and the sun is shining brightly outside– they should go out again today, Wen Kexing decides, just for the fun of it, to hell with the Scorpion! Maybe the market? 

“A-Xu, how about it, let’s go to the market again today,” he’s saying, half-formed plans to laze around in the sun bringing a genuine smile to his face– when he spots him. “Oh, shit.” 

Zhou Zishu immediately starts scanning their surroundings, which is so sweet, Wen Kexing will definitely swoon later when he’s not in a crisis. “What? What did you see?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he tries to backtrack, tugging at Zhou Zishu’s arm to drag him back to their rooms. Maybe, if he’s very luck, Ye Baiyi has not seen them yet. Could they escape through the window? It’s not very high, he doesn’t think. “A-Xu, A-Xu, I’ve just remembered, let’s go back upstairs, I don’t feel so well–”

“Lao Wen, what–”

“Wen Kexing, you lunatic, stop right there!”

“Wait, who’s that–”

“No one, A-Xu, no one,” he closes the door behind them, whirling around to grin his most innocent grin, the one that had Rong-furen patting his head and slipping him an extra mooncake, “A-Xu, what would you do if I told you to jump out that window with me?”

“What,” Zhou Zishu says, eyebrows going up, up, up, as he smirks, “are you telling me there’s someone Sword Immortal Wen is afraid of?”

On one hand, they don’t have time to waste squabbling about unimportant things like this when Ye Baiyi has alread caught sight of him. On the other hand, that is just not something he can let stand– “as if! That old man wishes– !”

Their time runs out: the door is thrown open with no ceremony and Wen Kexing sighs. Honestly, the drama. “Wen Kexing!” Ye Baiyi points a finger at him, not even sparing Zhou Zishu a look, narrowing his eyes, “how many times have I told you to stop calling yourself the Sword Immortal?!”

He scowls. “Old man,” he starts, thinks better of it, amends with a winning smile, “shifu, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately, he is betrayed by his own soulmate: “are you telling me,” Zhou Zishu drawls, “you are not the Sword Immortal, Lao Wen?”

“A-Xu! Don’t laugh at me, your skepticism is very hurtful!”

“So you have some brains, unlike the people downstairs who bought into his bullshit,” Ye Baiyi seems to take stock of Zhou Zishu, and Wen Kexing feels irrationally nervous for no good reason– first of all, his A-Xu is literally perfect, so there’s nothing for Ye Baiyi to bitch about, and second of all, who cares what the Old Man thinks? “Who are you, anyway? Why are you running around with that pest in your state?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling– wait, what state? A-Xu?”

“Maybe we should all sit down,” Zhou Zishu gestures to the small table, looking uncharacteristically surprised. 

When he came down the mountain earlier that month, Wen Kexing had only meant to look into why people were suddenly trying to blame Luo-yi for their mess and maybe, if he were lucky, watch the Five Lakes Alliance burn themselves to the ground, get his revenge without even lifting a finger– how fortunate is that? But now things are a lot messier, he still hasn’t figured out how much of his recent dreams are real or not, how truly entwined his life is with Zhou Zishu’s. Had they truly met as children?

It’ll have to wait. Maybe Ye Baiyi will know something, he’ll annoy it out of him later. His head is beginning to ache again, but it’s fine, let them just have tea first– now that he thinks about it, who knows, maybe the Old Man can heal Zhou Zishu’s old injury?

Just in case, Wen Kexing pours the tea for him, beaming away any suspicion. 

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH7

Happy Valentine’s weekend, my dears! To make up for missing last week, I’m sharing two chapters today. Maybe if you’re all really good, and I have time I’ll share chapter 8 on Sunday. That’s where the fun begins ;) Are you ready for it?

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Previous   First   Next    AO3

Chapter 7: Shake It Out

My dear sweet Marinette,

           How are you, my fairy? I hope that this letter finds you well. When you backpack over Russian mountains, you take whatever mail service you can get. I have so much to tell you about my latest trip, but first I have some exciting news for you!

During my last stay in Africa volunteering to build homes in a humble little village, I ran into a sweet little fairy by the name of Clara Nightingale. She says she met you! Did you know she’s a famous pop star? Anyway, she and I spent a lot of quality time together teaching young children how to read, and I showed her the scarf you knitted me for Christmas. She loved it! She says she will be in Paris again on the 18th and wanted to meet with you about designing for her, so I gave her the address to the bakery. She said she would stop by and see you.

“No way, no way, no way!” Marinette shrieked, kicking her feet. “Clara Nightingale wants me to design for her! I’m gonna faint.”

“This is an amazing opportunity for you, Marinette,” Tikki said as Marinette paced the floor, hugging the letter. “Tomorrow could change your life!”

“I know, Tikki! I’m so excited to- wait.” She stopped abruptly. “Tomorrow?”

“The letter said the 18th,” Tikki said, and Marinette raced over to pull down her calendar. “Isn’t that-”

“Tomorrow! Clara Nightingale is coming to my house. Tomorrow. To look at my designs!” Marinette clutched her cheeks as rapid breaths shook her shoulders. Tikki covered her ears as another scream emitted from Marinette’s throat. “This is a dream come true, Tikki!”

“It’s not that surprising. Gabriel Agreste liked your designs, and Clara attended the show, so it’s not like she’s unfamiliar with your work.” Tikki pointed out. “Plus, you’ve designed for Jagged before too.”

“I know, but getting commissioned by celebrities at 14 isn’t something you just get used to.” Marinette fell onto her chaise with a sigh. “I can’t wait to tell Macy, Eliott, and Martin! They’re gonna freak out.”

“What are you going to do about Chloe?”

Marinette waved it away, reading over the letter again. “I’m going to ignore her. She has no power over me.”

“True…” Tikki said. “But she did have a point. You always look out for your friends.”

“Yeah, but how many of those ‘friends’ came to visit me when I left?” Marinette said pointedly.

“Is that why you left? To see who would come?”

Marinette set the letter down and pursed her lips. “That’s one reason. I wanted to get away, but I also wanted to see who my real friends are,” she said. “I wanted to see who cared enough to chase after me, and I guess Adrien is the only real friend I had after all. Funny how I spent all that time hoping he would notice me when in reality, he’s always been on my side.”

“He thinks really highly of you.” Tikki flitted over to rest beside her.

“I know. My heart was beating so fast when he said those things earlier. Do you think it means he likes me?” Marinette smiled up at her ceiling, biting her lip.

“It definitely means he knows how amazing you are, and I’m sure you can catch his attention romantically too. Especially now that you two are hanging out so much,” Tikki said.

“I feel like all of my dreams are coming true.” Marinette buried her face in the throw pillow with a squeak.

“With everything you give to the city, I think you deserve it,” Tikki said.

“Well, one thing is for sure, I need to defeat Hawkmoth before I become a famous fashion designer and go to New York. That’s priority number one. Chat Noir, Rena- oh-” Marinette sat up abruptly.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, Alya and Nino are Rena Rouge and Carapace, but after everything… I don’t know if I still trust them,” she said. “I don’t doubt that they would help Ladybug, but if I know who they are, then it might affect me. Do you think I made a mistake picking people close to me?”

“I think that’s a question for someone with more experience picking.” Tikki advised.

Marinette drummed her fingers on her thigh. “You’re right, Tikki. Let’s go.”

Master Fu was playing cards with Wayzz when Marinette knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Master?”

“Marinette, what brings you here?” He lowered his hand calmly.

“I could use some advice. Do you have a minute?”

Wayzz peeked over his cards with a huff. “We are in the middle of a game,” he said matter-of-factly, but Master Fu cast him a sly smile.

“It’s okay.” He splayed his royal flush for Wayzz to see. “I was just winning. What is on your mind?”

Marinette sat on the mat, hugging her knees to her chest as Wayzz zipped off grumpily. Taking a deep breath, she dove in, sparing no details—Volpina, Lila, her friends, changing schools, leaving Alya. Everything. Master Fu listened patiently while she talked, sipping his tea thoughtfully every now and then.

“I’m sorry, Master, but I think I made a mistake picking my friends to be Rena Rouge and Carapace.” She finished, head hanging low. “I don’t think I’m fit to choose our partners anymore.”

“Marinette,” Master Fu said with one of his kind, grandfatherly smiles. “We cannot blame ourselves for the actions of others. Your friends have made choices outside of your control. That does not mean that your judgment was lacking when you picked them. People change, and that is no one’s fault, just the natural order of things.”

“So, you won’t be mad if I pick someone else next time I need help?” Marinette glanced up at him like a small child waiting to be scolded.

“You must pick allies you can trust—whoever that happens to be in the moment,” he said.

“Thank you, Master.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Sorry to interrupt your game.”

“It’s okay. I have a large lead on Wayzz.” He chuckled. “Come back anytime.”

“I will. And next time, I’ll choose people I know I can count on.”

♪♫♪ StopRewind ♪♫♪

“You’re in an awfully good mood,” Macy remarked as Marinette took her seat in home room.

“Did something good happen? Spill!” Eliott leaned in.

Marinette glanced around the room to ensure their classmates couldn’t hear them. “Can you two keep a secret?”

“Oh, if there’s anything we aristocrats know how to do, it’s keep secrets.” Eliott assured her.

“Yeah, you’re our friend now. You can count on us.” Macy echoed with an encouraging nod.

Marinette bit her lip, leaning in close to whisper, “Clara Nightingale wants me to design for her.”

“No way!” Eliott gasped.

“Marinette, that’s huge.” Macy squealed before regaining her composure. “Don’t worry. We will totally keep it on the down-low, but I can’t wait to see the look on Gabrielle’s face when it goes public.”

“Pretty soon you’ll be buying your own yacht, Marinette,” Eliott said with a laugh. “Speaking of, you still need to see mine.”

“Oh, and we should totally have tea at my house! We just had the theater redone,” Macy added.

“I’d love to,” Marinette said. “Clara is supposed to come over today, so I’ll tell you how it goes.”

“We want all of the details tomorrow,” Macy said as Mr. Mercier entered the room and called for everyone to settle down. “We can rendezvous at my place this weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

When school ended, Marinette rushed home, a giddy smile tugging at her cheeks. What type of design would Clara want? A dress? Or maybe a tasteful pantsuit? Her mind was already buzzing with ideas. Hopefully, she didn’t mess everything up. What if she designed something, and Clara hated it? Or worse what if Audrey Bourgeois slammed her design in the next issue of her magazine because she refused to help Chloe? Then it could ruin Clara’s career, and it would be all Marinette’s fault!

“Hi, sweetie. How was school?” her mom greeted when she entered the bakery.

“Fine, except I have no talent, and I’m going to ruin Clara Nightingale,” she said.

“That’s not true. My daughter has all the talent in the world. She can do anything!” Her dad scooped her into a tight hug. “After all, she comes by it naturally.” He gestured to a large wedding cake resting in the back.

“You’re just nervous, sweetie. You’re going to be great,” her mom said.  

The bell above the door chimed, and a woman wearing a hat and sunglasses entered. Marinette’s father put her down and resumed his post in the back while her mother returned to the cash register.

“Welcome! What can we get for you today?” her mom asked politely.

“What I’m after isn’t a sweet treat; there’s someone here I want to meet.” She lowered her sunglasses to peek over at Marinette. “It’s been some time since we’ve seen one another, but your designs are truly like no other.”

“Clara Nightingale! You’re here!” Marinette gasped.

“I want to ask you a request of mine. I’ll run it by you if you’ve got time.”

“Yes, I have so much time!” Marinette said, then composing herself, gestured to the back door. “Why don’t we chat upstairs?”

“Fine by me. This request is top secret, you see,” Clara said. She followed Marinette up to the apartment, and once they were safely away from the public eye, she removed her disguise with a sigh of relief. “Thank you for meeting with me. I assume you read your grandmother’s letter.”

“I did. It arrived yesterday.” Marinette nodded, putting on a pot of tea.

“Excellent! Then you know why I’m here.”

Marinette turned and found herself face-to-face with Clara, nearly dropping the teabags in surprise.

“Ever since I met you, I felt a connection between us like our destinies were entwined. I loved the hat you designed for Adrien, and Jagged has only ever told me great things about you. Then of course, Gina’s scarf was to die for, so, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would you be willing to design for me?” Clara dropped onto one knee.

“Doesn’t Gabriel Agreste usually design your clothes? Wouldn’t you rather see a professional?” Marinette asked.

“Gabriel’s designs are wonderful, but I think you can capture my essence for this. I’ve been nominated for a music award, and I want you to design my dress for the ceremony.” Clara took her hands with a confident smile. “You and I are both passionate about our crafts, and I think you can bring something that Gabriel can’t, so what do you say?”

Clara’s gaze bore into hers hopefully, and Marinette shifted her weight. “I’ll do my best.” Marinette gulped, and Clara bounced in delight.

“Thank you, Marinette! This favor is one I won’t forget!” Clara pulled her in for a tight hug. “Your willingness means so much, and very soon I’ll be in touch.”

Clara trotted out the door happily, hat and sunglasses in hand, leaving Marinette standing in the kitchen, stunned. She blinked out of her trance when the teapot on the stove screeched and set it aside, barely capable of containing her smile.

She couldn’t wait to tell her friends this.

♪♫♪ I’d Love to Break It to You ♪♫♪

Adrien removed his fencing gloves with a sigh. Another long day of watching Lila manipulate everyone. Even he had to admit it was getting old, especially since Nino spent most of his free time helping Alya with her deputy duties, which were really Lila’s class representative duties that she came up with excuses to get out of.

He ripped open his locker and tossed the gloves into his bag, thinking back to Marinette’s anguished sobs the previous evening. Seeing her so upset was nauseating in a way Adrien had never felt before. Maybe it was because Marinette was always positive and upbeat, doing her best to help others even when she had problems of her own. Someone like her being so broken and hurt was painful to watch. He wanted to help her in some way, but how could he? He could barely stand up to Chloe, let alone Lila.

“Why the long face?” Kagami’s voice startled him.

He turned to face her as she leaned against the locker next to his.

“Just tired.” He slung his bag over one shoulder with a shrug.

“You’ve been like this for the past week,” she remarked as he paced up the aisle toward the door. “Ever since Marinette left.”

“It’s been a long week. I’ve had a lot going on,” he said flatly.

“You miss her.”

Adrien stopped short at the end of the row and glanced back at Kagami over one shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I? She’s my friend.”

Kagami shoved away from the locker, approaching him slowly—lithe like a cat stalking her prey. “I wonder why she left so suddenly. Rumor has it that she had a jealousy spat with that Italian girl in your class,” Kagami said. “What was her name again? Lie-la?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said curtly, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“She sure has everyone enamored.” Kagami paused beside him and cocked a hip. “Well, almost everyone.”

“Why do you care?” Adrien’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t.” She shrugged.

“So why bring it up?”

“Because you and I both know the truth, and I suspect Marinette does too.” She tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “She’s a liar.”

Adrien let out a breath, the stiffness in his shoulders fading. “How’d you find out?”

“She claimed that her great grandfather was a world-champion fencer who invented a secret technique, but my family has held the championship title for the last six generations,” Kagami said. “Plus, her stories are so obviously farfetched and self-congratulating.”

“Tell that to everyone else,” he grumbled.  

“It’s not really my place. I don’t even go here.” Kagami shrugged again. “Besides, to everyone here, I’m just the ice queen.”

“So, you’re stuck with this knowledge too.” Adrien deflated with a sigh.

“After what happened with Marinette, I have no interest in confronting her. If your classmates want to be sheep, I say let them,” she said. “No sense in letting it upset you. They could easily figure it out if they applied an ounce of brain power.”

“Well, yeah, but she’s using all of them. I thought her lies were harmless, but she has everyone bending over backwards to help her. Now Marinette left the school hurt… I’m starting to get a little fed up.” Adrien averted his gaze, the wave of nausea returning to his stomach.

“So, call her out then,” Kagami said as if it were obvious. “People trust your word, and you have enough celebrity pull to prove it.”

“Yeah, but…” He winced.

“Adrien, your friends will only continue to suffer if you stay silent. Action is the only way to help them.” When he lowered his head, she rolled her eyes and pushed past him. “I hope your friends see the light eventually. For your sake. See you tomorrow.”

Adrien’s hands clenched into fists as she sauntered from the locker room, biting his tongue as anger swelled in his chest. Letting out a heated breath, he stalked toward the door, blinking in surprise when it opened.

Lila stepped in front of him and wasted no time latching onto his neck. “Adrien, you’ve been avoiding me,” she said with her sugary-sweet lilt. “You promised to help me catch up on my school work.”

“Sorry. I don’t think I can. Why don’t you ask Max?” He unhooked her arms and pushed her away gently.

“But you promised!” She pouted.

Her whiny tone sent a shiver down his spine, and he tried unsuccessfully to mask his grimace. “I’ve got a lot going on, Lila. Photoshoots, private lessons, that sort of stuff.” He took a purposeful step away from her.

“You seem to have enough time to go visit Marinette,” she said pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Lila-”

“She’s the one who’s lying, ya know. I’m sure she has told you all kinds of nasty things about me, but they’re false,” Lila said. “She’s just trying to turn you against me because she’s jealous.”

“That’s not true, Lila.” Adrien’s anger boiled hotter. “Marinette just wants to move on.”

“Is that why she went to Jagged Stone’s concert just to try to make me look bad?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Alya is still upset over their fight. Marinette ripped her heart out and stomped on it.”

“There’s more to it than tha-”

“Honestly, Marinette is the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Something in Adrien’s chest snapped—a rubber band stretched too far.

“How do I know when I should stand up for myself?”

“I get a feeling in my gut that it’s the right thing to do.”

“Enough, Lila!” he shouted.

She flinched, cupping her hands over her mouth. “Adrien, I-”

“Your lies won’t work on me, and sooner or later everyone else is going to see through you too, and you’ll be left all alone. Is that what you want?” He barely gave her a moment to respond before continuing. “Marinette poured her heart and soul into her friends. She made sacrifices for them and never once asked for anything in return, and now you’ve gone and turned her best friend against her and convinced everyone that she just wanted attention. If anyone here is a terrible person, it’s you.”

Lila’s face hardened, her whole countenance darkening. “I see how it is, Adrien.” Her jaw clenched. “If you choose to side with her over me, then I can’t help what happens to you. I own this school now, and there’s nothing you or Marinette can do about it.”

Turning over her shoulder, she slapped Adrien with her hair on her way out, and he balled his hands into tight fists. A feeling he’d never felt before bubbled in his core that made him restless. Adrien always thought Lila just wanted attention, but purposefully targeting one of his friends was not okay.

A new resolve came over him, and he instructed Gorilla to make a pitstop at the Grand Paris on the way home. His fist pounded against the suite door, breaths short and hot.

Chloe was lounging in a yellow bathrobe, feet soaking in a tub of water when her butler let him in. She raised an eyebrow as he entered. “You know I’m always happy to see you, Adrikins, but I’m in the middle of an herbal soak-”

“I want to help you take down Lila.” He cut her off.

A sinister smirk spread across Chloe’s lips, her shock fading to triumphant glee.

“Excellent.”

[nightjarteeth]

Day 4 of the Midsummer Masquerade: Sensory Deprivation

(thanks to CrinklyTinfoil for helping me write the spicy bits <3)

Word count: 3258

Pairing: Valdemar x Finch

Warnings: lemon, tentacles, sensory deprivation, nudity, no actual penetration

(for those who follow my writing, this fic diverges from this chapter of Vervain, Mugwort, & Other Magiferous Plants. this is in no way necessary reading, though.)

“Would you like to see the dungeons?” Quaestor Valdemar asked inquisitively, touching their fingertips together.

“After all, I’d say you’ve earned it after getting past that lock.” Their words implied that Finch was being treated to a reward, but Finch got the distinct impression that they really just wanted to show Finch whatever horrors were lurking down there.

“Oh, no thank you,” Finch replied a little tersely. “I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your valuable time, after all.”

And more importantly, they were more than eager to leave this dark, damp tunnel the Quaestor had lured them down with the promise of a supposedly “intriguing lock.”

As Finch turned to leave, the Quaestor made a pointed coughing noise.

“Are you quite sure about that? You know, I’ve recently acquired some… let’s say, specialized new equipment I could show you. I’ve been looking for someone to test it out on for a while.”

Finch paused. Specialized equipment…?

Wait a second. Was this related to that Midsummer Masquerade thing?

A few days ago, Finch had found an envelope surreptitiously slipped underneath their guest room in the palace. Inside was an invitation written in stylish scarlet ink — and it appeared to be playfully alluding to its intentions, rather than stating them forthright.

Finch had furrowed their brow as they deciphered what exactly the invitation was getting at. It seemed to be a clandestine event… of a decidedly more adult nature.

“Is this some sort of… sex party?” they’d muttered. They approached their door, cracking it open a notch and peering out in an attempt to see who had slipped it under the door. There was no one there.

Whoever had given them the invite had disappeared abruptly, leaving their identity a mystery.

They glanced down at the parchment again.

“Hmmmm. Nope, won’t be attending whatever that is,” they concluded. Finch would be the first to describe themself as a private person — they weren’t a big fan of parties to begin with, much less sexually-inclined parties. To put it lightly, this Midsummer Masquerade thing wasn’t their cup of tea.

For the last two days, they’d been using the invitation as scrap paper, and had nearly forgotten about the upcoming event.

But now…

Perhaps the Quaestor themself had been invited to the Midsummer Masquerade, and was struck in a mood. And perhaps they also preferred to keep such activities private.

Arriving back from their train of thoughts, Finch looked up again. Valdemar’s red eyes were fixed upon them, interestedly waiting for their answer. Finch felt their face flush a little.

Even though just a minute ago they’d been considering how creepy Valdemar was, with their peculiar mannerisms and open adoration of the plague, Finch found themself reevaluating the physician.

They… weren’t unattractive. Actually, once you got past a few minor details — like how they never seemed to blink, or the strange bandages swathed around their head — Finch had to admit there was a certain elegance to their figure.

And who knew? Maybe some experimentation with some questionable equipment in an underground dungeon could release some of the tension of the last few days.

“I have to admit, I’m… curious about your equipment,” Finch confessed, wincing at the accidental euphemism.

“Oh, wonderful,” Valdemar replied. “I’ve been looking to find someone to test it out on for ages.”

They seized a bar of the iron gate, and it juddered open with a loud creak that echoed along the stone tunnel walls.

“In you go,” they instructed, beckoning Finch to walk inside a small elevator that looked like it could just barely accommodate a single person.

“Can two people really fit in there?” Finch asked, unconvinced.

“Don’t fret your little mind over it,” the Quaestor assured them in a not-very-assuring voice. “It will be a tight squeeze, but I’m absolutely sure you won’t mind.”

Finch entered the elevator, noting that the metal platform beneath their feet shuddered a little as they placed their weight on it. How stable was this thing, exactly?

Valdemar moved in swiftly after them, and their chest pressed in closely alongside Finch’s shoulders. Somehow, when they stepped upon the platform, it didn’t shudder at all.

“See? Very comfortable,” Valdemar said, resting a chilly hand on Finch’s head. “Down we go.”

With no indication of them pulling a lever or pressing a button, the elevator rattled on downwards.

Finch shivered against the coldness of Valdemar’s perfectly-still chest. Were they just imagining things, or… did the Quaestor somehow not have a heartbeat? It didn’t feel as if they were even breathing.

But before they had time to fully evaluate this, the elevator had come to a stop, and the iron gate was opening once more. Outside, there was nothing but pitch darkness.

“Well? Come along,” the Quaestor said, looking back behind at Finch, who was not budging.

“Hmmm, that’s right, you need additional lighting. Well, I wouldn’t want you stumbling on anything — an injury might ruin the integrity of the whole experiment. I’ll be right back.”

Valdemar momentarily left Finch with no light except for the dull red glow of whatever magic powered the elevator. Then, they emerged from the dark with a torch in their hand.

“That’s better, yes? Now follow me,” they instructed.

Now that the torch illuminated the area in soft orange brightness, Finch was able to take a decent look at their surroundings. The dungeon was spacious, looking like a place that formerly held a great deal of activity. Tables and chairs were strewn about, with an empty operating theater set at the dead center of it all.

As Valdemar led them through the room, Finch took note of how many of the tables were equipped with sturdy-looking leather straps. One of them still had polished scalpels and a bonesaw arranged neatly across its surface.

Finch gulped. They had a feeling that whatever “equipment” Quaestor Valdemar had mentioned might be of the BDSM variety… but how much could Finch really handle?

“I’ve been searching for a volunteer for this simply forever,” Valdemar wistfully sighed in the meanwhile. “It would’ve been much easier back in the days of the Red Plague — there was no shortage of potential participants in the dungeons back then… but nowadays finding someone sturdy and willing can be a real challenge.”

That’s a very strange way of saying that you’ve been having trouble finding sex partners lately, Finch thought, but kept quiet.

“When I saw the schematic a fellow scientist invented, I simply couldn’t resist recreating it myself. This will be so much fun.”

The way Valdemar said the word “fun” made Finch’s stomach turn in knots. Either this was going to be a weirdly enjoyable time, or it was going to be the most frightening moment of Finch’s life.

In any case, this was bound to be an intense experience.

Eventually, Valdemar stopped at a stone archway with a dark room beyond its threshold.

“It’s right in here,” they said, shining the torchlight so that it illuminated the room.

Finch peered in. The room was empty, with no visible contraption they could see… and then they glanced down at the floor.

Set into the stone tiles was a circular black pool of water. The orange light of the torch flickered over its mirror-like surface, revealing nothing of its depth.

“Wait, what is that?” Finch asked, a nervous twitch entering their normally stoic expression. This… was not what they had been expecting.

“It’s a sensory deprivation pool,” Valdemar replied, their voice laced with excitement. “And you’re going in it.”

Finch felt at that moment that they would’ve been more comforted if there’d been the table with the scalpels and bonesaw inside the room. At least that would’ve been more aligned with the BDSM situation they’d been previously anticipating.

For the first time, they began to question if this whole invitation really was a sex thing.

“I’m going in there?” they asked, taken aback.

“Oh, yes,” Valdemar answered matter-of-factly.

“Is… there anything in that water that I should know about?” Finch asked next, peering into the opaque surface of the pool. It was all too easy to imagine some deep sea leviathan idling under the surface, waiting for someone to dip their toes in.

“Goodness, no. The water’s far too salty for any extant species to survive living in it. And don’t worry about sinking, either… the primary purpose of all that salt is that it’ll allow you to simply float in the water.”

“Any further questions?” the Quaestor asked, suddenly far too close to Finch’s ear. Finch paused for a moment, trying to think of any excuse to get out of this situation they’d foolishly signed up for.

But before they could even formulate a response, Valdemar had already taken their silence as an answer.

“Good, good. Then you may proceed to disrobe.”

Finch hesitated, wondering if they should wait for the Quaestor to leave the room before stripping their clothes off. Instead, they tilted their head at Finch, red eyes looking directly at them.

“If you’re nervous about disrobing in front of me, you needn’t be. I can assure you that whatever’s under that cloak of yours will not surprise me. Unless, you’d rather I leave you in total darkness to remove your clothing?”

“No, that definitely won’t be necessary,” Finch quickly replied, not fancying the idea of tripping over their clothes in the dark.

They weren’t particularly embarrassed about being nude, but they had to admit that the Quaestor’s unyielding gaze was a little unnerving.

Finch turned away to undress, the dungeon air chilly against their skin. When they were fully naked, they looked back. The whole time they were undressing, Valdemar’s eyes hadn’t moved, their face expressionless and giving nothing away.

Finch couldn’t decide if this was vaguely arousing or downright creepy.

They cautiously clambered down the stone steps leading down into the pool. To their surprise, the water was pleasantly warm to the touch.

“All the way in,” Valdemar instructed. “And then situate yourself so that you’re floating on your back.”

Finch did as they were told, leaning back into the pool and letting their limbs go limp. Just as Valdemar had said, they floated with no difficulty, the water seeming strangely supportive of their weight.

“...now what?” they asked after a moment. Gazing up from their position in the middle of the pool, they glimpsed a razor-sharp grin.

“And now I leave you in the dark,” Valdemar said, and turned away.

“Wait! What exactly is supposed to happen to me in here?” Finch asked, suddenly concerned again.

“That’s the whole experiment,” Valdemar stated. “Examining how the mind reacts when deprived of stimulus… Well, there’s all sorts of delightful possibilities. The schematic suggested that it might induce hallucinations — oh, I do so hope it does induce hallucinations.”

Without another word, Valdemar moved toward the stone archway, and the orange torchlight was extinguished. Finch found themself absolutely alone.

If I died in here, it’s likely that no one would ever find me, they thought. Experimentally, they moved a hand in front of their face. Nothing — their eyes didn’t detect even a hint of movement.

After several more minutes, however, they began to feel their mind calm. The chamber was perfectly silent and still — unlike the rest of the bustling Palace, which Finch was still adjusting to staying in. In the complete dark, it was unexpectedly easy to forget that they were deep underneath the building, trapped in a creepy dungeon.

With the pleasantly warm water beneath their body, Finch noticed the tension in their muscles start to gradually fizzle away. Maybe coming down here wasn’t actually an awful idea, even if this hadn’t been the experience they’d expected.

Just as their body began to truly relax, Finch felt a current of water move underneath them. They braced themself. It’s probably just from whatever mechanism’s warming the pool, they rationalized, trying to keep calm.

Then, something smooth and whip-like brushed against their ankle.

Finch jolted on instinct. They thrashed in the pool, trying to regain their balance, but was thrown off by the sheer buoyancy of the water. Finally, they were able to grasp at the pool’s edge, sputtering and panting raggedly.

There couldn’t be anything living in here, could there? The water was, in fact, too salty — Finch could taste the bitterness of it on their lips.

An idea sprang to mind. Maybe this was one of those hallucinations Valdemar was talking about — one of the results they were hoping for. After a few minutes of no sign of further movement in the water, Finch released their hold on the slippery stone edge.

Slowly, they allowed themselves to drift back out into the center, once more closing their eyes and concentrating on staying calm — a more difficult task now, with their heart pounding in their chest as they floated along the surface.

It had to be just their imagination... but underneath, they felt the water shift again, as though something was rising from the depths.

Finch tensed slightly, taking in a deep breath. Halfway through it, the breath caught in their throat as they felt that soft brush against their ankle once more. They focused more intently this time, trying to ignore it.

Whatever hallucination this was shouldn’t concern them. Hell, this experience might be an opportunity to learn something about themself. What would their mind come up with when left alone in the dark?

There was only one way to find out.

The whip-like appendage slowly began winding around their ankle. Finch shivered, their skin feeling as if it were on fire.

Finch felt their limb pulled, the motion deliberate and almost experimental. Whatever was in the pool with them was behaving in a very intentional manner, ruling the possibility of “sea monster” out of Finch’s mind.

On impulse, Finch opened their eyes, but there was nothing to see but the dark. Briefly, they considered reaching their hand out to try to touch whatever was currently wrapping up their exposed thigh and causing their heart to beat wildly.

For a moment, they stretched out their fingertips, only to release them back into the water. Just hallucinations — that’s what the Quaestor had stated. No point in reaching for something that wasn’t there.

A small gasp escaped Finch as in an abrupt motion, the tendril that gripped their leg began to move upwards, sliding between their legs and over their torso.

The water shifted again, and Finch bit down hard on their lip as they felt another tendril join the prior one, sliding gently between their legs as it did so — and sending an alarming spark of pleasure crackling up their spine.

Finch had started to breathe more heavily, feeling the urge to press their legs together onto the unidentifiable tendril as their toes curled. The prior tentacle that had snaked up between their legs prevented this, though, and so they were left a bit of a panting mess as they drifted in the dark.

Then, several more tendrils erupted from beneath, rippling at the surface of the water. They coiled around each of Finch’s wrists and ankles, seizing them firmly.

The message was clear: stop moving.

More tentacles continued writhing up Finch’s body, wrapping them in a peculiarly soft grip. Their chest, arms and legs were soon wrapped and unwrapped as the appendages below seemed to explore them. Soft touches trailed across their body — trails of fire that made Finch’s face redden more and more with every second.

Just. A. Hallucination! Finch frantically reminded themself, trying and failing not to react.

Finch stifled a moan, their hands balling into fists as the tentacle situated across their nether region pressed down none too lightly, rocking back and forth in an investigative manner.

Their bare skin prickled with sensation, and they once more frantically fought to stifle a cry as a warm glow enveloped them. These were some very vivid hallucinations, Finch frantically tried to justify to themself.

After all, if they weren’t hallucinations, what else could they be? Finch literally couldn’t think of any other possibility… but then again, it was difficult to think at all at the moment.

Finch sensed their face going red as they felt a tentacle lightly wrap about their neck. A soft tip stroked down their jawline, its motions careful and precise, like a doctor making an incision.

Another stroked across their cheek, pushing damp hair off to the side as the slit between their legs began to burn with an absolutely vicious heat. Finch felt trapped and slightly frightened, which apparently was really doing it for them judging by the sensations coursing up and down their body.

The appendages continued to glide over their skin, seemingly keen to explore every inch of Finch that was available. Sparks exploded inside of them as the tips of the soft feelers paused on their nipples, beginning to twist and play with them and leaving Finch feeling ever-so-slightly dazed.

They weren’t sure how long they floated in the dark before the shivering and quaking of their body began to mean they couldn’t possibly hold still a second longer. They twitched and shook in the unyielding embrace of the tentacles that had extended from the depths, their breath coming in shallow gasps.

It was as this happened, their world disappearing into a vision of noiseless pleasure, that a surge of heat swept through them. They gasped, and if sinking in the water had been possible, they were sure they would’ve surrendered to the depths below them.

One by one, Finch felt the tentacles fading away. They slipped from between their legs, and removed themselves from their chest and arms. Finch heard the soft splash of water as what they imagined to be thick writhing shapes disappeared back underneath.

The last one to go was the one that lingered about their neck. With one last caress of their chin, it slowly released, sliding gently back into the depths and leaving them once more floating unhindered in the water.

After a few minutes in the perfectly-still darkness, Finch detected the orange light of the torch in the corner of their eye. As the room swam back into view, they felt themselves become reoriented once more.

Finch looked upwards. Valdemar loomed above them at the edge of the pool, head tilting with curiosity.

“You’re back,” Finch noted, hurriedly getting out of the water and desperately hoping Valdemar didn’t notice how flustered they looked.

“Hmmm? I never left the room,” Valdemar informed them. “After all, I had to examine you during the course of the experiment.”

Finch immediately flushed. What… had they seen?

“And besides,” Valdemar added, cracking a sharp grin. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun in that sensory deprivation pool alone.”

Finch decided that for their own peace of mind, they were not going to ask any further questions on this matter — or think too hard about the worrying implications of what Valdemar had just said.

Instead, they asked another question.

“Quaestor… by any chance, have you ever heard of an event called the ‘Midsummer Masquerade?’”

“Midsummer Masquerade…?” For a moment, Valdemar looked genuinely confused — an unexpected sight.

“Ah. I do recall finding an invitation delivered to my estate — but as a rule of thumb, I don’t attend such events unless my presence is absolutely required. I never opened the envelope,” Valdemar replied with a shrug of their shoulders.

Of… course, Finch thought.

Naked in the cold depths of the dungeon, Finch started putting their clothes back on.

[gureishi]

prompt 2 with v tysm take care of you ^^

Thank you for this wonderful request, and apologies for taking my time writing it!

I thought a whole lot about this prompt and Jihyun and my mind said PINING and I wrote this long, sprawling thing. It’s a slightly different format from my other requests—I hope you don’t mind! Writing this made me feel all kinds of things. ♡♡

two: fall into yours arms again

JihyunxReader, G, words: 3620

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97 days

It’s windy today.

You wake up late and throw open the window that you can reach from your bed. The sun’s already high in the sky and beating down through the thin, gauzy curtains. You need to buy new curtains.

The window sticks; you push; it opens. The cool breeze whips through your hair, in stark contrast to the sun—nauseatingly hot and dry. The wind cools your neck, wipes away the last remnants of what you suspect was a nightmare.

Though it’s June, the air still smells of spring. The azaleas in the community garden down the street have wilted, but some of their fragrance is in the air today, and it startles you, spins your head around.

He left in March and the chaos of April and May have been locked away in your memory, behind a wall that says think about this later. Now it’s undeniably summer, the days lengthening, your tendency to sleep through the morning worsening. Time has slowed: the afternoons feel languid and the nights unbearably long. You stretch, letting your shirt—his shirt—fall off your shoulder. It’s long lost its scent by now, grown softer as you’ve slept in it, worn it while cleaning up the little loft you once lived in by yourself. You lived here what feels like forever ago, before you made the misguided decision that led to your life turning upside down and now, somehow, righting itself in ways you still don’t understand.

“I miss you,” you mouth into the wind.

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191 days

When you get home you’re shivering, underdressed and underprepared for the turn in the weather. You turn the key in the lock, shoulders hunched against the cruel chill that has abruptly permeated your quiet little neighborhood.

You slip inside and shut the door, the wind chimes jangling harshly. You toss your things haphazardly to the side—keys, bag, sunglasses, coffee cup. Everything you needed for the day except a stupid jacket.

The house is cool, too—the wood floors retain some of the warmth of summer but you haven’t turned the heat on yet out of some convoluted mixture of stubbornness and frugality. You shrug on your thickest, floppiest sweater and move through the house, closing the windows one at a time. You shouldn’t have left them open to begin with.

You survey the mess you’ve made: bag spilling out onto your multicolored shag rug, sunglasses hanging over the hand-painted lamp on the side table. You decide to leave them there.

As you so often do lately, you slip into the well-worn chair at your small desk in the corner, under the little window that faces north. You rub your hands together, gaze at the growing pile of paper, stacked precariously high. You know there’s work to be done, emails to be answered—instead, you pull a new sheet of paper toward you, begin a letter than can never be sent.

“How are you?” you write. “It’s getting cold here. I hope it’s warm where you are.” You pause, well-chewed pen cap in your mouth. Scrawl the words you know he won’t read on the paper you have no way to send to him. “I think about you,” you write. “Every single day.”

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277 days

You laugh and wave and laugh again as you see the grey cloud your warm breath makes in the air.

You call out a last goodbye toward your friends’ receding backs and then wrap your scarf more tightly around your neck, feeling the cold more strongly now that you’re alone. You make your way back through your neighborhood, stopping only to pet the head of the tabby cat that your down-the-street neighbor lets roam free. The sun is setting—the midday chill is turning to a biting evening cold.

You approach your little loft: open the gate, half-run down the path. When, you think, will this feel like a home again? How long, you wonder, till this feels more real that those two weeks that are still illuminated in your memory, brighter even than the events of yesterday or last month or last summer?

Automatically, you check your mailbox. Automatically, you riffle through the bills you can just barely pay and the magazines subscribed to by the apartment’s former occupants. At the very bottom, there’s an envelope, one side covered completely in stamps. You climb the steps, peering at it curiously. You recognize the writing.

You trip.

You should get back up and go in the house and turn on the lights—open the letter where it’s warm and bright. But instead you stay right where you are, on the bottom step, jacket twisted up under you. You tear off one mitten, your hands shaking a little, and open the envelope.

“Dearest,” he’s written. “I don’t know if I’ve sent this the right way or how long it will take to reach you.”

There are already frozen tears on your eyelashes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away frantically with your other hand, still engulfed in your warm, chunky mitten.

“There’s no regular post office where I am so I had to improvise,” he goes on. His thin, messy scrawl is the same as you remember it. You can feet your heartbeat in your fingertips. “Still, that’s no excuse. I’ve written so many letters to you and thrown so many away. I never knew where to begin. I hope you can forgive me.”

The tears are falling hard and fast now, and you give up on wiping them, squinting to read the minuscule letters he’s crammed onto one single sheet of paper.

He describes where he’s staying in detail. It’s beautiful and evocative and you can tell that he’s stalling.

He asks after you—how your work has been going, how you’ve settled back into your own home, if you’ve been eating well. He asks after the RFA too, one at a time, by name. This answers a question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind—so it’s true, you think. He’s written to no one else.

The final paragraph is neater that the rest, as if he’s written and re-written it, practiced and copied it over.

“I am trying to live in the present moment and not worry over the future,” he says. “But every night I can’t help but imagine the life we could have together, when we are both ready. Do you imagine it too?” Your eyes are blurry with tears. “I miss you,” he writes, and you mouth the words as you read them, almost able to hear them in his sweet, gentle voice.

“If you don’t feel like writing me, I’ll understand,” he says. “But I’ll be at this address for some time, so please do write, if you like.” You think of all the letters, the ever-growing pile on and under your desk. You giggle through your tears, imagining how much it would cost to send them all. 

He signs the letter “Yours.” At the bottom he’s added cramped letters, so small you have to bend over, nose almost touching the paper, to read them. “By the way,” he writes. “Please call me Jihyun.” 

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352 days

To you, March will always be him: the sudden rain showers in the midst of sunny days are his eyes and the scent of plum blossoms in the air is the indescribable warmth of his arms.

There’s a string of pictures now above your bed—you’ve hung each one that he’s sent, strung them up on a piece of bright green yarn. When you told him you’d started doing this, he began sending them with a hole already punched in the top—delicate, perfectly round, just the right size.

You sit on the floor, bare legs extended in front of you, a book propped on your lap.

“All the snow has melted except for the one, long icicle outside my window,” you write. “I think I’ve grown attached to it, and I’ll be sad when it’s gone.”

Your letters have grown longer over the months—his last was five whole pages, front and back. He sends photographs he’s taken of the beautiful landscape where he’s living and sketches he’s made, mostly of nature—and a few of you.

He includes vague references to his companion, and though he’s never mentioned him by name, it’s become clear to you who he’s with. It’s brought you immense comfort to know—if not in much detail—that he is alive and well.

“Tomorrow I’ll be seeing everyone,” you write. “I know you both still need more time, but not being able to give them any news is killing me. Not everyone is doing so well, you know.” You bite your lip, consider crossing off the last few lines. You don’t. He’s healing—and you’d give anything in the world to ensure that he has the space and time he needs. That they both do. But the time you spend with the other members has been dwindling and the evidence of their suffering—some of them more than others—is becoming abundantly clear.

“I think I want to have a party,” you write. “Not for months, maybe longer, but I want to start thinking about it. I think it might help.”

You sip from the glass of water you’ve set on the floor next to you, swirl it around a little to listen to the sound of the ice clinking.

“I miss you desperately,” you write. “And I love you, Jihyun.”

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478 days

The song that plays through your headphones is soft and pretty, not nearly loud enough to drown out the shouting of the street vendors and the overall atmosphere of chaos. It’s Sunday, and you’ve ventured into the city to shop. You don’t love the crowds or the fast pace, but you do relish the savory scents drifting from food stalls and the feeling of your thin pants swooshing against your legs.

You hoist the two large fabric grocery bags up; they’re nearly slipping out of your sweat-slick hands again. The mid-afternoon July sun beats down on you. You slow your pace.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve gotten a letter. This isn’t shocking—he’s staying somewhere new now, and it’s even more remote than before. He has to travel into town to mail his letters, so the gaps between them have grown longer. You’re used to it, but you still can’t help feeling like a cold hand is clenching around your heart whenever you check the mailbox and find it empty.

You reach the train station, grip both bags with one hand so you can tap your card. You go through the motions: standing in the station, boarding the train. As you have so many times, you repeat the words of his last letter in your mind. You know it by heart.

“I bought plane tickets last week,” he wrote. “He hasn’t been feeling well the last few days and we decided together to cancel them.”

This isn’t a first either—the tickets bought, the tickets cancelled. And you know that it isn’t just Jihyun’s “companion” who needs more time. They are both still healing—physically, mentally, emotionally.

“Please tell me when you decide on a date for the party,” he wrote. “I’m sorry to hear the plans aren’t going smoothly. And I’m sorrier that I can’t offer the other members some solace—particularly where it concerns him. I must respect his wish for privacy.”

The train is packed; you set your bags at your feet so you can hold on. The gentle rocking motion is familiar; the air conditioning is a relief.

“I saw a flower yesterday that I couldn’t identify. It was raining here, but the flower’s petals were open. I was afraid it would wilt from the force of the rain, but it didn’t. I watched it for a long time, and saw the raindrops collect inside it. I thought of you.”

The train rumbles to a stop. More people get on. You adjust. A new song plays in your headphones—it’s slow and a little melancholy.

“Every morning I imagine the things I will do with you in our bright and beautiful future,” he wrote.

The train picks up speed again. Sweaty people read newspapers and speak quietly to one another, underscored by the gentle music in your ears. You close your eyes.

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555 days

You run to catch the bus, the leaves crunching delightfully under your feet. It’s pulling into your stop as you’re crossing the street and—why does this always happen?—you bow your head and sprint, waving frantically at the driver.

The driver sees you. Smiles. Waits.

“Thank you,” you pant, jumping the steps two at a time. 

“It’s okay. I remember you.”

Ouch.

You stumble to a seat and collapse into it. If you’re late for the bus often enough that the driver remembers you, you’ve really got to try and pull yourself together.

You comb a hand through your sweaty hair. It’s hard, as it turns out, planning an RFA party while keeping up with your old life—you’ve got one foot in the world of working and cleaning and paying bills and the other in the world of CEOs and mysterious guests and anonymous donors.

As you’re catching your breath, you pull the newest letter from your bag. It arrived just this morning—perhaps that was why you almost missed the bus again—and you’ve only read it once so far. You scan the page with eager eyes, searching as you so often do for clues and hints and promises hidden between the lopsided words.

“I made a painting today,” he tells you. “I won’t describe it to you, because I want to show it to you in person.”

But when? you want to ask. You can’t help the frustration that’s creeping under your skin. The bus rocks; you lean your head against the window.

“I’ve realized something,” he writes. “I wonder what you think about it. I feel closer to you than I’ve felt to anyone before. And yet every day I find things I still don’t know about you, because of our circumstances. What are your favorite things to eat? What smells make you reminisce about the past? What music makes you sleepy?”

You sigh, fold up the letter. It’s true, you think. You love him with a warmth that encompasses your whole being—a feeling you’d never even dared to imagine. But how does his face look in the morning when he sleeps through his alarm? Which groceries does he always forget to buy?

You don’t write these questions down. Instead you turn over the letter, scribble on the back. 

“The party will be March 24th.”

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641 days

It hardly snows this winter, but it rains. The sound of the rain fills your dreams: it pounds on the roof of your little apartment, and you wake up and run to the kitchen to check that the window is closed. It fills your waking hours, thrumming on your giant umbrella as you navigate the narrow streets of the city. When it lets up, you still hear it, humming in your eardrums, reverberating inside your chest.

You sit at your desk again. No longer is it covered in stacks of paper, records of yearning—those letters have been long sent or put away in pretty boxes with colored lids. Your laptop buzzes, hopelessly trying to cool itself down. You press send and cut the frightening number of messages in your inbox down by just one more.

You lean back in your chair. The rain goes tap tap tap on the roof and you rub your sore neck. It’s a Friday night and even in this weather, you can hear the distant sounds of people gathering at the bar on the corner. You open another email.

“I’m working hard,” you wrote in your last letter to him. “Sometimes I feel that I can barely keep up with it all. Other times I’m sure I’m burying myself in all of this work on purpose, making myself busy so I don’t have to feel lonely.”

You scan the email with expert eyes, dash off a quick reply. Both are true, you suppose—planning a proper party, not one hastily thrown together in a few weeks under extreme circumstances, is a full-time job all on its own. But you are lonely, you think, taking a break to stretch your arms over your head. There are people around you all the time, but your chest feels hollow. “I’m taking good care of myself,” you wrote to him last week. “I do feel fulfilled. But…”

But you can no longer re-create in your mind the exact way that he smells, the sweet freshness of nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You can’t always hear his voice clearly in your mind when you read the sweet, beautiful words he writes to you. “I love you like the way the ocean crashes into the rocks and then spills peacefully over the sand,” he writes. “Does that make sense?”

It does.

You shake your head to clear it, type a few brief, carefully-worded lines.

“I’m ready,” you say out loud, and the words echo in your apartment: warm and cluttered and bright and full to the brim with thoughts of him. “I’m ready when you are.”

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702 days

For the first time, you wait to read his letter.

You find it in the mailbox as you’re leaving in the morning and you whisper “patience” to yourself as you walk to the bus. You wait at the light, you cross the street. You sit at the bus stop for two whole minutes before the bus arrives and the driver raises his eyebrows at you in surprise.

“Patience,” you whisper to yourself again as you exit the bus, breathing in the fresh, early-spring air. And “patience,” you think, as you greet the venue manager and listen to her running through the event checklist for what feels like the eight hundredth time.

“Almost,” you tell yourself as you leave, taking a picture on your phone of the orange and purple sky. You board the bus again, watch the sunset fade into star-speckled navy through the smudged window.

“Now,” you say out loud as you unlock the door to your flat, hanging your light jacket and keys on the hooks you’ve recently mounted by the door. “Now.”

You tear into the letter as you make your way to the bedroom, turning on lamps as you go, bathing the room in amber light.

You pull out the paper and your hands, steady all day, start to shake. You hold it up to the light. It’s shorter than usual. He’s written your name at the top and he’s answered your questions, described a walk he took on the waterfront yesterday, offered updates on the plants growing beside the house where he’s staying.

And at the bottom, he’s sketched a picture in light blue ink. His lines are soft and wavy, but the details are clear: it’s two plane tickets. They’re dated.

You inhale sharply.

Thirty-two more days.

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734 days

It’s warm, but not too warm. The lights are dim, but not too dim. The air is lightly scented like spring flowers and rain, but it’s not overwhelming, and the chatter of the crowd is enthusiastic and warm.

In other words, you’ve done a very good job.

You step onto the balcony for a moment, patting your red cheeks with both hands. You’ve been receiving compliments all night and it’s made you feel like you’re floating several centimeters off the ground. You’re proud of yourself—you worked hard for this.

But as the night’s worn on, your anticipation has built to a fever pitch, and you have to keep reminding yourself to breathe. If he were arriving on any other day, you’d be meeting him in private— and would you feel more or less nervous, then? You can’t decide.

But of course it’s today, because the most important events of your life always seem to coalesce around each other. There’s a beautiful garden surrounding the party venue and you take comfort in the ivy wrapped around the wrought-iron trellis; it reaches almost as high as your eye level and its balance of sturdiness and delicacy gives you strength.

You slip back inside, take in the groups of expensively-dressed people clustered around tall, elegant tables. There’s a string quartet in one corner and a mouth-watering array of hors d’oeuvres arranged toward the back wall.You straighten out your clothes surreptitiously, sneak a peak at the clock, flash a bright smile at the nearest group of guests .

And then, for a reason you’ll never be able to explain, you know what’s about to happen. Your eyes fly to the door. You gravitate toward it like a moth to a lamp and you know no one else has noticed but somehow you feel that the room has quieted for you.

The door opens. Your hands fly to your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

He’s always been spring to you but it’s as if he’s brought summer with him. He’s taller than you remember and his collared shirt is open and he’s got the warmest smile you’ve seen in your whole life. Your thrill and worry and hope are reflected in his bright eyes. 

He holds out a hand—cautiously, as if afraid you’ll float away. You take it and his fingers are soft and cool, like the petals of a flower.

“Welcome home,” you say. “Jihyun.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my future mysme writings <3

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini​ @cro0kedme​ @otomefoxystar​ @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta

[newhologram]

I know only a few of you are on IG so I wanted to give an update here on the past few days. I am doing this knowing the potential risk but I need to also record where I'm at right now in case anything weird happens.

My week has been like this so far. Sunday: Family Member 1 misplaced their Xbox controller. They kept asking me if I knew where it was, each time growing more and more aggressive. I don't have an Xbox, I reminded them. I have my own controller for my PC. But they kept knocking loudly on my door. They followed me outside where I was vaping and tried to accuse me of I don't even know what. Pawning off their controller? FM1 said, "Is there something going on that you're not telling me? SOMEONE'S messing with me!" Later that night they and their gf were making dinner. FM1 suddenly knocked harshly on my door and said aggressively, "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE OVEN MITTS" in an angry voice. I was already stressed from them harassing me earlier about the controller. I came out of my room, heart racing, and told them I had not used them that day. I helped find the mitts, which had fallen behind the trash can because the hanging hook had broken. I went to bed on edge, feeling unsafe and targeted, wondering why my family member was suddenly acting so paranoid and accusing me of misplacing their things... Something they actually have done to me my whole life, denying it until the moment my item is found, when they suddenly remember they did move it there (or accidentally throw it out/destroy it). The controller ended up being some random place in the living room. Monday: I went to leave for my acupuncture appointment. My booster seat/pillow thing was missing from my car. Not in the trunk or anything. I cannot drive without it. I'm too short to see over the steering wheel. I called FM1 and they have no idea where it could be, despite the fact that they drive my car every day. FM1's gf helped find it, in the garage. But I still had an epic fucking meltdown, sobbing the whole way to and from my appointment. I just cannot handle people moving my shit and disrupting my schedule like that. And it just hurt so much more knowing that FM1 was so awful to me the day before about their stuff being misplaced. I'm always having my personal belongings, my feelings, my personhood, disrespected. It hurts deeply. When I got home I stressed to them that this is my car, and my accommodation should not ever be removed from it under any circumstances. It was after this that I decided it was time to hold a family meeting. I called Family Member 2 and 3 over to the house. I read a long letter to them in which I told them about the talks I have had with my therapist, psychiatrist, and another psychologist. Even though I cannot be formally assessed and diagnosed at this time, I am being treated for autism. I detailed to my family my entire life of trauma that is traced back directly to my autistic traits, and my needs not only not being met, but being outright denied. I was denied empathy most of my life for my sensory issues, my pain, everything. A big part of this is gaslighting. Even if it's unintentional or not malicious, gaslighting is incredibly traumatic. Especially when it comes to my sensory issues. I have had even more problems with overstimulation the past year which means I can barely sleep, so my daily naps are even more important. I try to coordinate my naps when there is less activity in my house. But if I'm in a ton of pain and extra sensitive and ask for quiet, that's when I get in trouble and a fight happens. That's when FM1 tells me I "need to be realistic" and "can't expect the whole world to shut up for you"... when I'm literally saying "I have a migraine and need to rest, can you please not play loud music or slam cupboards in the kitchen for a few hours?"

I was emotionally neglected and abused by both parents. A lot of it is just the result of their own trauma that they have not dealt with... But I have also been physically threatened and assaulted by them at different times, though it only happened those specific times. (They won't ever admit to it though.) The emotional and mental abuse still goes on in my home. I am not allowed to have emotions. I have been told "STOP. WHY ARE YOU CRYING. LIFE'S NOT FAIR. WHEN YOU GET OUT IN THE REAL WORLD YOU'LL HAVE SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT" over and over--like... in response to me crying about my pet dying, or in response to me crying bc I'm in horrible pain from my chronic illnesses, or crying after my usual yearly ER visit. I am also not allowed to have boundaries. I have tried to communicate with FM1 that these things hurt me deeply. And their response is basically, "YOU'RE SO UNGRATEFUL. I PUT A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!" and threats such as "BETWEEN TAKING CARE OF YOU AND GRANMDA, ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GOING TO DRIVE OFF AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!" or "I'M THE ONE WHO SHOULD KILL MYSELF BECAUSE I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU"-- y'know, in response to having a disabled child. Ouch. The message is clear: I am nothing but an inconvenience and a burden to my family. I still have nightmares about them abandoning me, or abusing me more. I think in their heads they think that they love me. But this isn't love. If I try to talk to them about how dangerous it is for them to say things like that to me, they say "I never said/did that." Which brings us back to the gaslighting: I said that every time they gaslight me and tell me that my emotions/thoughts/experiences aren't real, it triggers me so badly that I self-harm and become suicidal.

I was very clear with them: I said that I can no longer have that in my life because one day it will kill me. I don't wanna die that way. I want to live. I have very bad PTSD and it's something I have worked on for 8 years but it has been worse the past year with so many disruptions and FM1's worsening narcissistic traits. I gave the choice to them. I said if they gaslighted me again that they were making the decision to not be in my life. Because this is about preserving my life. I'm trying not to die here. I'm literally trying to save my own life, even if that means not having a relationship with my family. They accept that I am autistic... But they then took turns gaslighting me. When I pointed out, "that's gaslighting. that's exactly what I just said in my letter. What you're doing is gaslighting" they went even harder on it. They said my experience and my trauma is "not in line with reality". They also said I "need to be reasonable" with the boundary that I'm setting (meaning: they don't believe in boundaries at all). They tried to guilt trip me with, "you can't cut someone out of your life because what if they DIE and then you FEEL GUILTY??" (I mean, what if I killed myself because you keep hurting me? Wouldn't you feel guilty about that?) They also guilt tripped me with "well we TRY to invite you to family stuff, and we try to include you, but you never want to go..." um... I guess they forgot I am chronically ill? Sorry if I don't have the energy or pain tolerance to drive an hour each way to a loud family party after I've worked all week? I cried and cried, I said this is exactly what I told you that you do to me and how it endangers my life... and you're doing it... while telling me you don't do it to me... They were all weird and told me "we love you and would do anything for you!" except... I guess, not gaslight me constantly? Idk. I felt so trapped. I felt so hopeless. I was up all night crying. I wondered, "Why is the idea of me having distance from them somehow worse than me being dead? Why would they prefer that I die rather than set a boundary that will save me?" And then I remembered: I had set the terms. They broke them. You do this, you're out of my life, because me being alive is more important than us having a relationship which will eventually kill me. I'm not trapped. It doesn't matter if they think they can prevent me from setting this boundary because they can't. I'm in charge of my boundary. So I blocked them on social media, as well as their phones. I have to unfortunately keep FM1 unblocked bc I live with them, they drive my car, and they look after my cats while I am at work. If I didn't have so many great things happening behind the scenes, if I didn't have my cats, if I didn't have amazing friends and followers who are supportive and kind... I can definitely see that I would have ended my life that night in some alternate timeline. That is how much pain I was in from them doing that to me. Them literally trying to gaslight me into not setting a boundary. I mean it would've been so ridiculous on their part, can you imagine? Me: Hey family, when you gaslight me, it makes me suicidal. I don't want to die, so either you stop doing that, or we can't have a relationship. Family: UHH NO *gaslights me anyway* Me: ok *kills self* Family: *surprised Pikachu face* Like???? Would they really have been shocked because it seems like they should have known since I told them directly? And that just shows that they really don't take my pain seriously at all. They think I'm overly sensitive and that my trauma is not real. That would have been a painful wake up call for them. I told my therapist all of this. And she agrees that this is good, this is going to not only ween them off of me but also allow me to focus on all the good stuff I have going on. I have to get moving. So much stuff has been lagging because I'm constantly recovering from them triggering me. I'm going to focus, and heal, and gtfo of here. Thank you for your support and for never invalidating my pain.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Two’s Company -Changes

As Lucy continues to help Brad recall their early days, Sophia and Bastien welcome two new arrivals. 

Word Count 3918

A/N This is pure fluff, but if you are triggered by issues concerning fertility, pregnancy, medical environments or giving birth, give this chapter a miss. To be truthful, this chapter mostly features Bastien and Sophia, but it foreshadows Lucy’s future...

9 Welcome to the Twins

The band started up in the ballroom, playing background music while the guests arrived and were briefly announced. The Charity Ball at the Palace was under way at last. Lucy had insisted on Brad wearing the suit he’d had for the social season in which they’d met, and he thought he knew why.

‘And why does Drake get to wear his denim shirt at this formal occasion?’ he had quizzed her, just the same. She just smiled enigmatically.

‘If you don’t know you’ll find out in good time. Now go down and wait for the guests. I’ll follow in a little while. Don’t worry if I’m late, it’s all part of the surprise’

So Brad stood greeting the nobles that had attended the social season, the former suitors presenting themselves to him one by one. Madeleine was a little sour faced, but then that wasn’t unusual. Lady Penelope gave him a deep curtsy

‘Ah, Lady Penelope. It’s been a while. How are you – and your poodles? Did you bring them tonight?’ He had no memory of the dogs, but he had been given a set of cards with relevant details to review. He knew that prior to his car accident he had excellent recall on all the members of court, and his father had uncharacteristically praised him for it.

‘Thank you your Majesty, the Queen asked me to leave them behind tonight. Morgan and Morgana were quite upset’

‘I’m so sorry’ he said smoothly ‘Perhaps next time. I’ll make sure to ask her majesty to allow it’

‘Thankyou your Grace’ she inclined her head ‘And many congratulations on your recent…’ she froze for a second, a look of panic spreading across her lovely face, scanning the ballroom, her eye alighting on Drake standing nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar. His denim shirt stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the dinner jackets and ballgowns ‘uhhh marriages’ Penelope squeaked, and moved hurriedly away. Brad noticed Drake was talking to a woman in a red dress with a mask. She looked over and started to walk across the ballroom toward him, and he suddenly felt dizzy.

‘Hello, you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t think we’ve met’

‘We’ve actually met once before’

‘Surely I would have remembered’

‘I suppose this mask is doing its job’

‘Will you give me a hint?’

‘you were surrounded by your friends…’

‘That’s not much of a clue…’

‘And you owed me a drink’

‘Lucy! I - never thought I’d see you again’ Brad said in a dream as she reached his side. She smiled broadly, taking her mask off.

‘Did it work?’ she asked, and he nodded, swallowing.

‘Yes – I think I need some fresh air’ She turned and waved at the band, and they swooped into a familiar tune – the one they had played when they had first danced together. He held on to her tight as the music swirled around him.

‘I’m a little better at dancing this time’ she smiled ‘and it’s my turn to sweep you off behind the curtains’ Soon he was leaning on the balcony taking lungfuls of air as the memories swirled around him. The dance, sneaking out to the maze – the chase, the kiss. He shook his head and stood tall, turning back to his wife – his Queen.

‘What is it about you, Lucy? Why did you make me want to break all the rules?’ he said softly. She put her hand to his cheek.

‘Because the rules were making you unhappy’ she replied ‘and in return you changed the rules for me and brought the three of us together’ He leaned closer and kissed her tenderly, his hand grazing her belly.

‘Here’s another big change. Life will never be the same again.’ he whispered close to her ear ‘When did we next meet? I remember the maze’

‘Well, I think I can risk it rather than waiting to stage it’ Lucy replied’ It’s a long time to the races’

‘Ah, the races’ he screwed up his forehead, then his face cleared. ‘I lost my bet on the winning horse and paid the usual forfeit – except you sat on my back along with Drake’ She smiled happily

‘How about the lawn party?’ she asked, but he frowned and shook his head.

‘I’m sorry’ he said dejectedly. She caught at his arm and squeezed it.

‘Never mind, not everyone remembers every little thing. I’ve had to rack my brain too. Let’s just leave it for now, enjoy the ball’

-------

In the staff wing, the sounds of the ball were a distant whisper of sound, unheard as the TV showed Sophia’s current bingeworthy period drama. She had stopped nitpicking the historical inaccuracies and dozed, the voices murmuring in the background. She smiled as the scene cut to a Regency ball in full swing.

‘Go on, admit you love her’ she mumbled, briefly surfacing to berate the male lead for not seeing what was under his nose. The female lead smiled, gazing into his eyes as they twirled and dipped. ‘So romantic’ she sniffled and reached for a tissue to dab at her eyes.

‘Hmmm?’ Bastien rumbled as he stirred in his easy chair, leg propped on a footstool as he sat vigil by his very pregnant wife’s side. Sophia laboured to sit up a little, and he got to his feet to help her, leg stiff from inaction.

‘Simon won’t admit he’s madly in love with Daphne’ she told him ‘and she’s so innocent she doesn’t realise he’s the man for her’ she sighed ‘I know, sentimental rubbish, but I can’t get enough’

‘Whatever makes you happy, theà mou’ Bastien smiled. He knelt by her side ‘May I?’ he asked, hand hovering over her bump. She nodded.

‘You had a large part to play in my current state.’ she grumbled ‘One of the tiddlers is using my bladder as a trampoline’ Bastien smiled, smoothing his hand over her belly. A little bump rose to meet his palm.

‘Not long till we meet them in person’ He stroked it, identifying it as a foot. ‘Come on little ones, Papa’s waiting and Mama’s tired’ He looked up at her ‘Shall I help you to the bathroom?’

‘Yes please, just let me pause this’ She pressed the button on the TV remote, and Bastien helped her to her feet. She groaned, hand in her lower back. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again’ she grumbled ‘Remind me not to do this again’ Bastien decided not to comment, as pregnancy hormones made his beloved somewhat cranky and he couldn’t think of an answer that she wouldn’t turn against him right now. She paused, grimacing with pain

‘Damn these Braxton Hicks’ she muttered, and he stroked her belly, feeling it harden under his hand, waiting until it softened again. She had been having contractions for a couple of days but the midwife had assured them it was nothing to worry about.

‘It’s fine, just practice for the real thing’ she had said briskly ‘Even with twins it’s quite normal. If they don’t subside within 48 hours, let me know’ They reached the door of the bathroom, where Sophia waved him away.

‘I can manage from here’ she snapped. He had removed the lock on the door in case of emergencies, and watched anxiously as she closed it behind her. ‘A little privacy please’ she called testily ‘I can hear you breathing’ He sighed and moved a little further away, the faint sound of her urination reaching him still. He knew he shouldn’t be so fearful about her wellbeing, but years of service on the Guard brought back memories of various emergencies involving impending childbirth. The Guard were the first line of assistance before medical staff could get to the Palace, and many other mansions he had served at were some distance from maternity facilities.

One notable example was seared into his brain when a noble lady had gone into labour miles out to sea on the Royal Yacht. He hadn’t been the only one to advise against the trip, but arrogance had won out over prudence and she had almost given birth before the air ambulance had winched her off the yacht. He was thankful the weather had been fair at the time.

He snapped back to the moment as he heard a little gasp. He stood up straight, straining his ears as a wail followed it.

‘Bas’ his wife called out, a hint of panic in her voice ‘Call the hospital – my waters just broke’

-------

At the hospital, Sophia was whisked away to be examined. Bastien was curtly told to wait, and paced the waiting room anxiously, massaging his hand from the pain of his wife clutching it fiercely on the drive over. Drake and Hana arrived to find him muttering curses against the doctors.

‘Calm down, Bas’ Drake had soothed ‘She’s in the best of hands’ Bastien glowered at him and straightened his shoulders.

‘She was supposed to see the midwife in the morning’ he growled ‘The risk with twins is elevated. I knew I should have insisted on an earlier appointment’

‘What exactly happened?’ Hana said, trying to ground him. He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it out of its usual neat quiff.

‘Her waters broke’ he said ‘The babies each have their own sac but share a placenta and need to be delivered at the same time. If they’re both head down it’s possible to do it without a caesarean’ Before anyone could ask anything else, a nurse appeared.

‘Mr Lykel?’ He stepped forward, placing his hand on her arm.

‘How is she? Can I see her?’

‘She’s very well, considering’ she said, removing his hand ‘You really should have come in earlier. With twins…’ She paled at Bastien’s expression as he glared at her.

‘Our midwife told us all was fine’ he ground out.

‘Well, no matter.  She’s in labour and things seem to be moving quickly. Do you have a birth plan?’

‘We do’ he said, massaging his forehead and taking a deep breath ‘it’s filed here. Do you not have it?’ She looked flustered.

‘I think perhaps you should come through, if it’s what you’d planned’

‘It is. Take me to her now…’

Bastien entered the delivery room with trepidation. Sophia was flushed and sweaty, laying back in the bed in a loose hospital gown, her knees drawn up and a sheet covering her modesty. A midwife stood next to her and turned directly to meet him. Sophia lowered her knees and he could see the sensor strapped to the swell of her belly. A machine next to the bed monitored the babies’ heartbeats, and emitted a low whooshing noise.

‘Is this the babies’ father?’ the midwife asked brightly.

‘I am.’ He said curtly, going to Sophia’s side, taking her hand and kissing it.

‘I’m Sandy, and I’ll be looking after Mum and baby – that is, babies’ she smiled

‘Bas’ Sophia said faintly ‘Wherever have you been? You need to call Mum, let her know.’

‘I came in as soon as they said I could. There’s no need to call Edith just yet, she’ll only worry.’ Sophia gasped in pain, squeezing his hand with a deathlike grip and Sandy swiftly handed her a breathing tube.

‘Gas and air – entonox. It’s quite safe’ the midwife assured Bastien. By the time Bastien had nodded, the contraction was almost over, and Sophia collapsed back onto the pillows, her eyes a little glazed.

‘You do realise this is twins?’ Bastien queried ‘Shouldn’t there be more staff?’

‘We are very busy tonight, Mr Lykel. As soon as it’s necessary I’ll call for help’ She went to the end of the bed to examine Sophia.

‘You’re dilating nicely, Mrs Lykel. Not long and we’ll be asking you to push. Babies are doing fine and getting ready to come out and say hello.’

‘How are they positioned?’ Bastien asked.

‘Both are head down, so you can deliver naturally if you’d like, Mrs Lykel’

‘Sophia’ she said  testily ‘my name’s Sophia. I’ll do my best but I’m not against pain relief’

‘Of course, Sophia. Do you know the sexes?’

‘Yes’ she smiled, and looked up at Bastien. ‘One of each’

‘Well, it’s hard to tell which one will be making an appearance first, but baby number two won’t be far behind’

‘Bas, can Hana come in?’ Sophia asked ‘We’re may need an extra pair of hands’ He looked at the midwife.

‘As it’s twins, two helpers are allowed in the delivery room as long as all is going  smoothly’ At that moment a doctor entered with a clipboard.

‘Mr Lykel – apologies for the delay in finding your birth plan’ she said as Sandy ducked out of the room to fetch Hana. She looked down at the papers she held, scanning swiftly ‘I see you’ve opted for a natural birth if it’s possible, with minimal pain relief’. Sophia made a little moan in answer.

‘Do I have to do this twice?’

‘Don’t worry Mrs Lykel, the first delivery paves the way for the second. You’ll hardly notice baby number two’ Another contraction hit her, and she grabbed the breathing tube, gulping at it greedily. Her head rolled back onto the pillow as the contraction faded and she gazed up at Bastien, eyes glassy from the anaesthetic.

‘I’d like some Ben and Jerry’s right now. Phish food.’ He couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Maybe later, theà mou’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. Hana entered with the midwife and went to her side.

‘Hana, you came’ She smiled beatifically ‘You’ll be Auntie soon’

‘I can’t wait to meet your little ones’ Hana beamed excitedly.

‘Oh Hana, that’s so sweet of you’ Sophia winced as the midwife examined her again.

‘Once we get started, things might happen quite quickly’ she warned ‘After all, baby number two is going to want to catch up. At this point it’s too late for an epidural, but as things are going smoothly, Entonox should be sufficient’ Lucy looked startled

‘No epidural?’ she asked ‘Oh, fuck. Bas, what if it gets worse?’

‘Sophia, gas and air will be fine. Remember, it’s what we discussed, it’s safer in the majority of cases’ he soothed, earning a quizzical look.

‘Stop mansplaining, Bas. I’m thirsty’ she snapped, and the midwife took Bastien aside as Hana handed Sophia a cup of ice chips.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Lykel, Lucy’s going through transition. She’ll get very emotional. She may even get abusive. She’s fully dilated, so I’m going to call for assistance.’ He nodded knowingly. He’d done his research and was fully prepared for her to swear and curse and berate him for ever touching her. He knew it would be the hormones talking. He braced himself and went back to the bedside as the room suddenly became very busy with hospital staff. He focussed on Lucy as another contraction hit and she took great gulps of the gas and air again. This was a long one, and she lay back once it had ebbed away, moaning.

‘Whose idea was this?’ she moaned ‘It’s not natural’ Bastien bit his tongue, desperate to point out that it was in fact the most natural thing in the world to give birth – but he wasn’t the one suffering on the hospital bed. ‘I’m never doing this again’ she panted ‘you can forget sex, I’m staying celibate’ Bastien grinned uncomfortably, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the staff. Hana sniggered behind her hand ‘Is it time to push yet?’

‘Not just yet, Sophia’ Sandra assured her. ‘You’ll know when, but I’m here to help’ Sophia gasped as another contraction hit, and took the anaesthetic again. Bastien worried that she was taking too much as she collapsed back on the pillow, but kept his mouth shut, trusting the medical staff. Sophia turned to speak to him.

‘Bas, do you think we’re having twins because of your enormous – you know?’ she hissed, pointing to his groin in a stage whisper that carried right across the room. Hana giggled and reddened, and Sandy looked amused. Bastien coloured and cleared his throat, his smile turning to a grimace. ‘He does, you know, Sandra’ she said, motioning her closer ‘He’s – you know, very big down there. The sex is great. He’s got fantastic stamina.’ Sandra made a strangled noise.

‘I’ve never come across any corelation in size and fecundity or multiple births, Mrs Lykel’ she assured her, when she was able to speak. She took a calming breath, looking at the monitors. ‘Now, I want  you to remember your birthing classes and prepare yourself to push’.

As promised, thing happened very quickly after that. Her next contraction hit hard, and Bastien lead her through her breathing, both elated and scared at the intensity of her experience. She was told to push, and he stayed with her, enduring her tight grip and murmuring words of encouragement. After each bout of pushing she lay back on the pillows, flushed and sweating, swearing that he’d never touch her again.

‘Mr Lykel, would you like to welcome baby? It’s very close now.’ Sandra said at last. He looked briefly at Sophia, torn between staying at her side and being the first to hold their child, but she nodded at him before the next onslaught. He moved down the bed as she strained and cried out with pain and effort, and was just in time to see the baby’s head emerge, followed by its shoulders. Sandra guided his hands so that he caught the warm slippery bundle. He was afraid of letting it slip, but managed to get a firm grip, and the midwife smiled triumphantly. Gazing down at the screwed up indignant face of his child, he felt an overwhelming wave of pure love and adoration unlike anything he had felt before. Time slowed and stopped as he held his own flesh and blood, his face softening into a broad smile. The little mouth opened and let out a roar of protest and rage, limbs flailing.

‘Papa has you, little one’ he crooned soothingly, knowing that first breath showed health and vigour.

‘Congratulations Mr and Mrs Lykel, your first baby is a healthy baby boy’ Sandra announced before handing him the instrument to cut the umbilical cord, and he carefully severed the connection. Briefly she wiped him clean as Bastien maintained his hold, the baby’s yell changing to wails in the unfamiliar environment. He shushed, and the little creature shuddered and quietened a little.

Sophia held out her arms eagerly and Bastien hurried to hand him over to place on her chest, wondering how long she would have before their little girl followed.

‘My little one’ she whispered, tenderly cradling him ‘We’re so thrilled to meet you at last’ She gazed down as the baby fell silent, arms folding over his chest and knees drawing up to meet them, face peaceful and enquiring. Hana sniffled beside her, and Sophia turned to the side. ‘Meet your Aunty Hana’ she breathed, before wincing in pain again. ‘I think your sister wants out’ she gasped, and a nurse swiftly took the baby and whisked him away.

‘Don’t worry, we just need to check him over, but I think he’s absolutely fine’ she assured Bastien.

‘Here’s your little girl’ Sandra called ‘Not long now’, and he went to stand ready, his hands trembling as a second head emerged, Sophia crying out again. She slipped out swiftly, but was safe in her father’s hands in an instant. He was hit by another wave of love and adoration just as intense as the last one, his heart full to bursting. Her cry was reedy and full of complaint and she wailed as he cut the cord, Sandra steadying it for Bastien to juggle his tasks. Both of the babies had seemed tiny in his large hands, both roomy and clumsy all at once.

‘Here, Papa has you safe’ he murmured ‘Come and meet your Mama’ Carefully he relayed her to Sophia. Her face glowed with happiness at holding her daughter, eyes fixed on her as she fussed at the bright light and unfamiliar surroundings.

‘My sweet one’ she crooned, and the baby quietened just as her brother had ‘You’re perfect’. She looked up at her husband ‘Look what we did’ she whispered. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked down at the newest arrival, tiny fingers waving like starfish, little mouth opening and closing. He kissed the top of Sophia’s head.

‘Theà mou, I love you so much. I’m blessed’ his voice caught, and the nurse returned with the little boy, now wrapped up warmly, and took his sister away to be cleaned and checked. Sophia held her finger out and the baby gaped, little mouth gurning in a half yawn, half smile. Soon his sister was handed back and Sophia cradled one baby in each arm, looking from one to the other in awe. The boy had a shock of black hair like his father’s and his eyes were pale grey. His sister’s hair was black but not as abundant, her pale eyes a shade bluer.

‘How can I ever spend a single second not loving these two?’ she whispered ‘How can I feel so much love for them – and for you?’ Bastien squeezed her shoulder, unable to speak for the lump in his throat. He had never felt so deliriously happy – and scared.

‘Do you have names?’ the nurse asked ‘The babies’ tags just say boy and girl for now. There’s no hurry’ Sophia looked up at Bastien.

‘Theodore?’ she asked. They had a few names picked out but didn’t want to fix them until the babies were born. He nodded in approval, as they had also decided that she should finalise the boy’s name, and he the girl’s.

‘And Beatrice’ he replied, getting a little tilt of his wife’s head in response. He cleared his throat

‘Theodore Costa Lykel and Beatrice Edith Lykel’ he said clearly, the names floating up into the air like a declaration of existence, an acceptance into the world for the two babes. The boy’s second name was that of his foster father’s, the girl’s was Sophia’s mother’s. They could have been Theodore Robert and Beatrice Althea, or the first names might have been different, but as soon as he spoke them aloud they sounded right, and he knew Sophia agreed. She lay propped up, beaming with exhausted happiness as she held her new arrivals. She had never looked more beautiful, her damp hair curling to frame her face, cheeks rosy, and an expression of pure love and joy in her eyes. Sandra cleared her throat.

‘Sophia, we just have to check the placenta, clean you up and make sure all’s well. Perhaps Mr Lykel could take the babies, or we could put them in the cots.’

‘I can help’ Hana piped up, and Sophia nodded. Little Beatrice was closest to Hana, and carefully she took the little bundle, utterly entranced. Bastien took Theodore, making soothing noises as they awkwardly changed over.

‘Can we take them out to the waiting room?’ he asked ‘We’ll come straight back in when you’re ready’

‘Yes, but don’t hand them around’ the midwife answered. ‘New babies are still developing their immune systems, so the less contact with other people outside the family the better’

‘Take care’ Sophia urged ‘I’m not going anywhere’

‘We’ll be back soon, theà mou’ Bastien promised, and he and Hana walked out to the waiting room with his new family.@sirbeepsalot @fluffyfirewhiskey​ @dcbbw​ @kingliam2019​ @katedrakeohd​ @texaskitten30​

[btssmutficslovingfan01]

Friendly Encounters- Chapter Three

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: A friend challenges you to go out of your comfort zone and talk to one of the cute boys at the café. However, after attempting to flirt with one of them, they reveal that they are in a relationship with each other. It’s fine, though, because you’re all friends now!

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇���: Romance

𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: Fluff

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Mentions of sex, language, mature themes, mostly safe but not suitable for young audiences below the age of 16, and binge eating if you are easily triggered by that.

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 5.8k+

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jimin x Yoongi x Reader

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“My boyfriend actually called me his wife today.” “Oh yeah, well mine already proposed to me, that’s right, five years since we've started dating!”

“Oh, Lyric, you’re lucky. My boyfriend only ever invited me to his family’s tree trimming party and we got blessings from all of his great-aunts, uncles, and other relatives. His parents even call me their future daughter.” You roll your eyes at how unrelenting these girls are. They won’t even stop talking about boys for one second and you’ve been at this sleepover for five hours. It’s supposed to be the last sleepover of the decade as seniors, for everyone since you and this tiny group started planning in the seventh grade. Just because you’re all girls doesn’t mean boys are the only thing you have to talk about! It’s not an obligation. This isn’t a disney movie where the prince is going to marry the princess at the end, it’s real life and everyone is too fucking clingy to realize it. 

“Can we not talk about boys tonight?” You finally ask out loud, earning a gasp from everyone in the vicinity, including Bae, who happens to be a lesbian. Even she was enjoying the boy talk. 

“Why? That’s literally what sleepovers are about.” Your other friend, Joy points out. You sigh in frustration, falling back on the carpeted floor while hugging your soft ladybug plushie.

“Looks like someone’s having a bit of drama, we heard from Jessica. Now, tell mama River what’s really going on.” You take in a deep breath before slowly explaining your situation with the boys.

“And these boys are a gay couple?” Bae asks in a questioning tone.

“They are! But...after a certain encounter, I’m not really sure what to think. They’re older, and in love with each other, but I feel like I’m just intruding at times, you know?” Another girl that goes by the name of “Temoshika-san,” which is her japanese name nods in agreement, holding out a tray of foods for you to snack on.

“Eat. I binge whenever I’m stressed.” She says after you take a tiny bag of doritos. 

“Hon..I’m gonna say something but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” Your most sensible friend, Toriel (oh yes I named her after an undertale character) says after a long moment of silence. 

“Shoot. I’ve already made plans with them for next week to see a concert so there’s nothing that can surprise me now.” You bite your lips. It’s been an entire month since that day when Yoongi demanded you to lick ice cream off his boyfriend’s cheek and things escalated from there. 

You didn’t have sex, but it was a close call. Your heart almost ran away from you. Yet, they don’t bring it up, so it’s safe to assume that they felt nothing from that encounter. 

Maybe Jimin didn’t anyways. Or maybe he was feeling just as horny as you! Who knows? No guy has ever looked at you that way before, so you wouldn’t even know.

“I think that both of these boys might be catching feelings for you. But they’ve probably never had feelings for a girl before, so they don’t know how to go about it.” Her theory makes sense. Suddenly, all of the pieces click in your mind.

“You’re a genius, Toriel!” You give her a hug before whipping out your phone to text Jimin. Right on cue, you get a text! But you’re surprised to see that it's not from Jimin.

“Damn, that's some cold shit right there. I didn’t know what you did to piss him off so much.” Bae chuckles at your misery as you put your phone away.

“Wanna spill the details?” A girl by the name of Cleo asks. You roll your eyes.

“It was just Yoongi. He said he and Jimin wanted to talk to me. As if things haven’t been awkward enough.” You feel like you’re walking on eggshells with the two, as you’ve stopped hugging Jimin for longer than 10 seconds. 

And you’ve stopped your musical obsessions with Yoongi as well, keeping the fangirling to a bare minimum. You just want everything to go back to normal, so you can continue onto your adult life without holding on so much to the past. And they aren’t the only things bothering you, but Jungkook has been desperately trying to fix your relationship.

Jasmine won’t so much as breathe in your direction, as she doesn’t need you anymore. She has everything. The popular clique, a hot boyfriend, and perfect grades. She isn’t bothering you at all, but you are tempted to scream in her face about keeping her boy toy in control. He keeps wandering out of her lane and onto yours. Which you think you can use to your advantage.

It’s not like you’re going to sleep with him or anything, you just think it’s the perfect opportunity to take back what was rightfully yours. And in this case, Jungkook is the perfect trophy. You don’t like objectifying people, but at this point you don’t even care if he used your name to impress a couple of underclassmen, you feel honored, actually, but you don’t actually care about him. He kissed you too, while he was dating her. That’s a sign that things aren’t looking too good for them. 

Who are you kidding?! You should let them go. As if you have the balls to actually sneak around Jasmine’s back and snatch her boyfriend from her.

“Girl, just talk to them. I advise you to tell them as soon as possible what type of feelings you may or may not have for them. It’s gonna be okay.” Toriel pats your back as you recover from the growing anxiousness in your gut. Something tells you, everything is not going to be okay.

“Moving onto our next sleepover activity….horror stories!” 

                         ༻• The Next Day, At Your House •༺

You sneak into your home early in the morning, around 7 or 8, to be exact, hoping that Jimin and Yoongi were away at work. Your mom is already gone, as she texted you that she would be going on a business trip this particular week. The slumber party kept you awake all night, and the girls had really scary stories to share so you weren’t exactly calm...even now you are on edge as Jimin frightens you from behind.

“Hi.” You jump back, startled because of how quiet and swiftly he came up from behind you.

“H-hey. I thought I was home alone.” He gives you a sweet smile, the same comforting grin you saw that day in the cafe after you almost embarrassed yourself while asking for his number. Those were the good times, when you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. A friendship with anyone of the opposite sex is complicated, after all. You convinced yourself of this since Yoongi and Jimin are 100% gay and show no signs of any lust or extra thirst after you but you still had awkward tension. Hell, even now after Jimin walked up from behind you like that, you still have a strange feeling in your gut.

“You thought wrong! Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about

 how you almost peed your pants after I gave you a scare.” The mood is mellow, and you’re both comfortable around each other. Maybe Yoongi was the problem. But you don’t want to upset Jimin, as he’s your best friend at the moment and he’s been for you a lot more than anyone has been in the last decade.

“So, what’d I miss?” You ask, leaning in to give your best friend a hug. You inhale his strawberry-fresh scent, a little bit in awe as you’ve never gotten a waft of a nice-smelling boy. Jimin is an angel, a perfect exception. You hope you can find a man who’s as caring and attentive as he is, in the future.

“Yoongi and I have been thinking a lot about you recently, mainly how you opened up to the two of us about your life and leaned on us so easily, really it was crazy how you trusted us so easily when you barely knew either one of us,” You laugh sheepishly, mentally scolding yourself for being so childish in the first place. “But it was so admirable. And we thought, we could do the same for you. So you can learn more about the kind of people we are. We don’t like looking back on the past, but there are some parts that we just can’t leave behind. Like for example, our two exes,” At first, you think little of this. ‘He must mean the people that he and Yoongi dated before they found each other.’ That was your first thought. Just like he’s reading your mind, he answers your question, “We’re open to polyamory.” Your mouth drops to an “o” shape, and then you rack your brain for the correct answers.

You got nothing. You have no clue what the fuck a polyamory is.

“What’s that?” He chuckles at your innocence just as his boyfriend comes down the stairs.

“Hey, Yoongz, wanna explain what polyamory is to our good friend here?” You look up at the older man with curious eyes. You want to know.

“Multiple people in a relationship. Basically, Jimin and I used to invite over two other guys and we used to go on dates and do other stuff but it was really chill, nothing too serious.” You gawk as the two lean into each other for a kiss and then Jimin crawls into Yoongi’s lap before turning his head to stare at you. Two pairs of eyes are just on you, and you feel so vulnerable with all the attention on you.

“Anyways, I wanted to mainly apologize for what happened that night with the ice cream. You looked like you were enjoying yourself, and I thought I was too, until I realized I was gay. I just needed a reminder, I guess. So I thank you,” You don’t know whether you should laugh or cry, Yoongi’s expression was hard to read.

“Hyung...why do you gotta do her like that?” Jimin’s words throw you off guard. “You know what, instead of beating around the bush, I’ll just tell you: I’m bi, Yoongi was pan when I met him.” He rolls his eyes at the boy.

“Wait, didn’t you say you came out to your parents?” You ask curiously.

“I did. As gay, but then I ended up having a one night stand with a woman and after that I realized I liked both.” You take in the information very well, not letting it affect you one bit. “You know what, I’ll let you two figure out your shit…” You give Jimin a panicked look before turning to Yoongi with a fake smile plastered on your face.

“I don’t care what your sexuality is,” Your statement throws him off guard as his eyes widen quickly. “I just know what I felt was real. There was a weird connection, a moment where I wanted to kiss you.” He coughs before spreading his legs on the couch and putting his hands in his lap. You’re not gonna lie, he looks hot.

“Then why didn’t you?” You let out a small giggle before realizing that he’s completely serious.

“Because you and Jimin are dating...and I don’t like cheating.” He crosses his arms, this time scooting in closer to you. 

“But we were both there, and the vibes were all right.” You feel a slight pressure on your inner thigh when you realize that Yoongi is touching you. His hands are wandering up your thigh in broad daylight. You luckily have a blanket covering you, but the look of fear on your face is a dead giveaway.

“It’s because you wimped out.”

“You should’ve just done it anyways. I probably would’ve kissed you back.” He starts kneading your thigh, giving you an almost-massage, and just as you’re about to let out a moan, Jimin comes back, holding a bowl of popcorn and setting it down on the coffee table.

“Surprise movie night...er day.” He sits next to you, oblivious to what his boyfriend is doing. You glare at Yoongi when you feel his fingers pulling your leggings down and they wander into your panties. You’re damp. Completely soaked because of this stupid man that you’re attracted to and the fact that you basically just confessed to him. He smirks when he sees your eyes roll back in your head when he reaches your g-spot, thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. You cling to him, pretending that you’re simply cuddling him as Jimin’s eyes stay trained on the screen, but you fail horribly at keeping things discreet when you moan into his ears. The movie blasts at a loud volume, so the speakers drain out your groans as Yoongi drives you to an orgasm.

“Come for me, babe. Don’t want Jiminie to see, is that right?” Yoongi knows the boy would probably just join in if he actually noticed. He still manages to upset you, as with all your might, you try not to scream from pleasure.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna come.” You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out the softest but sexiest moan he’s ever heard, as his fingers twist inside of you and you climax right then and there. He leans in and finally, you get a taste of his sweet lips. 

“Let’s continue this later?” He whispers to you, winking at Jimin as you sink into his arms, panting heavily and recovering from your intense orgasm. And yes, the boy knows what his boyfriend was doing under the blanket the entire time. 

After the movie, you quickly run upstairs to take a shower. You didn’t expect to get fingered on your couch. You didn’t think Yoongi would actually kiss you. And you certainly didn’t think things were going to return to normal ever again. They already had girls. How many did they date in the past? Obviously having a third partner didn’t work out for either of them so what difference would it make if you were part of the equation? You step out of the shower to find Jimin in your bedroom, playing games on his phone as he waits for you. You clench your towel, a light blush dusting your cheeks as you step into your bedroom, closing the door.

“Hey! I wanted to see what you might be wearing to the concert, have you picked out an outfit?” You walk past him, motioning him to come to your closet as your finger picks and chooses the cute dress you found at the mall.

“This one.” You can see his eyes lighting up at the thought of you wearing that dress, but then his gaze darkens when he imagines you out of it. Speaking of...there was only a thin towel wrapped around your body, even then it wasn’t enough to stop his imagination. You have nice boobs, can you blame the poor guy?!

“Nice choice. I’ll just uh...step out so you can get dressed.” Also known as code red: he has a boner. You quickly throw on some shorts and a sweatshirt, as you don’t dress modestly at home. You check yourself in the mirror, making sure it’s not too much in case the boys feel uneasy. 

Today’s a slow day. You finish up your homework before making your way to the kitchen for an evening snack. It’s only 5:00, yet you’re starving. What you see next surprises you, as Yoongi is on the counter while Jimin kisses him breathlessly. How do people kiss so long without breaking for air? As you observe, Jimin breaks the kiss, smiling at you as his boyfriend turns to look at you as well.

“Come here, darling.” Your feet are jello as you stumble to the two, trying to ignore the way Yoongi’s bulge is sticking straight up as Jimin’s hands are on either side of him.

“Wh-what?” You blush, unable to help yourself as the blue haired god in front of you looks so good. “I like your hair.” You whisper quietly.

“Thanks, although I’ve had this hairstyle for a while,” He removes his arms from his boyfriend, putting his attention on you. “Now, you’ve been a dirty girl, fooling around with my boyfriend when I’m not looking, is that right?” You swear if you weren’t holding onto the counter you would’ve fainted.

“What? Cat got your tongue? You have quite a mouth on you when my fingers are buried in your pussy but you can’t say a word when my boyfriend asks you a perfectly valid question?” You’re shocked, frozen, freezing. 

“Answer me, sweetie. Did you like it when he fingered you earlier?” You blush and nod, evading his gaze. “Look at me when I talk to you, Y/N.” When he says your name you look up, your eyes meeting his as you do. Five seconds barely pass when he smashes his lips against yours, in a desperate manner. Yoongi’s just watching, patiently waiting for you to break the kiss so he can continue the conversation.

“Y/N, we need to be honest with you. We’ve...taken a liking to you.” You don’t know how to process this information. But Jimin’s look of pleading is enough. They both want you.

“So please, will you consider joining our relationship?” You purse your lips. Every fibre of your body is screaming yes, but your mind is telling you to be reasonable, and think through this. You don’t need this right now in your life. You’ll hold them back, they’ll hurt you later, this is setting yourself up for failure.

Yet you want it so bad.

“Can I think about it? Please?” You don’t want to reject them right away.

“Of course. Take your time.” Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand before leading him to the couch. You hope they won’t ask you before the concert.

                                        ༻• At the Concert •༺

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The men brought you to a freaking J-hope concert. Not just anyone but the J-hope. He’s the most popular solo act on the planet. After he broke up with his boy band BTB, he went all crazy and started rapping about sex, and fame, and real life issues. Everyone loves him.

Including your two friends who dated him back before he was famous.

Yeah, they have a history together.

“You like it so far?” Jimin asks, leaning in while cracking open a can of pepsi.

“Are you kidding? You got premium seats to see the J-hope?” He gives you a cheeky grin before turning to Yoongi and conversing with him. You can’t seem to take your eyes off the two of them, even if you are at a J-hope concert. You feel lucky enough to be breathing the same air as him, but it’s thanks to the couple sitting beside you. Not to mention...they even dated him at some point.

“This last song goes out to two dear exes of mine…” You thought you imagined it, but he seemed to look up at your row, as if he was staring straight at Yoonmin.

“Last summer when you told me you weren’t feeling well, I thought it was just a little bump in the road, But now I know, It was all because of her, Ohhh my love, How I loved you way back then, But I was too blind to see, You really didn’t care at all,”

You don’t know how to react. Should you clap? Or laugh, or cry? It sounds like whoever he’s singing about cheated on him...with a girl.

“Now I don't care, it's all choices by my fate,  so we're here, Look ahead,  The way is shinin’, Keep Going Now,”

The song suddenly gets more upbeat and then the crowd goes crazy as he has an outfit change with a snap. Also, this man is glowing. The lights are perfectly bouncing off his slightly tanned skin, making him appear more heavenly. God, how did they live through this?

“That’s My Ego!” He sings the chorus cheerfully before finishing off and then fireworks light up the night sky, making some audience members cry. Jimin and Yoongi are both staring at you, though, as you watch with wonder. You look so innocent, and you’re so small...the two of them are already whipped for you, can’t you see that? Oh wait, you do.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask them, and they simply smile at you. As if that wasn’t heart-melting enough.

“Nothing. Let’s go backstage.” You blush as they both take either of your hands, leading you out of the crowded stadium so that you can visit J-Hope backstage. You were about to meet a celebrity, while being held by two guys that confessed their feelings to you just a few hours ago! As if things couldn’t get any better.

“J-HOOOOOPE!!!” Yoongi grins, throwing his arms around the celebrity as he walks into the room.

“Hey Suga. OH JEMIN!” Jimin and J-Hope share a handshake before hugging as well, and then he turns to you.

“Who is this beauty?” He turns to look at you, kissing your palm softly in greeting.

“Y/N.” You answer him, trying to conceal your uwus.

“Wow. You’re even more perfect than how they described you. You know, I’ve never seen them like someone more than they like you.” He whispers into your ears. You’re a little bit distracted by the fact that an IDOL is whispering in your ears right now. His breath smells so good. His sweat smells expensive, though.

“Y-you really think?” You ask.

“I know so.”

“Okay, if you’re done hitting on our friend, how about you tell us what you’ve been up to?” J-Hope holds up a finger, revealing the engagement ring to all of you.

“Who…?” J-Hope blushes before turning to his mirror.

“Remember that one producer? The girl who was older than me by 10 years or something?” Everyone nods, except you, who has no idea what’s going on.

“Turns out she was my soulmate all along. She proposed to me, and we’re getting married next month.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” You clap for him as the two men beside you look at you with love in their eyes.

“I’m so excited. She’s just a bucket of sunshine. Oh shoot, I’m almost late for the wine tasting. Bye guys.” We wave as the celebrity packs up his things for the day. “So, it looks like you guys lowered your standards for me.” “Oh, stop, he wasn’t even well-known when we met. And now, we’ve all moved on. The three of us are together and that’s what matters.” Yoongi cuts you off before you even start. When you get home, you’re less than amused that your mother is getting ready for the stupid marriage meeting in her room. She ushers you to change, greeting the boys but whisking you away from them just as quickly. You wave goodbye to them, in a dreary mood. “Remember to behave, poise and manners, Y/N. You want to look like a good wife.” “I don’t want to get married. I’m only 18, ma.” She brushes your hair, looking at you with teary eyes. “Your dad wants you to. And he gets what he wants. No matter what.” You sob the entire car ride, your father didn’t even bother coming home as the purpose of this stupid meeting was to make himself look good. You look up to see that the boy before you is an overgrown specimen of child. Not even a man, but just a buff baby. “Hi, how old are you?” You ask politely. The boy lowers his eyes. You already know where this is going even though you’ve barely said a few words. “15, you have nice tits.” You’re in shock, uncomfortable, lonely, and worst of all, your mom won’t even look at you. Your dad presents you like a trophy and then forces you to tell the other parents about your academic achievements before forcing you to sit down. You want to cry. But you don’t. Instead, you call Jimin. “Hey, what’s up? Is the dinner going well?” Your voice starts breaking before you even talk, making you suck in deep breaths before looking out the bathroom window. “No, Jimin. I can’t stay here. They’re gonna force me to marry a 15 year old that just said my boobs look nice. I have to get away, do you guys think you can get me away from my parents? I’m 18, so they can’t legally do anything about it.” You hear him talking to someone in the background, presumably Yoongi.

“It’s me, Jimin just told me...I’m so sorry. All of that is awful, but is running away really going to solve anything? I know things seem bad now, but wait until your mom knows about us, I’m sure she’ll be accepting.” Yoongi sounds confident in himself, so you don’t feel like putting him down.

“Her, maybe. But not my dad. He’ll disown me.”

“Y/N, you are no object. They can’t just marry you off to anyone. And if they do, we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. You should be allowed the choice of marrying someone you love.” You frown, seeing the tears falling out of your eyes.

“I’ll go out with you.”

                                       ═══ 🅣🅘🅜🅔🅢🅚🅘🅟 ═══

Your first date is at the cafe where it all started. The boys make sure to take time off at the same time so your schedules match up. It’s not the most conventional date, as the three of you start discussing where you’ll move in together after you run away from home.

Your dad hasn’t even spoken more than a couple sentences to you. Wow, so caring. You have no reason to stay with them anymore, as he literally forces you to go to stupid dinner parties and sets you up with boys that are too young for you. Even a 12 year old, like what the fuck?

“How was dinner last night?” Jimin asks. You roll your eyes.

“Horrible, as always. These boys are nightmares. I feel bad for their future partners.” You comment.

“Who cares? It’s just dinner. And you’re dating us now. Talk to us, babe.” You like being called “babe.” Especially when Yoongi says it, because he’s just so closed off to everyone else.

“Do you like it when he calls you baby? Because I’m pretty sure he likes it too.” Jimin giggles. Being with your best friend is really no different, except now you can kiss and hug and show affection romantically. He’s just a lot more cuddly with you. And Yoongi doesn’t mind it one bit.

He actually sometimes joins in, hugging you and Jimin lovingly. He’s so protective of you two. You love it.

And they’ve started picking you up after school, to take you out so you can be away from your house for a bit. But at the end of the day, you can always count on crawling into bed with them and dreaming your troubles away. You’ve been sleeping better with them cuddling right next to you. 

Sneaking into bed with them has become a habit of yours, and you especially don’t make it clear around your dad that you have feelings for them. Although, lately everything has been striking a nerve. He often calls you to awkward dinner parties and you can’t do anything about it.

Even your boyfriends agree that it’s a bit too much. So much, that one day, Jimin decides to suggest something crazy.

“Let’s make your dad think that you’re ruined.” This catches yours and Yoongi’s attention.

“What? What the hell are you going on about, Jimin?” Uh-oh, when Yoongi uses that tone and says his name like that, you know someone’s in trouble.

“I’m saying that we make her dad think she lost her virginity.” You cross your arms, gasping as Yoongi shields your face with his arms protectively.

“What are you saying? That’s absurd. Her father is already strict as is with us living here, everytime he sees us he crinkles his nose even more. We repulse him, Jimin. What makes you think that we aren’t gonna tick him off even more?” Yoongi makes a good point. Your father was very strict, and homophobic. Perfect traditional 1800s father of the year.

“He’s here because he wants to see his little girl get engaged, right? Well, what if she brought the engagement to him? Have him walk in on one of us sharing a moment with her and then having her dad say she has to marry us?!” You’re baffled. You didn’t think your boyfriend was that dense. 

“Idiot, he would probably disown her. And also, no. Maybe not marriage, he might just throw her out of the house altogether.” While you’re busy planning, what you fail to recognize is that your father leaves town again. He’s flying away, and you had no knowledge of it until your mother called you and you saw his packed suitcases as he hugged you goodbye. Looks like the meetings have come to an end.

“Jimin!!! Yoongi!!!! Come downstairs, I need to talk to you two about something.” My mother calls out to them.

“What?” Yoongi is the first to make his way down the stairs, avoiding eye contact with you.

“I’ve noticed the way you two have been interacting with my daughter as of late. The deep stares of longing everytime we sit on the couch and watch t.v together, the smiles of adoration that you only have reserved for special people, heck, even once I saw you holding her hands like she would disappear if you let go,” You can hear the nervous gulps come from the two men as they stare directly at your mom. This can’t be good. “You both have crushes on her, right?” Their eyes widen.

“What? No, I’m dating Yoongi-Boongi. My heart belongs to him and only him.” Jimin says a bit too quickly, making your mom raise her eyebrow in question.

“Your daughter is very pretty, I’ll give you that much, but I’m dating Jimin.” She clicks her tongue, not fully believing them.

“I know what it looks like when boys have a crush on a girl, seeing the way you act around her. So how about you tell me the truth straight to my face?” Jimin is the first to break under her intense stare.

“Fine, you caught me. I like her, okay?!” He says, blushing a brilliant shade of pink. When your mother sees that Yoongi’s expression is indifferent, she narrows her eyes at him.

“You know, don’t you?” He doesn’t say a word, instead taking your arm and pulling you beside him.

“Ma’am, I would like to get your permission to be your daughter’s boyfriend….along with Jiminie.” Considering you were secretly dating for weeks, now seems like the perfect time to ask. Go Yoongi!

“Yes, of course you can date her. You both are so caring and kind and I can’t imagine anyone more fit for the job….even though I didn’t expect two guys. It may be a little strange but I trust that you know your boundaries.” They nod, each of them hugging you tightly and giggling like children.

“We’ll make sure to treat our girlfriend with kindness and respect.” With Yoongi’s gummy smile, your heart melts. You really, really like him.

“You better, or else you’ve got another thing coming.” Your mother’s gaze is threatening enough, as the two men stiffen their backs and stand up straight.

“Loosen up, she’s just kidding. Right, ma?” She nods, laughing happily as she sees her ships coming to life before her eyes. She’s always wanted her daughter to be happy, instead of subjecting her to a life of unhappy arranged marriage. She wants to give her everything she didn’t have as a child.

“Yup. But seriously, break her heart and you’re dead.”

“Moooom.”

That night your mom leaves for work. She didn’t tell you, but you really noticed when you called out for her and she didn’t answer back, only leaving a text on her phone that she would be late. You knew this meant you were home alone with your extremely attractive boyfriends again for the second time this month. 

You’re excited, but nervous. The last time the three of you were in the house like this, they made out in front of you and then made you extremely horny. Now, you could only imagine what would happen with the three of you in an actual relationship.

“Y/N, come watch netflix with us!” Jimin calls you to his room, and your eyes widen. You’ve been in their room before, but never totally alone. Your mom or dad would be in the house, but now you’re stuck with these two. 

“What are we watching?” You penguin-walk to Yoongi, who hoists you up onto the giant bed. Immediately you fall back from the weight of his knees forming a little disbalance on the mattress. It’s just a tiny ditch. 

“I thought you were gonna fall, be careful.” He lightly scolds you, before sitting back and getting cozy with Jimin as you stay in the middle, right between them.

“You guys are so warm.” You inhale their scents, taking in their musk and surprisingly sweet cologne. The strawberry scent must be coming from Jimin. The axe must be from Yoongi. Either way, you’re comfortable.

“No, you are.” Jimin pulls you in between his legs, peppering kisses all over your neck. Normally, you’d be turned on in the situation, but it’s completely innocent. You giggle as he tickles you with his faded blue hair and then you both get lost in each other’s eyes. You love his crescent shaped eyes, how he is a perfect mix of masculine and feminine, breaking all traditional roles of what it means to be a man in the modern world of 2020. If anything, his soft features are what makes him more “manly.” There’s no correct answer. He’s perfect the way he is, and you love the way his lips form a tiny pout, even when he’s happy.

“Just kiss already.” You both look over at Yoongi, who is more concerned with the movie playing on the screen than his two partners sharing a moment right next to him. You give Jimin a look as he leans in and finally closes the gap between you two.