#and at the low low price of wrist pain i would probably have anyway. so.

[unopenablebox]

oh my god.... mittens are fun and fast to knit

[yelenasdog]

moving out, moving on (mitch rapp x fem reader)

genre: fluff

summary: mitch and reader are taking another step towards mitch moving on, and it’s bittersweet.

words: 2.2k

warnings: drinking wine, kinda suggestive at times, talks abt katrina, mitch being emotional, my writing being melodramatic LOL

a/n: so. this was written during an all nighter that went to 7 am where i was listening to nicki minaj and eminem (???) for a good duration of it so. i’m very sorry if this is wonky at times! i hope u enjoy either way! mwah 

🥍🥍🥍

The early morning rays streamed through thin fabric, draped above the assassin's window. Dust particles floated about, becoming visible within the section of light cast from the sun. The birds perched outside the small apartment tweeted happily from their branch, their songs beautiful. 

Though, they were quite pesterous to the pair that lay together, wrapped in gray sheets. They reveled in the heat provided by the soft blanket, but even more so by the warmth from their joint bodies.

A mop of dark brown hair stirred, bringing one hand up to softly rub his eyes with his knuckle, the other hand snaking around the waist of the woman peacefully sleeping beside him. He watched with fond eyes as she lightly groaned, rolling to face away from the invasion of bright, turning towards her love. 

Mitch smiled down at her sleepy behavior, reaching out and brushing stray hairs from her forehead. He reluctantly retracted it only moments later, forcing himself out of bed to go and prepare the two of them for their big day as best he knew how: Coffee.

His sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood as he went, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and groggy-ness (a word Y/n had donned as her own, and Mitch had caught on to) still very prevalent in his entire system. 

The Rhode Island air was frigid this time of year, Mitch allowing a grin to break out on his face upon remembrance of two nights previous, just how cold Y/n had been in the arena of the Providence Bruins hockey team. Nose pink, donned in a beanie proudly showing the team's logo, well, he had found himself a new lockscreen.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of said groggy-ness, his body on autopilot as it made the beverages. He picked out her favorite mug from the cupboard (AKA a souvenir from Dubai he had picked up long ago) that she had adopted as her own, drinking out of it every time she would spend the night, almost like clockwork. He waited for his coffee beans to brew, scratching his stubble along his jaw. He flinched, though, when he felt two arms wrap around his middle. He quickly relaxed into the embrace upon realization of who the supposed assailant was, her head finding its way to rest on his bare shoulder.

“You scared me, there.” Mitch muttered, his larger hand inching towards her’s on his waist. He closed his eyes in content and she hummed in acknowledgment. Mitch allowed her to turn his figure to face her, still residing in her arms, seeing a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Only for a minute though, right?”

She laughed to which he chuckled in response, nodding in false surrender. “You’ve got me there, Y/n/n.” He mused, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the coffee machine beeping. He looked back to her, shrugging.

“I made you coffee, was gonna bring it to you in bed but, y’know.” He gestured to where she had now climbed up to sit on top of his counter, his sweatshirt around her that read “Brown University” across the front in large lettering pooling around her thighs.

“It’s alright, I need to get a move on anyway.” She smiled, hopping down to retrieve the mug, taking the warm ceramic from Mitch’s hands and sighing at the wondrous feeling that had spread through her whole body. She lifted it to her lips and drank, not surprised that her boyfriend had made it just the way she liked, to perfection. 

“Thank you, baby.” She commented, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. Her lip curled as she pulled away, Mitch already knowing what she was going to say, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Mitch! Go brush your teeth, for the love of God!” She whined, watching as he scampered off towards the bathroom, snickering all the way. She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her beverage before following where Mitch had gone.

Once in the bathroom after rinsing her and Mitch’s mugs, she tied her hair up, undressing and turning on the water (practically scalding hot, of course). Mitch had no objections to the temperature, though, seeing as it was his last time showering with her in that apartment, and in that apartment, period. 

The whole thing felt very symbolic to Y/n, at least, seeing it as washing themselves clean for the next phase of their lives together, a sort of preparation. (Maybe not so much for Mitch, who really was just pleased for any excuse to see his girlfriend naked.)

They used generous amounts of soap, as not only were most of them nearly empty (in fact, a few were and if it weren’t for Y/n, they probably all would be), but also that they had decided to simply just buy new toiletries as a whole for their new place.

They giggled at the sight of each other, all lathered in bubbles and suds. Mitch reached a finger forward, wiping it from above her eyebrows and preventing it from falling into her eyes. Y/n brought her arms around his neck, her lips connecting with his. “Much better.” She regarded with a smirk, before leaning back in.

Nearly 40 minutes later, they both emerged from the shower, fresh faced and ready for the day ahead. He didn’t have a lot that needed to be packed up, given that his place came fully furnished, so it took all but 2 hours and 5 boxes to pack up Mitch Rapp’s life. It honestly might have taken even longer than originally would have been needed, as Y/n would stop every time she found something interesting, allowing Mitch to tell her all about whatever stories had been connected to the item.

It had started with the ridiculous bird lamp that sat on his bedside table, once belonging to Mr. Nazir, and ended with his lacrosse stick. (And, a promise that one day, he’d show her how to play. He swore he’d never seen her smile that big.)

They also threw away and donated a lot, some of Kat’s old stuff bringing a pained smile to his face as he would place it in a box simply labeled “Kat” in messy, thick letters. He wasn’t sure if the box would end up in his new closet, covered in dust and unopened, or back with her family. But either way, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her completely, which Y/n was able to understand.

“Mitch? Did you pack away your coats already?” Y/n called out, opening up the closet near the front door. Her breath slightly hitched in her throat upon seeing all of the photos of Mansur, still pasted to the painted wood, the edges curling up. 

“Nah, not yet, I was gonna handle that while you worked on the cupboards” He responded, busying himself with a text from Irene on his phone wishing him good luck. He looked up and saw what she had been asking about, his phone quickly sliding into his pocket as he made his way over to where she stood, visibly distressed. 

“How long have these been here?” She questioned, feeling Mitch’s arms wrap around her shoulders. She brought her hands up to grasp onto his wrists, leaning backwards into him and biting into her lip.

“Since the beach, when I decided to go after Mansur. When everything happened with the CIA, it was kind of a whirlwind, I didn’t really have enough time to even think about taking it down when I was only even here for hours at a time.” He lightly chuckled, watching as she stepped forward and began to take the pictures down, crumbling them up in her hands. 

She ran her fingertips over the indents left in the door, feeling the splinters against them. She turned back to Mitch, quipping how “Mr. Nazir won’t be too pleased about that.” 

He smiled, joining her in taking all of the images down, ripping them or balling them up in his fists. All of them ended up in one of the old Target bags they had been using for trash, filling up an entire bag (minus a few Dunkin cups sitting at the bottom).

Mitch trailed a few tender kisses down the left side of her next, and though it sounds cheesy, a feeling of hopefulness flooded himself out of most of the bitterness that had been stuck inside for so long. 

She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, and smiled into the kiss, her hand finding the back of his head. She lightly tugged on the chocolate colored strands and he groaned in content, to which her grin only widened. She pulled back, ruffling the top of his head before beginning to pack away the remnants of what was left in the closet. He rolled his eyes, following suit.

They had piled all of the boxes into the back of Mitch’s old decommissioned CIA vehicle (which was obvious that is was such, given that the side was littered with bullet holes and metallic scratches), returned the key to Mr. Nazir (who was glad to see Mitch go), and with that, they were off.

The new place wasn’t too far away, the pair taking a page out of Stan’s book and opting for a wonderful sense of privacy. It was nestled in a rural corner of Massachusetts, where Mitch would be able to come home to a sense of serenity. Y/n had already moved in her possessions, Mitch’s items being the last step. They’d also furnished the cozy cabin, trips to IKEA and Urban Outfitters (along with several other over-priced boutiques) making the place feel like a perfect fit for the couple.

Mitch’s strange and varied knick knacks made the house feel like a home, his lacrosse stick finding a new home by the front door, right under a hanging potted plant that Y/n and Mitch had decided to affectionately name “Charles” after a drunken night watching the X-Men movies. The house was littered in plants such as Charles, in fact, with Mitch’s first response to seeing all of them being “Wow, looks like a greenhouse in here.”

(Still, he’d grown to love the plant babies. Trust me.)

Two tired smiles made their ways to their faces as they both sat on their new sofa, admiring a job well done. Though several boxes still lay on the hardwood, unopened, they felt accomplished enough to pull out a bottle of wine that they had been saving for the occasion. It was an early housewarming gift from Stan, to which they were unprepared to take advantage of, it seemed.

“Baby, did we unpack the wine glasses earlier?” Mitch questioned, his mind slightly foggy of the day's events and early start.

“No, I think they’re still packed up.” She replied, to which Mitch’s eyes lit up, an idea forming and an imaginary lightbulb popping up over his head. He got up from his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face. Her expression mirrored his own, with an added quirked brow at his antics.

“I’ve got a solution, wait here.” Mitch responded, padding over to where he had remembered the new home of the mugs to be. Upon realization of what he was doing, Y/n smiled, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up to run through her roots.

He shuffled back over moments later, his girlfriend recognizing one of the mugs in his hands as her favorite. He sat down next to her, with the bare skin of her thighs touching his own, jean clad. He bumped his knee to hers with a giggle, pouring out the Pinot Grigio into the mugs. 

She gratefully accepted it as it was handed to her, smiling as she took a sip. Mitch did the same, the two of them leaning back into the soft sofa. Y/n brought her legs up, cuddling into his side and absorbing his warmth. He brought his free hand to her side, a strong hold giving them both a strong sense of comfort as she lay her head on his shoulder.

The box labeled “Kat” remained unpacked along with the others on the floor, dust already beginning to gather. Mitch had come across it a few times that day, each time more thoughtful than the last as he struggled to decide what it was exactly he was feeling towards the objects; or perhaps towards the memory of Katrina.

He had come to realize that it was acceptance he felt, deep in his stomach, settling down. It had been brought upon him in totality over time, today’s events being the final step. A soft smile spread across Mitch’s face, a single tear falling from his eye. Y/n looked up, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Mitch, are you alright?”

He leaned down, connecting their lips in a watery yet nectarous kiss, his hand beginning to rub small circles on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Y/n/n.” 

The fire they had built earlier was roaring, now, casting a warm glow across the pair’s features. The damp trail down his cheek was highlighted, nearly glistening on his skin like an amber. 

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

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ok btw ik that wine in mugs would be a horrible idea but this is fiction so SHUSH

anyway i hope yall enjoyed! i love writing for mitch and i have lots of future fics for him, so if u liked this, please reblog and follow if ya wanna. mwah, go drink water and have some protein <333

 xx hj

[dreamingofaizawa]

Seraphim

This has been stuck in my head for days, okay? I know it's not MHA. But it's been plaguing my thoughts. My teratophilia is swirling like a hurricane with this man at the epicenter:

Anime: Blood of Zeus on Netflix

Yandere(ish) Seraphim x Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

Please make your way out of the current window if you are not over the age of 18. Thank you.

Warnings: Dub-con, body horror (?) he’s a fucking demon okay?, cumflation, overstimulation, belly bulge, creampie, size kink, kidnapping, kinda yandere-ish behavior if you think about it for a minute

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Alright, this man is a mass murderer and a complete psychopath with horrid trauma. But he’s hot, and my teratophilia and size kink are THRIVING. I couldn’t find his height anywhere but he’s probably like 7 feet tall or sum cause he TOWERS over the other people in the anime. Idk what possessed me to make this so weirdly soft. Anyway, days of horny thoughts of this man have accumulated to whatever this bullshit is.

*Polis = A Greek city-state

Enjoy the filth~

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You'd managed to duck down behind a low stone wall gating off a farmhouse on the outskirts of the polis. The demons had appeared in the treeline when the full moon was high in the sky, flooding the land in cool blue light. There was no warning as people were either killed or gathered into the square, fear wreaking havoc on the minds of men and women alike.

You had to run, get to another polis and warn them of the oncoming bloodbath. But you needed to know what was going on. Quickly, quietly, you snuck past and through homes, sticking to the shadows and creeping up on the square. You were just close enough to hear the commotion among the townspeople. The beating of large wings and a loud ‘thud’ silenced the square, and a voice boomed out.

“I am Seraphim. Leader of the people of Melidoni, the people you call demons.” You listened as he offered strength and power to those who chose to convert to their creed, their species. Those who didn’t would be slaughtered. The choices were to convert, or die. You didn’t stick around to hear who chose which fate, instead beginning to move through the shadows again.

As you neared your previous hideaway, you figured you should try to pack supplies for your journey, especially considering you had no idea how long you’d be travelling. You slipped into one of the homes and searched quietly, gathering supplies as you loaded a burlap sack. You’d been so focused on your tasks, so convinced you’d been silent and sneaky and could slip away, that you were shaken out of your focus by a loud thud just outside the stone wall lining the yard.

You froze, heartbeat in your ears as you waited with baited breath. A loud crack rang in your ears, making you jump and cower backward away from the splintered door. The figure that stepped in struck fear into every fiber of your being. He was huge, having to bend down to fit through the entrance, his shoulders nearly too wide to fit in the frame. 

His skin was deep blue-gray, darker on his extremities and the horns protruding from his head and shoulders. Red marks littered his body like rivers of lava, and his eyes were pitch black with blood red irises. His left eye was different, a gold band in a strange shape surrounding the pool of red. Long white hair held with leather bands fell over his shoulder and down his bare chest, save for the leather strap holding his cloak on his back.

As he stood back to full height, your legs began to shake. If you weren’t paralyzed with fear, you’re sure your legs would have given out underneath you. The demon towered over you, all corded muscle and thick skin. Slowly, he lumbered closer to you, heavy footfalls vibrating the earth under your own feet. He stopped just in front of you, your chest nearly touching his abdomen as you looked up and he glared down at you.

A small smirk curved at the corner of his lips as he lifted a clawed hand, a thick finger hooking under your chin to keep your gaze up. “Hello, pretty.” His voice was deep, and you recognized it nearly instantly. This was Seraphim. The gods had forsaken you, and you’d been caught. You had a choice to make now. Convert, or die. A thumb swept across your cheek, swiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. 

A sound rumbled in his chest, something between a hum and a chuckle. “Don’t cry, pretty. You won’t die.” His statement had your mind reeling. Was he going to force you to convert to a demon? He wasn’t giving you a choice like all the other townspeople? He bent down so his mouth was at your ear, his breath hot on your neck and shoulder. “You’ll live, pretty, as a human. So long as you give me what I want.” 

You were afraid to ask, but it was necessary. “W-what do you want?” Your voice was so quiet you almost thought he couldn’t hear you, but his pointed ear twitching next to your face told you he could hear even your smallest breath. A hot, wet tongue laved at your pulsepoint and travelled up to your jaw. Large hands grasped your waist, squeezing and gripping lightly as his voice sat heavy in your ear. “I want you.”

Tears fell down your cheeks at the realization of what was about to happen. You were going to give your womanhood to a demon. Though it was a small price to pay for your freedom and life. You were suddenly lifted off the ground, a gasp leaving your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped his thick neck where there weren’t horns jutting from his body. His hands moved down to encompass your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as he moved and licked at your neck.

You were placed on the bed and he got to work undressing you, and soon your robes were a pile of fabric pooled on the ground as you lay naked before the demon. You grasped the pelts underneath you, shaking as his blood red eyes greedily raked over your form. You squeezed your eyes tight, trying to distance yourself from your current predicament, but a large hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed just lightly enough to be a threat.

Your eyes snapped open and Seraphim leaned close, his breath fanning over your face. “Don’t close your eyes, pretty. I want you to watch me take you.” With that, he released your neck and began to undress himself. Your eyes blew wide at the sight of him, a heat twisted with fear beginning to seep into your belly and between your legs. Was he even going to fit inside you?

He was as thick around as your wrist and nearly as long as your forearm, veins running up his length. Your body shook at the thought of taking him into you, afraid he’d split you in half. A deep chuckle bubbled up from his chest at the sight of your trembling. “Don’t worry, pretty. I don’t want to break you so soon. Especially since you are untainted, pure.” He lifted a hand and you watched as the claws shrank down and gray skin turned tan. His hand was now human, though no smaller than it was previously.

You didn’t know how he could know you were still a virgin, but at this point it didn’t matter. A thick finger teased up and down your folds, gathering the little slick there and moving to rub at your clit. The contact had you gasping and jerking, and his other hand gripped your hip, keeping you still as he rubbed that little nub. It didn’t take long to have you soaked, and he stopped his ministrations on the little bundle of nerves to dip a thick, long finger into your tight heat.

Even just one of his fingers was a stretch, and your walls clamped down around the intrusion. He pumped and curled his finger until you relaxed around him, then pushed a second passed the tight ring of muscle. Your fingers dug into the pelts beneath you and you clenched your jaw as you winced, the stretch burning for a few moments before you relaxed once again. His fingers curled up and hit a spongy spot inside you, making you let out a breathy moan. 

A third finger pushing into you had you squirming and whimpering, the burning stretch becoming uncomfortable, and the fourth was painful as he maneuvered his digits inside you, stretching your walls further than you thought possible. It took a bit for you to finally relax, chest heaving and sweat beading at your forehead, and he rubbed your clit harshly. It only took a few swipes for you to cum on his fingers, clenching down hard as your back arched off the pelts and your mouth fell open in a silent shout.

When you came down from the high he pulled his fingers from your core and licked his fingers clean, groaning as he sucked your juices off his digits. The feral look he shot you made your breath hitch. His hand turned back and he gripped the back of your knees, bending them so your thighs were pressed into your chest. “Hold your legs for me, pretty.” You obliged, and he lined himself up with your core before pushing into you slowly.

Even just the tip of his thick cock had you wincing, nails digging into your thighs as you tried to relax around him. He growled as he slowly pumped himself into you, bit by bit, until he hit your womb and you cried out. It hurt, but it felt so, so good. He stilled his hips, allowing your fluttering walls to adjust to his size. His large hands came around your thighs to cup your face, trailing down to your breasts and toying with the flesh.

The demon had far more patience than you thought he could possess, waiting until your cunt stopped clamping down on his length before replacing your hands with his to grip your thighs, pressing them into your chest as he pumped his hips into you. With every thrust his pace became heavier and quicker, pulling heavenly, sensual noises from your throat. Your voice rang out with every snap of his hips into yours, your body on fire as the pleasure washed over you in waves.

One of his hands pulled your leg and rested your ankle just beside his neck, then moved down and began rubbing at your swollen little clit. The knot in your belly tightened quickly, burning hot in your abdomen until it finally snapped and your legs shook with your orgasm. He slowed to a stop and pulled out of you, flipping you over and yanking your hips back, a hand pressing into your back so your face was in the pelts and your ass was high in the air.

He filled you in one thrust and began a bruising pace, bending over you and biting marks into your shoulders, claws digging into the flesh of your hips. Growls and grunts filled your ears, Seraphim’s deep voice harsh and heavy with lust. You were extremely sensitive from your orgasms, tears beginning to roll down your face at the pleasured pain wracking your body. His hand rubbed over your lower stomach, feeling his length pounding into you.

He grabbed your hand and held it to your stomach, his voice gravelly and heavy. “You feel that, pretty? I’m right here.” Feeling him through your skin had you falling over that edge once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, mouth dropping open and drool falling to the furs below you as you came hard around him.

He thrust a few more times before halting completely, filling you up with a long, low growl into your shoulder. His cum filled you, your belly distending a little with the sheer volume. Slowly he pulled out and lay you on your back, smoothing a hand over your stomach and pushing down on the bulge. You moaned out and he watched his seed gush from your gaping hole, your body trembling with exhaustion.

Your breath was ragged as you tried to steady yourself, and Seraphim dressed you just as easily as he’d disrobed you. “Can I go now?” you asked, still in a bit of a daze. His laugh shook his chest and shoulders. “No, pretty. Of course not. Your fate lies with me now.” Your brows scrunched together in confusion. “But you said…” He lifted an eyebrow. “I said you’d live if you gave me what I want. And I said I wanted you. You’re mine now, pretty.” 

You resigned yourself to your fate, too exhausted to try and fight him. He lifted you in his arms and carried you out, mounting his manticore and lifting off into the sky. You rested your head against his solid chest, soaking up the warmth from his body as you drifted off. You vaguely registered Seraphim’s voice over the whipping wind. “That’s right, pretty. Rest up. You’re mine now, you’ll need all the energy you can get.” You didn’t let his words linger in your head before your mind faded to black.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

this tired old elegy

Summary: CC-5052 and a company of other clones bound for decommissioning are instead auctioned off to slavers on Tatooine. Or they would be, if someone mysterious didn't intervene. The resulting chaos stirs up memories Bly craves; CC-5052 thinks they might be best forgotten. Or: In which Bly is This Close to breaking out of the chip's control by himself and Obi-Wan shows up to give him that extra push. AO3.

Notes:  A scene that's been kicking around in my head for a while, of two ships passing in the night. Hinted Codywan and Blyla.

Warnings: Mild violence, seizures, slavery, mind control, grief. 

The clones of Kamino are dying out.

They’ve known this for a long time now. The Empire used them, wiped out the last of the Old Republic with them, and shunted them off, thrown out with yesterday’s trash when they weren’t useful anymore. CC-5052 has heard the horror stories, the ones the admirals always shut down if they heard them spreading among the ranks. Clones decommissioned before their time. Clones going missing, or going against orders in the field. Clones found with a single blaster shot to the head and no explanation for their deaths given. Clones pushed from active duty, given menial jobs or guard posts. CC-5052 heard CC-2224 has a teaching position now.

Disgrace is a clone’s lot, and it tastes sour in the mouth.

This though? CC-5052’s stomach turns over when the doors to the spaceport he and three of his brothers three other clones have been held in for days on end finally open. The air that buffets him is arid, dry and hot against his skin. Sand flings itself, clawing, searching, into his eyes, and CC-5052 coughs against the assault. It does little to help. He never thought for a second that he’d come to this end. It’s poetic in a way his Jedi the Traitor he served under would have found poignant once upon a time. Enslavement is how the clones of Kamino came into this world, so enslavement should be the way they go out, shouldn’t it?

Tatooine is a wretched planet, CC-5052 decides as he and his vode his family the rest of his company are led onto the calling block. The Empire has no use for him, and so it sends him to a useless place.

“One hundred credits,” the auctioneer offers, gesturing at one of the three other clones to CC-5052’s left. A hand raises in the air before them, and the auctioneer dispassionately raises the price by another hundred credits. And so it begins. Is this all there is for him?

I’m going to die on this dust-ball.

The crowd around them is sparse; the midday suns beat down on them all, slave and free sentient alike, and no one is immune to their rays. Most attendants are covered from head to toe in brown, black or white fabrics, wrapped up like mummified remains. Sunlight reflects off of any and all surfaces. A mother carrying a child’s metal cradle passes by on the edge of the crowded marketplace, and the shine off of the basket pierces directly into CC-5052’s brain. He hisses, air whistling between his teeth, eyes clenching. The pain rockets through his skull--it seems to be doing that a lot lately, random headaches plaguing his sleep. Migraines are not uncommon in the vode the clones, but he doesn’t want to examine what they mean. They’re far too often accompanied by a wave of grief that threatens to swallow CC-5052 whole.

His attention has wandered too far; the price has gone up five times since he last checked, and the auctioneer is getting excited now. They bounce on their toes, rattling off higher and higher numbers with a growing grin. As if this is just a good day at the market for them. As if it simply does not matter. As if they don’t matter.

What he thinks now is treason, of course. They are Empire property, were Republic property before that. If the Emperor saw fit to sell him off, who is CC-5052 to argue?

I hate him.

The thought nearly rattles every bone in CC-5052’s body with its intensity--but there is no time for him to examine its implications, because three things happen in very rapid succession.

First, an explosion goes off somewhere nearby and behind CC-5052; debris and sand sail through the air, pelting down on the crowd before the slave auction. The ground rolls beneath their feet, and CC-5052 has to stumble to keep his balance. The auctioneer does not have his luck, and trips right off of the platform, facedown in the dust. It startles a laugh out of CC-5052--Bly--but then he inhales more ash and coughs instead.

Second, the chains around his wrists loosen unexpectedly before falling away completely. His arms aren’t quite as burly as they used to be, from inactivity before the auction and from years of being shoved to the sidelines before that, so Bly’s CC-5052’s wrists slip easily between his manacles. Above the roar of growing fires and screaming citizens, he can just make out three identical thumps as the clones beside him rub raw skin that mirrors his own.

Third, through the confusion and panic setting into the crowd, the fleeing forms and those who have fallen prone and lain still, through the smoke and fire and noise, CC--Bly looks up and sees a hooded person beckoning to him. He can’t see their eyes, can’t see anything but brown fabric and smoke and a hand lifted in greeting, which turns its palm away after a second and crooks its fingers. There’s a tickle at the back of his mind, and, his migraine raging so badly that his vision wavers as he jumps down, Bly follows. His brothers are right behind him.

The stranger ducks and weaves through the enraged crowds, avoiding fire and danger deftly. There’s something almost comforting about slipping into their shadow, something familiar and warm that Bly almost doesn’t recognize. For a moment, Bly thinks wildly that the stranger probably has blue skin, but the thought evades him when he tries to examine it more closely.

They are outside of the city limits within fifteen minutes. The figure stops and waits for the clones to approach, never turning to look at them. Bly CC-5052 (Bly?) stops a few feet away, outside of arm’s reach. Just in case. Their head turns, but the hood obscures anything defining.

“Who are you?”

They shake their head. Fair enough.

Why did you save us?”

His brothers--clones--brothers shift on their feet behind him, anxious for the answer. The figure shakes their head again.

“Will you answer any of my questions?” Their shoulders hitch minutely and he gets the distinct feeling he’s being laughed at. For once, it doesn’t seem malicious. It’s refreshing, even if it does intensify the stinging behind Bly’s eyes. “Fine. What do we do now?”

At this, the figure finally reacts. They turn and point into the distance; Bly raises his eyes to the horizon, where a tiny homestead sits beyond the wavy hot air. Then the figure jerks their fingers towards the spaceport that lies in ruin behind them, then points to the sky, and clenches their fist, bringing it to rest in their flat palm. Then they flatten their fist and mime a ship's take-off.

“Lay low out in the Wastes and come back to steal a ship later.” Bly translates. The stranger nods.

Good enough for Bly.

~

The stranger lets them into what can be generously described as a hovel. There are four rooms in total, and the larder underground is nearly empty. It’s completely bare when he and his brothers are finished with it. There are no beds, only a slab of rock in the corner of one room with a threadbare blanket on it. It makes CC-5052’s heart twist in his chest. It makes Bly’s migraine even worse, so bad he has to sit down or trip over his own feet. Grief overwhelms him. He comes to with the stranger’s hand on his shoulder, and a clone--his name was Gardener, he was a Coruscant Guard, he was just a shiny when they blew it all to pieces--counting his breaths for him.

One thing at a time.

“You got anything to hunt with out here?” Bly asks when his lungs don’t feel like they’re the size of straws. The stranger hands him what amounts to a wooden spear.

~

Killing womprats takes all day and into the evening. Bly and his brothers--Gardener and Ink and Database, he knew them once--prowl back through the early twilight and drop them at the stranger’s doorstep. He tries not to feel like a cat bringing home a trophy.

~

“Body heat would keep you warmer than those rags,” Bly says as they settle in for the night. The stranger, who has not dropped one ounce of cloth from their figure the entire time, shakes their head and turns away. They leave the blanket for Ink to use.

The wind howls around them the entire night.

~

Taking the ship is easy; it’s small, privately owned. The slaver driving it won’t be missed. Bly wonders where the auctioneer got off to and how long it might take to find him.

CC-5052 wonders if he shouldn’t report back to the Empire for decommissioning. Bly rejects it. The migraine gets worse, howling in his mind like the wind does out in the Wastes.

The stranger freezes beside him where they’ve been keeping an eye out for any more crew the clones need to take down. A soft palm clasps Bly’s shoulder and the pain recedes.

He tries not to shake them off too harshly, but the last time someone did that, touched him like that--

She’s not here anymore.

Bly resolves not to go back. There’s nothing left in the Empire for him anyway.

They killed everything I ever loved.

He gets sick from the pain in his head. He wonders how long he’ll last on the outside. Something tells him, not long.

~

“We’re taking off soon.”

The stranger nods. Their shoulders are a stiff, hard line against the backdrop of the Tatooine horizon. Bly finds himself at a loss for words, and filled with a sudden desperation to speak.

He finds his voice, choking, hoarse. As the wind howls across the dunes, he has to raise his volume to be heard. “You could come with us.”

It has the opposite effect than he wants; they jerk back, settling into a more defensive posture. Bly raises his hands in submission, but can’t help taking a step forward. “We’re not going back to the Empire, if you’re worried. We--things happened to us there. Because of the Empire--we’re not who we used to be. But we’re free now, and we wouldn’t hurt--”

Sandstorms and windstorms happen quickly on this planet, and a huge gust nearly takes them both off their feet. Sand flies into his face for the second time in as many days, and, coughing, Bly reaches out and blindly finds his savior’s hand. He tugs relentlessly, fumbling his way through the sudden gusts and dust to the overhang where they’ve stashed the ship. He’s thankful his brothers are already on the ship; no one else needs to be caught up in this mess.

“Are you alright?” His gloves are covered in grime and it takes three or four swipes at his eyes before Bly gets his sight clear. He reaches out, catching hold of the stranger's arm as they cough and bend to spit out dirt a few feet away, face hidden by the low light here. Their headscarf has fallen from the wind, their hood flipped down for the first time. His hand brushes their shoulder, fingertips catching against the only exposed skin they have at the base of their throat, and the stranger flinches back instinctively--and then they turn to look at him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi looks older now. His voice is softer. “Commander Bly?”

“Jedi.” The death sentence falls from Bly’s lips without his knowledge and his vision wavers again. The next time the black spots clear away, Bly’s hands are wrapped around Kenobi’s throat and squeezing. The Jedi’s eyes bulge grotesquely, but then Bly’s hands loosen without his consent, flying down to pin themselves by his sides. He topples over and only Kenobi’s quick reflexes stop him from burning his face against the sun warmed sand beneath their feet. The force holding his hands down relents, as if surprised, and Bly scrambles back, his head pounding. CC-5052, who had been receding for days, weeks, maybe even years, surges against him and Bly retches as he lunges again.

Kenobi was always known for his keen battle sense, though, so Bly is hardly surprised when he’s sidestepped. He throws his weight towards the Traitor (Jedi-General-friend) again only to have his outstretched arm caught and folded around his own back. Kenobi lets CC-5052’s weight fall against his own chest, allowing them both to fold gently to the ground. Another arm wraps firmly across CC-5052’s chest, pinning his other arm to his side. Spittle and froth foam at his lips, choking him, but Kenobi does not let go.

It feels as if a rusted spike has been driven through CC-5052’s skull. Adrenaline is making him shake, as if he’ll fall apart.

“No, my friend,” Kenobi says, almost too quiet over the animal sounds caught in CC-5052’s throat. “You’re having a seizure. You’re ill. Whatever has been done to you--it’s breaking down.”

Bly jerks and spits and gasps his way out from under CC-5052’s influence in fits and starts.

“I--I didn’t--I didn’t mean to attack--”

“I can sense that, Commander.” When Bly fails to strain against his hold any longer, Kenobi’s fingers raise to tentatively touch his temple. “You’ve got pain, here, all the time. It intensified when you attacked, and your presence slipped away. Faded, like a radio signal from far off. Like--like Cody’s did.”

Bly doesn’t have to ask what Kenobi means.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and then something snaps and he can’t seem to stop. Years of torment, too built up to be pushed back. “I’m--I’m so sorry. I--I never wanted--we never meant to--I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize, Bly.” Kenobi’s touch is soothing, as much as it prompts his migraine to rekindle.  “You need not be sorry. It was not you.”

Her face drifts before his eyes, overlapping Kenobi’s when he meets the man’s eyes. She loved Bly, he knows she did. Bly loved her too. Suddenly, it’s all-important to tell Kenobi of this, for someone to know, for a Jedi to know.

“I loved her.”

“She knew.”

It feels like absolution.

“We loved you all.” Bly says, the final, most agonizing confession. “We loved the Jedi.”

“We loved the Vode.” Kenobi assures gently. Then his fingers find Bly’s temple again and the world goes a pleasant, fuzzy white. “We loved you all too.”

It feels like a gift.

~

Bly wakes up with three of his brothers, a stolen ship, and only the memory of a stranger with a fading smile to account for his time on Tatooine.

[haworthiaace]

I’ve recently discovered that writing may be a little bit fun so. Here’s something for @shadeswift99 ‘s ghostbusters au (this post right here) :]

Tango didn’t believe in ghosts.

Why would he? There had never been any reputable, scientific evidence, and despite what his friends have told him countless times, ‘feeling a presence’ didn’t count as scientific evidence. However, his conviction didn’t seem to deter Zed and Impulse at all, who regularly barged into Tango’s apartment with their latest ‘discovery’. 

“Tango, guess what?” The sound of his poor, battered door slamming open once again and Zed’s excited voice disrupted the peaceful silence that had dominated the room for the past few hours.

“Hi Zed, Impulse, good to see you guys too.” Tango didn’t have to look up from his laptop to know that Impulse was standing right behind Zed, too polite to barge in without some sort of invitation. Not polite enough to stop Zed, unfortunately.

Zedaph didn’t even acknowledge the greeting, continuing his thought the second he flopped down into a worn armchair. “Impulse and I were talking, and then we got on the topic of those guys who visit haunted places and hunt ghosts, and then I said ‘Well why can’t we do that?’” He sat up, eagerly looking at Tango, who could not for the life of him figure out what the man wanted from him.

Impulse, in his infinite kindness, noticed his friend’s confusion and filled in the gaps Zed had left in his excitement. “Zed and I want to start a ghost hunting business, and we need you to join us because you have a car.” He sat down much more gracefully than his companion, holding a small bowl of chips stolen from Tango’s kitchen.

The room was silent for a moment. “Hold on, what?”

“We-“

“No, I heard you, I’m just not exactly sure why you would think to ask me.” Tango never went on their other adventures no matter how many times they asked. After all, he had better things to do than chase wind and broken air conditioning, and it was dangerous to set a precedent. “You’re the ones who believe in all that fancy mystical stuff, not me.”

Zed stopped bouncing, and Impulse quickly brought forward the second, more practical half of their pitch. “We know you don’t believe in any of this, but even if ghosts aren’t real-”

“Which they are!”

“Right. A lot of people believe they are real, and will pay good money for some help handling them.” 

Tango pondered this for a moment, making A Face for effect that made Zed giggle. Impulse had a good point, as was often the case unfortunately. Tango didn’t have a stable source of income at the moment, and an actual business could help quite a bit with groceries, especially if Impulse was going to keep stealing his snacks every time he came over. And working with friends would certainly be a bonus.

“What the hell, I’m in. Worst case scenario nothing happens and I laugh at you two.” Zedaph lit up like an over ambitious Christmas tree, resuming his bouncing with even more enthusiasm than before. 

Impulse just grinned, “And best case scenario you finally figure out the truth.”

“In your dreams, Impy.”

-

Tango opened his eyes, and found himself lying prone on the floor. What was I doing? The dark, musty room plus Impulse and Zed looming over him struck a bell in his head.

They were on a job, as was the case most nights. Why Zed and Impulse insisted they do this at night was beyond him, but that was an argument for another time. A nonsensical ventilation system and a questionable foundation caused strange happenings in the home, and the trio had been called in. But even Tango had to admit this house was strange, and different from the others. The moment he entered, the hairs on the back of his neck raised, and he felt a chill. Their whole visit had been shadowed by a sense of wrongness. 

“...Tango? Is that you?” Impulse’s voice broke the silence, with a hint of uncertainty that shouldn’t have been there.

“Yeah dude, of course it’s me. What happened?” Tango groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head spun, but he forced himself to stand.

Zed raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, I know this is going to sound really strange, but we think you got possessed?” 

Tango stared blankly at his two friends, and finally through the fog in his head realized they were dead serious. “Really guys? Come on, I know you believe in ghosts and all but isn’t possession a little bit much?”

Impulse started wringing his hands, and Zed spoke up, quieter than before. Neither one would make eye contact. “You… you weren’t yourself Tango. You looked angry, and kept throwing things.” Huh. Well that explained the broken furniture scattered around the room, and why Tango was so sore. “You knocked over a salt shaker, then suddenly passed out when the salt touched you.”

Tango was fairly certain he had never done that before. He was unnerved by the gap in his memory, but he tucked that into a corner of his mind to unpack later. Right now he had to convince these two knuckleheads that he wasn’t possessed.

“I haven’t eaten today, it was probably that.” They gaped at him, but whether it was because of his adamant skepticism or his poor eating habits Tango couldn’t tell. “It might be like… a low blood sugar thing.” Tango tried his best to be nonchalant, but his friends didn’t look relieved.

Zed stood up, the worry in his face replaced with anger as he crossed the room in long strides towards the door. “I really can’t believe you. Here we are, worried for your life and soul, and you call it low blood sugar.”

That wasn’t meant to happen. Tango rushed to fix his mistake. “I- I’m sorry man. I know you guys are worried, but I’m fine now! Whatever it was, it seems to be gone.” A small smile crossed his friend’s face, and Impulse moved to stand behind Tango, clapping a hand on his back.

“All that matters is you’re alright. Anyway, I think the salt scared the ghost off, so how about we head home, get some post mission pizza for that low blood sugar of yours?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Tango grimaced at the disaster that he had apparently made. “How about we tell the homeowners that the ghost did this?”

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

The ironic thing is that he wasn’t even on a mission at the time.

Tango was on his way home, cradling a bandaged hand that he would surely have to explain the second he walked into the apartment he shared with his business partners. His mind repeated the events of the past hour as he made his way down the sidewalk.

He had been browsing a thrift store, searching for a new pair of boots after his old pair wore out. He loved them dearly, but when the sole ripped off for the third time, Impulse drew the line and sent him off to find a new pair. His wandering/ moping brought him to One Man’s Trash: a rickety, rundown looking thrift store that was absolutely perfect. In Tango’s experience, all the good stuff got snatched up too fast at more popular stores, and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with this place other than its appearance. 

He delicately pushed the door open, greeted by a dusty smell mixed with cleaning supplies, and  a loud, clear bell that was hung above the doorway. The interior walls were plastered with peeling, faded orange wallpaper that Tango guessed was at least 50 years old. They were decorated with dozens of picture frames containing vintage photos and postcards, each with its own price tag. The grey, carpeted floor complained where he stepped, and it was covered in tables with items for sale. It seemed people donated plenty, but never shopped here. Nobody was attending the front counter, which wasn’t a surprise for a place that probably only saw one customer a month, so Tango began his quest for the perfect pair.

After spending a good hour searching every nook and cranny of the disorganized sales floor, he found a sturdy pair of black leather boots hidden underneath a table, almost knee high with a one inch heel. They were covered in buckles and looked like they would be featured in a suburban parent’s nightmares. In the entire time he was there nobody had come out of the doorway in the back of the room, which Tango admitted was a tad strange. He even checked the sign in the front window to be sure, but the word ‘open’ was still lit up in neon just as it had been when he entered. He tapped the bell next to the cash register, but after a minute still nobody had arrived. He rang it again, and once more after that, still with no answer.

“Hello?” He tried, walking towards the only other doorway in the room, searching for a break room or something where the cashier might be. Maybe they fell asleep. “Is anyone here? I’ve got this pair of boots I want to buy.” 

Still no answer.

He felt awful about invading the back room like this, but he was growing concerned. What if something had happened to the cashier? What if someone was in trouble? So, he pushed open the door, and found himself staring up at someone; a man with frazzled black hair and a brown suit that looked about as old as the wallpaper. 

Except he could also see the break room. Through the man’s chest.

He blinked rapidly, trying to process what was certainly just a trick of the light. It was obviously just a shadow on the fabric that looked like a couch behind him. A very detailed couch, covered in a floral pattern with two overstuffed pillows on either end. The strange man didn’t say a word, simply staring at Tango with an increasingly malicious grin, watching his mind try to wrap itself around what he was seeing. 

Then, without warning, he snatched Tango by the wrist, spinning him around and leaving bleeding scratches where the man’s claw-like nails had torn into Tango’s skin. Before he could even register the pain, the man charged at him and Tango braced for impact, but felt a deep chill instead. It was the coldest he had ever felt, as if every winter from the next hundred years had come to take out their wrath on one man. 

It passed half a second later, leaving Tango shivering and clutching his bleeding hand. The man was gone. “How did he- oh shit.”

Sometimes, there comes a time when a person must accept defeat. When they’ve lost the battle, and are left with nothing but their pride. As Tango kneeled on the carpet, frozen to his core and holding his bleeding hand, the boots long forgotten, he could only see one logical explanation for… all of this. 

“...Ghosts are actually real.”

So it turned out that the shopkeeper had to step out for a few hours due to an emergency, and also that ghosts exist and haunt thrift stores.

The cashier was really quite nice about the whole ordeal, offering Tango some first aid and the boots he found for free as an apology for their otherworldly roommate’s “antisocial habits.” As Tango walked home, boots in his uninjured hand, he had another revelation, albeit not as earth shattering as the first. He didn’t actually have to tell Zed and Impulse what happened while he was out. It would keep them humble to have someone constantly denying the validity of their work, and Tango may or may not have found it a little, tiny bit funny. He was doing them a service, really! Tango grinned to himself, delighted by how much his friends would appreciate* his help**.

*they did not appreciate this, and were in fact greatly annoyed

**this was not remotely helpful to anyone

-

Tango woke up, finding himself on the floor as he now did more often than most people would consider normal. Then again, most people weren’t an optimal vessel for otherworldly entities. This time though… something was wrong. More wrong than usual.

He was cold, despite the thick summer air, and he felt like his lungs had shrunk to a quarter of their size, his breath coming in short puffs. He noticed that he was in the same room from before he lost consciousness, and that it was in the same condition he had left it in, which didn’t happen often. Usually ghosts took advantage of corporeal hands to do some property damage, but this time the modern, expensive looking couches were thankfully unbroken, same with the family pictures on the walls. 

... What was on his face? Tango felt a liquid slowly running down his cheek. Had the ghost been crying? That was a first. He reached a hand up to wipe away the tears and saw a flash of red. There was a smudge of blood on his left hand, but no injury.

He felt dread settle in his stomach, and slowly reached up with his clean right hand to touch what he had assumed was tears.

Sure enough, his fingertips came away red. “What the hell?” He asked, to nobody in particular.

“Tango! Oh my god, are you alright? Of course not, why am I asking that?” Zedaph burst into the living room, seemingly invited by Tango’s outburst. He grimaced at the floor and Tango followed his gaze to see a concerningly large pool of blood surrounding Tango. This would certainly explain why he felt so much worse than usual. “It threatened you and forced us to leave but then I didn’t leave and I snuck some sage into the room and then I heard a thud and-”

“Zed, slow down.” Tango groaned, holding his spinning head in his hands. “I can’t process a word you’re saying right now.” 

Zed seemed to remember his friend’s recent blood loss, looking sheepish. “Right, my bad. It’s a long story, but we need to get you to a hospital or something. Not to be rude, but you look awful.” 

“It’s alright, I feel awful so at least I match on the outside.” Zed started to walk across the room, trying not to step in the puddle whilst also trying to help Tango up.

Eventually he managed to pull Tango up by the hand, holding him steady when he started to sway.

Impulse greeted them with relief when they made it out to the car, Tango leaning on Zed’s shoulder, but he looked horrified once Tango’s face came into view. “Oh my god!” He covered his mouth with both hands, then immediately dropped them as though he had been rude. “Oh man, sorry about that, it’s just- your eyes…”

Tango shrugged, “Yeah, they seem to have sprung a leak.” 

“Well I knew about that, but…” His eyebrows furrowed as even he, a believer in almost anything supernatural, was confused about whatever disturbing thing this ghost had done. “They changed colour? They’re red now. Like, the whole eye, even the white bit.”

“Cool.”

Zed piped up from his position under Tango’s arm. “‘Cool’? What do you mean ‘cool’?” He did his best to make air quotes without dropping his friend, who had clearly gone mad. “You literally got possessed and started bleeding from your eyes, and now they’ve changed colour, how is any of that cool?”

Tango, in his noble quest to annoy his friends, just shrugged again. “Probably burst a blood vessel or something, and it got in my eyes. Man, why is it always ghosts with you two?”

A Look came across Impulse’s face. Probably Zed’s too, but Tango couldn’t exactly see him. It was a Look that meant Tango had completely baffled them with his supposed obliviousness, which had only happened a few glorious times.

“Ok he’s clearly delirious, we should take him to the hospital.” Impulse pushed himself off the hood of the car and opened the back door, placing a towel on the seat. After all, this was Tango’s car and Impulse figured he probably wouldn’t appreciate blood all over the back seat.

“I mean, regardless of his bullshit he definitely needs to see a doctor, there was a lot of blood on that floor.” Zed quickly followed, helping Tango into the backseat then sliding in next to him. Tango supposed it was to keep an eye on him, which was great because he felt ready to pass out again.

On the bright side, he caught a glimpse of his eyes in the rear view mirror and they did in fact look cool as hell. Of course, Zed and Impulse later disagreed because it could have been a ‘serious medical issue,’ but that was their problem.

-

At the end of a very long and very strange day, the trio sat around on a variety of couches and chairs in their living room, four half eaten pizzas scattered about the room. Although, they weren’t exactly a trio anymore - a new member had decided to join them regardless of what Tango, Zed, and Impulse had to say about it. An entity (for he surely wasn’t human) known only as the Beetlejhost sat cross legged in an armchair, looking completely at home despite only having been there for about two hours.

If asked, none of the ghost hunters could precisely recall how the Beetlejhost had joined them. One moment they were on a job like any other, the next they were being insulted up and down by a ghost in a black and white striped suit. After that first encounter he hadn’t left them alone, despite their efforts including but not limited to: every ghost busting method they had ever heard of, and others that they hadn’t. 

Impulse sat up straight for no discernable reason, smacking the arms of his chair and startling everyone except for, of course, the Beetlejhost. He turned to Tango with a shit eating grin, which was absolutely a cause for concern.

“Hey Tango?” Uh oh. If the grin wasn’t bad enough, the singing tone in his voice solidified that whatever thought just entered his mind was truly devious. That or incredibly embarrassing. Maybe both. “It seems like our new roommate has a few… strange qualities. Supernatural, one could say.” He looked expectantly at Tango, that awful grin never leaving his face.

Uh oh.

Tango supposed that the jig was up. It had been a good run, he supposed. “Yeah, whatever. Ghosts are real, you happy?”

Just because he was busted didn’t mean he couldn’t sulk, so he crossed his arms and sank into his chair, completing the look by sticking out his bottom lip like a child who was just told ‘no.’

Zed piped up from where the others had assumed he was napping, not bothering to remove his face from where it was planted on the couch. “Absolutely.” The word was muffled, but it got his point across. Meanwhile, Impulse was smugly eating another slice of room temperature pepperoni pizza. Vindicated at last, after over a year of exasperated arguments and comical obliviousness. 

“I hope you know I’m only admitting it because I’m afraid of what the Beetlejhost would do to convince me.” Tango gave up on his sulking and walked across the room to the box of cheese pizza precariously balanced on the edge of the coffee table. The man (or ghost? I suppose one can be both.) in question was looking off into the distance, lost in assuredly horrible thoughts. “And for the record, I figured the whole ghost thing out months ago, I just really liked annoying you guys.”

“Months ago?” Impulse held his pizza inches away from his mouth, the grin wiped off his face. “Are you telling me that when a ghost literally put you in the hospital and you still denied it, that was all just to annoy us?”

Now it was Tango’s turn to be smug. “It worked, didn’t it?”

-

So no, Tango didn’t believe in ghosts. But after everything he’d seen, he sure as hell believed in them now.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

The Assassin and the Caretaker Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: blood, scar, torture, mind control, killing, long injury descriptions (blood, cuts, dislocation, broken bones, etc), barbed wire as restraints, head injury, starvation

Caretaker watched silently as Villain and Hero's limp bodies were hurried away. When the door finally slammed shut, they felt a foreboding presence behind them.

"Call me," Assasin said. "When you are ready for your next mission. A man up North hired me to kill a gang of rebels. I could use your help, but I understand if you need... time."

Time? Yes, time would be good. Caretaker pictured Villain's last futile attempts to protect Hero in their mind. They couldn't cause that anguish, not any time soon.

"How do you do it?" Caretaker whispered, clutching the twenty thousand dollars in their hands. "How do you-"

"Do my job? I need the money."

Caretaker gave a curt nod. They needed the money too since they recently quit their job as a computer mechanic.

"Well," Assasin sighed. "I'm gonna go now, but, uh, call me. Yeah?"

"Sure," Caretaker replied. Once Assasin closed the door behind them, Caretaker sunk onto their couch. Villain's blood was still on it and Caretaker wondered breifly if their injury was bleeding again. Would Supervillain take care of them? No, duh, they were going to kill them, that's why Assasin caught them. Right?

And then what about Hero? Their head injury was so bad that Caretaker suspected that they wouldn't get away without some form of brain damage. Memory loss at the least.

What if they got out? What if Hero never remembered Villain? Caretaker was reminded of Villain quiet pleas to protect Hero. Why did they do this? Why...

Three months later...

"Oh my gosh Caretaker!" A voice broke the heavy silence of the room of a guilty person. Caretaker looked up to see Assasin strolling into their bedroom, uninvited.

"What?" Caretaker asked, unfased. "You said I could have time."

"Not three months of sitting around doing nothing at all," Assasin yelled. They stopped walking and leaned against the foot of Caretaker's bed. "I think it would do you good to do something."

"Like what? Kill people for money?" Caretaker scoffed. "Never again."

"How 'bout saving people?"

"That's better, but you wouldn't save anyone. You hardly look after yourself," Caretaker nodded towards the bruises that littered Assasin's body.

"These?" Assasin laughed. "A small price for obtaining some valuable information."

"About your next victim?" Caretaker mused.

"In a way," Assasin flashed a broad smile and walk to Caretaker's side. They took out their phone and showed a picture to them.

It looked like and black and gray screen.

"And this is supposed to show me..."

"Open your eyes Caretaker," Assasin snorted and put the phone two inches in front of their face.

"Okay!" Caretaker snapped and took the phone. For their sake, they observed the picture closer. The gray spots seemed to be figures. Yes, figures. One was hunched over and the other stood above it. The hunched figure had a white splotch above it.

Caretaker zoomed in on the picture. They could just make out notable features like an open mouth, arms, and eyes. Terrifyingly familiar eyes.

"Is this-" Caretaker croaked out. Assasin smiled.

"Villain," they said. Then their cheery gaze faltered. "With Supervillaim torturing the crap out of them."

Caretaker could not believe Assasin. First, they broke into their house. Second, they brought up painful memories and assisted in bringing fresh guilt back to the surface.

"Y-you don't, um," Assasin stammered. "You don't think my intentions are true. Do you?"

Caretaker shook their head. There was probably money involved in this.

"Where do you think I was for the last three months?" Assasin asked, getting irritated with Caretaker's lazy figure.

"Getting rich."

"Idiot!" Assasin yelled and punched the wall. Caretaker slowly looked up at the hole in the drywall.

"You better pay for that-"

Caretaker was cut off by Assasin forcibly grabbing them out of bed and pinning them to the wall.

"I got hurt taking care of that gang," Assasin lifted up their shirt to reveal a scar made from a bullet wound. "At the hospital, after my surgery, a doctor approached me. They told my that they worked for a group that took care of people... like me." Assasin stood back and breathed in deeply.

Suddenly, their eyes glowed red and they ordered in a deep voice, "Sit."

A strange feeling quickly overcame Caretaker and they sunk to the ground on their seat bones. The feeling vanished as soon as it came on, leaving Caretaker speechless.

"I have mind control powers," Assasin crouched next to Caretaker and looked them eye to eye. "Villain has powers also. Something to do with storms and stuff."

Caretaker was still speechless. All the recent events suddenly clickes into place. Assasin didn't need Caretaker's help in kidnapping Villain and Hero. They needed someone to administer the power suppressor so that they wouldn't get any on them.

"Bastard," Caretaker spat. Assasin gave a half-grin.

"Maybe," they said. "But I don't care. I know the second I leave you are going to follow me and we are going to save both of them."

Caretaker hated the fact that they were right.

Caretaker leaned their head against the window as Assasin drove to Supervillain's base, thinking of Assassin's stupid plan.

"What's the plan?" Caretaker had asked earlier.

"Kill some guards, take their uniforms and ID cards or whatever stuff they have on them," Assasin began. "Then," they continued after a pause. "We get into Villain's cell saying there was eletrical issues. Supervillain is gonna be out tonight, so we just have to deal with their minions which shouldn't be too hard."

"What about Hero?"

"After I make Villain sleep," Assasin glanced at Caretaker's paling face as they remebered three months ago. "With my powers," they reassured them. "It will only take a second since they will be tired anyways. After that, we get... Hero."

Caretaker frowned at the hesitation. "Is Hero okay you think?"

"No," Assasin choked. Caretaker stared dumbfoundly as they wiped a single tear off their cheek.

"Oh," they said.

"We got reports that they are not themselves," Assasin explained further. "Due to their head injury that I might've inflicted."

Caretaker was genuinely shocked that Assasin could care this much.

"No matter," they laughed suddenly. "Not that they are entirely innocent, but..."

Assasin never finished their thought and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

The pair did as planned and, let's just say got rid of and hid, a couple guards. Assasin being the bigger figure got changed into the larger uniform, and Caretaker the smaller. But it still dangled off their shoulders.

"Oh my gosh," Assasin laughed as they rolled up Caretaker's sleeves. "You are itty-bitty." Suddenly, they guided Caretaker behind a dumpster.

"Supervillain," they hissed silently and peered out. Caretaker could just make out a shadow entering a shed before Assasin recoiled back.

"That dang henchman!" They growled. Caretaker assumed that the henchman that they fought earlier lied. Then, a horrible thought struck them. Supervillain probably knows that they were coming. They had to get out of there like right now!

But Assasin had other plans. Without warning, they hurried into the shed after Supervillain. Caretaker hesitantly followed.

The first thing Caretaker noticed was Supervillain kneeling on the floor, pushed down by an invisible force that was Assasin. Their eyes glowed even redder than what Caretaker remember as they ordered Supervillain to keep still.

"Assasin," Supervillain growled, only to be shut up by Assasin.

"Get them," Assasin said in a low, but partially normal voice. Caretaker looked over at the wall to see Hero slumped in a corner motionless. Villain was suspended in the air, their head hanging limply.

And wow did they look awful. Villain's hair was matted in blood and dirt. Their upper half was stripped. Caretaker would see the half healed stab wound on their abdomen. Festering cuts decorated their body disgustingly. Deep purple, nearly black, bruises were on their throat where they were likely choked, or worse hung from for short periods of time. And that wasn't even the worse of it. Caretaker could see numerous bones shifting awkwardly as they dangled from enlongated arms. Likely dislocated at the shoulders. Caretaker wanted to gag as they approached them.

Gosh, they regretted everything all over again. Villain's chest barely rose and fall. It hurt to watch. Caretaker gulped and reached upwards to take off the wires that bound Villain's wrists to the wall.

They earned a heart-wrenching scream from the injured villain as they shot awake. Caretaker noticed only then that the restraints were barbed wire. They felt sick to the stomach as their eyes took in the deep wounds around their wrists.

"I'm sorry," Caretaker muttered when they realized with the proper strength (which they lacked), they could rip the barb wire out of the wall.

Villaim screamed and sobbed throughout the entire process as Caretaker yanked at the restraints. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Assasin losing their control on Supervillain. They didn't have much time...

They broke one of them free, cutting their hand in the process. Ignoring the sting, they broke the other wire. Villain collasped on the ground, motionless.

"Assasin!" Caretaker called. Assasin nodded and rushed towards the unsuspecting Supervillain. They threw them against the wall and ran towards Hero, picking them up.

"We don't have much time," Assasin rasped, their voice strained from the effort of mind controlling Supervillain.

Caretaker didn't hesitate in scooping Villain up who thrashed and weakly kicked around, gasping in pain. As Caretaker left, they saw Supervillain getting up.

"Start the car!" They yelled at Assasin and started jogging. Villain was much lighter than the last time they carried them.

Caretaker opened the back of the car, put Villain in, and crawled in themselves. Assasin shut the door from the driver's seat and they sped away.

"We aren't safe anywhere," Assasin said, turning sharply into a highway. "Take care of them in the car. Now!"

Caretaker looked at Villain, who seemed to have passed out, to Hero writhing around in the backseat. Seeing that Hero was currently in more pain, they went to work taking care of them.

For the most part, Hero looked better than Villain, but Caretaker knew better. They were half-starved, eyes glazed over, and just weren't... right.

Caretaker knew that both victims needed medical attention, but Supervillain would get to them that way.

Caretaker opened the first aid kit and began cleaning the wound on their temple. A fresh one, Caretaker realized. That meant...

No, don't go there, Caretaker willed themselves and disinfected the wound. It was too thin to stitch up, so they put a gauze pad on it.

Hero didn't have anymore bad wounds to take care of. They woke up, or at least Caretaker thought so.

"Piggy back ride," they murmured and weakly clutched Caretaker's hand. "Hero wants a piggy back ride."

Caretaker's heart sank when they heard Assasin sniffle.

"You're gonna get one once we are safe," Caretaker assured the delirious Hero who nodded slowly in reply.

Caretaker crawled back to where Villain still laid. They had no idea where to start. There was too many, way too many wounds. Caretaker leaned heavily against the side of the car, straining their eyes to see the faint rise and fall of Villain's chest.

Getting a hold of themselves, Caretaker began disinfecting the largest wounds. They were running out of disinfectant.

Caretaker's fingers traced the stab wound, making Villain gasp lightly, but not wake up. It wasn't healed properly at all. They took out some soothing cream to rub on the irritated areas, including the rub burns all over Villain's skinny body from where they were possibly dragged around.

The next largest concern was the dislocated shoulders, broken ribs, and the broken hand, but it wasn't as big of a concern than the black SUV that was following them.

The SUV with the license plate of "EVIL".

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Part three of the first words au suggested by my girl, Sima, as anonymously demanded in an ask politely requested in the notes sjsjjs.

Will I cry? Maybe. Will YOU cry? Hopefully Probably. They'll be happy tears tho. I think. I hope.

(Wtf does Hamish even study, guys) Hamish always feels like there's something missing. The apartment doesn't feel like home. It feels strange and alien. He doesn't know what he's missing. Or maybe it's a who? Late in the night, Hamish will check his wrist and he'll wonder when he'll hear the words. He wonders what sort of situation they're going to be in. The days feel monotonous and like they drag on for years. Something is missing.

Vera doesn't go home for anything other than sleep. The past few years, drifting away from Hamish, wasn't so bad. She still went home, albeit very late, and she still didn't have much of a problem delaying leaving. It felt nice to be at home and remember the days when she had enough free time to lounge around with Hamis. Now, going home brought guilt with it. Everywhere she looked, he was there and she couldn't face knowing she had done it to him. Part of her hoped he'd never get hid memories back. She hoped she could live with Hamish having no idea who she was, but she knew she could never live with Hamish hating her. Vera often sits alone in the reliquary, staring at her wrist. Remembering the day she watched the words write themselves. For weeks, Vera didn't look at her wrist because she knew soulmates changed and she knew that Hamish might find someone else without all his memories. She sits behind the desk and fiddles with a ring handing from a chain around her neck.

The day Hamish gets his memory back, he doesn't know what to feel. Jack is very vocal about how pissed he is at Vera and Alyssa, more than the Order as a whole. Lilith just shrugs it off. She never expected anything different from them.

Randall waits until Jack and Lilith have left the den, probably to hunt down their knives that they'd both had at one point. "Hamish --"

"Don't, Randall."

"We don't know if she really wanted--"

"She's the Grand Magus. She holds the highest authority. Don't make excuses for her."

Randall leaves quietly. He knows how stubborn Hamish can get.

"We're going to make them pay," Jack tells the knights after they've been inducted. "All of them."

Hamish glances back to see Alyssa walk by. Yes, he thinks of Vera, all of them.

They need the necklace. They need to get a copy of it.

"Let me," Jack says, "I'll--" "No, I'll do it."

Randall is rightfully Concerned™. "Dude, are you sure? It could get--" "Ugly? Painful? For her, I certainly hope so."

Lilith, as Hamish leaves: So, um, is now a good time to ask about what happened during the ambush last year or . . .

Randall: you know what, I think you should talk to Hamish about this one......

I am a strong woman, Vera thinks to herself when Hamish walks in with a drink. I will not break, I will not break, I will not break.

Ultimately, she gives in anyway a few days later. Not to say that she's blameless. Hamish, despite all his burning hatred, still loves Vera like before. He's intrigued at how he can love and hate her at the same time. Is this what people mean when they say, "it's complicated"?

"Bring me something in a tall glass," she says, absently clicking the heel of her shoe against the floor twice. I want your attention.

"What happened to you?" "NOTHING. What-- what happened to you?"

Randall's still wary of the demon summoning, but he's noticed the look on Hamish's face. He hasn't seen that look in years. Big gasp from Randall. Big glare from Hamish.

Later, once the excitement is slowly dying down for Hamish and he settles down to watch his young friends thoroughly enjoy entertaining themselves, Randall scoots up to Hamish. "You are so weak for V." "Am not." "You've got her lipstick on your face." "Shit, really? Did Jack and Lilith notice?" "HA!" "Fuck you, Randall ..... don't tell them anything." "My silence costs twenty bucks." ".......fuck u"

"Let me dispel the rumours. We are all going to die." Hamish's amused snort is quickly silenced by the withering glare Vera gives him.

When Vera comes to and notices Hamish taking care of her, she's almost relieved. Then she remembers the threat, Alyssa, Kepler and most importantly, no getting close to Hamish until everyhting is all sorted.

"So . . . what's all this talk about wolves?"

Honestly, at this point, Vera thinks she's going to glare hard enough that her eyeballs pop. "You fucking IDIOTS! You lying fuck, you actually got me thinking you genuinely cared. And you, you little shit . . . . you -- you -- you -- fuck you. Where is my inventory?"

"It was stolen from us." :|

"Oh, so you lost it. No surprise there."

"That's a little harsh, V." "I told you not to call me that, Randall." "Sorry. Look, we'll get the sickles back. We won't--"

"Too late."

Losing Lilith only makes Hamish worse. He wants to blame Vera and the Order, he really does. But he can't. He knows Vera and he knows she's not selfish enough to do this for her own benefit. Fuck feelings, they just make everything so damn complicated.

Vera is pissed at Hamish for being so petty. Hamish is pissed at Vera for the blatant betrayal. Vera is pissed with herself for allowing everything to come to this. Hamish is pissed at himself for being unable to resist Vera. They're both pissed and not talking to each other and frankly, it's starting to weigh on Randall, the only one who really knows what's going on behind closed doors.

"You know, you really should talk to Vera." Gabrielle appears out of nowhere. "About what?" Hamish and Randall: terrified screaming for about half a second until they finally spot the tiny Acolyte.

"Nothing." "You two are up to something. I wanna know what it is." "Are you blackmailing us . . . to spend time with us?" "No. What d'you need to talk to the Grand Magus about?" "Getting you some heels so we can see you when you're approaching." "Very funny, Randall."

When Vera attacks the Prometheans (and Jack) with her emotional amplifier, it's not just the desperate cries of a baby ringing in everyone's ears. Among it all is Vera's own voice, her always doubting that she'd done the right thing in erasing the Knights' memories, her thinking about how much Hamish was going to hate her and that was a price she was willing to pay to keep him safe for as long as possible.

Among it all are nights where a very young Vera would cry alone, wiping at her eyes with a bare wrist. And then a much older Vera, hiding away in a vault, refusing to cry as she looks at the words on her wrist.

"I don't need your pity, Mr Morton," Vera says, hoping and praying that Jack doesn't care enough to put all the pieces together. "I'm sorry about your daughter." Vera doesn't turn back to face him. She's okay. She really is. And then a very quiet, very whispered, "and Hamish." Vera leaves before Jack can see her strength fail.

"Are either of you going to tell me why you're all on first name basis with the Grand Magus?" "It's a Knight secret, Gabby, sorry." "Fuck you."

Hamish is still being Petty and Pissed, so when Vera gives them the contract and Randall gets super upset, Jack's the one to tell him to lay off a bit. "I think you're overreacting." "And I think you're protecting Hamish's girlfriend."

Hamish, low warning tone and Vera, high yell: "Randall!"

"Am I wrong?"

"About which part?" Jack mutters, glad the joke makes Randall laugh. He can deal with one angry werewolf. Two is way too much a burden.

"Have you seen or heard from Hamish this morning?" "Why would you ask me that?" Jack gives her a deadpan look. Big sigh. "No, I haven't."

Hamish being missing shifts Vera's entire outlook. She's wasting all this time being mad and angry when she could have been using it to try and mend her relationship with Hamish.

"Is everyone okay?" Hamish grins because he knows that as pissed as they are with each other, she worries for him just as much as he worries for her. Vera would have to hit a very high bar if she really wanted to break off every tie she had to Hamish and Hamish is sure Vera doesn't want to even touch that bar.

Vera is completely stunned when Hamish literally throws Angus out of the room. In all honesty, she shouldn't have been, but still. She expected a little more restraint, given Hamish was still visibly pissed with her. On the outside, anyway.

"I'm sorry, Vera. I saw Angus and I just reacted. I almost died yesterday and now it seems like I might die anyway. Part of me wishes we never got our memories back. I could just go back to being . . . happy."

Vera doesn't turn back. "Would you really? Be happy, I mean. You have all the answers now. You know all the right questions. Would you really be happy?"

"Ignorance is bliss." "Not always."

And then the tartarus eruptions begin.

Jack runs into Alyssa at a Praxis location and the Knights recover a third of the Order's inventory.

"Tell me about these puppies." Obviously, Vera wants information about what Praxis is up to, but Randall deadass adopted the puppies so now Vera is subject to being lectured about the puppies. Okay, not lectured, she's somewhat invested in her new grandchildren. Hamish has a small smile on his face because Vera's still his Vera. Strangely fond of Randall despite all his annoying flaws -- just like Hamish himself.

Vera makes the three of them Magistratuses on the spot and Hamish looks like he's beaming at the promotion but really he's just so thrilled to see Stubborn and Petty Vera go up against Kepler.

"I'll order some wine." "Champagne, please. We're at war with Praxis, not good taste." And she's apparently retained what he taught her about drinks!

No matter what she does or what she acts like, the very core of who Vera is, her innermost self, will never change. And Hamish is glad for it, because that's who he loves. And the words mark her forever, so she'll never forget it.

"It's all right to let someone care about you." Vera shakes her head, because she's done horrible, horrible things and some would even call her irredeemable. She wants to argue and fight with Hamish because away from her is the only place he'll be safe. "V. . ."

Hamish is better at saying things when he doesn't talk. So he takes hold of her hand and gives it two small squeezes. I love you. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and trails his hand down to her chin before lifting her head, guiding her to look at him. His fingers tap on her neck. One, two, three times. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you.

And when everything dies down, Hamish swears to protect Vera. He and the rest of the Knights will protect her secret with their lives. Even if she weren't their Grand Magus, she's Hamish's soulmate and given how important Hamish is to them, it's no surprise Vera automatically is, too.

Besides, Randall kinda likes the Mom Vibes he gets from Vera. Gabrielle is jealous.

Vera finds Hamish taking a nap under the tree. He squints at her. "Don't make me look like an idiot. Get down here."

Vera smiles and joins Hamish on the grass. "I love you," she says softly, finally, finally finding the peace and joy she had before she and Hamish started drifting. She looks at the words on his hand, then the words on her own.

Soulmates. Someone who is always going to be there for her, no matter what. It's nice to have one, even though for most of her life, she thought she would never find one.

But the special thing about Hamish is that they had something really special long before they discovered they were soulmates. Vera smiled in the knowledge that Hamish wouldn't have done a damn thing different even if she still had s blank wrist. He loves her, she loves him, and frankly, nothing else matters.

FINALLY COMPLETE!!!!!! I trust this is satisfactory, my loves??

See other soulmate AUs that make me cry

[fabuloussisterofsin]

The Man Who Wouldn't Bow To Death

Summary:

Boba Fett is the most feared Bounty Hunter galaxy, he is ruthless, he is a man who bowed to no one. Boba Fett fell into the Sarlacc and survived. He survived, acid, pain, and teeth and he is still the standard after all this time. Boba Fett gives his allegiance to no one, or so he thought. After the events of the Mandalorian and his take over of the Hutt Crime syndicate with Fennec Shand at his side, his life seems to be in order once again. A king must have his throne, but.. a king must have a Queen too. When a hunt goes wrong and a charming young woman begs for her life, will Boba Feet heed her pleas or will he do his job?

In The Man Who Wouldn't Bow To Death, Boba Fett finds, love, hope, and a future for the Fett name once more.

Boba Fett X Original Female Character Fic

The Man Who Wouldn't Bow To Death

Chapter One: Maydala Bentar

Maydala Bentar was disguised as a dancer. Thinking she was finally safe from the hordes of bounty hunters now that she killed the last Hutt

Boba scanned the room, looking for his bounty. He heard that she was in attendance tonight, and he was determined to catch her. Her face was covered and She felt secure even when she saw the Mando bounty Hunter walk in. Enter

Boba sat at a bar near the dancers, by himself, watching the crowd.

She moved her way over to the bounty hunter pretending to be a lady of pleasure. “Hello, weary traveler.” She stood in front of him.

"Hello." He said in his low, gravelly voice.

“What brings you to my cantina?” She asked him as she danced near him. “In need of some company?”

"Something like that." He replied.

She moved her body in an alluring way.

He'd know those eyes anywhere. She was the one he was looking for. "I'm looking for a girl, and I think you might be the right one."

“Well, I’m not a girl I’m a woman, and I’m the right one for the right price.” She said trying not to panic.

She kept up her ruse. “What’s the name of the girl.” She said as she slowly undid her top hoping to distract him.

"I don't know her whole name. It starts with an M. Anyway, there are more.... pressing matters." He said, looking down into his lap. "I'm more interested in a woman right now. Whatever the price, let's go to a room."

“I highly doubt you can afford me.” She said to him. “Big money for this big honey.” She sat on his lap and went to lift his helmet. “Her name starts with an M. Right?”

He batted her hand away. "You do not lift a Mandalorian's helmet. And I am Boba Fett, I can afford whomever I want. As for her, let's forget about her for now." His hand traveled her thigh. Enter

“I apologize master Fett. My other Mandalorian clients usually let me take their helmets off.” She cooed. “Yes, let’s head to the best room, yes? Only the best for the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. She went to put her top back on.

"I'll agree to that." He said, watching her face. Her eyes were luminous, beautiful, he'd know them anywhere after seeing the holo of her.

“Come with me. I certainly hope you don’t get me mixed up with your bounty.” She teased thinking she was safe.

"No, I'm sure you're not her." He said, following behind her. He'd get her alone, then he would capture her.

“Good I’m glad.” She turned and her eyes smiled at him. She bit her lip under the veil and walked to the room. She opened the door. “2,000 credits per hour, master Fett.”

She brought him into the room. She walked over to the bed and lay down on it. She spread her legs.

He moved to cover her body with his own, the dark of his visor staring her down. Ever so gently, he cuffed one of her wrists with a restraint.

Her hand under the pillow grabbed her expandable staff. “what’s the meaning of this?”

"I'm here to take you in!" He said as he held her down by the wrists, his legs on either side of her thighs.

“Please I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to play innocent and sweet calling up tears. “Please I’m just a dancer here. My name is Adamé Vetur!” She lied. Her finger finding the button on her staff.

He reached out and pulled the veil from her face. "You are Maydala Bentar, and I'm going to take you in."

“It’s a shame you had to find me.” She gave him a wicked smile when her staff exploded and hit him between the armor plates and electrocuted him. She kicked him off her grabbed her bag. “See ya later.”

His body buzzing with electricity, Boba struggled to his feet and lunged at the door, grabbing onto doorframes and walls as he pursued her.

She got ahead of him and quickly threw in other clothes over her dances outfit. She dropped the back. Stuffed her valuables in her pockets and shortened her staff and headed out the door with a crowd.

He had caught up to her and followed her outside, groping for her arm. She turned and got him again with the electricity before sprinting off. “Just leave me be. Lose my locator!” She yelled after him.

He grunted and. Curled into himself before he kept at her and pulled her to the ground by her waist.

She thrashed and took her staff and hit him upside the head. “LET Me GO!”

He clamped the other cuff on her wrist. "No. You're coming with me." He stood, took her staff, and hauled her over his shoulder

She shrieked and yelled at him. “Put me down you bucket head. I shouldn’t be arrested!” She yelled. “It’s an imperial bounty.”

"Who do you think I'm taking you to?"

“Whoever gives you the fucking money!” She yelled and managed to hook his helmet on her shackles and she yanked it off him and she tumbled to the ground.

He growled at her and bent down to grab at her.

She kicked at him. “I’m not going to jail, not for what I did. I saved people from a fucking hurt that’s not a crime!”

"And why should I believe you?"

“Tebara the Hutt, he put the bounty on me for freeing his slaves and killing his henchmen.” She said desperately. Squirming and kicking at him a die began to rain.

"Wait, really?"

“Yes! Look at your puck!” She squirmed on the ground getting covered in mud.

He took out the pick and checked it. "Kriff. I can't take you in for that." He spoke.

You won’t be the last.” She said to him. “Others won’t be so kind, so please, put me out of my misery.”

She looked at him with pleading eyes.

Looking into her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. He reached out his hand to take hers.

“Kind of bound here.” She laughed.

He reached out both hands and took hers, helping her out of the mud. "Hold on a second." He said as he undid the cuffs. Then he looked around and picked up his wet helmet.

She didn’t run. She stared into his face and she felt her heart flutter.

He watched her briefly before turning his head. "It's dark, I'm going to find somewhere to sleep."

“Nice seeing you Fett.” She assumed she was on her own.

"Don't go back to being a dancer. You're too beautiful for that." He said as he turned to walk away, helmet in his hand.

“I was never a good dancer, I was more of a hunter, a fighter, and a rebel.” She laughed. “Looking for someone to join your cabal.”

"I work alone." He spoke. "Though I will offer to pay for you a room so you can bathe. You look like a drowned whomp rat."

“Fett, I know you took over Jabba’s palace, and you killed bib Fortuna with the help of Fennec Strand.” She told him. “I know who you are and I’m probably just going to be killed by some other bounty Hunter one day. But.” she smiled at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "But?"

“But if I worked for the most feared Bounty Hunter in the galaxy, we’ll I could live my life and make money.” She smiled at him. “And for your information, I do not look like a drowned womp rat.”

A smile spread across his scarred face. "Come. I'll rent you a room and we can discuss it over breakfast."

“I look forward to that meeting.” She smiled at him. She gave him a flirtatious look. Not the same one from Before but a real one and she was sure he could tell the difference.

“Do you mind if I stop at a drop spot really quick otherwise, we’ll I don’t have any clothes.”

He nodded. "I will accompany you. No one will collect you as bounty tonight."

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. They walked on and grabbed her belongings and then headed to a nearby inn keep.

"A room for me," Boba said before motioning towards her with a tilt of the head. "And one for her."

“I’m sorry sir, but we have one room left for the night.” The twilek innkeeper said to him. “I trust that won’t be a problem.” She said glancing at the wanted poster.

"Not at all," Boba said as he passed over the credits.

“Thank you.” She said to boba as he handed her the key chip.

He nodded. "As I said, no one will capture you tonight."

[can-i-stay-awake]

Flower Bouquet: Moonflowers (Seonghwa x Reader) Part 1

Warnings: Insomnia? We’re not far into that boat yet, my angels

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Slow burn

Word Count: 2k

Series Masterlist

Spring’s warm breeze caresses your cheeks as you make your way to your school. You adjust the short sleeves of your summer uniform. You quite liked it. Crisp white school blouse with the very end of the sleeves lines with the same red tartan as your skirt and black tie. Though many of the female students chose to wear white knee highs, you couldn’t be bothered to shave this week so you wore black tights. To be honest, no one actually cared whether you shaved them or not but to you, it’s a matter of confidence. For such a rich school with rich or smart students gifted with scholarships, the people there aren’t as bad as you thought they would be. Of course there are the populars and whatnot but if ignored they ignore you. It’s really not your forte, speaking with people. You can’t say you’re introverted, but there’s no one who really connects to you.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve transferred here. Being a scholarship student is hard when all people care about it your money and looks… Or so you thought. After standing up for yourself to many various people and even publicly humiliating one of the most feared bullies in school, Kang Yeosang, you are neither glorified nor bullied. Though your classmates in English particularly enjoy your company to the point where you think you should just rename yourself, “Hey, what did you get for question six?”. You’ve only made friends with Yuna, a cute little (extremely tall) bespectacled girl whose potty mouth could possibly give sailors a run for their money.

“Y/n! Do you know what happened last weekend?” Yuna’s blonde hair dances in the light summer breeze. Her loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What happened, Yuna? Did a goat break through your garden fence?” You reply sarcastically, linking your arms together. Her warmth gives you a little comfort.

“No, I wish. I want a pet goat. My brother’s getting married!” Yuna’s gorgeous amber eyes have drops of sunlight swimming in them and you can’t help but smile.

“Oh? Tell him I said congratulations”

“Will do. I’ll also ask if he wants a goat” She flashes a cheeky grin.

“I don’t think he wants anymore goats in the house. You’re good enough” You snicker, squeezing her arm tighter after she punches you in the arm playfully. Your feet clatter against the pavement and you two cross the polished school entrance.

For you, school is more of a place to learn rather than a place to socialise. Unlike others, who use this school as a place for their popularity to thrive, you are among those who keep their heads down and only have a select few to mingle with. You met the bubbly blonde on your first day as she showed you the way to biology, her sassy sweet dual personality humoured you and you two immediately clicked. Sadly, Yuna is more of an artistic person and you only have English together. So instead of sticking together, you are forced to part.

The low hum of the biology teacher’s voice just barely reaches you, your hands scribble at your paper like you’re trying to win a war as you frantically note everything he says down. The scent of oranges fills the classroom. In a way, it’s how you feel at home in biology. Today the teacher is going especially fast with her notes. Pain ebbs at your wrists and you let your eyes wander around the classroom. They travel to the windows, the glass pane reflecting the light of the sun, then they travel to the colourful diagrams made by other classes and they finally fell on the neat, colour coded notes of your desk mate, Park Seonghwa.

His handwriting isn’t very special, but the way the letters are spaced out makes it look mature and refined. The dark haired boy even has a blue colour scheme: azure, cobalt and cyan dotted across the page framed by drawn on silver stars.

Truth be told, both you and Seonghwa are quite shy so the only conversation you’ve actually shared this week was when he didn’t have a pencil because he let Hongjoong borrow his. But you two know each other well and even have a few inside jokes. You two tried to hold a conversation about you two signing up to tutor struggling students but Wooyoung burst in screeching about god knows what. It’s not like you to blurt random things out but before you can stop yourself, you whisper in awe.

“Wow, your notes are super neat. You could put that on study gram…”

Seonghwa’s face visibly brightens from the praise, a smile briefly on his face before returning to his textbook. You never notice the faint rings under his eyes once his stops smiling. “Oh, thanks Y/n”

You were always a little curious about Park Seonghwa, but you never realised how intriguing he is. Little things like the way he acts all cute with Hongjoong to get his attention, and how he has nearly a motherly impact on even the outcasts like Kang Yeosang by letting him keep the black raincoat he was forced to borrow when you can see from the dark haired boy’s shoes that they are a little beaten up. Of course, since he’s so organised, no one even notices the way he secretly calculates his lunch money instead of just pressing his card on the scanner. You too, are practically broke but you can afford decent shoes without worrying about the price. These little things that tend to slip other’s minds are tattooed into your eyesight, highlighted in fluorescent colours.

A few days later, once again in biology, his complexion looks seedy and tired. His skin is dull and the charismatic glow in his voice is jaded. Throughout the week, he becomes progressively more scatterbrained. Like that time in computing science when he dropped his earphones and bashed his head on the upside of his computing desk while trying to retrieve it, and the time he literally forgot his pencil case. The teachers look concerned and it’s quite evident they’ve already checked up on him only to be faced with a half assed reassuring smile.

“Jesus, Seonghwa looks like a mess… I feel bad for the poor guy.” Yuna exclaims, “He’s running for student council president but if he’s like this, he’ll faint dead away. Should I check up on him?” You two watch him practically sleepwalking to his form room, his footsteps dragging and hands rubbing at his eyes. Yuna has an eye for these things too, perhaps she’s not as attentive as you, but definitely more than most.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of doing just that. He’s a zombie.”

Two days pass and Seonghwa looks a little better after Hongjoong practically forced him to sleep, threatening to throw confetti at him which he had brought from the art room. You’ve been trying to find the right time since you can’t just go, “Oh hi, you look like shit. Are you good?” And biology seems too far away for you to communicate, but you decide to wait until then. But somehow, it’s like the gods placed the keys right in your hands and shoved you towards him when you meet him in the supermarket. You buy two packets of strawberries, one for yourself and another for Seonghwa. He smiles at you but his face is now painted over with thick coats of fatigue and the concern probably shows on your face because he stifles a yawn.

“Hey” You greet him, queuing behind him in the long ass line you wish would just move already.

“Hi, Y/n. How have you been doing?”

“Good, you?”

“Good” It’s hard to continue a conversation like this, but you stubbornly press on. Seonghwa looks tired but he’s not facing away from you either and you’ve got his full attention. “Really? You’ve been looking rough nowadays. You should take care of your health. Don’t you always nag Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Jongho about the exact same thing?”

“Oh, how do you know that?” He fakes surprise, trying to steer the topic away from him. You can’t pressure him to say he’s not fine, but you sigh.

“Yuna and Hongjoong are friends. You did hear what I said, right? Take care of your health” You nag and he pouts.

“I am, Y/n. It’s just the election is stressing me out a little.” His eyes swerve to the bottom left, an obvious lie.

“Alright, but I can help you with it. Okay? You’re a literal zombie nowadays. Even our English teacher realised that you’re not in good spirits, and she’s more oblivious and air headed than a four year old”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry for worrying you, I’ll take care of myself” He giggles, you can see the colour rising in his cheeks after a light hearted conversation. You’re not really that good with words, but if it makes him feel better, you’ll gladly do so.

The line progresses, and he lets you go first. Scanning the two boxes of strawberries and placing one in your schoolbag. You wait outside for the boy to scan various groceries and sweets and as he approaches the doorway you stop him.

“Seonghwa”

He turns around, the orange light of the evening sun blazing in his eyes. His dark hair dances in the wind.

“Take this” You hand him the box of strawberries and he’s lost for words, blushing and stammering.

It’s cute.

Very cute.

“Y/n, I r-really can’t take this! It’s yours!” He tries to hand it back to you but you firmly press the transparent container to his chest.

“Yeah, well I accidentally took two. This one’s for Yuna” You shake the bag you’re holding in your right hand. “I don’t like strawberries anyway”

His gaze is skeptical but he smiles sweetly and thanks you profusely. “Sure… Thank you so much Y/n! I’ll pay you back somehow, kay?”

“Park Seonghwa, you pay me back I break your back” You bark, but you let out a small laugh and he does too.

“Gosh, I ought to hire bodyguards” The light that Seonghwa’s eyes hold is so vibrant not even the milky way could hold a candle to the sparkles swimming in his warm gaze. “Thank you again, Y/n” He yells as he walks away from you.

“No problem, have a nice day and make sure to get some sleep” You holler back. As you make your way back home, your heart bubbles and fizzes like the drinks you see Mingi consume on a daily basis.

That night, you sleep well. No emptiness, no gaping void, no nightmares.

Just the comfort of your bed in the sea of your blankets.

It’s too bright this morning, too pretty with the flowers decorating the school entrance, too ethereal with the honey glow of the sun kissing your skin. Though it’s a little too hot, you keep a mini fan in your school bag and sunscreen to prevent anyone from dying.

“Hey, Yuna! I gave Seonghwa a box of strawberries after I met him in the grocery shop!”

“And good morning to you too” Yuna raises a brow, her eyes no longer framed by glasses but the faint outline of her contact lenses over her irises. She grins as you hand her a box. “For me?”

“For you” You smile as you two walk to school together.

“Hey! He looks better today!” You nudge her excitedly as you see the tall, handsome boy massaging red headed Hongjoong’s shoulders, exclaiming about how stiff he is. Though his energy isn’t up to 100%, you’re happy that he’s improving.

Or so you think.

“Seonghwa! Your votes are nearly taking the lead!” Yunho exclaims as they check the little website Wooyoung composed for the student council election.

“Oh? That’s nice” Yunho furrows his brow at Seonghwa’s nonchalant attitude.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to faint…” Yunho steadies the smaller of the two in his chair. Seonghwa giggles.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Yunho. I’ll go to the nurse’s if I’m not feeling great” He smiles, exhausted.

The brunet narrows his eyes, “Sure… I’m getting someone to check up on you, I have a meeting in the art club. Don’t move” Yunho rushes out the doorway only to meet you, on your phone checking your emails.

“Y/n, Seonghwa looks like he’s going to pass out. Could you keep an eye on him, please?”

“You don’t need to do that! I’m fine!” Seonghwa yells from the classroom but his voice is groggy, “and you definitely don’t need to do anything!” You look at Yunho, nodding and entering the classroom.

“Enjoy art club Yun-”

Thump.

You and Yunho pause to see an unconscious Seonghwa sliding sideways off of his chair and onto the floor. His hair flying to one side and his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Shit!” You dash to Seonghwa side and Yunho calls out his name. “We should get him to the nurses!”

Yunho nods and you raise his legs into Yunho’s arms until the brown haired boy stabilises his grip on Seonghwa, still knocked out. You open the doors for Yunho as he dashes to the nurses, you feel agony shoot through your heart like an arrow when you see the elder’s head lolling in Yunho’s embrace. The students around you clear a pathway, murmurs filling your ears and looks of concern covering your vision. 

The nurse, who everyone calls Minnie, puts Seonghwa in a comfortable position on entering, you realise Hongjoong already there gasping for breath. He probably caught wind of Seonghwa fainting and dashed to the office. 

“Sorry kids, only one of you can stay. It’s better not to startle Mr. Park.” Minnie’s soft voice soothes everyone’s panic. Even Hongjoong’s posture is slightly more relaxed, you've never seen him without his overly perfect stance and you're reminded that perhaps the redhead isn't as studious as he comes across. Yunho nods, rushing off to the art club, Hongjoong looks longingly over his shoulder as he leaves. 

”I’ll stay.” You announce. Nurse Minnie nods and pulls over a chair for you adjacent to Seonghwa’s freshly made bed. After opening a window and letting the breeze sway the curtains, you settle in and sit beside Seonghwa. His curls are splayed out on his pillow in such a disorganised but perfect way.

”Y/n..?” A voice deep with fatigue calls out to you and you have to restrain yourself from jumping up to the call. 

”Seonghwa...” Is all you can say as he groans and shuffles his pillows. You give him a glass of water and colour bleeds back into his face.

”Hey.” He smiles, rubbing at his eyes. 

”Is that all you can say when you've practically overworked yourself to the point of fainting?” You manage to keep your voice soft but you know he can hear the pout in your voice. ”Hwa...” Gently cupping one hand around his wrist, you see concealer on the finger he used to rub his eye with. You look back up at his face and a hint of dark circles are more evident on his porcelain face.

”I should get better concealer... Don't look at me like that, your expression looks like a cat eating a lemon, down to a cinch.” He chuckles but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. The aroma of citrus (with a hint of candy) fills the room. It reminds you of biology class and you realise the scent is coming from him. 

“What do you even do? And why does it get in the way of your sleep? Is it insomnia?” You try to coax an answer from him, but you know you can only go far. “You don’t need to tell me, but it might help to tell someone” Seonghwa grins, sinking further into his covers.

“You don’t need to worry about me” He whispers, and you see his legs adapt the fetal position.

“But I do, because you’re my friend.” 

“Am I?” Seonghwa’s dark eyes are once again all a-glimmer, his eyebrows are raised in surprise. It’s as if you’ve offered him a lifetimes supply of strawberries.

You stop yourself from doubling over and giggling, perhaps you understand why girls and boys alike look at Seonghwa the way they do. His calm and cool demeanour is alluring but those rare times where he opens up is what pulls you in. “Of course” You smile, and perhaps the blush dusted on Seonghwa cheeks isn’t a hallucination. 

“If you really want to know, I’m busy looking after my younger cousins, Jihyo and Daehyun. My siblings and parents are barely home.” 

“Seonghwa...” Concern once again bleeds into your face but the latter interjects before it settles. 

“They’re super adorable though! And well behaved! It’s nothing to worry about” But one look at the dark patches under his eyes tell you otherwise. 

“If you’re fainting due to exhaustion, it is a big deal” 

“It was super hot today though, it could have been because of that” His long fingers run through his hair and it falls perfectly back into place. You’re tempted to ask what shampoo he uses but you snap out of it. “Seonghwa. Do you want me to help?”

“Help? It’s not a big deal!” 

“If I bought Hongjoong here-“ You could see in his expression that he was awaiting Hongjoong’s nagging ever since you told him that Hongjoong and Yunho brought him here.

“No! Fine... He’ll nag my ear off” Red lips form a pout, his head drops. “He talks for so long that he ends up repeating everything he says and if you try and argue he starts all over again”

“I know. Remember when Jongho sprained his ankle playing basketball?” Hongjoong’s normally quiet and composed voice thundered throughout the hallways so loudly even the teachers dared not to intervene. 

“Exactly, I’ll die. You don’t want me to die, do you y/n?” Seonghwa looks up at you and uses the type of gaze you give teachers when you want to skip PE. He pouts even harder and when you grumble, he giggles. 

“I’m still coming over. If you’re not well rested by the time I’m finished playing with your cousin I’m moving in” Though these are jokes you usually pull with closer friends, something about your relationship with Seonghwa connects. You feel your presence calming him down and his soothing the creases on your brow. 

“I got it” He giggles and covers his mouth with his hand. ”When are you free? I'm free all week, including today”  

”Hmm, I have to help out Hongjoong with student council shit today... Is it alright if I come tomorrow?” 

”Sure! I'm positive Jihyo will enjoy some company. Daehyun is a little older and introverted, but she's tired looking after her younger sister too. We can look after them together” That’s not your plan, but you nod and smile. 

After school that next day, you wait for Seonghwa outside the gates. Unlike the cute, laid back persona he adapted in the nurse’s office the other day, his posture is perfect and his movements as elegant as a swan. It’s a facade, but a natural one that doesn’t stem from bad pasts. It’s just Seonghwa. 

You like ‘just Seonghwa’. 

”Y/n!” He waves and you wave back as his feet pick up the pace. ”Hey” He looks a little brazen, and you wonder if Hongjoong’s nagged him for returning to school beforehand.

”Hey Seonghwa! Did you stay in the nurse’s office or did you go to class yesterday? I didn’t see you leave”

”I had French. What do you think?” Seonghwa loathes his French teacher, who always makes loud noises and is way too animated and not focused enough on teaching. Seonghwa says that he seems like a nice person but he's not good enough of a teacher. You've yet to meet this man but you'd rather not if he ”has an attention span of a seven-year-old on a sugar high”. You two have some small talk until you reach his neighbourhood. ”Y/n, we need to be super careful. This isn't a good area.” He looks embarrassed and you try to wipe the anxious look on his face.

”I live pretty nearby, don’t worry. No fear! I have a death stare stronger than... I don’t know, who has really good death stare game?” 

“Medusa?” He chuckles.

“Medusa!” You giggle and you spot the tips of his ears flush. 

“I don’t have that much of an intimidating stare-“ Seonghwa is interrupted by a loud cat call in your direction, something about how your cute uniform would look cuter on the floor. “Fuck off!” He yells and the man is about to square up until you both shoot him a warning glare. You clutch the hockey stick in your hand you carry for PE and he leaves.

“I’ve never heard you curse before...” The Seonghwa you know is always poised and perfect, a gentle aura follows his wake as an ethereal glow does with an angel. He’s the one that whacks Wooyoung and San over the head with a rolled up chemistry booklet whenever they let a few foul words pass so you’d never imagine that kind of language. It was yet another side of Park Seonghwa you’ve just discovered.

“I’ve never seen you with such a face before...” You two both start laughing. He pulls out his phone and types frantically at his keyboard. Something motherly and caring lingers on his face as he picks up the phone and loving asks whom you presume is Daehyun, to be careful on the bus home.

 “Aww, what a caring brother”

Seonghwa flashes a painful smile your way. It’s one of the cutest things about him, you think. “She’s a scatterbrain. I can’t let her out of my sight! Little sisters are a handful I swear” 

You laugh at the overly exaggerated pout and huff that graces his features. 

“Oh, how’s the student council election going?” Seonghwa brushes his hair back with one hand and nervously chuckles. 

“I’m second place, but Hongjoong is pretty far ahead. I don’t actually mind very much. I just thought it would look good on my resume. Hongjoong is more the leader type, but if I’m being honest, I don’t think he wants to be elected” His eyes met yours and you admire the emotional intellect he holds to see past Hongjoong’s quiet and distant mask. He’s very extroverted when people come up to him, but whenever he’s alone you think that there’s a different world he sees through those starry eyes.

“Oh? Why so?” 

Seonghwa’s walking pace slows a little, “It’s a guess, but Hongjoong’s parents seem to pressure him a lot. His grades, to be exact. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe he has super nice parents. But I don’t think that’s likely” His gaze is downcast and pity pangs at your heart.

“Oh no...” You look at your black polished shoes and the flutter of your skirt as the grey pavement moves along with your footfalls. 

“All families have at least something to deal with. Some problems bigger than others” The two of you exit the dark alleyway into a block of Tennant flats and he fumbles for his keys as you cross the third one. “Where are you going, Y/n?” He chuckles as you accidentally pass the red door to his house. 

“Ah! Whoops! I went to the direction of my house by mistake!” You chuckle and wait patiently for him to unlock the door. A pastel yellow chick key charm swings as the silver of his keys shine in the streetlights. ”Cute charm” 

Seonghwa blushes. ”Oh, Daehyun got matching ones for us at a school festival. It's totally unlike her too, she's kind of well... See for yourself, she's probably home by now” 

The creak of the doorway makes you want to oil it right away but you stay put. Seonghwa takes his somehow unscratched and polished shoes on the mat and you do. “Sorry, I tried to clean but it’s a bit messy” 

Pearly white sofas blessed your vision, not a single hair nor stain defacing it, the oak floor gleamed like water in the sunlight. The marble dining table sparkled, an equally clean vase where a single (artificial) pink rose sat. In baskets suspended by chains by the windows, there lay a few moonflowers nearly in bloom. The furniture isn’t very expensive, perhaps a little more than outside your budget, but the pristine perfect polishing made the place look like a palace. 

“Messy? What’s clean to you?” You gasp in astonishment as he leads you to the living room where a blonde girl and a dark haired toddler sat. 

“Hey, Daehyun. Hiya, Jihyo! How was school?” Seonghwa’s loving tone changes to a cooing, sweet one when addressing Jihyo. Jihyo runs into Seonghwa’s arms and he lifts her up, giggling. She replies with something about finger painting. 

Daehyun’s blank gaze turns to you, a hint of curiosity in her eye. She waves at you calmly and you return it. “Hey, Daehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Hi, Y/n. Can I call you that?”

“You can call me anything unless it’s “lady hand me down”, I’ve heard that so many times I’m ready to go on a killing spree” You joke, and Daehyun smiles slightly. 

“Jihyo, this is Y/n. We can all play together!” Seonghwa giggles in his sing-song-y drawl. He puts her down and her brown eyes shift to you, assessing you in a little kid way before giggling. 

“Hiya! I’m Jihyo~” She lisps, her words slightly broken but adorable all the same. You coo and crouch down to give her a high five. 

“How was school, Dae?” Seonghwa turns to the middle child, who huffs in annoyance.

“They never serve the good food. If I die of food poisoning, I’m suing them. They ruined salmon for me” You expect Seonghwa to chuckle, but he looks dead serious as he rolls his white sleeves up.

“That’s abuse. Shouldn’t they give you good food so that you can learn better? What non edible junk do they give you? How bad does it taste that it ruined salmon for you?” Daehyun replies with a gagging noise and they chuckle. You stare at her for a little, Daehyun is a lot like Seonghwa. Cold exterior, warm interior. Perhaps even colder than him, but easy to thaw. 

Jihyo waddles up to you after retrieving something from her vibrant pink toy box in the corner. “Blocks?” 

“You wanna play with them, Jihyo?” Seonghwa asks, his lips are upturned in a huge dorky grin and you feel your heart melt at the sight. 

“Seonghwa, you are to rest” You order in what you hope is an authoritative tone. 

It isn’t. 

“Seonghwa, you are to rest” He mocks your high pitches tone and pinches your nose. “Heard this from Hongjoong, not from you, please!” He pouts but you, though it takes a lot of willpower, don’t give in. 

“Nope, go to bed” 

“Y/n, will I have to go to bed!?” Jihyo pouts, and you wonder if it runs in the family. 

“Not you, angel” You smile softly. 

Daehyun looks up from her chemistry textbook and sighs, “Go. To. Sleep. Seonghwa. Or. I’ll-” 

Seonghwa jolts and rushes across the room, the action reminding you of the Angry Birds slingshot animation and covers her mouth, face red and fuming. ”Daehyun, you better not blab” He squeaks and Daehyun blinks, his hand still over her mouth.

“Then sleep, dumbass. Take some rest, or else I’ll knock you out” Her muffled voice makes you laugh a little.

“Isn’t that normal sibling stuff? You know, dumb threats?”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen in seriousness, “No, I swear, she actually means it sometimes. She once put a sleeping pill in my milk, the snake” 

“I did” Daehyun’s comically monotone voice back him up, her eyes not once leaving her book.

“I should have you arrested” He jokes and she smirks, “But I shouldn’t leave a guest here alone. It’s bad manners”

“I came here so you could rest, Hwa. Please take some rest.” You tell him. Seonghwa looks troubled and he sighs. 

“I’ll still be in this room to check up on you guys. But thanks” His looks a little stressed but after you make Jihyo laugh. Perhaps it’s the wave of relief the he feels, but the atmosphere in the room brightens, the orange hue of the evening sunshine painting streaks across your faces.  

Jihyo is extremely energetic, but when she sees you try to stifle a yawn, she lets out a concerned squeak. “Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?” She asks, and you find it amazing how such a young child can read your emotions so well. 

“I’m alright, Jihyo, angel”

“Why do you call me that?” She stutters in her cute drawl. 

“Yeah, have you seen the Biblical versions of them?” Daehyun jokes, somehow managing to hear you from her electric blue headphones.

“Well, angels are very cute. And they bring happiness to people!”

“My mommy says all I bring her is-“ Seonghwa, who you thought was asleep, suddenly sits up from the couch and coughs. Jihyo is silenced immediately. 

“Please, excuse us” The dark haired boy picks up his young cousin and leads her to the side room to your left. His expression isn’t angry, but worried. 

You have a gut feeling that perhaps Jihyo had no choice but to observe the emotions of the people surrounding her.

Daehyun’s growls under her breath. 

“Is everything alright? Y-you don’t need to tell me, I don’t mean to meddle-“

“No, it’s fine. It’s just that our Auntie isn’t very nice. Me and Seonghwa just have busy parents, but Jihyo’s mum isn’t... Fit to be a parent” Her voice his still expressionless, not a hint of pity. She sounded as if she were giving a presentation. But her fists are clenched by he side. “Poor kid. She doesn’t know that her mum’s an asshole. She just thinks it’s how people show love. She’s only been here for a month or so, so Seonghwa and I are trying to help her out”

“Family is... A sensitive subject, huh? Is there even such thing as a perfect family like in the movies?” You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but Daehyun nods.

“Nope, don’t think so”

You feel the happy, cheerful morale drop into the pit of the earth as Seonghwa and Jihyo exit the room. Seonghwa looks more shaken than the surprisingly cheerful girl holding his hand.

“Dae, you don’t mind watching her for a little bit right? Call me if you need anything” He suddenly pulls you up and takes an umbrella out of the store cupboard by the shoe rack of his doorway.

“Kay, go” Daehyun hops off of the couch to watch TV with Jihyo on the couch, cuddling her as if she were a glass ornament rather than a four year old girl.

The choir of raindrops hitting the pavement of Seonghwa’s street resonates with your footsteps. He coughs awkwardly to break the silence.

“It was weird for you, right? I’m sorry” He mutters. Green cloth shoots into the sky and spreads its wings like a butterfly. He holds the strongly viridescent coloured umbrella above your heads, inching closer in order to share.

“What? No! Never! It’s totally fine! These things happen, Seonghwa. They shouldn’t, but they do. I just hope she’s okay”

A trace of anger seeps into his deep brown pupils. “I try to tell her. To re-teach here that she’s not responsible for her mother’s behaviour, but she doesn’t get it. She think Auntie loves her”

“Oh dear” 

“Please... Don’t mention this to any-“

“No, no! I would never! But Seonghwa, you shouldn’t have the burden of unravelling Jihyo’s tangled threads. You’re tired already. You and Daehyun shouldn’t be the ones to do that”

Grief and pity washes upon him, and it trickles into his words like water from a slightly cracked glass bottle. “Dae shouldn’t, I agree. But if I don’t, who will?”

“Can’t you speak to your parents?” 

“They’re stressed and busy-“

“They’re family, Seonghwa. Their occupation doesn’t hold a candle to their own family, let alone children” Your stern voice makes him sigh, and you hold the oak handle of the umbrella with him.

“Not all families are like that, Y/n... But I can’t say my family is one of them. But should I stress them out? They don’t know my Aunt is like this. At all.” His warm hands slightly overlap with yours as he re-adjusts his grip on his umbrella. You feel heat creeping up your cheeks, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Seonghwa turn away but not fast enough to cover his pink dusted cheeks.

“Don’t you think it would be better for Jihyo if a therapist helped her out?” You feel his breath causing a ripple of movement in your hair. The sun bleeds through the cracks left by the grey clouds, but they are barely enough to let the city bask in its glory. 

“You’re right. I didn’t think about it that way. How idiotic am I?”

“You’re not” You stare him dead in the eye, the sincerity of your tone even taking you aback.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re not supposed to know everything, you know? She’s only been here for a month, according to Daehyun, so it’s a lot to take in” Seonghwa’s pinky brushes against the back of palm, before positioning his hand over your own. He squeezes it.

“Thank you, Y/n. I think I really needed to hear that” 

You two go back inside. 

The choir of the rain is mixed with your footsteps and the thump of your heartbeat.

And as Seonghwa edges nearer to take his shoes off, you hear his own rapid thumps.

“Jihyo loves me so much, don’t you, cupcake?” Seonghwa cooes as she crawls onto Seonghwa lap. 

“D-Dae” She squeals, pushing Seonghwa’s head down so she can crawl over his head to get to Daehyun, who is sitting behind him. He looks betrayed and flashes a painful smile at you.

“Nah, you’re just a stepping stone to him. Isn’t he, Jihyo?” Jihyo giggles and snuggles up to Daehyun, who puts her phone aside and taps her nose.

“She’s a baby” You coo, pinching her cheeks.

“Yeah, a baby. I love babies... But this one thinks I’m a stepping stone” Seonghwa pouts playfully.  

“You both have a pouting tendency. Watch a bee doesn’t sting you on the lip” You tease and Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“A bee would be honoured to die kissing my lips” He flips his hair in a nonchalant manner but then proceeds to cringe. “I’ve been hanging around San and Mingi for too long” 

Daehyun gags. “Never flirt with your crush like that, they’ll get so shook they’ll migrate planets” Jihyo chuckles along with everyone. “Oh, the results of the election are coming out next month, no?”

“Yeah, I kind of don’t want to win though. Too much trouble” Seonghwa ruffles Jihyo’s hair. 

“Y/n, why didn’t you run? You’re a model student, you could have won!”

Poor Seonghwa must be oblivious to the fangirls surrounding him and Hongjoong left and right. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Uhh, yeah no. Not my thing. I like receiving orders, not giving them. I’m not the leader type”

Seonghwa pulls a face, “Me neither. Hongjoong is though. Maybe if he stopped daydreaming once in a while, he’d realise that. Though if he doesn’t want to be a part of the Student Council, he can be leader of the Art club. The person currently running is leaving”

“Art club?” Hongjoong had never seemed like the artistic type to you. But then again, you didn’t go to the same classes as him except Maths.

“Yeah, Hongjoong is really good at art. He can do all these weird things with glass. He made that bird for me over there!” Seonghwa points to the display case beside the television, there sat a cerulean glass blue bird. It looks very well done, with the feathers etched in and the beak perfectly shaped. 

“Don’t pull my leg, really?” It looked good enough to sell for quite a lot on a website. Hongjoong could start a business. 

“Yes, really!” He laughs his signature laugh, airy and gentle, and you nearly burst. If you didn’t realise you liked Seonghwa, you sure did now. “Do you want anything to drink?” 

“Oh, no. It’s alright!” You say, but a hiccup follows. Seonghwa chuckles and gets up.

“Water it is then” He waddles into the kitchen, with Jihyo clinging to his leg. “Anything you want, Angel?” He struggles to deal with her weight. 

“C-cookies, Hwa” Seonghwa winces at the puppy eyes before him.

“Not now, angel. You need to have room for dinner” Jihyo grumbles but then points at a bunch of grapes. 

“Wow! What species of toddler is she?” You joke as she hugs a plastic bowl filled with green grapes and goes up on her tiptoes to place it on the marble table. You’ve never met such a pliant kid before and it shocks you to the core.

“An angel, aren’t you, Jihyo?” The taller of the two picks her up so she can push it further into the centre of the table. 

“Yay! Angel!” She giggles.

“Daehyun? Are you hungry?” Seonghwa turns to the blonde, she nods a simple no. 

“Should we watch a movie?” Daehyun asks. “We got that DVD set last week, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yeah! Your call, Y/n” Seonghwa flashes a charming smile at you and you fumble for words.

“S-sure! Jihyo can choose” Jihyo giggles in delight and hops to the box set as Daehyun sets it out. 

“Why is this so deep?” Seonghwa whines, trying to bat away the tears forming in his eyes. You feel your heart shattering even though he isn’t actually that affected by Piggy being killed by the rock.

“Oh no! Don’t cry, we’ll all start crying” You plead, fanning them away. You wonder why Jihyo chose something as morbid as “Lord of the Flies” but she seems rather content with the gore. 

“I won’t cry. I’ll laugh” Daehyun nudges Seonghwa playfully and Seonghwa gets up to chase her. 

“Brat!”

“Oh, boo hoo. Go cry about it”

The entire evening is spent giggling and joking. You think it’s been the best evening in your life. 

“Ah, Y/n!” 

It’s been a few weeks since Seonghwa hung out with you. Ever since then, you two have been talking to each other more often like during breaks and after school activities. Along with Hongjoong and Yunho, you two have been carrying out duties and solving problems together. 

“No, I didn’t get three for question five” You sigh and turn around, to Seonghwa, who pokes you in the cheek with the back of his pen. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t think you said that”

“I’ve been asked that too. I got 37”

“Me too!” That gave you the reassurance that you got the question right. 

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to have some bubble tea out in the city for lunch? Just a little thank you for looking after Jihyo again this weekend” He goes a little pink but on his face is a flirty smirk you’ve never seen before. It makes you want to sink under the table and squeal. 

“Sure, but I think I should thank you for intruding” 

“No, I should thank you for helping me out again this week” You reply. The sunlight bursting through the window paints Seonghwa’s complexion, making him look even more devilishly handsome, his dark hair threaded with locks of gold. 

“We’ll be here all day. Just say yes” He flicks at your forehead gently and you smack his shoulder. “Don’t skip PE, Y/n. Jihyo is stronger than you and she failed.” 

“Fine. And do you want me to show you real strength, Park Seonghwa?” You both laugh, and the teacher gives you two a warning glare. 

“No, I swear! Pigeons are FBI robots!” You exclaim, and Seonghwa sniggers.

“So you’re saying if I kill one pigeon’s friends and family it won’t die of depression?” Another shit eating grin forms on his face. It’s so hot you wonder why the ice in your drink hasn’t melted yet, let alone Antarctica thawing. 

“You monster” You playfully pout. A few friends have told you you’ve been hanging out with him too much because you’ve picked up his habits. 

Seonghwa bats his eyelashes, “Moi? I’m an angel”

“Sure...” Seonghwa’s eyes suddenly light up, pulsating with mischievous intent.

“Hongjoong managed to fall asleep in the changing room. Look, I took a picture” Seonghwa wheezes as he unlocks his phone and shows you a picture of the dark haired boy with his eyes fluttered shut and mouth slightly parted. 

“Jesus, no one should be allowed to look that pretty while sleeping” You blurt out in awe. The boy in front of you scoffs. 

“He was drooling, idiot. Anyhow, I’m way more charming than Hongjoong” Seonghwa tries to play it cool, raising his eyebrows and winking but you can sense the jealousy bubbling up within him.

“Jealous?” You snicker, taking a spoonful of the strawberry decorated cake. The sweetness melts in your mouth, along with the fruity tang of the strawberries. 

“No!” He laughs, a little too loudly that the cafe barista looks at him, her pretty doe eyes widened in shock. The boy then clears his throat and proceeds to continue his conversation. “I’m not jealous- Oh, hold on” Seonghwa moves in a little closer to brush off the whipped cream on the corner of you lips. The rough pads of his fingers gliding across the skin of your lips. He smoothly licks it off of his fingers and you both go red after the realisation of what he did. 

“Ah, thanks”

“No problem” He coughs awkwardly. You check the time and tell him that it’s probably a good idea that you two head back to classes. Seonghwa nods, and as you two walk down the road he gently pulls you in by the waist as a car goes by.

“Are you okay? Ugh, drivers” Seonghwa scoffs, and squeezes your waist and then releases you. 

“Hwa!” You dare say that he’s getting bolder nowadays as both of you have realised your feelings for each other. But instead of blowing the candle out directly, you’re both gently waving at the flickering flame. 

“Sorry” He giggles, and you know he doesn’t mean it. “Come to this side” He swaps places with you so that he is on the side of the road closer to cars zooming past.

“Thanks, Seonghwa”

“No problem. Oh goodness the election results are coming out in a few days and I really regret running for it now! I’m so nervous”

You squeeze his upper arm, “Relax. I’m sure you’ll do a great job even if you win. I’ll be here to help out and I’m sure Yunho and the others will be glad to as well”  Seonghwa’s eyes return to their normal, bright and sparkly sheen. 

“Really?” His voice holds the innocence of a four year old, despite his deep and elegant drawl.

“Really” 

That night, you can feel Seonghwa’s restlessness from blocks away. The silence of the night drives you up the wall and you pull out your phone. Is it the election? 

You: You awake?

You don’t expect an answer, you shouldn’t. But your face lights up at the sudden green bubble indicating that he’s online popping up immediately.

Hwa: No, I’m asleep ;p

You: Alright, well when you wake up remember that I’m cheering for you! <3

Hwa: shdufyyfipiueouriguu

You: ?

Hwa: Sorry my fongers were beingg dimb

Hwa: *Fingers

Hwa: *Being

Hwa: *Dumb

You: Lmao, go to sleep you nonce.

Hwa: Nonce? Meanie :(

You: I don’t trust people who use those weird keyboard emojis. Use your phone ones like a normal person lmao

Hwa: Hello, Childline? I would like to report a case of child abuse. This individual has called me a “nonce” and is now choosing to insult my emojis! Harry Potter and the Audacity of this Cutie 

Hwa: JHsudhsdyduyfisuyfuyfuyfuyufisu

You: Aww, thanks 😊 

Your heart accelerates. Of course, after you and Seonghwa started hanging out more, he was more flirty and bold but you’ve never seen him become flustered before. He’s called you a baby and addresses you very endearingly. But is this sleep deprived Seonghwa embarrassed? It’s adorably funny to you. 

Hwa: soodjjSOFFOJJFIJNFJJFI

Hwa: Damn it.

Hwa: I’m way too sleep deprived to play it cool

You: Should I send you an ASMR video? It helps me sleep sometimes

Hwa: Really? That would be great

Hwa: Excuse me, wait a second. Why are you awake?

You: Insomnia, ran out of pills.

Hwa: Poor thing :(

Hwa: Do you have a 24 hour pharmacy near you? I’m sure there’s one down the road and we don’t live far apart.

You: DKM STOP USING THOSE CURSED EMOJIS

You: And idk, it’s dangerous for me to walk at night. Even with my hockey stick lolol

Hwa: Where do you live? I’m coming

You: Seonghwa! No! It’s alright! I can stay awake

Hwa: Then I’ll stay awake with you <3

You: You don’t need to. 

Hwa: I would have forced you to sleep, but Joong has insomnia and I kinda get that it’s hard

Hwa: So if you can’t sleep, ping me~

You: “Ping me” lmao

You: Thank you though.

You: You do so much for me. You know that? Like, whenever I feel like shit, you’re there. 

You: Do you read my mind, Seonghwa?

Hwa: I’m glad I’m able to be here for you. At first I felt like I was had to so I could pay you back. But now it comes naturally. I don’t really click with people, but I can with you. 

Hwa: Don’t get me wrong, I’m only here because I want to be. I like taking care of you and I’m thankful you do the same. 

Hwa: Just seeing you makes me happy 

You: I feel the exact same way, Hwa.

You: You make everything so warm and happy. It’s your presence and I get along with you so well! 

You: I know you said it already, but please don’t feel indebted to take care of me, Seonghwa. I too, do it because I sincerely care about you. 

You: I love yo| 

Your fingers dash across the screen, but another sky blue text bubble makes your heart drop, the adrenaline building up in you blowing out in a sad puff. 

Hwa: I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. Getting a call.

“Seonghwa... I don’t want to do this anymore” The latter’s stomach and heart hurl up and down at the chocked voice, probably crying through the phone.

“Hongjoong? Talk to me” Seonghwa tries to keep his voice steady and attempts to clear his mind and analyse the rise and fall of his voice and the tone. He wants to see Hongjoong face to face. That’s the best way he can read people, with their expressions. But he knows that Hongjoong doesn’t dare show his face while he’s crying, a rarity.

“The... The election... It was my parents who made me do it. Seonghwa... Seonghwa I can’t do this anymore” Hongjoong sobs, his clear voice murky with sleep and sadness. Seonghwa feels his own eyes fill up but he swipes them away.

“Focus on Hongjoong” He hisses to himself mentally. 

“Hongjoong, your parents can’t dictate what you do or not. If you feel pressured and they don’t listen, you have to do something”

“I know! But what? Who’s going to help me? What if I get kicked out? My parents might still love me if I rebel, but I don’t want to take that gamble. Seonghwa... What do I do?” 

Seonghwa bites his nail. For once, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do. It makes him feel helpless that someone is hurting, especially if that someone is a friend. Hongjoong isn’t the type of person to be very in touch with his emotions, and seeing his glass mask shatter breaks him apart too. 

“Hongjoong, you do what you think is right. And if you don’t know what is, then ask someone who knows. I’m sorry, Hongjoong, but I don’t know what to do. But you can always talk to me. I’ll always be here for you, Hongjoong” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. If they kick you out, I’ll find you a place to stay” 

Seonghwa hears Hongjoong crumpling down, “I don’t want to be abandoned” It feels like a spear through the chest hearing his torn voice. 

“I know, sweetheart. No one does. But if you feel like that’s what you have to do, you have to remember that there are people who will always accept you. I will, Yunho will, Y/n will, Wooyoung will. Forever” 

“But they’re my parents. They’re supposed to be here for me!”

“Joong...”

“Can’t I ever please them?”

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong, I don’t think I can answer that” Seonghwa whimpers quietly, trying to reply tactfully. 

“Seonghwa, I need to go. I hear footsteps-“

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa groans as the jingle of the phone cut sound effect goes off. Blinking back his tears, he opens the chatroom you two share, now blurred lines of black and white and blue bubbles. 

Hwa: Sorry.

You: It’s okay.

Something feels off in the discreet way that he types. Seonghwa is quiet but he’s not a man of few words when opened up to. 

You: Are you okay?

Hwa: Yeah.

Hwa: Why?

You: Are you sure? Instinct.

Hwa: Lol that’s sharp

You: Do you want to talk about it?

Hwa: There’s nothing wrong, dove. I’m just tired.

You: Try get a glass of warm milk.

You: You can talk to me if you feel crappy, okay? Whenever you need it.

Hwa: Thank you, Y/n. But I think that I can only take you up on that offer when it’s my issue to talk about, I don’t think I can tell you this time. 

Hwa: We started giving Jihyo therapy, by the way. 

Hwa: So thank you, for everything you’ve done.

You: Alright, I understand. But if you need help with anything, you don’t have to tell me who it is, but maybe I can help.

Hwa: Thanks, but I’ll try to figure this one out on my own <3 

Hwa: Hey, I think I should try and sleep. 

Hwa: Goodnight, cutie

You: Goodnight, Hwa 

“Congratulations, Hongjoong! You won!!!” Yunho claps the smaller man on the back, who then flinches. Seonghwa looks concerned and pulls Hongjoong into his chest for a brief moment, quickly enough to allow a window of time to brush tears away.

“Thanks, guys!” He giggles, and a dazzling smile blinds everyone in the room. “I’ll do my best to impress all of you, so don’t abandon me!” He laughs at his little joke and so does everyone else. But Seonghwa is not laughing. 

“Tough luck, Hwa! It was so close!” You pat his shoulder, and he grins at you. 

“I’m free from burden, what’s this about?” He chuckles, his baritone voice a sweet melody. The sunlight is dim and the shades of the afternoon haze are bright and pastel blues. 

“Really?”  The smile on his lips seems forced, not reaching his eyes as per usual. Heat from the atmosphere scorches you and the rising tension in the room doesn’t cool it down either.

“Yeah”

You leave it at that. 

As you’re about to ask him if Jihyo needs babysitting, Hongjoong clasps onto the dark haired boy’s sleeve. “Can we talk?” You hear the short man’s voice and how it dangerously wobbles. 

“Sure” Seonghwa turns away and you don’t fail to notice the comforting hand around Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

“Hwa?” You’re surprised by two hands suddenly picking you up and lifting you to the air, an uncharacteristic squeal emerging from a pair of cherry red lips. “Are you okay?” You giggle, warm at the small laughs from the other. 

“Yeah! More than okay!” Seonghwa sighs and puts you down. “Sorry, I got too excited. It’s just that... I’m happy for a friend” Seonghwa would normally blush and lifting you up and perhaps even apologise for doing so but there’s something occupying his brain that makes him steer away from even you. 

“That’s great! I’m so proud of Hongjoong” You smile sweetly, the golden-orange hues of sunlight framing your face, Seonghwa looks a little taken aback. 

“You- you knew?” 

“I knew who it was, not what was going on” You correct him and Seonghwa looks admiringly at you.

“Are you psychic? You know everything about other people...” The gleaming stars in his eyes become more dim and melt into the sea of his eyes like cubes of sugar.

“Well... I’m observant?” 

Seonghwa nods. Like him, you’re in a world of your own but so alive and free in the real world too. It’s too beautiful too block out, so you walk along the fine line of the little flower filled bubble with Seonghwa and the world of the classrooms with the scent of vanilla and sunshine. 

“Hmm, Y/n...”

“Yeah?”

“Are you free this Saturday?” He hums, fiddling with a lock of black silky hair that keeps falling in his face.

“Yeah...” You reach up and pin back his hair with a pretty hairpin, decorated with a tiny plastic moonflower. The way Seonghwa’s cheeks become pink remind you of the purple hue of potassium permanganate bleeding into the water in the biology demonstration the teacher showed you.

With Seonghwa.

You realise you do a lot of things with Seonghwa.

You ate with him many many times (With Hongjoong and Yunho tagging along at times. You went to concert with Daehyun, Jihyo and him last month. The tickets decorate your wall, covered in doodles of little flowers. You helped him with his speeches for his election, often staying after school to fan him off and correct his grammar as his mental health spiralled downwards. 

It makes you feel all warm and butterflies gather, spreading their wings and flying about your body in a flurry of heartfelt affection. You look at him again, his eyes no longer tainted with dark circles and replaced with a rosy blush. 

You can’t beat around the bush anymore, or else it will grow into a forest. A forest where Seonghwa may no longer roam in.

“It’s going to be Saturday” You tell yourself as you thread baby blue ribbons into your hair, matching the light blue frock and pale yellowish white oversized cardigan. Blue butterflies adorn your ears as they hang down on silver earrings.

“It’s going to be today”

You’re surprised you haven’t passed away yet from the sheer beauty of Park Seonghwa. His blue silk blue blouse hangs down to reveal a little bit of his slightly bronze chest and you want to target the mole on it with a kiss attack. He gasps softly and pings your hanging earring. “We’re matching” 

The silk of his shirt and the blue of your dress are very similar in hue, and you make a sound of realisation. “Woah we are” Seonghwa chuckles and taps your nose. 

“On Saturdays, we wear blue” And he yelps as you gently smack him on the shoulder.

“Don’t clown Gretchen like that, she’s my baby” You nag him as you practically inhale the piece of cake no longer on your plate. You tried to by dainty at first but you thought of future dates and thought it would be alright if you loosened up before tightening them. 

Seonghwa chuckles shyly. “I really like this cafe, you know. It’s pretty” His eyes wander the cafe, scanning the blue walls and little artificial moonflowers in baskets. 

“Yeah! And the cake is amazing. Doesn’t Yunho work here?” You laugh. 

“Mhmm, he loves the aesthetic of it too. It’s partially why he wears so many of those clips” His lips suddenly part into an “o” shape. “Oh! I forgot to give you the clip!” Seonghwa pulls out the pretty moonflower hairpin, looking even smaller in his large hand. As you’re about to reach out for it he swipes it out of your reach, a little grin playing on his face. “Hold still, Y/n” And you feel his fingers swipe through your hair along with the metal of the clip. “You look better in it than I do. Daehyun bullied me about it all night” He pulls a face and you chuckle. 

As you two walk out of the cafe and into the park behind it, you see the hues of sunset bleeding into the horizon. You sift through your phone as you wait for Seonghwa to come back from the bathroom. 

“Boo!” 

“SWEET JESUS” You yelp and you’re about to smack him in the chest but you see the pink wrapping of the florist beside the cafe. He gently places them in your hands. White moonflowers pop out and the calming husky scent makes you sigh.

“Hehe, scared you” He ruffles your hair and you look into his eyes. You expect the mischievous glint in his eyes but they are replaced with a warm loving stare. The light of the sun flickers in his eyes and the breeze kisses your skin. 

“Hwa?”

“Y/n, hear me out” He goes a little pink, playing with a strand of his hair.

“I really like you. A lot. I mean, I love you. It’s- I don’t know why. It’s not because you’re just so beautiful and adorable- which you are! I’m not denying it! But you’re so... Thoughtful and sincere. And I was thinking that maybe you could be my girlfriend?” His voice is deeper but laced with awkward tension. You look at his face, growing redder at the second and you smile. 

“Me too”

“Pardon?!”

“I love you too” 

“R-really? You’re not just saying that-“ Seonghwa excitedly grasps your hands in his. 

“Yes, really. Hwa, I really respect how you’re so caring and kind. With Jihyo, Daehyun and Hongjoong. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met”

Seonghwa’s eyes shine, perhaps with happy tears or the light of shimmering sky.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yep” 

Seonghwa tries to lean in and pinches your cheeks, “Pucker up”

“I can’t stop smiling”

The dark haired boy doubles down with laughter before squishing your cheeks, “Better?”

“Better” You say, but it comes out muffled. 

His lips gently brush against yours, his hand doesn’t leave your face and you gently lace your fingers through his dark locks and he sighs into the kiss, leaning further into you and supporting your figure against the wall behind you. 

“You know why I gave you moonflowers?”

“Why?”

“The clip, it was really pretty” He taps it, re-adjusting it and planting a kiss on your forehead. “But moonflowers are my favourite too, so I thought they would look prettier with you holding them” He giggles a little bit at the cheesy words. “I love you”

“I love you too, Seonghwa” You capture his lips in another kiss. 

[bamiiib]

Ethereal | Jung Jaehyun

Ethereal | Jung Jaehyun

Masterlist

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen

Sorrow and uncertainty become your only source of reassurance, everything is different, and yet he continues to move forward, only to a direction that you fear for. What has now become of your once beautiful romance?

Words: 5.8K

Category: Modern!AU, Angst, Fluff

Song Rec: A Soulmate Who Wasn’t Meant to Be — Jess Benko

Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of alcohol & addiction, Mentions of slight depression, toxic relationships

A/N: OMG! Is it true? YES, I’M ALIVE! I’m not sure if y’all are interested in what has been going on, but I want to bring this back, and finish it! Stay tuned for updates, I’ll try my best to keep them as consistent as I can, and I promise I’ll be posting sneak peeks of future chapters as well. Thanks for continuing to support me for those who have been reading this since the beginning. Anyways, happy reading! —Bambi

You woke up to the rays of sun beating down your eyes. With a groan, you rubbed your eyes until they fluttered open. You stretched, a tiny whimper escaping your lips as you stared at the ceiling. Your arms flopped to your side, you thought back to everything that happened last night. How Taeyong had almost kissed you—how you almost let him. You shut your eyes in regret and guilt. You could only see the chubby boy that he used to be when you thought back to high school. 

The boy who was new to your class, and how no one wanted to talk to him, and how you looked at him with a smile when he dropped his books one day and introduced yourself. Since then, to you, Taeyong had only become another familiar face in the hallways who you’d say hi to once in a while. You never thought he’d be interested in you, let alone be his highschool crush that he never got over. You sighed, wondering if things would truly be different if you weren’t so afraid of love back then. But then you remember back to the flood of memories that rushed through you in that moment when Taeyong stood inches away from your lips. 

Jaehyun. 

No matter what happened, no matter what you did or thought about in the past, he always came to mind. He became a part of you, and you hadn’t realized until now. He helped you with your fears, made you see that love wasn’t going to hurt you. Jaehyun made you believe that love was a beautiful thing, and that despite everything that’s been happening, you were convinced that somewhere in the person he’s becoming now, the same man you know and love is still there.

You opened your eyes when your apartment was filled in silence. You couldn’t hear his soft snores, or his gentle breathing. You turned around, sleepiness still entrapped in your eyes, it made your vision blurry for only a second when you saw the empty spot next to you, where the sheets felt cold between your fingertips. Your heart instantly ached, wondering where he could’ve gone. Jaehyun had always stayed in bed until you woke up. He’d always be there to give you a kiss and whisper a gentle, “Good morning.”

 But to your surprise, there was nothing. A sigh. You got up, out of bed to change into simple jeans and a graphic tee. You made your bed and walked towards the kitchen, still hoping in the back of your mind that you’ll find Jaehyun. 

He’ll be in the kitchen, making surprise pancakes like he did once for your birthday with a bouquet of flowers resting on the table. He always was someone who likes surprises. You could feel your heartbeat rise to your throat, anticipation and desperate hope filled you. Your heart dropped when you saw nothing more but the furniture, and your paintings peeping through from the window that led to the balcony. Another sigh. Maybe he went somewhere. He probably just went to the grocery shop to buy more food to fill the fridge. 

Or buy more liquor so he can lose himself like he does every night. 

Maybe he went to go buy you more paint.

Or went with his band that replaced you with ease.

He wouldn’t leave without telling you. He never did. No matter where he went, Jaehyun had always let you know where he’d go, and give you a kiss or text you a heartwarming message if he had already left. Maybe he did, and you were probably too focused on other things instead. You rush towards your bedroom where your phone lies on your nightstand, you turn it on, praying desperately for there to be a text, to see his contact glowing on your phone screen. 

Nothing. 

Your chest felt heavy. You couldn’t breathe without panting. Your lips curled in a tight line. You gulped down the knot in your throat, you looked around, unsure of what exactly you were even looking for. You raked your hands through your hair, and with a deep, relaxing breath, you pulled your hair up to a ponytail and walked towards the balcony where you already set up a blank canvas from the last time you finished your last painting. 

You sat down, trying to ease your troubled mind, you reached for your acrylic paints, spreading them on the piece of cardboard that rested on your lap. Without thinking twice, you dipped your freshly clean brush in a color you’d pay attention to later. And so you painted, not caring whatever color you got on your canvas, not caring whether it looked appealing or not. 

You painted, not because you wanted it to catch a seller’s eye, or because you were bored, you painted because you don’t know what else to do. You painted what you felt. You felt unsure, you felt doubt, rage, sorrow, desperation. You felt like you were drowning, no matter how much you screamed, no matter how violent each brush stroke became the more you added more and more paint, you wanted to be heard. You wanted clarity. 

You wanted the ones you loved, back. 

You wanted your freedom, because you knew that even if you move houses, or put your head out of the car to taste the fresh air, or kiss the lips that promised you that freedom, you would never get it. You just wanted to taste it all again, but now your lips tasted like nothing more but of bitter venom and alcohol. 

You continued to paint, trying to get a taste of that freedom again, but only liquor filled your thoughts. How the scent followed you everywhere, how that green glass bottle would never leave you alone. How it followed you no matter where you went; never with you, but the ones you love.

You were too focused on the violent brush strokes against the canvas to realize the amounts of green you poured onto the cardboard. The amounts of black that splotched every corner and empty space of that canvas, how it decorated your skin, much like the darkness that intertwined in you. 

It would never leave. 

This grief, sorrow, and pain. 

You wanted it to go away. 

You tried to run away from it all, you took Jaehyun’s hand, expecting to find adventure and beauty and love, hoping to find everything that he promised, but found an empty bed, and paint on your skin. You didn’t feel the tears that trickled down your cheek, crashing onto your piece of cardboard and into the paint, making your artwork look more like the mess you were feeling. You couldn’t hear the door open when your sobs whispered through your lips, the brushstrokes now stabbing into the canvas, you wanted to scream, you wanted to disappear. You just wanted to forget. You wanted all of your pain, gone.

Taeyong had put you in a tight embrace. Your paintbrush dropped for your fingertips, crashing into the solid concrete of the floor, rolling towards who-knows-where. Your chest tightened, and the tears you became tired of couldn’t stop falling. 

“It’s okay! You’re okay! Please, breathe…” Taeyong’s breath was shaky, his hold he had on you trembling. You could feel his heartbeat pressing against your back. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his eyes shut tight. Everything stood still, and when you felt his breath whisper against your skin that ran cold, you realized you had been holding your breath up until now. The air had never felt so refreshing in his embrace. You brought a hand to hold his, your grip tighter than what you anticipated, you noticed that you began to tremble as well.

“Taeyong… What are you doing here?” You mumbled within sobs. Your head hung low, ashamed to look at him. He shook his head, refusing to talk until your cries subsided. It fell silent, you took a deep breath and wiped away your tears.

“Johnny texted me to tell you that he couldn’t come over, but he wanted me to tell you something about your art.” He sighed, pulling away to look at your face, grabbing your wrists to pull them away as you had your face buried in your hands.

“He wanted me to tell you that he found someone who owns an art gallery, and that they really want your artwork to be displayed there, along with buying some of your pieces for a good price. Your dream is coming true..” His voice was gentle and patient. A smile tugged the corner of his lips, Taeyong let out a breathy laugh. You didn’t want to believe your ears, your heart raced, and suddenly everything you were thinking of in the past had immediately come to a blank. You were processing everything that had just happened in the span of a couple of seconds, and once it had finally hit, once those words echoed in your ears, your tears came back again.

“Someone actually wants my artwork in an art gallery? Holy shit… holy shit!” You couldn’t believe it, it all felt like a surreal dream. One moment you were crying, stained in green and black paint, staring at the bristles now destroyed with your violent strokes onto the canvas that had a couple of scratches here and there. You didn’t hesitate another second as you pulled Taeyong into a tight embrace, laughter echoing in the balcony, you heard him grunt a little in surprise before his laughter mixed with yours, hugging you just as tight.

“W-Wait so when is it?” You pulled away to ask, a wide, dorkish smile etched onto your lips. Taeyong looked into the distance in thought, his brows furrowing.

“This Saturday. I’ll text you their contact information so you can confirm and plan everything out!”

“W-Will you come?” You asked, mostly out of pure excitement, but you saw the adoration that burned in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He said as he grabbed a strand of your hair and tucked it behind your ear. You dismissed the action, and pulled him into another hug, tears now filled with joy that wouldn’t stop falling. 

“Thank you so much… thank you, thank you.” You repeated, and the weight that pushed down on your chest had seemed to have gone away. 

But only for that very short moment. 

“Hey, um… we need to talk—” Jaehyun’s voice resonated throughout the apartment walls, his hand that scratched the back of his neck fell to his side, his gaze locked on you and Taeyong. 

You knew what pain looked like. It was in your paintings, in the liquor that stained the breath of your father, and when you turned to Jaehyun, you found pain in his eyes. 

“What the hell…” He whispered. His jaw tightened, everything had been moving too fast. Taeyong got up from where he knelt down in front of you, his hands up in defense, Jaehyun was walking towards the two of you in silence. You stood up from your seat, you found yourself between the two; Jaehyun gripped tight onto the collar of Taeyong’s shirt, pulling him inside the apartment and slammed him into the wall right next to the balcony door. 

“You have five seconds to explain why the fuck you were holding her like that before I beat the absolute shit out of you.” His voice was low, something dark and sinister laced his sentence. Your heart dropped. Rushing towards the two, you shook your head, opening your mouth to talk—but nothing. Instead, you placed a hand on Jaehyun’s arm that held Taeyong, shaking him to bring him back into reality. 

“Jaehyun, stop…” You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to yell, but your voice had come out so tiny when you spoke. You’ve never felt so small until now, when he looked at you and you remembered back to the first night he had gotten drunk. That empty, dullness that filled his once beautiful eyes. Your breathing turned heavy, your eyes still glossed in tears. His face softened when he noticed the puffiness in your eyes.  Though it returned once more when he glared over at Taeyong.

“You made her cry? What the fuck is your problem!” His voice roared through the apartment. You turned to look at Taeyong, whose face remained neutral until he said those very words. The same anger, the same deadly spark flashed through his eyes. His brows wrinkled in frustration, a dry laugh seeping through his lips, you watched his Adam's apple bop, holding onto Jaehyun’s wrist. 

“I made her cry? No, none of this is my fault. She’s crying because of you! I was here to comfort her, when you clearly failed to do so because you’re that much of a piece of absolute shi—!” Taeyong’s shouting was cut off by the loud crack that resonated through your ears. You watched him fall to the ground with a grunt, a hand cupping his mouth, he slowly moved to see the blood that littered his palm.

“Fuck you…” Jaehyun whispered. You shook your head, the tears threatening to come back again when he lunged at Taeyong. The two didn’t stop. They punched, slapped, and kicked each other. Cursing at each other; it tore your heart into pieces. Your feet felt rooted to the floor, your stomach twisting in knots, your mouth that ran dry. Your tears felt never ending, and time felt still. Each blow they took, each punch they threw, you could feel your heart pounding violently against your ribs. 

“Stop it…” You whispered, shutting your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see anymore. You shut them tight until you saw stars. Their shouts still filled the room.

“Stop it.” You whimpered, your jaw clenched, your hands balled into tight fists until you could feel your nails digging deep into your skin, the warmth of your blood being your only reminder of the reality of everything that was happening. 

They didn’t stop. Jaehyun’s screams had overpowered Taeyong’s. His cursing turned to incoherent screaming. Pure anger roared, his throat raw; when you opened your eyes, you watched him tremble as he threw Taeyong down, punching him over, over, and over. It was when you saw Taeyong’s doe eyes become dull, and the blood seeping through his nose and lips, when you looked down at your bleeding palms, you had enough.

“STOP IT!” You threw yourself over to Jaehyun, grabbing his arm that he lifted, his knuckles already blooming bruises, you shouted over and over until saliva dripped from the corner of your lips. He didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to. You turned to meet his eyes, and saw that the man you loved, wasn’t even there. Instead, you saw nothing more, but a monster. 

A loud thud, and then silence. Your palms slammed against the tile floor, bracing yourself when Jaehyun flung you down. You barely managed to dodge the impact, your head touching the cool floor. Your breath shaky and deep, you stared at the blurred reflection of yourself, then turned to look at your hands, moving around the tile to see the red that smeared against it. 

“I-I…” Jaehyun started, removing himself from Taeyong. Both of them had their eyes glued to you, as if everything that just happened had meant nothing when it had come to seeing you injured.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asked, sitting up with a pain-filled groan, he reached towards you until Jaehyun pushed his chest.

“You don’t have a right to ask if she’s okay, look what you fucking did.” 

“I’m not the one who pushed her, you asshole! Sorry I actually care for her!” 

“You talk like you’re so madly in love with her!” 

“So what if I am?” 

“You just don’t know when to fucking quit you—”

“Enough!” It took your shouts to finally shut them up. They turned to look at you, your name whispering from their lips like a gentle song. The pity that filled their eyes. The guilt that filled Jaehyun’s. You pushed yourself off the floor, standing up with your chin held high, desperately holding onto the crumbling dignity you had left. They followed after you. Taeyong’s nose was bloody, and Jaehyun’s lip was split. The bruises were already forming on the two of them, you looked the other way so you wouldn’t have to deal with the sight before you.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” You started, voice laced in darkness, sorrow, and pity. You wiped away the tears with a shaky hand, your blood smudging against your cheek. “You two used to be best friends… and now look at you! You’re fighting! And all for what? Me?” Your voice crescendoed into a shout. They averted their eyes away from you like two children who were being scolded. But you knew it was much deeper than that.

“I don’t have to explain anything to the two of you. I want you out… Get out of here.” You curled your lips in a line, you couldn’t stop shaking. You shut your eyes, wondering when the hell were your tears that you were so sick of would stop. Jaehyun whispered your name, as did Taeyong. Jaehyun had reached a hand towards you, and you flinched when he did. He frowned, reverting his hand away, you watched guilt gloss over his eyes you once found beautiful and sincere.

Taeyong had called your name once more, and just hearing it alone set your heart to ache, unprepared for what he had the strength to say. “Please, you’re making a mistake… just pick me. I-I was a coward to let go of you then, but I won’t let go of you now.” He was desperate. You knew, as you could hear it with each syllable that rolled off his tongue. Jaehyun watched, and the anger that rose all over again.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…” He whispered your name, reaching towards you again, he managed to get a hold of your hand. The gentleness he held with his hold, it was like the old Jaehyun was looking at you again. You were ashamed to admit that if it weren’t for the bruises that bloomed on his knuckles and face, and Taeyong standing right next to him, you knew you’d pick him in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, no matter how much you wish that could happen, you faced the truth that appeared to you now.

“I’m sorry…” That was all that Jaehyun could say. You knew that even he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. Maybe he was only sorry for when something affected you physically, and you remember back to the painting, to the splotches of black and green of the paint that dried on your skin; Jaehyun had not noticed, not even once, that you were hurting deeper inside. You couldn’t believe it. They were making you choose. 

“No. No, I can’t believe you guys. You can’t expect me to choose… because if you do, then I choose neither.” Silence again, they looked at you with pleading eyes, and that was enough for you to say with a trembling voice, “I don’t want to talk to either of you. I want you out. Go! Get out!” Your voice cracked as you shouted. They flinched at your sudden change of tone, the pain that mixed in the sorrow of your sentence. Taeyong was the first to leave. 

Your breathing hitched, your vision blurred with tears. Jaehyun looked at you, his brows furrowed in sorrow, he opened his mouth, whispering your name with a broken heart. You held up your hand between the two of you to stop him from going on further.

“Don’t,” Your voice lulled back into a whisper, “just go.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tight when you heard him sigh in defeat. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. You couldn’t stand the sight of seeing him walk away, so you faced the other way, listening to his footsteps, you cupped your hand against your mouth to muffle your sobs when he passed by your shoulder, and the door shut. 

That night, you couldn’t fall asleep. You decided to stay at Johnny’s, sending a text to Jaehyun that he can have the apartment until you were ready to face him again. Johnny showed you your room, and stayed with you that night, listening to you when you poured your heart out. You told him about the darkness that followed you, about Jaehyun’s drinking, and Taeyong’s confession; how you almost kissed him, the fight, and the depression that never left you since you were a child. It felt like you had fallen into a dark pit. Something you couldn’t get out of, no matter how hard you tried, or how desperate you were to find light in the end of the tunnel. Johnny could only listen with a heavy heart, he frowned.

“So what are you going to do?” He asked, pulling you into a side hug. You sighed, shaking your head, your lip quivered. You just wanted it all to stop.

“I don’t know. I can’t even look at Jaehyun, and Taeyong—I don’t know.” It was all you could say, and all you could do. Each time you thought of either one, your mind was drawn to a blank. You were too ashamed and guilty to look at Taeyong, and too enraged to look at Jaehyun. You didn’t have the courage to confront either one of them. You looked down to your palms, studying the tiny crescent shapes that dug into your skin from your nails. 

“What about the art gallery? Have you sent a message to the owner?” You had almost forgotten about that. Your back straightened, you wiped away your tear stained cheeks, and with a deep exhale, you looked over at Johnny and nodded.

“I’m still doing it.” You said with a strong nod. You couldn’t back down from an opportunity like this. Finally, your art was going to be shown, your voice would be heard, and despite the art you held dearest now being your only fondest memories of a man you onced loved, you couldn’t wait to show the world the story that had once been of you and Jaehyun. Johnny smiled, he pulled you for a full embrace, rubbing your back reassuringly. 

“That’s my girl.” He muttered, and your brows raised. A smile. You held tight onto his shirt, burying your face in his chest, you could finally breathe. You finally felt at peace. 

“Johnny, I can’t thank you enough… for everything. I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess, but you’ve always been there for me. You’re an amazing friend… I love you.” You whispered, sniffling.

“I love you too booger. There isn’t a single thing in the world that I wouldn’t do for you.” He let out a breathless laugh, holding you tight. Johnny had never left your side. Despite your unloving mother, your father who gave up everything for liquor, to the love of your life now succumbing to the same fate. Johnny has never left, and he’s never changed. Maybe there was some light, and maybe there was an exit to this void. 

Ten knocked on the door, leaning against the doorway, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You guys are too mushy for me. C’mon, I made some popcorn for the movie night.” Johnny turned, smiling instantly as he let go of you to run towards his husband’s side. He pressed a kiss against his cheek, where Ten chuckled, pushing him away. 

“That doesn’t mean for you to get mushy with me you freak, let’s go.” He snickered, rolling his eyes and looked towards you. Your lips curled to a smile, and his expression reflected yours. 

“We’ll be downstairs. Take your time, okay?” Ten nodded his head towards you, as if to tell you, ‘Everything is going to be okay.’ Surely at this moment, you appreciated the reassurance, even though you knew that things weren’t okay. You’d like to believe that they would be. After having a moment of silence to yourself, you took a deep breath, recollecting yourself, and with your chin held up high, you mustered up enough courage and strength in you as you got up, and walked down the stairs. That night was the most you had ever been at peace in what felt like forever. 

The week dragged on. Each day felt endless, each minute had felt like an hour. You were counting down the days of your gallery walk. You contacted the owner who was also the buyer, and he managed to explain everything down for you. It was to be a formal event, so you had to dress your best, and only one person could accompany you to the party that was to happen after. 

Well, it was more of a small social gathering than a party. Either way, Johnny had convinced you to go since he believed it’d be another great opportunity to get your name out there. 

Originally, when Taeyong had first told you about the show, you were excited to take him; it wasn’t until the fight where you didn’t want anything to do with him after. It felt like weeks since it happened, though it was only five days ago. 

You never wanted your Friday night to be spent in Johnny and Ten’s house, lying down on the guest bed late at night where you couldn’t fall asleep. They offered to keep you company, but you kindly refused. Nonetheless, with Johnny being the stubborn best friend you knew and loved, he said he’d stay up in the living room watching movies with your favorite snacks in case you ever changed your mind. 

You laid in bed, bags decorating underneath your eyes, you listened to the silence that echoed in your room. The silence that never went away. The silence that accompanied you, and never left unlike everyone else in your life. Much like the darkness that followed after the silence, it clung onto you with a heavy weight. Each breath felt short, your chest tight, it was hard to breathe. You gripped tight onto the silk sheets before you, rubbing your cheek against the softness of your pillow, memories of Jaehyun flashed through your mind. 

The night in the car. The day he sang to you. The moment he opened his heart and told you of his dreams. The decision he made when he chose the liquor, over you. 

You didn’t realize the tears that crashed beneath the sheets, a puddle forming below. You shuddered in sorrow. When was this going to stop? When would the tears come to an end? You didn’t know anything anymore. You didn’t know about your future. You didn’t know where life was going to take you next, be it if there were ever to be light found in this deep, endless tunnel, or if an empty void followed after. 

You brought your knees up to your chest as you laid there, hugging yourself tightly, you never realized how much you had missed Jaehyun’s warmth until now. 

A part of you wanted to reach for your phone and text him, talk it out, and try to reach an understanding—but each time you were reaching towards it, you could only see Taeyong’s blood and Jaehyun’s bruised knuckles. 

That’s what made everything worse. 

You still loved him, nothing was going to change that fact. You loved Jaehyun, but it was because of his actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him in the eye. You were angry at him, but more so, you were ashamed of yourself. 

You knew what was happening, you knew what you were doing, yet you didn’t stop. 

Couldn’t stop. 

From the moment Taeyong had almost kissed you, confessed everything to you, things weren’t the same. And you hated that.

“Hey.” Johnny had called your name gently, knocking on the door with delicate strength, enough so that you barely heard it. You wiped away your tears so he wouldn’t see you and question if you were alright for the umpteenth time. 

You sat up, rubbing your eyes as if you were asleep, though you knew you’d fail at trying to fool Johnny. You were expecting him to bombard you with questions, to walk up to you and ask if you were feeling. Instead, he sighed and curled his lips to a line before nudging his head towards the hallway.

“Someone wants to talk to you.” He said. Your heart dropped, and the only person you could think of at that moment was Jaehyun. 

“I don’t want to see him.” You shut your eyes; your head hung low as you fumbled with your fingers until you looked back up to see Johnny shake his head.

“It’s not Jaehyun. C’mon, he’s waiting for you in the front yard.” Johnny smiled shortly, looking out towards the hallway where Ten walked, pulling Johnny to a side hug, he looked at you and nodded.

“Maybe it’ll be some reassurance.” Ten said, and Johnny nodded his head in agreement. You eyed them both carefully, confused as you got up on your feet and walked past them with furrowed brows. You gulped, adjusting the silk robe that Ten had lent you, deciding it best not to let whoever was at the door see you in your tank top. 

Johnny called out your name. You hummed, turning around as he looked at you with a dark glare in his eye. “We’ll be in the living room. If he says something that you don’t like, just call me and I’ll kick him out in a heartbeat.” You knew what he was saying was serious. The sinister, intimidating glint that glimmered in his eyes, you still laughed and nodded.

“Don’t worry John. I’m still a tough nut.” You reassured, bringing your arm up to flex. He laughed and nodded.

“I know you are.” He grinned. You smiled, giving him a quick thumbs up, you took a long, deep exhale as you opened the door to the front yard, and much to your surprise, you weren’t expecting to see Doyoung. 

“Hey… how did you know I was here?” You asked when he turned around, his arms crossed over his chest. He raised his brows, his mouth agape before letting out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck in thought.

“Well, Jaehyun kind of filled me in on what happened between you guys, so I figured to come over and clear some things up.” He shrugged his shoulders, hands falling to his sides as he patted his palms against his pants. You watched, only feeling more confused at this point. You nodded your head, but remained silent. You stepped closer towards him, as he decided best to stay a couple of feet away from the house.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t exactly like you in the beginning. I didn’t know much about you, and to be frank, you seemed fairly comfortable with Taeyong, more than you were with Jaehyun.” He explained, his face hard to read, but you saw something foreign burn in his eyes.

“Excuse me?” You sniggered, at a loss for words. Doyoung’s sweet smile that he flashed at you when you first saw him was long gone. He took a large step towards you with a menacing glare.

“You wanna know why Jaehyun doesn’t bother going home after the gigs? Because he finally sees this as a good opportunity, and wants to get along with the band and meet some fans. And clearly, you’ve been having a problem with that.” He spat the sentence out as if the words itself were filled with venom. You blinked, once, twice. You didn’t know what to say.

“He told me what happened with you and Taeyong. The kiss, the fight—everything, and it’s clear that he doesn’t need someone as horrible and two-faced as you.”

You shook your head, taking a deep breath to control the raging anger that bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Your hands curled into tight fists, your nails finding solace in the familiar crescent shapes that marked your palms. 

“Is that all you came here for? To tell me how much of a horrible person I am?” Your lip quivered, jaw clenching, you held in every urge in you not to yell at him, to tell him everything that you’ve been feeling, and suddenly you’re the one being called selfish.

“I came here as his friend, and I’m doing this for his own good. You’re no good for Jaehyun, and it’s best that you stay away and never show your face to him anymore. You’ll be doing everyone a favor.” He walked away towards his car, opening the back door, he held a cardboard box in his hands before dropping it in front of your feet.

“I also came to drop this off. It’s clear enough that he’s too heartbroken to see you in his apartment anymore—and if this doesn’t make it official, then I don’t know what will.” 

You looked down to the box, kneeling as you took out the acrylic paints, the tiny piece of cardboard that was covered in greens and blacks. Your fingers lingered on each item, until you saw a canvas turned the other way. With a trembling hand, you reached towards it, turning it around, you saw it was the painting of Jaehyun’s face. Your first painting that made you realize that this was your true passion. 

“Have a nice life, because Jaehyun will now—without you.” Your head snapped up to look over at Doyoung. You reached out a hand towards him, but his back was already facing you as he walked into his car with a grimace, and drove off into the streets. 

You sighed, sitting down on the gravel, your fingers traced the shapes on the canvas. Caressing the painted skin of Jaehyun’s face, you curled your lips to a line. Your vision had become blurred with tears, you shut your eyes before they could even crash, and held the painting close to your chest, sitting there that night, you whimpered to think that maybe things were over with the two of you. And nothing pained you more than that fatal truth. 

Johnny watched you with a pained, sorrowful glance. He sighed as he looked down at your phone in which he held onto, pressing it against his ear as he listened to the voicemail. 

“Baby… please. I’m so sorry. I fucked up, I was selfish—please just give me another chance. I’ll quit the band, I’ll stop drinking. Whatever gives me you, I’ll do it. Please… please just call me back.” 

Johnny frowned as you looked through each trinket in the box outside. A sigh breathed through his lips, he turned to look at Ten who was standing in the hallway, patiently waiting for his husband to return to bed with him. 

He smiled, turning back over to the phone; his smile faltered, Johnny had deleted the voicemail.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 19

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary: Based on "Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki." by @thefandomimagine​

Even when the world was falling apart around you, you could always count on the Stark Tower's kitchen. The relationship between you was… difficult, to put it matter-of-factly, but it would never betray you. It would never abandon you. Even in the darkest hour, it had your back and provided you with all the support you needed. 

"You have a very stupid look on your face," Loki observed with polite interest. "Not that it is a rare occurrence."

You took your dreamy stare off the chips before handing them to Loki. You dug farther into the secret stash under the counter. 

"You'll understand in a few minutes." 

"I don't want to eat. This, whatever it is, doesn't even look edible." 

"Oh, honey, you're in for a wild ride. Wait until I find more flavors." 

You produced another package before starting on another shelf. You estimated that you only had a few minutes to make it through this before one of the Avengers decided they weren't yet done with the issue you so narrowly escaped. 

Loki eyed the growing pile of food. At least, what he hoped was food. All the unnecessarily colorful, plastic containers were not something he was used to. 

He sighed, watching you move around the kitchen. It was not like he had anything better to do—after all, you were the one who managed to get him out of the storm of questions and accusations just minutes ago—but standing there like an idiot was very low on his list of priorities. He tried not to be obvious about it, but once he had a glance at himself in one of the windows he passed, he could only wince at the dramatically smudged blood and dirt all over him. He kept on brushing the sweaty strands of hair off his face, but they kept falling over his eyes anyway. 

Of course, he was still glorious. It's not like a few dirt smudges and greenish bruises could hide his perfectly sculpted features (obviously), but he wouldn't say no to a bath. Or a shower, at the very least. 

You stood up with a loaf of bread and reached for two plates. "You prefer salami or some veggies on top? I can slice a tomato." 

Dumbfounded, it took him a moment to understand. 

"Pardon me, but are you about to make sandwiches?" 

"Yeah. You prefer toast?" 

"We have fought some otherworldly monsters that almost got us killed, got kidnapped and then almost eaten again, and then yelled at for security breach, and you're about to make sandwiches?" 

You gestured dramatically towards a high paneled window, showing a beautiful view of an evening setting over New York city.

"We've been out for the whole day and we got a lot of things done. Aren't you at least a little bit hungry? Besides, what kind of situation isn't improved by a sandwich?" 

"That's not—" Loki sighed. "That's not even close to my point, you dim-witted human. How can you even think about eating right now?" 

"One, that's bold of you to accuse me of thinking," you put one finger in the air. "Two, I'm just hungry, and unless your godly stomach doesn't need food, so should you be. What's wrong with the sandwich, though?" 

"Nothing, I just—didn't really expect to get one. Handcuffs, yeah. Some punishment, a lock down maybe. But not a sandwich." 

"Is it bad?" 

Loki thought for a moment. He had lived a long life, especially by human standards. He lived through a lot of absurd situations, most of which he brought upon himself, but none of them managed to prepare him for this one. Well, at least it wasn't a painful one. 

"What's a salami?" 

"A cool meat." 

"Then salami it is. I just hope it's got nothing to do with that hellish sauce you forced me to consume last time." 

You laughed, quickly assembling the ingredients on the bread. Loki wasn't sure the sandwiches were actually needed, given the amount of other food you made him put on the counter, but he didn't argue. To be fair, he didn't even feel angry at any of the pointless actions you dragged him into. 

At least Thor wasn’t there. He'd never let that go. 

With a hint of hesitation, Loki perched himself on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. He wasn't an expert at Terran cuisine, but he judged it would take you a moment to finish making the meal you were so stubborn about. 

His legs appreciated the rest. It only begun to dawn on him how busy the day was. True to your words, once he thought about it, Loki could feel the low rumbling of his stomach, no longer tight from the stress and adrenaline. 

Loki caught himself involuntarily listening for the steps to the kitchen, but the floor stayed quiet. Of course, it wasn't the first time he was alone with you, but to think there were Avengers wandering through the very same building, and yet not (or at least no longer) bothering him, was a strange concept to come to terms with. He wondered how long it would last. 

Probably until his brother arrived. He had a talent for making things worse. 

The silence around should be comfortable and peaceful, at least for the time being. Instead, it forced words out of his mouth—ones that had been on his mind for the past hour. 

"Why did you help me?" 

Your eyebrows rose a little as you shot him a surprised look. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I, by all standards, am still a villain. That… meeting wasn't supposed to end with me walking away like that." 

He eyed the bracelet still shackling his wrist. It seemed like a small price. 

You shrugged, reaching for a tomato. 

"I didn't see you at fault for any of what happened. You shouldn't be blamed for that." 

"Some people would disagree with you." And he knew their names. 

"Point them to me when you meet them next time. I'd love to have a conversation with them." 

"What I'm trying to say is… We don't even know each other, so I don't understand why you'd do any of that. No, I'm not talking about the sandwich. You know what I mean, and don't deny it. I'm too tired to fall into word games with you again." 

With that, he offered a straightforward conversation. It was not something he often chose willingly, but the day was long and confusing, and the longer he got to know you, the more questions rose in him. 

You noticed the change. Rushing it would be unwise. You reached for salami, toying with the packaging for a moment. 

"You use the argument of me not knowing you well like it's the only perspective that matters. You make it seem like I'm the kind of person willing to do anything only for the people close to me. Has it ever occurred to you that, just maybe, most of what I do and say, I choose for my own sake too?"

You pulled the package open. 

"To put it in simple terms, I don't care who you think you are. From the moment I realised you weren't a madman or a psychotic killer beyond reasoning, I decided to treat you like any other person put in your position. And I did that for my sake too, partially at least. I don't like to make choices I don't feel good about and I don't like letting other people's opinions stain my own. You may not know this, but once upon a time I was in a very similar situation, with a price over my head and more people seeking vengeance for my actions than I could count. I made some mistakes, but I was offered a chance to be treated like a person and… well, maybe not redeem myself, but at least to do some good. To do things that matter to some people."

"That doesn't really answer my question." 

"Then let me rephrase—I treat you like a person because I see a person in you. Not the villain. Not the God of Mischief. You. A person as tired as me, and hungry enough to excuse my poor attempts at fancy cuisine." You put one of the plates in front of him. 

Loki blinked. It didn't vanish. 

"Is that a ketchup heart on top?" 

"Yeah. Thought it looked cute." 

"I hereby excuse your attempts at creativeness. Stil, it's not like I'm going to be friends with you, though." 

"That's okay. We can just not kill each other for a while,” you said, attacking your sandwich. Your stomach sighed with delight. 

A look you didn't understand crossed Loki's face. "It would be easier if you just hated me." 

"Definitely. But do you want it the easy way, or the fun way, Mr. Trickster?" 

Hesitation changed into something else. What exactly, Loki still didn't know, but it didn't seem like a bad idea to give himself some time to figure it out. 

"I'm fairly certain there's only one answer to that. For the record, though, I don't want to be the sidekick." 

"We'll think about that. Now, let's move somewhere else before they find us and bore us to death."

Taglist: @writerjmlove @drakonwild @eeveesjourney @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @oatballsoffury @inumorph @ejectur @nerdybabywrites @twhgirl @nikkoliferous @unlikelygalaxygiver @multifandomreaderinsertfanfics @dreamingofonceuponatime @iamfelixc @bluebunnlee @effmigentlywithachainsaw @sadwaywardkid​ @ravenclawpossum​ @waitforthehurricane​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​  @toboldlyscream​ @waitforthehurricanrose​  @cluelessnitwhit​ @iamverity​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @the-corruptor​ @just-another-romantic​ @breakawayfromeveryday​

[electricxmayhem]

When It’s Time

Fandom: Dungeons and Daddies

Relationship: Oakson

Word Count: 5,339

Authors notes: There’s a lot of gen content in this because I accidentally thought too hard about the plot and also I’m afraid of intimacy. Please just pretend the action was more drawn out and realistic. Also if the writing of this seems un-American I’m sorry I’m...not American. 

One

‘Did anyone think for even a second that this might be a terrible idea?’

‘All our ideas have been terrible, Darryl. This is our best shot right now.’

Trudging around yet another unfamiliar town was wearing on everybody, and the long day had only been made longer by Darryl’s mood. He had been a little extra crabby since his split with Carroll, which would have been understandable were the other dads not so on edge. 

‘Can someone else take Peter?’ Ron asked, shifting his shoulders under the weight of Paeden fast asleep on his back, ‘He’s heavier than he looks.’

‘Give him here.’ Henry rubbed his eyes and reached out his arms to take the exhausted boy. But before he had him, something caught his eye and he turned suddenly. Ron let go of Paeden’s legs and the boy fell hard into the dirt, startling himself awake.

‘What the fuck?’ He spluttered.

‘Oh my gosh, Paeden, are you okay, buddy?’ Henry fussed, pulling Paeden up and dusting him off while he squirmed indignantly. 

‘Yeah, I’m fine, I can take a hit.’ He sniffed, ‘What happened though?’

‘Oh, I think I just saw the sign.’

‘For the fortune teller?’

‘Yeah, come on, this way.’

Relief bringing a burst of energy, everyone followed Henry to a faintly glowing eye-shaped symbol carved into a wooden sign. Below, in similarly glowing letters the sign said ‘OPEN’. Below the sign was a small tent made of heavy red material.

Glenn reached out and knocked on the door. Nothing happened.

‘Did you just try to knock on a curtain, Glenn?’

‘Look, I’m really tired okay.’

‘Hello?’ Henry tried.

‘Enter.’ Came a creaking voice from inside.

Shrugging, the dads piled into the tent, shepherding Paeden ahead of them. Disappointingly, the tent was no larger on the inside than it was on the outside. There was barely room for 4 and a half people to squeeze in facing the woman sitting at the table within, commanding the room despite her small stature. She smiled at them in silence for what felt like minutes before Henry spoke up again.

‘Uh, are you the Seer of-’

‘Silverman? I certainly am, Mr Oak.’

Henry laughed delightedly. ‘Neat!’

‘Hey, Siri, what’s my name?’ Ron pushed forward.

‘You’re Ron. And my name is not Siri-’

‘Siri, call me uh, Adam Sandler.’

‘............No.’

Darryl waved his hands in the air.

‘We’re getting off track. Ma’am we’re here to-’

‘Let me guess. You vowed to take on the beast in order to gain the favour of Lady Lockwood, so that she might grant you an army to assist you in your raid of Castle Ravenloft.’

‘Uh, yes.’

‘So what do you want from me?’

‘Seems like you already know.’

‘I know a lot of things, Darryl, but I do hate a one-sided conversation. So come on, ask me nicely.’ The old woman leaned forward and clasped her hands under her chin. Her gaze was unnervingly bright for her wizened face.

‘We heard you might be able to give us some clues on the beast, see what we’re up against.’

The Seer chuckled. Drawing back a sheet of velvet she revealed a perfectly smooth crystal ball in the center of the table that glowed softly in the low light. Everyone leaned in.

‘You should know, first and foremost,’ The old woman hummed, ‘That I work for Lady Lockwood. I am forbidden to give you information like that.’

The dads groaned.

‘But!’ She continued, ‘I have one offer. For a few seconds I can allow one of you to see one day into your future. Whatever this reveals may offer you some...foresight into your battle.’

Darryl looked around at the other dads. Everyone seemed to be nodding. Paeden’s head was nodding too, in and out of sleep. 

‘I’ll do it.’ Darryl nodded firmly. 

‘There will be a price…’

‘No worries.’ Glenn held up a heavy bag, coins jingling as he did, ‘We’re good for that.’

‘Well, then, let’s begin.’ 

Without warning, the candles in the tent extinguished, leaving everyone blinking in total darkness. Small, cold hands found Darryl’s and he felt the cool curve of the crystal ball under his palms. Anticipation tingled through his arms.

And then suddenly he was somewhere else. His eyes fluttered open and low candlelight spilled in. He could still feel the hard wooden stool of the tent under him, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that he was reclining on a large bed with a thick blanket. It was kind of hard to see anything else, though, because it seemed like something was pressed against his face. He could hear movement and-

Oh God.

He was kissing someone.

Someone was sitting on his lap and he was kissing them.

Shocked, Darryl was vaguely aware of his shoulders moving to run his hands up the other person’s back.

‘Ow!’ The person recoiled suddenly, wincing in pain. Barely breathing, Darryl stared dumbly at the other person. At Henry. It was Henry and he had been kissing Henry and it’s not like he hadn’t thought about it but nothing had prepared him for it actually happening. There was no way this was right. He must have been in someone else’s vision-

‘Sorry! Sorry, I forgot-’ No, that was definitely Darryl’s voice. Those were definitely his arms, wrapped in bandages, moving frantically, touching Henry’s arms, his stomach, his hips-

Laughing, Henry grabbed his fussing hands gently by the wrists. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay! You were distracted.’

Henry was wearing an unfamiliar silk shirt with his old cargo shorts, which looked cleaner than Darryl had seen them in a while. He followed his future self’s awe-stricken gaze up to Henry’s flushed face, and watched as Henry’s hand reached out to brush his forehead. Finally, he heard himself take a breath to say something-

And his vision went black.

Darryl blinked in the darkness, a little shell-shocked, as the Seer gently moved his hands off the crystal ball. One by one, the candles in the tent lit themselves again, and in the flickering light the other dads were leaning in expectantly, searching Darryl’s face for clues. Paeden was sitting on the floor, dozing against Glenn’s leg. 

Darryl nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Henry’s hand on his shoulder.

‘Whoah, Darryl, are you okay?’ Henry threw his hands in the air, looking worried.

‘It is something of a harrowing process, seeing one’s future,’ The Seer assured the room, ‘It may take a few seconds for him to adjust.’

Darryl massaged his forehead and turned to look at the others. Somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Henry in the eye.

‘Sorry, sorry guys, I’m fine it’s just...that was weird.’

‘So what’d you see?’ Glenn prompted.

‘Did you see the beast?’ Ron added.

‘I was...in bed.’

A look of collective disappointment shot around the room.

‘Well hold on! It was a big bed in some kind of fancy room, and I had bandages on my arms, and Henry had some kind of sore back or something.’

‘How do you know Henry had a sore back?’

‘He was in there too.’ 

The others took this pretty easily. Sharing rooms and beds had become a pretty familiar sleeping situation during their time in this world.

‘Well!’ Glenn shrugged, ‘That’s what we get for doing this at night.’

‘No, wait, are you kidding?’ Henry cut across, ‘This is amazing! If me and Darryl are hurt, but we’re resting up in a fancy room, that must mean what he saw was after the battle! Now we know whatever beast we’re up against, we win!’ 

Darryl put this together. Not only was the fancy room most probably in Lady Lockwood’s house, but despite their injuries they were obviously strong enough to…

Well, they couldn’t have been that hurt anyway.

Glenn placed the bag of coins on the Seer of Silverman’s velvet covered table, and Darryl gave her a firm handshake which she returned with surprising force.

‘Before you go,’ She spoke up ‘Let me see the boy.’

Groggily, Paeden stepped forward, and the Seer fussed over him, holding his hand and pinching his cheeks.

‘I just love children.’ She cooed, ‘How old are you young man?’

‘Eight.’ Paeden snuffled.

‘And so brave for your age! Tell me, little one, how would you like a gift?’

‘Hell yeah.’

‘Paeden, come on, use your manners.’ Henry said.

‘Oh, that’s quite alright.’ The Seer smiled, and turned to pull something from the darkness behind her. ‘I’ve got something I know you’ll enjoy.’

A glint of metal shone in the candlelight and Paeden’s eyes widened.

‘A sword!’

‘Mmhmm, a sword named BeastSlayer. It’s just a name, but hopefully it will bring you luck. Do you like it?’

‘Yeah, it’s boss. It’s fuckin’ sick.’

‘Paeden!’ 

 ‘We should go,’ Darryl told the old woman, ‘But thank you for your help.’

She returned his shifting gaze with a knowing smile. ‘You’re quite welcome.’

And, pushing through the curtains into the clear night air, the dads headed back to the van, led by Paeden swinging a massive sword with reckless abandon.

Two

Darryl had always been a light sleeper, even at the best of times, but tonight he’d given up entirely. Knowing he needed to rest up for the fight tomorrow did nothing to quiet his racing mind, and his heart beating fast in his chest just would not let him sleep. He sat in the upright drivers seat and just stared out the window at the city walls. 

He thought about the first time Henry had kissed him. It had been to shut him up, but it hadn’t been mean. It had been rushed and desperate but comforting too. He’d felt guilty about the feelings that had stirred in him, cursed the butterflies in his stomach for making something out of what had been nothing but a peacekeeping move on Henry’s part.

What he hadn’t considered before was that there had been plenty of times that Henry had wanted Glenn or Ron to shut up, too. But he only ever kissed Darryl. 

Tomorrow, Darryl knew, he was going to have to fight and defeat something mysterious and threatening. He knew it was going to be hard, and that it was going to hurt him and his friends. And still he was more scared of the fact that he was in love with Henry Oak.

As if on cue, Darryl heard stirring from where Henry had been sleeping moments before. He cringed silently to himself and waited for Henry to inevitably notice him sitting up.

‘Darryl?’ God, his sleepy voice at that moment was almost too much .

‘Mmhmm.’

‘What are you doing up?’ Henry whispered.

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

‘To be honest with you,’ Henry climbed gingerly into the passenger’s seat, ‘I, uh. I swallowed my retainer a while back, when I was in bear form. So I’ve been kinda sneaking out at night and turning into a bear to try and, you know, pass it.’

Darryl blinked.

‘You swallowed...you had a retainer? And you haven’t- seen it?’

‘Nope! I hate to think what it could be doing to my insides. Never chewed gum a day in my life and this is what I get.’ 

Darryl chuckled and Henry smiled at him softly. Did he smile at him differently or was Darryl just reading into it too much? Was that just the way he’d always smiled? Or had he always been smiling like that?

‘You still haven’t told me why you’re up.’

‘Oh you know I just….  just got a lot on my mind.’

Henry reached for Darryl’s hand, which he shakily offered. Turning to face him, cross-legged, Henry turned his hand palm up and looked at it. Darryl shivered as Henry lightly traced his finger over the creases, stroking his fingers one by one.

‘Are you reading my palm?’ Darryl whispered, barely able to breathe.

‘Yeah.’

‘What does it say?’

‘It says I’m no psychic, but I just met one and according to her we’re gonna get through tomorrow, and I’ll be right there with you at the end of the day, sore back or not.’

Darryl closed his hand around Henry’s, squeezing gratefully. Glancing up, he saw Henry’s eyes searching his, open and honest, and he felt a crippling wave of guilt. There was no way he could tell Henry what he saw, but he felt awful keeping it a secret, keeping the image of Henry in his lap behind his eyes, even as he sat in front of him.

Darryl had the strange feeling of being a man caught spying in through the windows of his own house. Slowly, he let go of Henry’s hand and reclined his seat. Henry laughed almost silently as he watched him, before following suit and curling up in the passenger seat. 

‘What about your retainer?’

‘It hasn’t killed me yet. What’s one more night?.

Three

The next day dawned with the noise of false bravado, each dad secretly comforting himself with back slaps and battle cries, filling the morning with terrible jokes and tense laughter. Paeden enjoyed swinging his sword a little too close to people’s legs as they hiked towards the castle.

‘Paeden, I’m glad you like the sword but I think you should give it to someone else for the battle, okay buddy?’ Darryl suggested, ‘I don’t want you involved in the action.’

‘Why are you taking me then?’ Paeden huffed.

‘Well we can’t leave you on your own, someone might take you.’

‘I’d take them.’ He grumbled, swinging the sword in a low arc right next to Henry’s ankle.

‘Whoah! I need that!’ Henry was exaggerating his confidence as much as everyone else. Darryl could see that he was paler than usual, and he kept scratching at the skin around his fingernails. Looking around he could see that Ron’s forehead was sweaty and that Glenn had tied his hair back from his face. He only did that when he knew they were getting into some real shit.

The two guards at the castle door regarded them with undisguised judgement as the five of them approached. 

‘Hey fellas!’ Glenn waved an arm, ‘We’re here to take on-’

‘The beast?’ Said one of them, ‘Quite. You will see the lady. She is waiting for you.’

‘For some reason.’ The other one added, raising an eyebrow at each of them in turn.

Ignoring this, the dads and Paeden followed the first guard through the door into the huge entrance hall, and down through another door into a huge room with high stone ceilings and tapestries on the wall. In the center of the room stood a long wooden table, and at the end of it, in a high backed chair, was an incredibly muscular woman in a delicately embroidered tunic. She waved a hand for everyone to sit. There were notepads and pens at every chair.

‘So you are the brave warriors who have vowed to slay my beast.’ She looked skeptical. ‘I thought you’d be...I don’t know. Taller.’

‘We’ve got it where it counts.’ Glenn shrugged.

‘I don’t even know what that means.’ The Lady frowned. ‘Is the kid one of you?’

Paeden was drawing in his notepad. It looked like a drawing of himself with a six-pack.

‘He’s just tagging along. He’ll keep to the sidelines.’ Darryl assured.

‘Hell no. I’m fighting that thing.’

‘Maybe you should sit up in the box with me.’ Lady Lockwood patted his shoulder regally.

‘The box? Are you telling me you’re going to be spectating this fight?’ Henry asked.

‘Of course! Why do you think I have people challenge the beast at all? I just love a good blood sport.’

Everyone at the table looked uncomfortable. Suddenly, the Lady clapped her hands.

‘Shall we?’ And she swanned across the floor on legs like tree trunks, while four disgruntled dads and one disappointed boy stomped after her.

Outside the castle, the grounds had been surrounded with a large stone wall, encircling the lawn like an amphitheater. The features of the courtyard still remained; a few pleasant statues, a stone path, flower beds- but it was all overshadowed by a fifteen foot reinforced door set into the wall. No one could tear their eyes away from it. 

‘Well, this is where I leave you.’ Lady Lockwood smiled, one hand firmly on Paeden’s shoulder. ‘Good luck, warriors.’

‘Wait.’ Ron said suddenly, ‘Paeden. Give me your sword.’

‘No.’

‘Okay, thanks anyway.’

And just like that they were alone in the courtyard. Darryl could hear the other dads’ breathing in the tense silence.

‘Quick dad huddle?’ He suggested, and the others fell gratefully together, ducking their heads into the private space their bodies created. ‘Okay I don’t think we have much time so let’s just one-two-three-doodlers okay? One, two, three-’

‘Doodlers!’ Came the nervous response as everyone’s hands went up. Henry turned back to the door, and then back to Darryl.

‘Listen, before this kicks off, I just wanted to say-’

The ground shook. Slow, heavy footsteps echoed against the walls. Darryl tightened his grip on his hatchet and set his jaw. Then came the cry of Lady Lockwood, safe in her viewing box above them.

‘RELEASE THE BEAST!’ 

The door gave way, and standing in the courtyard was a huge, red dragon.

A dragon.

Oh fuck. 

For a second everyone just stood there, stunned. Then the dragon bowed its head and starting walking, covering too much ground with a single step. It took a while for all of him to come out of the door. 

Henry yelled indistinctly, and suddenly vines burst from the ground, wrapping around the dragon’s legs. They held for a couple of seconds, then they were torn apart like wet spaghetti, lying useless on the ground. Henry looked around desperately.

Already, Darryl had lost sight of Ron. He took this as a good sign.

Steeling himself, Darryl mustered all his strength and ran towards the dragon, hatchet raised. Uncertainty was beginning to grow in his stomach. Maybe that Seer woman had tricked him. Maybe they were going to lose and she had just shown him a fantastical image to spur him on. He aimed for the dragon’s face and caught the side of it as the giant reptile turned away. Strange blood wet his blade.

Darryl was still processing his own strike, catching his breath, when too late he realized the dragon’s head was swinging back in his direction, fast. He tried to scramble out of the way but before he could move the beast’s huge skull knocked the air out of his body, throwing him like a rag doll to the ground. Darryl’s lungs tried to make up for lost time as his head swam. Vaguely aware of the dragon leaning towards him, he dug his heels weakly into the ground. Tears of frustration filling his eyes as huge, awful teeth moved in-

Any breath Darryl had gathered was suddenly knocked from him again, but this time by something smaller and warmer than a dragon’s head. Henry rolled into the space between Darryl and the teeth, his back on Darryl’s stomach, and green poison sprayed into the dragon’s mouth. The dragon recoiled, shaking his head, and Henry was beside Darryl, holding his arm, checking his eyes.

‘Are you okay? Can you stand?’

‘Yeah.’ Darryl croaked, ‘I’m fine.’ He was well aware that the fight was far from over, and even as Henry helped him up, squeezing his hand worriedly as he did, he could see that the dragon had turned its attention to Glenn, armed only with wildly swinging nun-chucks.

A surge of adrenaline tightened Darryl’s grip on his hatchet as Glenn started running, and he moved to strike again, but quickly noticed something was happening. The dragon’s steps became short and unsteady, and its head whipped around in confusion, still oozing blood. With one final step, it fell in an indignant heap on the ground. Darryl couldn’t help but laugh when he saw two of the dragon’s legs tied together with four pairs of shoelaces. Ron stood up behind the heap of scales with a grin. Somewhere above them, Paeden cheered.

‘Hey, nice work, Ron!’ Darryl called.

Nun-chucks spinning, Glenn ran towards the writhing dragon and flailed at it’s jaw, resulting in a loud crack, and a strangled cry as he nutted himself on the rebound. The dragon snorted.

Little by little, smoke began to pour from its nose. Struck by fresh fear, the four dads slowly backed away. The smoke thickened as the dragon’s breathing got heavier, angrier, and with a ‘ping!’ the shoelaces snapped. The dragon was back on its feet. And it was staring at Henry.

Darryl swallowed. He hadn’t thanked Henry yet for stepping in when he was in danger, and there was no time like the present. Henry was standing with his hands out, fruitlessly trying to de-escalate the situation as flames started to lick the dragon’s lips. He moved, and the dragon followed, locked onto his target. And suddenly Darryl was between them, heart hammering, holding up his hatchet like it could provide any protection.

Henry’s hand found Darryl’s shoulder and pulled. 

‘Don’t you dare.’ He said as he pushed Darryl behind him, turning his back on the growing flames as he faced him. 

Time froze for a second as Henry’s hands cupped Darryl’s face.

‘Look,’ Henry rushed, ‘I know this is a bad time and I should’ve told you before, but I can’t die without saying I love-’

He was cut off as Darryl’s arms were flung around him in a vice grip, and not a second later flames hit them hotter than Darryl could have imagined. He wasn't sure if he screamed, he just focused on Henry’s head buried in his neck hard enough to bruise, and held his body so close he worried he could break it. Fire and desperation rang in his ears, tinted with muffled yells. Smoke filled his lungs.

And it was just smoke. Without warning the flames turned to black, choking, extinguished smoke.

He looked up. 

Glenn was wrapped around the dragon’s neck, kicking and yelling. The dragon’s head had dropped to the sooty grass, defeated.

‘FUCK YEAH!’ Glenn yelled, ‘I SLAYED THE FUCKING DRAGON!’

But Darryl was looking past him. Straddling the lifeless dragon’s back was Ron, and buried in the scales in front of him was the BeastSlayer.

‘Nice work, Glenn.’ He smiled genuinely. Glenn stared at the sword.

‘Yeah, I mean...you probably helped.’

From the box, Darryl could hear Paeden whooping, but his attention was turned back to Henry. His back, along with Darryl’s arms, was blackened. The adrenaline coursing through Darryl’s veins stopped him from feeling his burns as badly as they looked, but at least he could still feel Henry’s shaky breathing and bounding heartbeat against his own chest.

‘Henry?’ Henry didn’t move his face from Darryl’s neck. ‘Henry, we won. We did it, we survived.’

Slowly, painfully, Henry lifted his head. His tear stained face was still blank with horror. Darryl all but peeled an arm off Henry’s back to cup the side of his head. He leaned towards him, whispering into his hair. 

‘You should have let me protect you.’

Henry’s own hand covered Darryl’s as his brow furrowed.

‘Your job isn’t always to protect people.’

‘It kinda is.’

‘It shouldn’t be.’

‘Guys!’ Glenn yelled, ‘Come on bring it in!’

‘Can we maybe…’ Darryl felt the dull ache in his arms begin to sting, ‘Can we maybe have the group hug over here? And maybe don’t actually touch me?’

Henry disentangled himself from Darryl’s arms and turned shakily to take in the scene with a small shake of his head. Gingerly, laughing with utter relief, the four dads orchestrated a makeshift group hug as decorated guards marched out to escort them inside.

Four

The rest of the day was a blur. The dads were welcomed by an elated Lady Lockwood who quickly bustled them into the castle infirmary. Darryl spent his afternoon biting back tears as attendants washed and bandaged his burnt arms, and biting back embarrassment as they bathed the rest of him and laundered his clothes. Although he had to admit, his aching muscles had been crying out for a hot bath.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Henry. He hadn’t seen him since the fight finished, and everything had been so overwhelming he hadn’t had the chance to think. Well now he had way too much time with only his thoughts.

It was just...it had sounded like Henry was about to say he loved him. Loved him. Loved Darryl. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had told him they loved him. He had kinda resigned himself to giving out love and not getting it back. To protecting without being protected himself. 

Of course, he’d seen his future. Maybe it should have been obvious to him. But he had assumed that whatever happened would be Henry experimenting, or giving him what he wanted in celebration, or some weird fluke born from a rush of high emotion. It just hadn’t dared to occur to him that it could be something Henry had wanted too.

Henry wasn’t at dinner. A servant informed them he was on bed rest. Glenn and Ron were almost unrecognizable in new clothes fit for nobles, with washed hair and clean faces. Even Paeden had been dressed up, and was sitting at Lady Lockwood’s right hand side with pride. Darryl felt a little under-dressed, having opted for his newly cleaned polo shirt and jeans, but he couldn’t get into the spirit of celebration anyway. He was too nervous to eat, and ended up asking to be shown to his room early as the others laughed and drank.

The room hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course it was the room from the vision, but it still made everything feel frighteningly real. The red curtains, the heavy blankets, the low candlelight. He sat down to stop himself from pacing. How much time did he have before whatever was going to happen happened? Did he have time to go and pee? Did he even need to pee or was he just nervous? He stared at the candles for a second. They were only recently lit but had melted down a little already. If he wasn’t mistaken they looked pretty close to how they looked in the vision.

There was a knock on the door and the breath was knocked from Darryl for the third time that day. For a moment he was totally frozen.

‘Darryl?’ Henry’s voice came softly through the heavy door.

‘Yeah, uh, come in.’ Darryl called, and watched the doorknob turn and Henry appear in his room, dressed in a familiar silk shirt and his cargo shorts, clean apart from those stubborn iodine stains by the knees, freshly washed hair bouncing as he moved, glasses reflecting the candlelight. Darryl was a little entranced. 

‘I thought you were on bed rest.’ Was the first stupid thing out of his idiot mouth. Great job, Darryl. And they say romance is dead.

‘I’m supposed to be.’ Henry smiled, ‘But I wanted to come and see you.’

‘Well, sit down, take it easy. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, I feel way better.’

‘You look better.’

 Darryl moved his legs to let Henry get comfortable on the side of his bed, their hips parallel, close enough to hear each other’s breathing. 

‘I’m sorry-’ Darryl started.

‘Don’t.’ Henry cut him off, ‘Please don’t, just, let’s talk about anything else.’

Darryl took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He could feel Henry’s eyes on him as he looked at his hands.

‘Earlier. Before...this.’ He gestured to his bandages. Henry shifted his weight and nodded. Darryl noticed that he looked nervous, too. It wasn’t a look he was used to on Henry. ‘Were you about to say you love me?’

Henry looked very hard at the floor. Then he stared at the wall and sighed. Finally he turned his gaze to his own hands and stuttered ‘I-’

‘Just ‘cos I was wondering whether I should say I love you or I love you too.’

Henry’s shoulders dropped and his eyes widened. For a few seconds he just stared at Darryl, but there was no intensity in it, it didn’t hurt to meet his gaze. It was the stare of someone seeing something beautiful they hadn’t believed existed before.

‘I was.’ He whispered eventually, ‘I mean, I do.’

‘I love you too.’ Darryl smiled ever so gently and Henry softened completely, leaning forward stiffly to rest his hands on Darryl’s shoulders and leaning in as Darryl leaned in to him and their lips met like soot falling, soft and silent. 

Kissing Henry before had been exciting. Thrilling, unexpected, and forbidden. This time, it couldn’t have been more different. This time, Darryl let himself relax and melt into it, and his heart jumped as he felt Henry do the same, moving his hands from his shoulders up his neck and into his hair, taking breaks to smile against his lips. Darryl felt safe, trusted to take control as he gently took Henry’s glasses off, and lifted him carefully into his lap when he started slipping off the bed. 

This is a hell of a lot better with feeling Darryl thought as he appreciated the warm weight of Henry in his lap, and let his hands pull him closer by the hips, run up his back-

Wait, shit.

‘Ow!’ Henry recoiled suddenly, wincing in pain. Darryl floundered for a moment. How could he have forgotten? 

‘Sorry!’ He yelped, ‘Sorry, I forgot-’ As he frantically touched the unscathed parts of Henry, trying to somehow reverse his mistake.

Henry grabbed his wrists gently, careful enough not to disturb his wounds through the layers of bandage. 

‘Its okay,’ He laughed, ‘It’s okay! You were distracted.’

Darryl could do nothing but stare as Henry dropped his wrists. Looking up from his compromising position to Henry’s flushed face, smiling even after everything that had happened, watching the slight drag on one of Henry’s eyes without his glasses, he wasn’t sure how he could have possibly been this lucky. 

One of Henry’s hands gently brushed a loose strand of hair off Darryl’s forehead.

‘This is what I saw, you know.’ Darryl said.

‘What?’

‘This past few seconds. That’s what I saw when the Seer showed me the future.’

Henry’s face turned slowly into a shocked grin before he burst out laughing.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah!’

‘No wonder you were so weird about it!’

‘I was weird about it? Do you think the others noticed?’

‘Nooooo, they probably believe you. I mean we are alive, in a fancy house, and covered in bandages.’

Darryl relaxed.

‘You know I have two Darryl-arm-shaped patches of skin between the burns.’

‘Oh, God.’ Darryl laughed ruefully as Henry dropped his forehead to rest against his. 

‘Hey.’ Henry whispered. ‘Can I stay in here tonight?’

‘Are you sure?’ Darryl’s voice was slightly slurred by Henry running his thumb over his bottom lip.

‘I’m asking.’

‘Of course.’ 

With this, Henry kissed Darryl briefly one more time and crawled out of his lap onto the empty bed space beside him, where he lay on his front.

‘I’m just really tired.’

Darryl shuffled down until he was lying on his back.

‘Me too.’ He whispered. With everything that had happened, he would have done anything to hold Henry as they fell asleep, but with their injuries it was impossible. Instead he lay his hand, palm up, between them. Henry idly traced the creases with his finger, before folding his hand into Darryl’s. A gentle gust of wind through the room extinguished the candles.

Muffled by the pillows, Henry spoke up one last time.

‘You know, the others are going to figure out something happened.’

‘How?’

‘You told them I was in your bed in the vision. Now they know that we weren’t made to share they’ll know I must have sneaked in.’

‘Well, that sounds like their problem.’

Fin.

Authors note: This is not a songfic but the title is the name of a song which I chose for the lyrics 

‘All I want is you to understand

That when I take your hand

It’s ‘cos I want to.

And we are all born in a world of doubt,

But there’s no doubt,

I figured out

I love you’

[justsomewhump]

Tenebrae (1/6 ?)

So I had a whumpy dream so I turned it into whumpy fanfiction.

Summary: Sorta Medieval, non-magic AU. Killian and his friend Nemo are captured by Commander Gold, who decides to torture the former and use the latter to torture the former further.

Warning: This fic will contain rape/noncon in later chapters.

Word count: 3k AO3

~

Killian wouldn't care if only he were alone in this.

Gold could do anything he wanted with him - and probably would, anyway, considering what Killian had heard of his practices - if only it weren't like this.

Struggling to keep a neutral face, he turned to look at Nemo behind him, wrists chained together and a sullen expression on his face. At least he thought it was, the dark corridors of the prison they were being walked through weren't the best circumstances to see clearly.

Gold hadn't turned to look at them for one single moment as he took turn upon turn; he was probably still donning that blood-chilling grin he had as soon as the soldiers managed to put iron cuffs around Killian's arm and wrist. It was no surprise he had special plans for them. They passed by several cells, empty and otherwise, but Gold only stopped as soon as they reached a heavy steel door. Gold unlocked it and stepped inside.

"Move," the soldier behind them said.

Killian walked in and immediately stopped, not even being brought back by Nemo colliding with him.

The room opened into a cavernous underground chamber, with a wooden cross proudly standing up in its center. It didn't take long to imagine who was going for it.

"Move!"

With a quiet gasp, Killian turned to take the stairs to the chamber floor, eyes not leaving the cross. He had specifically heard about crucifixion being a common practice in that place, not surprisingly with someone as sadistic as Commander Gold in charge.

But crucifixion was supposed to be... for the public, to instill fear by humiliating criminals - or their idea of them - as much as possible. This cavern looked empty, and private.

It was Gold's very own torture chamber.

Gold was indeed still smiling when Killian and Nemo reached him. Picking up a loaded crossbow from a trunk, he nodded at the soldier, who unlocked the men's cuffs.

"Dismissed," Gold said, and the soldier simply nodded and walked off.

It was certainly not the first time this was happening.

"Let's not stall, shall we?" Gold said and pointed at something behind the cross.

"So that's it?" Killian tried. "We get to be executed in private and then thrown into a mass grave? What's the lesson learned in that case?"

"Oh don't worry, your friend over there will hang. The question is if you'll survive everything I've planned for you to even get that far. Now, lower the cross, if you please."

Killian finally turned to see a wooden, hand-operated winch right behind the cross. Two parts of rope reached from it to the edges of the long crossbeam, making clear what its use was for. He looked at Nemo, realizing that despite how horrible Gold's methods were, they had no chance of actually getting help. If anything, everyone there probably already knew about those methods and was helping him.

Nemo started moving to join him, but Gold immediately raised the crossbow at him, saying, "The demand was aimed at the pirate. Don't worry, I have plenty of those for you too."

"Just let me help him-"

"You will."

Killian simply nodded at Nemo, trying to inspire a confidence he knew he didn't have anymore. It was obvious who was going up on that cross, but still he tried to focus on simply lowering it out of fear his only hand would tremble too much if he thought what awaited him. When the cross was down, he had nothing else to think of.

Resting the crossbow on his shoulder, Gold stared at him. "Those clothes on you look heavy," he said. "Trust me when I say your arms will thank you if you get rid of all of them."

Killian knew he didn't just mean the heavy leather parts, but still he hoped, as he started undressing with a now certainly trembling hand, that he would let him hold on to some dignity.

Surprisingly, he did.

"Your shirt, too. Keep the underpants, if you will."

Oh, he very much willed. He found himself grabbing at the thin fabric as Gold walked back to the trunk and brought back two pieces of thick rope.

He gave them to Nemo, saying, "Not too tight, or he'll lose the other hand too. And not too loose, or he'll slip and fall face down."

"No nails, then?" Killian said, his weak voice surprising him.

"Can't take the chance of infection so early in the game, can I? Now." He pointed at the cross.

Killian turned, a sudden feeling of nausea overcoming him at the thought of actually doing it, lying down on it as Nemo tied his arms around the beams, then being raised up...

"Any time, now," Gold said.

Killian looked at them. Gold had the crossbow at the ready again, while Nemo looked at him with a devastated expression. Killian swallowed hard. He had no idea how he was supposed to do it. Would he slip before Nemo would tie him down? Where exactly should he place himself?

His breath getting heavier, he lied down on the cross. The wood under him was lean, but for him it could just as well be full of prickling thorns. His hand was visibly shaking as he spread his arms over the vertical beam. Eventually, his placing seemed to satisfy Gold, who then nodded at Nemo to get working.

None of the two could look at each other; Nemo was only looking where he was tying the rope and Killian was looking up at the stone ceiling, barely able to control his erratic breathing.

"That'll do," Gold said. "Now, the other arm, bend his elbow and tie the rope around it so the arm won't slip off. I had plenty of chances to try this one out on criminals, in case I would capture this bastard right here. His defect requires special measures."

"Defect?!" Killian huffed. "You bastard... you... it was you..."

Gold didn't even need to raise the crossbow at him; Killian knew he was too scared to make an effective comeback and go any close to winning an argument with him right now. Nemo's presence over him and the looming threat of his death as well, all because he only wanted to help Killian, only made it worse.

"He's all set. Pull him up."

Keeping his chin locked now, in an effort to stop it too from trembling, he felt his stomach turn as the cross started to move. Not even halfway up, Killian started slipping until his toes reached a small protrusion, barely wide enough for the balls of his feet to rest and alleviate some of the weight he already felt pulling at his wrist and elbow. The cross was secured, but to Killian it felt like it was still going and would keep going until he'd land on his face and get crushed by the heavy wood over him.

Concentrate. Look clearly. This can't be how it would end... Gold said so anyway.

Through blurred vision he saw Nemo step in front of the cross, Gold aiming at him again. His feet slipped from the protrusion and as he fell a little lower he realized he couldn't breathe. Struggling, his feet finally found the rest again and he managed to drag himself up a bit.

"Exactly," Gold said. "Keep your feet on that piece of wood and you'll be able to keep breathing."

"How long will you leave him like this?" Nemo said in a low voice.

"That'll depend on you." Gold reached into a pocket and produced an emblem and a small sachel. "Show this emblem to the guards, tell them you're to go buy me the best hazelnuts you can find in the market. The guards have been informed about it. Find me the best hazelnuts, buy them and come running back. If I'm satisfied, you can take him down."

Nemo only gave Killian a quick look, then he ran out without a second word.

"Don't come back," Killian whispered, only realizing Nemo had left after the words were out.

Despite having joined Nemo in trading to many ports, even of this town, he always had to hide due to his known past as a pirate, so he never had the chance to roam around the cities they visited. He had no idea how long it would take Nemo to reach the market, find what Gold wanted, then come running back.

He shouldn't come back. Nemo only wanted to help him... he'd only let him hide in his ship until Killian could secure a pardon for himself, as shallow and fake it would be. Nemo shouldn't pay the price for wanting to help a wayward soul.

But he knew he would come back, no matter what. He looked at Gold, sitting down on a chair and resting his feet on another as he chewed on something and looked at Killian, and he knew that would be his plan until the time for their hanging would come.

Gold kept looking at him like some form of entertainment - which it probably was, for him - smirking every time Killian's feet slipped from the wooden rest and he found himself unable to inhale as his chest tightened, his whole weight pulling down on his wrist and elbow, until he could find his footing again, taking him longer and longer to do so as time passed.

He'd once dislocated his left shoulder during a battle. Though it'd been long since then, he still remembered the haunting, popping sound as the bones disjointed, and even years after he'd recuperated, with any sudden and brute pull he had a small fear it would dislocate again.

That was such a case. Every time he slipped and felt his weight shock his already pained joints, he feared but expected to hear that damn pop from either shoulder. His wondering over whether that was Gold's plan in the first place was quickly drowned out by his need to find the protrusion again and breathe.

He hadn't felt his courage wane so quickly before; he'd normally stare down at Gold, ignoring his own pain and humiliation and even hunger at the sight of him eating while enjoying the view. Now that seemed simply impossible. If anything, Killian couldn't stop thinking that if he allowed himself to die there, Nemo would run back anyway and give himself up for nothing.

He had to stay alive long enough, or until Nemo could manage to put himself over Killian for once. Killian was a dead man anyway; Nemo could get away.

Killian closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the damned wood to alleviate his aching neck and focusing on keeping his feet balanced on the small platform, his very own lifeline. He didn't even have the strength to open them when he heard the massive steel door open. Still, a tear squeezed through as he head what undoubtedly was Nemo running down the steps and reaching Gold, sounding breathless.

"Took you long enough," Gold said and Killian finally opened his eyes. Gold stood up, calmly taking a sachel from Nemo's trembling hand, opening it and tasting a nut.

Even from the distance, Killian saw Gold make an unimpressed face, and immediately felt his eyes fill with tears. If he wasn't satisfied-

"Certainly not the best you could find, but I'll take it."

Killian allowed himself a sigh of relief, but no relaxing. He still needed to stay upright until Nemo took him down, though considering how even now he ran to the winch and turned it quickly, his worry wasn't needed. Soon enough the cross was flat on the ground again and Killian whimpered as his pained muscles were finally relieved of the stress. However, as Nemo moved to untie the ropes, Gold said,

"No." Pointing the crossbow at him, Gold nodded to an arch at a wall on Killian's right.

With a devastated look, Nemo gave one last glimpse at Killian, then went where Gold ordered. Killian heard their footsteps, then a door opening and closing, then opening and closing once more. This time only Gold came back.

"Where is he?" Killian whispered, too weak to speak normally yet.

"In a cell. It's not the best, but it's way better than what I've planned for you." He set the crossbow down, then bent down next to Killian and untied the ropes.

Killian clenched his teeth to avoid whimpering again as he moved his aching arms, bringing them closer to his torso.

"There," Gold said and put a flask in Killian's hand.

The flask was corked. Killian felt he could barely move his arm, let alone hold it up so he could drink. With groans escaping his mouth, he managed to bring the flask closer, then bite the cork between his teeth and pull it off. Still groaning, he raised the flask to his lips. Half of the water had spilled down his chin by the time he emptied it.

With a weak sigh, he leaned on his side, getting himself off the damned crossbeam and onto the stone floor. His hopes of Gold leaving him to rest there were quickly drowned as he walked to stand above him, crossbow in hand.

"Take your time, sonny boy. Get up when you feel like it."

He wasn't sure of his ability to walk right now; the balls of his feet still hurt from spending the past half hour or so balanced on a rest too small for both of them or struggling to stay on said rest. Still, Gold's stare felt as another form of torment, and if he could end it by dragging himself to his cell, no matter how dark or wet or uncomfortable, so be it.

For half a second, he considered crawling there. He was surprised that his first objection was that his arms hurt too much for him to crawl and not how humiliating it would be, to top off this evening's punishment.

He still had to get up, however, and while usually he was agile enough to get up from the floor without the use of his hands or arms if needed, this was out of the question now. So preparing himself, he leaned on his right elbow, let out an involuntary scream and pushed himself to a sitting position. It was then he didn't know what to do with his arms; even their own weight felt too much to let them loose on his sides, but tensing the muscles even just to keep them close to his torso hurt too.

Taking a deep breath, he considered the chance of a private cell, if Gold would give him that. Unless Gold was aiming to prolong the torture he'd just gone through, the chances were that wherever or whatever his cell was, he would be able to lie down, and that would be the best for his arms now. So with another deep breath, he pushed himself to stand, staggered a few steps as he found his balance, then raised his eyes to Gold's.

"Can I have my clothes back?" he said.

Gold laughed. "I suppose you could call it that." He then picked a small sackcloth from the ground next to him and threw it over Killian's head. "Can't have you chit-chatting about where exactly your cell is to your friend, can I?"

Killian then felt something sharp against his bare back. Realizing it was probably the bolt loaded on the crossbow, he heard Gold say,

"Now move. Let's see if you can still walk straight with that thing over your head..." He then felt the bolt push a little harder, and Gold's voice loud against his ear as he said, "Or if you'll need a collar to help guide you."

Feeling his blood freeze, Killian took a few tentative steps forward, feeling even more helpless at how the bolt's sharp end never left his back. Judging by what little he could see through the sackcloth, they walked through a darker room - probably through the arc he saw Gold take Nemo earlier. Or a corridor, from the feels of it. Gold grabbed his shoulder, and Killian hissed back a scream as Gold turned him briskly to the right.

"Forward," Gold said.

A turn to the left and another to the right later, Gold told him to stop. Killian heard something heavy being dragged across the stone floor, then a groan left him as Gold unexpectedly kicked him behind the knees, making him drop down on them. The cloth was lifted from his head, and adjusting to the little light he saw a hole in the stone wall that couldn't be bigger than a few feet in any dimension. A putrid smell of human waste came out from it.

"This will be your cell," Gold said. "It's dark and wet and barely any fresh air comes in, I hope you'll enjoy pretending to be a fungus for the night."

Killian swallowed hard; he wasn't going to avoid crawling, after all. Despite that, he turned to look at Gold. His sickening smile didn't waver for a second. His mind reeling from exhaustion and pain, he decided to keep his mouth shut lest he humiliated himself any further, and walked on his knees through the opening. As soon as he was inside, without a warning, the dragging sound was heard again and Killian was in complete darkness.

Letting out a whimper, he lowered himself on the ground as slowly and with as little help of his arms as he could. He had at least enough space to stretch - not that he could stretch a lot, but he felt he'd appreciate it when, or if, he fell asleep. The stench became even worse, now with the entrance blocked, but hell, he'd spent nearly his whole life on ships, he was used to falling asleep with such foul smells surrounding him. The only thought that scared him was that he'd probably have to contribute to the stench with his own waste... in complete darkness.

Deciding he'd give himself some time as soon as he woke up to explore his cell for any corner he could do just that, he closed his eyes and for the first time since being captured that day, he allowed his body to relax completely.

[prorevenge]

Buddy, You Picked the Wrong Person to Harass

The year was 2014 (or maybe 2013? who gives a shit?), and I was a freshman in high school. On a general basis it sucked. I mean, it was an American public high school with literally thousands of kids, it's a given that it's gonna blow some major balls. One thing in particular that made it extra sucky though was gym class. Specifically, this one guy in gym class.

This dude's name was Jack A. McGee, the 'A' of course being short for 'Ass'. As the name would imply, he was a jackass.

At first, it was pretty standard "high school guy in gym class"-level of obnoxious prick. You know the type: overly loud, unreasonably aggressive during games, bossy, tossing the collective brain cell back and forth between his two equally ape-like buddies. The usual.

I don't know when, exactly, it happened, but he developed a sort of... eye for me, after the first couple of weeks or so. He started asking me bizarre questions that I now believe may have been some sort of innuendo, sitting uncomfortably close to me, resting his hand on my gym shoe- general creepy behavior.

He once blocked a doorway with his body (this dude was massive), forcing me to literally squeeze my way through and crawl over him. He then tried to grab me and pin me to him once I was almost through, but I'm very good at dodging physical contact whenever possible, and dipped on him before his giant gorilla arm could catch me. I still shudder thinking about it. I cannot emphasize enough how terrible this dude smelled.

But the true breaking point came during the peak cruelty of this school mandated sadism: gym swim.

Before anyone asks, let it be known that yes, I did try to tell someone about this. I told my gym teacher first semester, really early on, that Jack was making me incredibly uncomfortable. The gym teacher waved it off, saying he was "just playing around" and that "it's probably because he likes you". His suggestion was basically to just put up with it and wait it out, because he was sure Jack would lose interest soon anyways.

Spoiler alert: he didn't

Second semester rolls around, and the four week period of gym swim descends upon us like the bloated carcass of a catapulted whale, crushing us beneath its wet, foul smelling body. 40 some odd adolescents forced into a cold, overly chlorinated pool for 50+ minutes, adorned in swimsuits determined to crawl up into our assholes like Antman himself.

It was hell on earth, basically.

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I am autistic, so the echoing sounds, reflected fluorescent lights, pungent odors, slimy floors, and assorted BS made the situation even worse for me. I wasn't officially diagnosed yet, so my complaints were written off as me being whiny, and I was told to shut up and deal with it. So I did. I think I had more meltdowns in that four week span than I've had in the past two years combined, but whatever.

On top of the sensory overload, there was Jack.

I think something about being allowed to go shirtless and stare at the nearly bare asses of girls for an entire period emboldened him, because Jack promptly lost whatever semblance of restrain he'd had until then.

He made frequent attempts to grab me, trying to hold me against his bare skin, which was disgusting, and I spent most of the class trying to evade him. The swimsuit I was forced to wear fit a little awkwardly around my chest, which he delighted in pointing out to his buddies, staring unabashedly at my breasts. He managed to sneak up behind me and snap the strap of my swimsuit, even trying to pull it down off my shoulder, but I jerked away fast enough to prevent that. I was furious at this point, but I'm like, 5'2", maybe, whereas he was easily over 6'5", probably 300+ pounds, and I'm not stupid.

While all of this was happening, my new gym teacher, (they switched every semester), was busy trying to keep a couple of the other guys from drowning each other. She was one adult forced to watch over 40 rowdy ass kids in a swimming pool; she was a bit preoccupied.

The final straw came one Wednesday afternoon, the event that finally pushed me off the edge of the rationality I'd been clinging to and sent me plummeting into full on bloodthirst.

There I was, paddling around, minding my own business, when Jack and his two goons manage to corner me. I'm immediately suspicious, hackles raised, as they ask me fairly banal questions about how the pool is today and the like, sniggering the whole time. I give short, terse answers, trying to see if I could maybe slip past them. I spot an opening and bolt for it, but Jack was apparently expecting this.

As I swim through the narrow gap between him and one of his friends, he stretches his arm out, and actually manages to slip his hand under my suit to grab my breast. I froze for a moment, the delighted giggling of him and his friends echoing in my ears as if from a thousand miles away.

The next thing I knew, I was out of the pool, being held back by the gym teacher, and Jack had a bloody nose. He was shouting angrily at me, calling me a "crazy bitch!!" as his nose gushed blood into the water. There was mass confusion among the class. I was told to change quickly and sit in the hallway.

Apparently, the gym teacher had heard me screech like a banshee, followed by a number of shouts, and had looked over to see me wrestle out of Jack's grip, jump on his back, and throw him off balance enough to smash his face into the edge of the pool wall. I remembered none of this, but I did find a few chunks of greasy brown hair clenched in my fist that I'd evidently ripped from his scalp when the teacher pulled me off. I washed my hands thoroughly.

It was decided that I'd go in early to school tomorrow to have a little talk with the Dean. They would've just sent me there straight away, but gym was my last class of the day, and the Dean had already left by then for whatever reason, so it had to be postponed a little while. It was pretty heavily implied that I was going to be suspended, quite possibly even expelled, for what had happened.

I was furious. Not only had Jack made my life a living hell, but his horse shit was now going to be the cause of my expulsion?!? I wasn't about to go down without a fight, but I realized that I'd have to play this pretty smart if I wanted to weasel out of it.

The next morning, I did two things: I put on mascara, and I made a superficial, but rather painful incision on my right thigh, high enough so as to be covered by my shorts.

Normally, I hate wearing makeup, because I don't like the way it feels, but I'd worn mascara before and noticed the interesting effect it had on my appearance. Specifically, I already have pretty long, pretty dark eyelashes, so adding mascara draws a lot of attention to my eyes and makes them look huge. Like, total Bambi eyes- wide, innocent, naive, harmless.

I sat down in front of the Dean at 6:40 a.m. I didn't need to fake the fear in my expression, but I made sure to throw in something that could be interpreted as guilt, too, bowing my head and twisting my face in dismay.

Needless to say, the Dean was pretty pissed.

"Do you know why you're here, young lady?" he said

"Yes," I said softly.

"And you know that what you did is very serious?"

"Yes," I said again, making my voice tremble.

"Care to explain yourself, then?"

"I..." I began, my voice shaking. "I just wanted him to stop..."

"Stop what?" The Dean prompted, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I just wanted him to stop touching me!" I blurted. As I said this, I reached my hand under the table where he couldn't see it and dug my finger into the cut on my leg, causing me to lurch forward as if in a sob, my other hand covering my face as my eyes watered from the pain.

"Touching you?" The Dean asked, his brows now on a collision course for Mars.

I spent the next several minutes divulging all the shit that had happened to me that year, digging into my injury for some tears whenever necessary, and by the end of it the Dean looked horrified. He reaffirmed that no, I shouldn't have attacked Jack like that, but that they'd have to investigate the matter further.

I basically got off with a slap on the wrist, and after multiple testimonies from other girls, Jack got suspended for two weeks. I wasn't satisfied. They hadn't been able to expel him due to "lack of hard evidence", but I was out for blood.

He returned to school two weeks later, and I was ready.

One of his friends had a little brother in my bio class, a fairly chill dude named Owen, who I had worked out a deal with. See, Jack had been very vocal about his displeasure with me to his friends, which made its way to Owen, who, for the low low price of bailing his dumb ass out in biology, was more than willing to share that information with me. I had a direct pipeline.

Anything Jack shared with his friends made its way directly to me via Owen, and, as it turns out, this dude didn't keep a whole lot to himself.

There was a lot of shit I was tempted to nail him for. For instance, I found out he was selling drugs (mostly adderal and some occasional weed) from his locker, and had been cheating his way through most of his classes. However, I knew how suspicious it would look for me to report something like that so soon. It'd probably just look like I had a grudge, (which I did), and was trying to get even, (which I was).

He slipped up really, really bad about a week after his return, and that was when I struck.

See, he hadn't been subtle about his displeasure with my retaliation, and spent most of gym class sending really ugly looks my way. The gym teacher kept us as far away from each other as possible, but he managed to track me down in a passing period one day and rant at me about how I had screwed him over and that I was a lying little bitch, yada yada yada, and that he'd make me regret it. Funny, stole the words right out of my mouth.

I found out from Owen later that Jack had been bragging to his friends last night about the switchblade he'd stolen from one of those hunting stores downtown, and promised he'd show it off to them later that day.

I seized the opportunity.

I took a few seconds in the bathroom mirror, scratching at the scab on my leg until my eyes were teary enough to really sell the "terrified victim" look, then bolted down to the Dean's office, stuttering and shaking, crying out for help. The front desk lady was understandably startled by the sight of a seemingly panicked freshman girl bolting into the office, and called the Dean out right away. His face grew serious when he saw me.

"M-Mr. Dean, please help! He's gonna kill me!" I cried.

"Now, slow down," he said. "What happened?"

"Jack!" I said, resisting the urge to grin maniacally at the hardness that appeared in the Dean's eyes. "He, he cornered me in the hall! He called me a bitch and said he was gonna make me regret telling on him! H-he's got a knife!!"

"He what?!" The Dean barked.

Everything moved very quickly after that. The security guards were told to search the kids locker, while a couple other security officers were called down to get Jack out of his classroom and take him to the office. I was told by the front desk lady, who had heard the whole exchange, to hide with her in the copier room so Jack wouldn't see me.

They found the (stolen) knife in his backpack, and the drugs in his locker. That, combined with his previous charges, was enough to get him not only expelled, but arrested. I never saw him again, which is probably a good thing because I'm still mad and would probably try to kill him if given the opportunity.

TL;DR: Guy sexually harasses me in gym class, I give him a bloody nose, a two week suspension, an expulsion, and a criminal record, all in that order.

(source) story by (/u/FeralTaxEvader)

[k-renne]

HELPLESSNESS BLUES - CRACK UP

Your mother always told you to stay away from wolves, wolves like the Logan family who always seemed to be up to no good. It was only natural as a local farmer, you had to protect your livestock. Farmers just weren’t in the company of befriending werewolves.

A/N: This chapter has some heavy angst and then smut, with some abo nonsense

“What do you think they’re up to by now?”Jimmy said to Mellie. 

“Oh, I don’t think that’s something I want to imagine. Those two are probably gonna be at it all night.” 

Jimmy laughed, “Yeah, I did not miss the way he was looking at her. Did I tell you how many boxes of tissues we’ve gone through in the past month?” He shook his head. 

Mellie cringed, “That I definitely don’t wanna know.” 

“He seems so much happier, I’m real happy he found someone.” Jimmy grins. 

“Me too, but farmgirl’s family does worry me.”

He let out a heavy sigh, “Yeah, they could be a problem.” 

Back at the farm you had locked yourself up in your room, you refused to talk to your father and your mother who had driven up as soon as she heard the news. You were much more focused with the window, the dark trees under the moon. The farm didn’t seem to matter to you tonight, you just wanted Clyde to be safe. And that meant he had to stay away, at all costs. 

You knew he would come for you, but so did your father. He made you a cruel promise, Clyde could stand outside your window for as long as he liked but the moment you made any attempt to go to him he’d meet a bullet. 

“Mother you can’t let him do this,” You tried to appeal to her reason. 

“I will not let my daughter go off with a monster, honey you were supposed to find and marry a nice boy. A human. This is all for your own good, you’ll see that someday.” She kept her tone even as she explained it to you. 

No, I won’t. You thought to yourself. 

No matter what, Clyde would be hurt. You could risk it all but pay the ultimate price. You just couldn’t see it working out, the least you could do is keep him safe. You owed him that much. 

Tonight you felt like a little girl again, trapped and powerless. Your independence stripped from you. That feeling crushed you as you waited for Clyde, sitting by the window and wiping tears from your face. 

It was midnight when you heard rustling in the trees, Clyde walking out from the treeline in just a pair of pants. Faintly you could see two other werewolves in the background, their eyes glowing like fireflies in the dark. You hated that they’d have to witness this. 

He had that same longing look in his eyes when he walked up to your window, they were warm and wide with hope, happy to see that you seemed mostly okay. You started to cry again, he came much closer. You clasped your hand over your mouth to muffle your sob, shaking your head. 

When you opened the window Clyde smiled up at you, “Sweetheart please, s’gonna be okay. We’re gonna get ya outta here,” He nodded. 

You didn’t understand how he could get close like this, leave himself so exposed to danger at a moments notice. And still he was comforting you. Couldn’t he see? “No,” You gasped. “Don’t get any closer.” It felt so painful just to say those words, unable to suppress your whimpers as you spoke.

He stopped in his tracks, a deep frown on his face. He looked back to the forest briefly, before turning back to you. His voice was thick with emotion, “But I have to farmgirl, ya can’t stay here. S’not safe.” He shook his head. “And I’d never get to see ya...I can’t do that sweetheart. I need ya to be safe. I need to know that you’re safe.” 

You smiled, but your eyes were full of tears. “And it won’t be safe if I leave Clyde, I can’t be with you.” Your voice was shaky and emotional as you spoke. 

Clyde took a step back, as if he was wounded. He felt his heart break at your words. It only lasted for a moment before he turned angry, it wasn’t right for you to be saying such things. You didn’t know what safe meant. He growled low, “You don’t have to be with me sweetheart but I will not be lettin’ ya stay here. Not with a family that don’t even love ya the way they should.” 

You hiccuped as more tears fell, your vision blurry. But you had made your choice already. “No, I won’t go Clyde.” You couldn’t. 

Clyde pressed his lips in a thin line, his nostrils flaring. “I didn’t come here to argue about this, ain’t no time for that.”

He was walking closer, no! “Please Clyde, don’t-you can’t come any closer,” You pleaded. 

He wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t listening, a determined expression on his face as he began to climb up to your window. You shut your eyes for just a moment, trying to think. As a last resort you closed your window, latched it shut. Maybe, now he’d listen. 

His eyes were so sad when he was met with glass, your back turned to him. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, hot breath fogging up the window. “Please,” He begged you. 

The cock of a shotgun turned his attention away from you, there below him your father and a few men stood with guns. “Boy you best get off of my property and away from my daughter before I shoot, can’t ya see she doesn’t want ya?” He tilted his head, aiming his gun. 

Clyde’s breath caught in his throat, he felt sick to his stomach. He stumbled off to the treeline drunkenly, defeated. He was met with the open arms of his siblings, their commiserating howls filling the night air. 

After that night Clyde had tried to call you, reach you in anyway but you couldn’t bare to speak to him. He tried visiting the farm too, but each time it was heavily guarded and new trespassing signs on the property kept him away. One day he gave up trying to call you, he hated talking on the phone anyways. Never had the courage to leave a message, he just wanted to hear your voice. 

Eventually it was time for you to move on, not just from a failed attempt at farming, but from what felt like a horrible break up. You had some money saved up, so it was time for you to leave Boone County behind and leave behind the pain of your past. Maybe one day you’d have a farm again, but next time you wanted to do it completely on your own, somehow. 

There was nothing left for you in Boone county. 

It took Clyde a lot longer to pick himself back on his feet, because that feeling never really goes away. Not with you. He started learning how to bartend and it was going okay, at least work was a good distraction. He never really imagined himself owning a bar. At one point he even got himself landed in prison, but that all was part of the plan. 

Years later you’re back in Boone county for a friends wedding, it hurts to be here. So much that you feel like you need to get a drink just after the first day being back. Regrets weighed heavy on your heart. 

Duck Tape, what a strange name for a bar, yet so fitting for Boone County. Some things never seem to change.

“Farmgirl,” Clyde’s eyes widened. He knew he smelled something familiar, something sweet. But he thought his mind was just playing tricks on him. 

“Clyde-” Of course you’d run into him here, the one person who could reel you right back in to the place you were so desperately trying to leave. 

“Are you alright sweetheart?” He asked you, his voice soft. Seeing you now made him forget all his heart ache, because his only concern was you and he could tell you were hurting.

You felt your eyes water, you sniffled as you tried to fight back tears. “I’ll be okay,” You quickly rubbed away a tear. Laughing as you tried to smile. 

He felt intense frustration seeing your pain, knowing that your parents probably caused it. How long had you been suffering like this? It made him angry, he didn’t even feel it as his fist slammed down on the bar counter, jaw clenching. The other patrons stared at him but he didn’t care. 

“We need to talk,” He gritted out. You knew you couldn’t avoid conversation this time. So you nodded. 

“Okay Clyde.” His first question was where you had been, all this time. 

“I never even knew that you left, all this time.” Clyde let out a heavy sigh. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I tried to talk to ya, I knew you were upset but I just needed to know that you were okay. Almost got myself arrested one time, surprised they didn’t get a restraining order on me.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t make that any easier. But it was so hard, I-you were in danger Clyde. I did what I did to keep you safe.” You justified. 

“Keep me safe?” He raised his voice, his eyes going wide. He huffed in frustration, he knew that your fears weren’t unfounded but still he wished that you trusted him more than that. To protect you. The alpha in him ached. “That was supposed to be my job sweetheart, I-we would’ve been fine. You just had to trust me.” 

You frowned, you could see now how much your actions hurt him. You didn’t think he deserved to go through this again, you pulled away. “I should go Clyde.” 

Clyde’s hand shot out to grab your wrist, growling at you. “Stay.” He demanded in a harsh tone. When you stopped pulling away his features softened, “Please farmgirl, stay tonight.” His brown eyes were pleading, burning with a familiar longing. 

“Stay where?” You asked. You were planning on staying at a motel, but you didn’t know what he meant exactly. 

“With me,” He said, blushing. He didn’t mean for it to come out forward. “Ah, ya don’t have to…” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away shyly. “I just miss ya that’s all.” 

You smiled at Clyde, for him you felt like you’d do anything if he asked. “Okay.” You nodded. 

Something about walking into Clyde’s humble little trailer felt like home, it felt warm. You felt your heart race just thinking about how he actually lived here. 

“Sorry if it’s a little messy, don’t usually have company,” Clyde cringed, seeing the empty beer bottles and pizza container, a pair of socks on the floor. But if anything it was a relief to you, it was surprising to you that he wasn’t married by now because he always seemed like the type. Even after all this time, a deep part of you still wanted to be with him. 

“That’s alright,” You reassured him. 

Clyde gave you a strange look. He was panicking, he had you in his home and it was his idea to ask you to stay but now he had no idea what to do with you. And he didn’t even have a place for guests to sleep, he was fucked. At least he could try to pretend like he knew what he was doing, he turned on the lamp next to the couch. “Would ya like somethin’ to drink farmgirl?” 

“Clyde, I haven’t worked on a farm in years.” You said in a strained voice. You had to tell him; the truth weighed heavy on you.

“Sorry, it’s an old habit I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck. You only noticed now that his left arm was different, made out of metal with fingers that looked like they could actually move. You briefly wondered how he got it, you were happy for him though. It’s what he deserved. 

“It’s okay, you can still call me whatever you like,” You softly smiled at him. He was blushing, again. Thankful too because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop calling you that. 

You sat on the couch next to Clyde, each of you with a beer in hand. There was distance between you that you were hesitant to close. You longed for the closeness that you used to have with him, to kiss him again. 

“So um, what have you all been up to lately?” You asked him. 

Clyde thought about it for a moment, he didn’t feel like anything all too important had happened in the time you were gone. Sure, there was the recent heist he helped Jimmy pull off, but he’d rather not get into that one. “Jimmy got divorced,” He said bitterly. 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” 

“Yeah but he’s with this other girl now, Sylvia. Must make him happy cause I don’t see him much without her, and he’s got his daughter too in Lynchburg.” 

“What about Mellie?” You missed her too, you felt like you had missed so much. And you liked listening to his voice. 

“Mel’s with this guy Joe Bang, and I don’t know about him. But she seems happy, I guess.” Clyde looked off in the distance as he talked. 

You frowned, “But are you happy?” 

Clyde felt a breath catch in his chest, he should be happy. He had more cash than he knew what to do with, the bar was successful, his family was doing well and he had this fancy new arm. He let out the breath he was holding, “I’m doing just fine sweetheart.” 

You laughed, “Now you sound like me.” 

“But you lost everything, your farm, your family-” 

“And you,” You added, interrupting him. You were smiling but your eyes were sad. 

Clyde pressed his lips together in a line. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he took a long sip of his beer as he tilted his head back. He felt your soft hand on his arm, the heat of your body as you moved to sit flush against him. It was too much, after all this time. The longing he had for you came right back in droves, while for years he had tried to push those feelings away his mind was screaming at him. Mate.  

Your hand was on his chest now and he felt his cock twitch to life, “Sweetheart-” You had to stop touching him like this, he could feel himself spiralling into need. “-Please don’t.” He begged you. 

“I’m sorry,” You rested your forehead against his shoulder. “I missed you too.” 

Clyde hissed, feeling his cock painfully harden, “Ah it hurts.” He groaned. 

“What? Are you alright?” You asked, concerned. 

Oh his face had to be so read, it was too embarrassing to say. “Uh, s’been a long time for me. And my kind-we get sensitive,” Clyde grunted as you squeezed his chest. You were trying to comfort him, but your touch was doing something else entirely. 

“I don’t understand.” You said, shaking your head. 

“Werewolves need touch, in certain places. I...it’s been so long since anyone’s touched me.” His voice was throaty as he explained. He didn’t know why he was telling you this, letting his dirty shame spill right from his lips. He wasn’t meant to be alone the way he had been, but he didn’t really want to be with anyone else but you. It just felt wrong to even try. 

That was when you looked down, noticing the large bulge of Clyde’s cock straining in his shorts. Oh gosh, the realization hit you with arousal. Seeing that made you feel tingly, his flushed cheeks and needy expression. 

“I can touch you.” You resumed your ministrations, lazily tracing the buttons on his shirt. 

“Farmgirl, please don’t feel bad. I don’t need anyone’s pity, especially not from you sweetheart.” He shook his head. 

“But Clyde, I want to touch you.” You admitted. 

“Hmm?” Your words didn’t quite register with him. But your hand continued to drift lower until you were palming his bulge in your hand. 

“Ah sweetheart-” Clyde panted. “At least lemme kiss you.” 

His hand tilted your chin up for easy access as he planted a soft kiss across your lips. The first kiss was soft, but as you kissed him back with years of pent up passion his own mouth grew hungry as it seeked yours. The taste of beer still on his tongue as you moaned into his mouth, just kissing him made you feel on fire. You remembered what you were doing as you continued to rub and tease him through his pants. 

You felt the vibrations of his chest as he growled lowly, arm pulling you closer to him. “Feels so good farmgirl,” He huffed. And he wasn’t just talking about your hand over his cock, holding you this close felt good too. You smelled so sweet, and his own scent was getting all over you. He needed more, Clyde nosed down your cheek to breathe in your scent against your neck, kissing and sucking the skin into his hot mouth. You let out a sweet little moan and Clyde pressed his lips harder against your skin. This felt like happiness. 

You huffed in frustration as you tried to undo Clyde’s pants and free his cock, the button pulled taut by the size of his bulge. “Ah lemme do it,” He moved your hand out of the way, freeing his cock with ease. He sighed at the relief, tension dropping in his shoulders. 

He looked even bigger now, his cock heavy as you gently gripped him in your hand. “Fuck,” Clyde cursed at your touch, his cock drooling onto your hand. 

“Oh,” That was unexpected. You felt the velvety skin of his cock become slick, what a strong reaction to your touch. It was new, but it only served to turn you on. 

“Mmm-sorry, s’a werewolf thing. Makes it easier, s’like a natural lubricant.” Clyde groaned as he apologized, the warmth from your soft hand was doing things to him. It wasn’t normally this bad on his own, maybe because it had been so long. He could only imagine how bad it was gonna be the time his next rut came, ohhhh. His mind went blank as you began to stroke him. 

Clyde’s lips desperately found yours, his hand moving over yours as his kiss made you weak. “Don’t stop, tighter now, faster,” He rasped, showing you with the help of his own hand. 

The sound of his slick cock in your hand along with his lips meeting yours was so arousing you could hardly focus on the task at hand, you wanted to just melt into him and let him take over completely. But he needed this, and you would finish what you started. 

“Not gonna be long now sweetheart,” Clyde warned you. With how deprived he’d been of touch, there’s no way he’d last. He could feel that he was close already, just the thought of cumming all over your hand. One last squeeze of his cock had him spilling hot cum all over your fist, Clyde moaning your name as he threw his head back. You continued to jerk him as his cock throbbed, more cum spurting from the reddened tip. 

He needed to kiss you again, his mouth messily pressing against yours as his hand fisted your hair. His cheeks were red as he pulled back to look at you, lips slightly parted as he panted. He was so grateful, but he knew that a handjob wouldn’t be enough for him, maybe just for tonight. He had cum so much that your hand was coated in him, his mind thought of a few dirty things to do with all that cum but for now he cleaned up his mess.

Clyde looked up at you as kneeled in front of you on the couch, his hand on your thigh. He bent closer to nuzzle between your thighs before your gentle push stopped him. “I need to take care of ya sweetheart, I can smell how wet you are.” He shook his head. To leave you unfinished like this when you just gave him the sweetest relief wasn’t right. 

You just smiled down at him, “Not tonight, it’s pretty late and I’m tired. I know you probably are too Clyde.” 

He nodded okay, he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t want to. He led you to his bedroom, gently taking your hand. “I can let ya borrow some of my clothes to sleep in. I got some old t-shirts.” He said as he began to unbutton his shirt after stepping out of his pants.

“Sounds good to me.” You began to strip and Clyde just gave you this look, his eyes so dark it made you shiver. He quickly looked away as he tried to distract himself by searching in a drawer for something for you to wear. You had seen him naked before, but he had never seen that much skin for you. It was hard to tear his eyes away from someone so gorgeous. He tossed a t-shirt behind him without looking, or else he’d get hard all over again. 

But seeing you in his clothes might just be worse, it made him feel like you were his and the way his shirt barely covered your thighs had him all too pleased. He didn’t feel tired until he laid down, his body feeling like it weighed a ton as soon as he hit the mattress. And with you right against him, so soft and warm, it wasn’t long before Clyde passed out. 

TAGLIST: @thecurlycaptain, @oh-adam, @givemelifeorgiveme,@pastelprintessa, @yuuyamiartist, @magikevalynn, @formerly-anonhamster

[meaninglessblah-writes]

Prompts #200410: straddling their waist + leaning in to whisper with DickTim? Or with JayTim?

I’m sorry this took so long to do. Work flared up and I’m only just getting my bearings again. Thank you for being so patient ♥️ 

Probably not the DickTim union you were hoping for, but I’m trying real hard to keep to the opposed villain/hero rule. (Also thank you for using the code, helped immensely when I was frantically scrabbling to find that list!!). Hope you enjoy it anyway! 

2. Straddling their waist + 4. Leans in close to whisper 

It’s not often that Dick’s intuition steers him wrong. He wouldn’t still be here if he wasn’t able to trust the swoop of his gut before the grapnel caught, or the upswing of the trapeze as he twisted. 

Most people think Dick moves with his heart; but he’s an aerialist, and up in the air, where there’s only feeling between the catch and the crash, there’s nothing left to trust but his gut. It’s steered him through his years as Robin, through his tenure as Nightwing, and now through the mantle of the cowl. 

Dick’s intuition rarely steers him wrong. But he’d moved with his head (he tells himself) or his heart (Dick lies sometimes, even to himself), and he’s paying the price for it. 

He thought- 

He thought. He’d trusted his head, and not his gut. And now there’s a knife buried in it, the hilt slick with his blood. 

Tim’s above him, and Dick’s a little stunned by how much the red of his Robin suit matches the blood slicked up his arms. That, or the bloodloss might be making him dazed, slow to respond. 

When he reaches for the handle, Tim reaches over with his empty hand and shoves Dick’s gloved wrist back to the concrete with a grin. Slides the knife a few crucial inches deeper in reprimand, and Dick sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Tim,” he bleats, low and steady. Not low enough to match Bruce’s gravelly timbre, but Dick’s learning all the tricks that come with the cowl. “What’s wrong?” 

He laughs. Bright and strained and thrumming with rage, and Dick’s gaze skates over the twist of his lips, the sneer on his youthful features, looking for the needle puncture, or the stain of Ivy’s pollen, or- or- 

Tim shifts atop him, angles his hips down so he can drive the air from Dick’s lungs with his weight - and he’d known Tim was older now, bigger now, but he hadn’t noticed. He settles on Dick’s hips, straddling his waist, and his grip doesn’t falter on the knife. 

“I’m not dosed,” he says, and Dick’s gaze flashes up at how steady it is, how matter-of-factual. How he can seem to read his mind behind the lens of the cowl, almost as well as Dick can read bodies. Sometimes Dick thinks Tim can see the future, he’s so prepared. Other times he thinks Tim’s just too stubborn to let fate take them down any other path than his own. 

“Tim,” Dick tries again, winces when the knife scrapes his ribs. 

In his ear, his comm comes online, and Dick hears Damian say, “Batman?” 

“Here, Rob-in!” 

Dick’s wrist twitches in Tim’s grip when he tries to reflexively reach for the knife, the blade that Tim twists maliciously into his side. He flashes a stunned glare up at the teen, catalogues the two places his other arm is broken in, and tries to force his muscle to go lax around the intrusion. 

“Batman,” Damian repeats, an edge of concern to his voice. Dick can hear him moving, presumably running through Riddler’s traps with record timing. 

“Fine,” Dick grits out, holding Tim’s gaze. “I’m fine. Focus on the mission.” 

“The mission,” Tim repeats, a scoff of derision lodged in the back of his throat. “What do either of you know about the mission?” 

“Are you s-” 

“Robin,” Dick growls, and doesn’t miss the flash of loathing in Tim’s gaze this time. Is prepared for the flex of his grip on the knife. “Focus.” 

“How’s Robin handling my riddles?” Tim asks, and Dick’s stomach swoops sharply. 

“Robin,” he says, and knows Damian pauses, hangs off his every word in a way he never did his father’s. “Get out of there. Get out of-” 

His words are garbled in his choke when Tim clamps down on his windpipe, crushes it beneath a steady and sure palm. He hears Damian change course, hears the rush of wind as he takes to the rooftops, and he’s not close, but he has to be able to- 

Tim jerks him up, slams him back down on the concrete in a way that jostles the blade inside him, and Dick groans and focuses. 

“It was me,” Tim hisses, snarls around a mouthful of teeth. “I brought the Batman back. I brought back Robin. That suit is mine, and you gave it away!” 

“Batman,” Damian says again, quick and hurried, and Dick wants to comfort him, wants to reassure him, but Tim’s hand is still on that knife and- 

“Now he’s running around in my outfit,” Tim continues. “And me? ‘Be the bigger man, Tim’. ‘He’s just a kid, Tim, be mature’. ‘It’s just a suit, Tim’.” 

“Tim, I’m sorry,” Dick whispers, but Tim’s already laughing. 

“I don’t want your apology, Dick. You know what I want?” 

Dick groans, and arches around the knife, and hisses, “What? What do you want, Tim?” 

Tim shifts, expression blanking for a moment as he reaches down. Slides his fingers up Dick’s jawline to where his cheekbones meet the hard, smooth exterior of the cowl. Traces the outline of his features like a reverent child. 

When he tugs the cowl from Dick’s head, he doesn’t try to stop him. Doesn’t offer any resistance other than a grunt and a huff of hissed air between his teeth. Holds still and pliant - placating, even now - as Tim leans down close enough to brush his lips on the shell of Dick’s ear. 

He expects a whisper, expects a shout, but all Dick gets is silence. Chilling, tense silence. Almost as if Tim’s waiting. 

He understands why when his comm lights up, and Damian’s voice filters through with a terse, panicked, “Dick?” 

“I want,” Tim whispers, “Robin back.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Damian growls down the line, “Batman, I’m rerouting to your location. Just stay on the-” 

Dick doesn’t hear anymore, because Tim digs the comm out of his ear with blunt efficiency and flicks it across the rooftop. Dick swallows down concern and the first inklings of fear, and wets his lips. Finds himself slipping back into his basics while his pulse runs high. 

Stall and distract until help can arrive, Dick's head says. “Tim, you don’t need to- ngghuh!” 

“Have you ever known me to be distracted?” Tim reminds him bluntly, and Dick switches tacks. 

Sympathize with them; most crime comes from a place of desperation, a cry for help. “I understand how you feel,” Dick tells him evenly. “When I came back to find Jason in my duds, the outfit my parents had given me-” 

“And you did it anyway. You knew what that felt like, and you gave him Robin anyway.” 

He’s hurting, Dick’s heart tells him, he’s scared. “You’re right; I shouldn’t have done it. I know better now. Thank you, Tim, for making me realise. It’s going to be okay. I’m not angry, Tim. I’m just scared for you.” 

“I don’t care,” Tim tells him, and Dick swallows hard. 

Connect with him. “You should care. You’ve done so much for this family, so much for Robin, so much for Batman. And I need,” Dick says, pauses for air. Tries to muster up the tone Bruce used to use on him, has used on all the Robins. “I need you to do one last thing for me.” 

“I’d love to, Dick,” Tim tells him with coy levity. “I really would. One last thing for the Batman. The man I dedicated my entire life to. The ideal I gave up everything for. But there’s just one problem. You know what that is, Dick?” 

“What?” Dick says, prays Damian is close. He’ll be arriving soon, any moment, and he’ll stitch Dick’s wound, and they’ll get him to a hospital, and he’ll- he’ll- 

The glint of Tim’s teeth in the light makes Dick’s heart stall, makes his brain run empty as he holds Dick’s gaze. “I’m not Robin anymore.” 

Then he yanks the knife out, opens the floodgates, and Dick gives him a choked shout for his effort, more startled fear than actual pain. The shock is numbing the wound, but they both know, they’ve both been trained to count the crucial seconds of blood loss. Both over-familiar with the sluggish drip of consciousness fading. 

Pressure, his brain instructs. 

Pressure, his heart agrees. 

You’re going to die, his gut tells him. 

As always, Dick trusts his gut. 

If you want to ask me more questions, check out my list of prompts and quote the 6-digit number in the tags :)