#and then drop another thousand words of thoughts lmao

[lady-harrowhark]

I’m feeling rather validated that you can’t figure out what to do with it either! When I was drafting this I originally had that up in the bullet pointed list of events but then it was just sort of hanging out and I never circled back to it in the remainder of the post, so I took it out lol.

Initially, my thought was just more of the same like you said, continuing the motif. Given that Harrow wears it in a role where she is explicitly representing the Ninth, I’m reading the Chain as emblematic of the Ninth itself, again coming back to Samael and Anastasia.

But as I was stewing on your addition some more, I started thinking about another time we get a specifically named style of skull paint. Earlier on, right before dios apate minor, we get this: “As an act of meaningless rebellion, you applied the sacramental skull of Priestess Crushed Beneath the New-Laid Rock, the least beautiful skull in the canon.” Right off the bat, if the Chain refers to Samael, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think that the Priestess Crushed Beneath the New-Laid Rock might refer to Anastasia. After all, we did last see her body (or at least her bones) inside the Tomb, which she had overseen the new construction of. Especially given how often “the rock” is invoked with regard to the Tomb (e.g., “I pray the Rock is never rolled away,” etc), which one might consider “new-laid” as part of that construction.

Jumping off from that assumption, I wonder if “an act of meaningless rebellion” might be doing some work here. Anastasia’s alliance with Alecto likely fits under the “rebellion” label, and a reference to it would likely be lost on present company, which is to say, meaningless. It’s interesting to see that in conjunction with the rebellion of dios apate minor, in which John’s Lyctors are attempting to undermine him… much like a vow between Alecto and Anastasia would undermine him. Invoking that betrayal at God’s dinner table really would be some top notch pettiness, and I would love that for Harrow.

I don’t really know what to make of this skull being referred to as “least beautiful” in comparison to the Chain being “elegant.” It could be personal preference, I suppose. It could also be more of a public opinion shaped over the thousands of years since. In any case, the specific verbiage links the tools of a devoted and sacrificial cavalier to elegance and betrayal of the Emperor to be unattractive, which is very interesting within the context of the Nine Houses’ culture.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Gideon’s blood and the Tomb. I’ve got two points here that dovetail somewhat…

Let’s review some key events. I realize these probably seem a bit all over the place, but I do believe they come together. I’ve tried to put these in roughly chronological order.

John attempts to consume the soul of the Earth, and then creates a physical body for Alecto: “I ripped half my ribs from my body and made you from the dirt, my blood, my vomit, my bone.”

Ten thousand years later, Gideon and Harrow duke it out. The initial recollection of the fight says that “Harrow had scratched until she’d had half of Gideon’s face beneath her fingernails.” The more candid HtN version has Gideon telling us, “You clawed my face so bad that my blood ran down your hands; my face was under your fucking fingernails.”

Harrow opens the Tomb with Gideon’s (read: John’s) blood on her hands.

Harrow sees Alecto, falls in love with her, and decides to live. 

At some point while in the Tomb, Harrow apparently kisses Alecto: “She hadn’t come on purpose; the scrap of black-eyed meat had asked for it—the chain of a kiss: the ice that burnt the flesh of the mouth that had stuck to the mouth that was frozen.”

At Canaan House, Ianthe ascends and tells the others that step six of the process is to “consume the flesh. Not the whole thing, a drop of blood will do to ground you.”

Harrow’s letter tells her she owes Ianthe “the favour of the chain”, which extends “into the House, but NOT into the Tomb.” The agreement takes precedence over any oaths sworn to others, including John, except for the Holy Corpse.

Harrow kisses Ianthe to inspect her jaw and re-swears the oath.

Harrow’s Nova AU has her retrieving the chain of Samael from the Anastasian. This is considered a sin severe enough that the Reverend Father whips her, but she is allowed to keep the chain. Denied the role of Reverend Daughter, Harrow tells Ortus that she is “the unfulfilled vow and the bloody teeth of the unkissed skull.”

Alecto kisses Harrow, bites her, and recognizes her by her blood - the blood of Anastasia’s line. Alecto tells Harrow that she is very sorry about Samael, and she vows the favour she had promised to Anastasia to Harrow.

We see over and over this theme of consuming another life, whether body or soul: we get two sides of this coin when we compare Gideon’s “All I ever wanted you to do was eat me” to John’s statement that “it’s the human instinct, to take.” Consuming the flesh is, per Ianthe, one of the steps to taking in a cavalier’s soul and becoming a Lyctor, directly paralleling John consuming the Earth, both physically when he eats dirt and spiritually when he takes in her soul. Thus far, though, we don’t know how or if Harrow consumed Gideon’s flesh in the interim between chapters 36 and 37 of GtN. 

But here’s what I’ve been wondering: assuming Ianthe is correct (and telling the truth) about the steps to becoming a Lyctor, to what extent does the order and timing actually matter? I think there’s a distinct possibility that Harrow had consumed Gideon’s flesh years before they even came to Canaan House.

Because Harrow had Gideon’s face under her fingernails. And Harrow bites her nails.

HtN, chapter four:

You held your left hand up before your face, before the light, the even white light with its hot tungsten filaments. The thumbnail was whole and even. Too even? Were you wont to chew your fingernails still, that unattractive tic of your girlhood?

And again in chapter twenty-one:

She took off her gloves, and with the edges of her fingernails - bitten to the quick, and never much help - she started to prise open one wrinkled corner.

If the steps do not have to be completed strictly in order, Harrow may very well have already checked off step six if she were biting her nails with Gideon’s flesh and blood still clinging to them.

The other thing going on here is that we get these repeated connections between chains and favours and kisses. I don’t feel like we have quite all the pieces yet to draw any definitive conclusions, but it seems that the favour of the chain may have something to do with the Reverend Family’s vow to protect the Tomb. Particularly, Harrow describing herself, sans Reverend Daughter title, as “the unfulfilled vow” as she wields the chain of Samael lends itself to this interpretation. I also find it very interesting that this unfulfilled vow is paired with “the bloody teeth of the unkissed skull” given that upon waking, Alecto kisses Harrow, bites her, and draws blood which then allows her to recognize Harrow as one of Anastasia’s descendants.

Before that kiss, though, there was another. Alecto describes being called back by Harrow’s kiss, presumably when she broke into the Tomb as a child. I have to wonder if blood was playing a role here too. Alecto says that Harrow’s flesh stuck on her frozen lips, that the ice burned her. If this kiss also drew blood, it could be that the blood of Anastasia’s line was the key to calling her back. However, there may have been someone else’s blood on Alecto’s lips that day. If Harrow had been biting her nails, which she’d earlier used to claw Gideon’s face, she very well may have had Gideon’s blood in her mouth as well. As John’s daughter, her blood was able to open the Tomb. Was it able to call Alecto as well? Could “the chain of a kiss” be referring to Harrow transferring John’s blood between Gideon and Alecto?

Overall, it seems like we’re circling something akin to a blood oath or living blood ward. The thalergetic nature of blood certainly aligns with the symbolism of life and light that we see connected to the Earth and Alecto, in contrast to the thanergy that John cultivates. Alecto’s physical form is derived from John’s blood, and his power is derived from her soul. If indeed a kiss and a few drops of John’s blood, shepherded into the Tomb by Gideon and Harrow, are enough to call Alecto, I cannot even imagine the pyrotechnics show that we’re in for now that he’s had a run-in with the business end of her sword.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

beautiful mess | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick knows exactly how to comfort you in a moment of insecurity.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, menstruation, fluff, boyfriend!finnick being a cutie patootie, angst, mild hurt/comfort, insecurity, a little overdramatic but it’s cute idc

notes: about to get my period so this is kind of self-indulgent lmao. the number of times I rewrote this is insane. i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

“You know, I think I could pull off one of those long wizard beards,” Finnick said, admiring himself in the bathroom mirror as he shaved down the slight stubble on his jaw. “Those ones that go down to your chest? I could decorate it with little seashells and twine. It’d look hot, don’t you think?”

His playful words didn’t register in your mind.

Frustrated tears threatened to spill as the hairbrush in your hand tugged harshly at the roots of your hair. Nausea was bubbling in your stomach as you stared at your reflection, feeling as though not a single human being in history had ever looked as ugly as you did right now.

“Sweetheart?”

Here you were standing next to a Greek god, meanwhile, your skin was all hot and blotchy, your hair was a tangled mess, and your stomach was aching something awful. Christ, you hated being on your period.

A hard lump was lodged in your throat; you tried to swallow it, but there was no use. Warm tears had already begun to stream down your cheeks. Unable to bear the sight of yourself any longer, you turned away from the mirror. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, a sharp unexpected cramp pierced at your insides, causing your legs to buckle and collapse to the cold tiled floor.

That was the last straw. You just couldn’t hold it in anymore. A disharmony of cries burst from your lips, reverberating around the small room as your shuddering body folded over itself. Curse the Fates for having you been born a girl.

Finnick, now switched to panic mode, quickly dropped to his knees before you, eyes wide and alert.

“Hey, hey!” he said soothingly as his hand moved to rub your back in support, though he wasn’t even sure what he was supporting.

A thousand-and-one distressing thoughts flew through his mind. Had someone died? Were you injured? Were you dying? Obviously, these ideas were a little irrational considering you were just standing next to him a second ago. But seeing the love of his life in pain and not knowing why made him fear the absolute worst.

“Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?”

All you could do was sob in response. You felt pathetic. Stupid, ugly, and pathetic. “How can you—” Another sob left your lips— “stand to look at me?!”

You could feel his hand stop moving which, illogically, made you even more upset.

“What?” he asked quietly. “What do you mean ‘stand to look at you’? Please, sweetheart. Talk to me.”

Finally, you forced yourself to sit up, revealing the tears that streaked your distraught expression. Finnick’s brows scrunched together, almost like he was in pain watching you in such a state of disarray. He tried to think of anything he might’ve done to make you feel this way because, of course, the first thing Finnick Odair would do was blame himself. But nothing came to mind.

Your heavy heart sank—he looked so worried. A part of your brain knew you were overreacting. Justa little bit. It made you feel even more terrible, knowing he was panicked simply because you didn’t like how you looked. Nevertheless….

“I look so ugly!” you cried. “My hair is all knotted, my face is all red and gross, my stomach is cramping, and—and… I’m just a mess!” You buried your face in your hands. “Why are you even with me?”

Shock was an understatement compared to what Finnick felt when those words left your mouth. Never in a million years would he believe someone like you—someone who looked like you—could ever possibly be insecure about their appearance, and now, of all times.

He gently reached out and removed the hands that shielded your face. You attempted to turn away to conceal yourself in shame, in fear that if he got too close, he would discover your flaws and see you the way you saw yourself. But he caught your chin with a single finger and compelled you to meet his gaze.

Yes, your skin was a little red and your eyes were a little bloodshot, but that didn’t mean you looked ugly. In fact, your rosy cheeks glowed with such radiance that the teardrops falling from your crystalline eyes looked like shimmering diamonds. Your lips, which were slightly quivering, were reddened and plump—an alluring contrast to the hue of your skin.

Not that he would say it given the insensitivity and selfishness of admitting such a thought, but he believed you cried quite beautifully.

“Because I don’t think you’re a mess,” Finnick said softly, ironically tucking multiple disordered strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re human, and you don’t need to look or feel perfect all the time. That’s why you’ve got me—I’ll always think the most of you. And when you’re feeling this way, I’ll always remind you so too.”

You tried to allow his compassionate words to seep into your brain, tried to turn his beliefs into your own. However, the storm of emotions inside your mind was refusing to dissipate. The insecurities just wouldn’t subside and Finnick could see it in your glossy eyes.

“Listen to me,” he said, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell across your skin. “Waking up and seeing your gorgeous face next to mine? That’s what gives me the strength to get up every morning. Those imperfections you’re so adamant about? They only make me love you so much more.

I love every part of you. Every so-called flaw, every tangled strand of hair on that pretty little head of yours.” He grinned as he consolingly ran his fingers through your hair which, in his opinion, was perfectly soft and smooth. “You’re my girl and nothing will ever make me want it any other way.”

Hearing his declaration had your heart aching in your chest. Your hand curled around his arm, needing some physical anchor to the reassuring words he spoke. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, a sure-fire sign that he was telling the truth.

You realised you never had to worry about Finnick finding you unattractive. Though you were a little worried he was partially blind which, unfortunately, represented your own seemingly unshakeable insecurities.

“I wish I could see myself the way you do,” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, but just give it time. One day you’ll look back and wonder what the hell you were thinking. I mean, you? Ugly? Sweetheart, we might need to get you some glasses.”

You sniffled, lips stretching into a wobbly smile. “You’re an idiot.”

He lifted your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Only for you,” he quipped in response, wearing a light-hearted smirk on his lips. “Come here.”

He opened his arms, beckoning you to seek solace in his embrace. You scooted closer, sinking into his broad chest as his arms enveloped you. Your legs were folded awkwardly beneath your body and Finnick’s back ached from the lack of support behind him, but neither of you seemed to mind.

What is love without a little suffering?

His hand stroked the length of your hair, curling random strands between his fingers in admiration. Your fingertips danced across his tanned skin, amorously tracing the words ‘I love you’ over and over. You weren’t sure if he even noticed; it didn’t really matter. The sentiment remained true.

You listened to his heart beating centimetres from your ear. Thump. Thump. Thump. And you were grateful it beat for you. You were so, so grateful for Finnick. For his strong arms that soothed you in their embrace. For his lips that released a swarm of butterflies in your stomach with just a quirk of their corners. For his voice that could lift you from the deepest, darkest pit at any given moment.

So, when you whispered, “Thank you,” it was much more than a show of appreciation for his words of reassurance. It was gratitude for his existence. His entire being. For his love which echoed your own.

“Always,” he whispered in return.

Time began to pass but you remained in the same position—holding each other closely, dearly. And then as more minutes passed, rationality began to set in. You were thinking about apologising for your dramatics, but Finnick had other ideas.

“Wait, did you say your stomach’s cramping?” he asked suddenly. You simply nodded. “Are you on your period?”

Your head turned to bury your face against his chest in embarrassment. “Yes,” your voice muffled into his shirt.

Finnick grinned to himself. He didn’t want to play the stereotype card but knowing that detail helped him understand your actions a little better now.

“Well,” he began, gently coaxing you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes. “How about you come sit with me in the kitchen, hm?” He caressed the line of your cheekbone as he spoke. “I’ll cook you some pancakes and then we can both melt into the couch all day. Does that sound good?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

He made some noise between a chuckle and a scoff. “Of course. Anything else would be a culinary tragedy.”

“Oh, Finnick Odair,” you proclaimed theatrically, winding your arms around his neck as you pulled yourself further against him. “How I love you so.”

In response, his face lit up with a stupidly lovesick grin. This man will be the absolute death of me, you silently swore. You couldn’t help but lean in and press a soft endearing kiss to each dimple that hollowed his cheeks; doing so only made his smile stretch impossibly wider.

The touch of his deft fingertips settled on the sides of your cheeks, holding your face in his hands like it was his most prized possession—technically, you were. His smile never disappeared as he leaned forward, kissing you with such ardent affection that you were afraid your heart might give out from the consuming potency of his adoration.

It tasted like salt, your tears having now dried on your lips. More importantly, it tasted like love. Warm, sweet, syrupy love.

You pulled away, murmuring against his lips, “You would look hot with a wizard beard, by the way."

He chuckled lightly, sustaining the five-second break before returning to your lips to whisper the words, “I knew it.”

[crescenthistory]

May I request C6 with Regulus? I’m in some desperate need of Reggie comforting reader 😭😭😭

there are sosososo many different ways to interpret this prompt, and somehow i chose? perhaps the darkest one? so sorry, you are really going to need that comforting now... thanks for requesting lmao xx

Prompt: C.6 "I don't know, it just happened"

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, blood racism, internalised blood racism, hate crime/minor assault, emotional breakdown, mutual self-hatred, regulus has not left the black family, alluded black brothers drama, undecided side regulus, perhaps a bit cliche/romanticising, established relationship, your dad is dead (long ago, mentioned), heavy hurt/comfort, happy ending

Notes: lol i am not okay

It was a rare occurrence that Regulus Black felt light these days, in any meaning of the word. 

His feet felt shackled as he trekked through the Hogwarts halls he felt were increasingly unwelcoming to him. His consciousness weighed him down like a thousand bricks as he knew he had to either take a stance against his parents or become complacent in a hope of survival. He knew he had to do the former; he had no idea how to stop himself from the latter. Trapped, cornered, cowardly – heavy.

Yet, when walking the final few metres to your dormitory that he knew housed your soft self now that you were done with tutoring first years, he felt undeservingly light. A sensation only you could inspire in him these days.

While conversations were growing tenser and tenser between you the more Regulus struggled with freeing himself from his family, your love for him had yet to falter. He knew he was only biding his time, but until then he could not help revelling in it, albeit guilt ridden. 

He does not knock before entering, just carefully pushes the ajar door further open. You had told him off for knocking so primly every time – “you’re always welcome here, Reggie” – and he wanted nothing more than to please you.

“Amour?” he called out as he closed the door softly behind him, looking around the dorm for a trace of you, or at least one of your dorm mates.

None to be found.

He dropped his bookbag by the end of your bed, reaching up to scratch the back of his head as he looked around. Some of that heaviness began returning to his limbs at your absence, his hope of slipping away from the world with you for the next few hours dissolving.

Then, he heard the water running from the adjunct bathroom. A sigh of relief escaped him, though his body remained tense, and he made his way over. He could hear the water splashing from the sink and he carefully knocked on the door with one knuckle.

“Amour?” he tried again.

This time he technically got a response of sorts, though nowhere near the one he had been hoping for. All movement behind the door stilled. The water was still running in a steady stream, but whatever you had been doing with it, you had stopped. Regulus could almost picture you standing like a deer in headlights – his brows furrowed unhappily at the thought.

“Are you alright, love?” 

Finally, your voice answered, but the fragility of it rattled him. “Oh, um, hi Reggie, I– I’m alright, be with you in a minute, yeah?”

You seemed distressed. Regulus did not care for it at all.

“Could I come in, amour?” He spoke to the door as if it was not there, as if he was looking you in the eyes, willing you to let him in.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmured, but he just barely caught it through the wood.

Regulus seemed to have met a divulge where he had to make a choice – a relatively minor one, but it felt important nonetheless.

A large, painful part of his mind was screaming at him to leave you alone. She doesn’t want you, she’s finally seen you for what you are. Scum staining the story of her life. It is this voice that rules most of his actions, the voice keeping him and Sirius apart, the voice tying him to something he does not feel comfortable with. 

Then there is another, burning hot part that aches to reach for you. The part that knows you better than the first thinks he deserves, the part that can tell by the tone of your voice, by a jerk of your finger, exactly how you are feeling and, hopefully, what you need. This part is one Regulus takes a great deal of pride in, this part feels good. Though it scares him and the first part tries to quell it, he holds it near his heart.

And it is this part that opens his mouth and says, “Could I come in anyway?”

A minute. A hesitation. A sigh.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His hand is tentative as it grips the doorhandle to the bathroom, as if it has become a part of your body from him talking to it, deserving of that same care he attempts to show you. He twists it and pushes it open.

The bathroom is swept in darkness – a conscious choice on your part, seeing as you would have to magically blow out the candles that lined the walls. He could still see you, leaning against the counter with the sink, face turned slightly away from him.

“Hi, my love,” you greeted, trying to seem casual as if he had just walked into your dorm under usual circumstances. With your hand awkwardly angled so that he only saw the inside of your palm, you adjusted the faucet. “How was practise?”

Regulus ignored your small-talk, walking up to stand beside you, body angled fully towards you as you began scrubbing at your hands once more. With the light trickling in through the open door, he swore the water looked pinkish. His breath hitched, eyes flickering all over you and the room to make sense of whatever was happening.

“Amour, what’s wrong?” His voice was rawer than he was comfortable with.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You were getting a hang of the bright and airy tone of voice you were going for, but it was too late for that. “Just a long day, you know? Do you want to go get the bed ready so we can relax?”

The voices were warring in Regulus’ head at the rejection of his presence, but once more the part he could only describe as lovesick took a step closer to you, so your bodies were just barely touching. “Y/N,” was all he said.

Your ministrations grew more desperate, scrubbing water up and down your hands and forearms, breath laboured. He lifted a hand to brush against your face – when you flinched, his heart broke. 

She’s scared of you.

No, she’s just scared.

He let his hand ever so slowly land on the cheek furthest away from him, cradling your jaw with the kind of light touch reserved for baby birds and broken children. He found the skin there soft and wet, and he swore he could cut himself on the shards of his broken heart.

He guided your head to turn towards him, his grip loose so that you could stop him if you wanted. Once your face was opposite his, Regulus fought every instinct in his body that told him to study you, search your face for the spawn of your pain. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. Giving you space, privacy even, giving you the moment you clearly needed – but sparing you from doing it alone

Your hands slowed down in their scrubbing, and with his free hand reaching out blindly, he turned off the faucet. Your breath stuttered where it spilled over his lips.

“Do you reckon you want to sit down? Talk about it?” Regulus whispered, eyes still closed.

He felt you nod against his skin, grabbing a hand towel as you walked backwards the few steps needed before you could sit down on the toilet lid. Regulus followed you, eyes opening and attempting to adjust to this darker corner of the bathroom. He sat down on his knees between your legs, painful tiles be damned, and looked up at you intently. 

In front of him sat the light of his life, visibly sullied. Your face was red and he could make out the tear tracks and smudged mascara underneath your eyes. You clutched the towel, hands buried within it and out of sight.

“Amour,” he whispered dumbly, unsure of what else to say, as he carefully brought his hands up to wipe at your tears. 

You mumbled his name and it almost sounded like a sob. 

Your hands were writhing in your lap around the towel, and he reached down to take it and help you dry yourself when you jerked your hands closer to you, towel still in grasp. “No,” you whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you lied through your teeth. “I’ve just had a bad day and– and felt anxious. Couldn't help but cry over it. I don’t know, it just happened.” 

Regulus gave you a sad smile, squeezing the still-wet skin on your forearms. “Uh-huh. And you felt like taking it out on your hands?”

A sob finally tore through your body properly and you brought your hands up – still in the towel – to cover your face. You leaned forward and cried into it, and Regulus immediately opened his arms to hold your shaking frame. Your towel and face were smushed into the crook of his neck and he drew big circles on your back with one hand, the other securely holding the back of your head. 

He was broken, at a loss for words, trying to recall any and every memory he could find of witnessing others comforting, not trusting his own instincts. Through them all, out flashed a memory of Sirius humming to him when he had nightmares as a child, how the vibrations soothed through him until he could finally fall asleep again, in his big brother’s bed this time. Without any distinct melody or song in mind, Regulus began to hum as he swayed you just ever so slightly back and forth, hoping to bring you some semblance of safety.

Your gasps lessened until the bathroom was near-quiet again, but he did not stop his movements with you or the humming. Your heart blossomed from his efforts and broke at what you knew was to come.

You lowered your hands from your face, letting them fall into your lap with their towel. Your face was now in direct contact with the soft skin of his neck and you took the opportunity to press a soft kiss there.

“Can I please do something to help you?” he whispered into your hair.

“You are.”

He breathed in slowly. He is. “With your hands, I mean. Are you hurt?”

Tears slipped quietly down the expanse of Regulus’ neck, trailing down underneath his shirt. You tried to nuzzle deeper into him.

“I–” you stop, seemingly changing your mind. “I’m alright, I just need to… to remove magical ink from them and I can’t get it off.”

Regulus fought back the that’s all? that was creeping up his throat. He knows at least two spells that work for most permanent inks and can brew a potion for it within the hour if those don't work. 

Your head squeezed against his shoulder as he nodded his head, still stroking your back. “No problem, beautiful, I can fix that.”

“No,” you whispered once more, seeming to shrink in his grasp. “I have to.”

He helped ease you out from his neck so that you were face to face once more, his hands coming up to brush over the sides of your arms. The look in your eyes was one he struggled to decipher, apart from the shine of anxiety. 

“Why do you have to? Let me help you, amour.”

You took another shuddering breath, brazing yourself for impact. “You can’t see,” you whispered finally, fighting the quiver of your lips.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“You can’t see them, Reg, I’m sorry.”

“Did someone do something to you?” It was the only explanation he could conjure up for why any permanent ink would make you this distraught – and why you would hide from him like this.

You searched his face carefully, faintly nodding in a way that made him think it was a response to your own thoughts and not his question. Like you decided on something. 

“Someone wrote something. I just want it gone.”

Regulus’ stomach churned. He regretted the harsh tone of his voice as he demanded, “Who?”

“It’s not important.” 

“It is to me. Please. Who?”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing at it as you realised he would find out. Someone would tell him, even if you refused to show him. He would know. You tasted blood in your mouth.

With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Regulus saw the faint red on your lips as well and immediately reached out to gently pull your lip free from its torment. His fingertips lingered on your lips until he replaced them with his own with a short, tentative kiss. If you were to have blood in your mouth, he would too.

Lips still against yours he whispered again, more pleadingly this time, “Who?”

You let your walls crumble. This sweet, caring boy was in your grasp for now and you could not help but let him care while he still wanted to. “Mulciber,” you whispered back.

Regulus pulled back enough to meet your gaze, confusion filling his. “Why Mulciber? What would he have to write on you?” 

Up until now he had half-thought that some of your first year tutees had pranked you in some ungraceful manner. He was certain he had never seen you and Mulciber even talk before, let alone have an altercation that could involve magical ink. He was one of the more brutal Slytherins, but he had never had any reason to talk to you, and he knew that you were someone Regulus cared for. What he had hoped would let him in on your pain only confused him further away from any answer.

“Regulus, please,” you begged, ignorant to his confusion. Tears were once more filling your eyes and he wished for nothing but to stop them.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered, hoping to convince your tears to stay where they are. “You– you don’t have to explain it, love. I can just remove it for you.”

“Could you teach me instead?” Your lip was back between your teeth, lightening in colour underneath the force it was exerted to.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to remove something from your hands yourself, you need them for the spell.” Regulus hoped his gaze seemed sympathetic.

You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your head slightly to your side. Regulus recognised your breathing pattern to follow a technique you had taught him to calm down the first time he had a panic attack around you. Afterwards, you didn't mention it, only giving him space to talk about what he was comfortable with, comfort at the ready.

His own breath was bated as he watched you make your decision. A definite tear slid down the cheek closest to him, in a hauntingly cinematic manner. At last, your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked back into his eyes with the most devastating expression. Slipping a hand slowly out from your towel – out of Regulus’ line of sight – you brought it up to his cheek to bring his face closer to yours.

The kiss was searing, filled with a love and devotion he was not prepared for in a situation like this. He was enveloped by the smell of you, and though you still tasted of copper, your lips were painfully soft and he let himself fall deeper into you. When you pulled away, you pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered. Regulus hated how it sounded like you were saying goodbye. 

His brows were furrowed as he looked at you, and he hoped it looked like confusion and nothing more sinister. “I love you too, amour. You know.”

“I’ll let you remove it, if you want.”

“Please.”

Your gaze fell to your lap and remained there as you let both hands out of the towel, placing them palm-down on your thighs. Regulus had begun reaching for his wand in a holster on his belt, ready to rid you of the source of your discontent, but he was frozen still when his own eyes finally took in your hands and the two bold, dark words written on each one.

MUD on the left. BLOOD on the right.

Mudblood. 

Regulus’ blood had run cold in his veins and he found himself having to adopt your breathing technique. His vision blurred as the two words seemed to grow larger, which seemed impossible considering they were written to take up as much space as possible. The handwriting was shaky, as if there had been a struggle when they were written. There were some light bruises already forming around your wrists and upper arms that further proved his fear. Mudblood. With red streaks over both works, likely from how hard you had been trying to wash them, all but scraping them off. Mudblood. The word was choking him. His hand that had remained still midair by his belt began to tremble.

He was knocked out of his trance as he saw a single tear splatter across the lettering on your right hand. 

Regulus moved his gaze back up to yours to find it was still trained on your hands, eyes glossy and unseeing.

“I–” he tried, but his voice broke off. “I don't understand. Y/N, I don’t understand.”

You seemed to flinch a little at the sound of your name, but other than that you made no sign that you heard him.

“Amour,” he rectified. “Why would… what is this?”

You moved your right hand over your left, starting to scratch at the word scribbled there, nails digging deep. Regulus’ hands flew up to stop your ministrations at the sight of the worsening redness, but your whole body physically flinched away from him in a way he was sure must hurt.

Regulus was lost.

“I don’t understand. Why would Mulciber write that? You’re not a–” He cut himself off, scared of what word would slip off his tongue. “You’re not muggleborn.”

Finally, you looked up and met his eyes. Your fearful, heartbroken expression seemed to soften at the sight of him and you gave him the saddest smile that did not reach your eyes. “I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper.

Realisation dawned on him. 

“Your father…?” 

His half-blood best friend turned lover, who he already had not dared tell his parents about, living with her muggle mother after her wizard father passed away. It was a convenient story in times of tension and division. Death is an easy excuse, hard to verify.

Although, clearly, someone had now, and the truth had come out.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered once more through a sob. Your shoulders were hunched and knees drawn close to your body. You looked like you wanted to disappear. 

It took him a greater amount of strength than he was proud of to push the shock and confusion from the forefront of his mind and pull back up the memories of how to comfort. To focus on those and not the million of questions running through his head.

What does this mean? Why didn't you tell him? Have you been hiding from everyone, or just him? How have you been carrying something so scary and he was none the wiser? Is there an award for shittest boyfriend at Hogwarts that he can be looking forward to?

Regulus reached out for you and pulled you slowly into another hug, arms circling securely around your back. Your body stilled in his grasp, apart from the small heaves for air in between your sobs.

“What are you doing?” Your whisper was muffled into his shirt. Your frail voice and tense limbs cut him deeper than any spell could.

“I'm comforting you, sweet girl,” he mumbled into your hair. “Or at least trying to.”

“Why?” you asked miserably. 

Regulus pulled back just far enough to see your face, making sure his arms were still holding you with love, drawing patterns across your back.

"Because I love you," he whispered intently. His eyes tried his hardest to lock on yours, but you still would not meet his gaze. "Because there is nothing to be sorry for."

Your expression grew incredulous, bordering on angry – if it was with him, yourself or the world he was uncertain. "I've lied to you. I've deceived you into a relationship you wouldn’t have agreed to had you known, I– I’ve put you in an impossible position–” You had to cut yourself off as another sob tore through your body. “I’m so sorry.”

Regulus shuffled impossibly closer to you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking slowly across your cheekbones. He felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight in front of him, anxiety rising at his chest as he struggled to find the words he knew the situation called for.

This was all unknown territory for Regulus. The two of you had had as few conversations about blood status as possible, both weary about the growing tension at school and in the wider wizarding society. You had held him the one time he dared cry in front of you over a particularly harsh letter from his mother. You had whispered sweet nothings about you're not them and I will always love you, but he thought they were just that – nothings. In turn, you had mentioned your parents and cried over your father a handful of times, but never divulged too much. He had weaved his way through comments from other pureblood students at school regarding his relationship with a half-blood, but most pureblood families have lapses with a half-blood here or there that he could usually throw back in their faces to silence them. No one dared push it further than that. When Andromeda left the family for Ted, he almost had to confront it all, confront what he now knew to be lies that had been spewed to him all his life, but even then, he managed to avoid it as he instead received the beating of his life for not alerting the family about the signs he must have seen at school. He let himself simmer with that pain instead of looking inwards, instead of seeking help. He figured he didn’t have to, not just yet.

That time had evidently passed, as he now held a sobbing and defiled sun in his hands.

No, this was uncharted territory for him entirely – but he could not afford to let it stay like that.

“My love, Y/N,” he said with a surprisingly steady voice, never letting his gaze stray from you. “Please, please listen to me. Please hear me. You are everything; it is you, you are everything. You could be muggleborn, muggle, werewolf, siren or fae. It would not change anything.”

Your eyes met his, red rimmed and glossy, confused and bewildered. This time it was your turn to whisper, “I don’t understand.”

“It is difficult–” Regulus’ voice broke as the first few tears slipped down his face. “It is all so difficult right now, I feel lost and… scared and I don’t know what to do.” The words almost clogged in his throat, like barbed wire to admit, but he knew he had to. “I should have told you all of that already, I should have shared with you so you could feel safe to share with me. I haven’t known what to do, how to do it. The one thing I do know is that I love you and I need you to be safe and I need you to be here with me. I have not been deceived, for I would always choose you.”

Your eyes were wide, but you were not crying at the moment, gaze flitting all across his face, as if to ensure he wasn’t lying, hanging onto his every word. It was the motivation he needed to continue.

“You are not allowed to be sorry, amour, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” A small sob escaped him and his heart flipped when your right hand came forth to just barely touch his shoulder. “I should have been here for you, you shouldn’t have to hide. You should never have had to question my love for you, my loyalty. It will always lay with you, I swear it. Gods–” a heaved breath “– I’m terrible at this, you know I’m terrible, but I’ve been trying so hard for you and I will continue to. Just please let me. Let me and I will try.”

“Regulus…” you whispered, hand creeping from the brush against his shoulder to settle on the side of his neck. 

He looked at you, ready to take any reaction you would give him, to tell him off for his horrible apology, for making things about him, for not being enough. Your mouth opened and closed as if you couldn’t settle on the words. Instead you let out a small breath and pulled him back into you in a tight embrace.

It took him not even a second to hold you in return with passion, hands appraising as they swept up into your hair and around your waist. 

“Do you mean it?” you whimpered into him and he let his forehead fall to your shoulder as he cried.

“Of course, I mean it. Of course, of course.” He kept muttering it into you as he held you tighter and tighter.

His body was filled with an entirely new set of fear. A warm one that spread through his blood at the thought of what you had to face. Mulciber already knew and had taken action on that knowledge seemingly without hesitation. Regulus had heard what was being said amongst the Sacred 28, he knew to what degrees the hatred was building. His entire body was built on fear as he held what he now realised could be disturbingly fragile.

That is, until you whimpered another question into his hold and his body ached with a love so deep he had never thought it possible.

“Do you still love me?”

He had already said so, but he would happily say it again, over and over, damning himself for allowing you to wonder. “Yes, amour, always. Always.” 

Regulus took your face in one of his hands again, cradling you as he brought his forehead back to yours. Angling his face forward, he pressed what he hoped was a sweet kiss to your lips. It was wet, metallic and everything he needed. 

“I’m sorry for lying,” you whispered. He shook his head against yours.

“No, I’m sorry for stalling.”

A beat of silence. “Stalling what?” He thought you knew, but he tried to have no qualms about being explicit about it.

“Leaving.” He said it simply, hoping it would will it to be.

This time it was your turn to shake your head. “Can you leave, though? Safely? They’re becoming more and more fanatical, Reg, what if they hurt you? I’ve seen the letters.”

The fact that you have experienced what can only be classified as a hate crime, yet you have the goodness in your heart to worry about him in this way only makes him more certain of his choice.

“I have to, my love. I have to. It’s time.” He took a deep breath. “I will… I will ask Sirius for help.” 

You looked into his eyes, vision blurry from your proximity. “I’m scared for you, but I’m so proud of you at the same time.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Regulus tried to huff out a small laugh, but it just came out teary. “Will you please come with me?”

“To Sirius?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

His hand on your squeeze pressed further into you, reverent. “We can ask for help for us both. They practically wanted Ted dead when they disowned Andromeda, and she was not even the sole heir. I’m so sorry for putting you in that situation, I–”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you assured, voice more stable and beautifully soft. “You are everything to me too, you know.”

“I’m scared,” Regulus whimpered. It’s the first time he can remember saying that out loud to someone since he was 6.

“I’m scared, too. But less so, now that I know I still have you. I couldn’t handle losing you, Reg.” Your eyes teared up again and he leaned up to kiss the corners of your eyes sweetly, collecting the tears before they had a chance to spill.

“You have me, you have me,” he whispered almost feverishly against your skin. “And I’ve got you.”

You sighed, the closest to contently you think you can get at this moment. “Will you please help me?” you whispered as you looked down at your hands.

Regulus shook himself out of his mini spiral, shook off that first voice in his head that reared its head once more and over and over, shook off anything that was not you. He mumbled an of course against your cheek before he kissed it, taking your hands in one of his. 

Unsheathing his wand he never managed to retrieve the first time around, he took one last look at the ugly markings on your hands – the hate was precisely that, ugly, and it had no place on your skin. Starting with the left – MUD – he tried the first spell he knew, and it did nothing. The bile rose in his throat as he went to try the next, fearing the worst, but by the grace of a nonexistent god, the letters finally melted away. He repeated the process on the other one.

You tried to pull your hands out of his grasp at that, but his hold tightened. He healed the viscous red streaks and peeling skin from where you had scratched at them, a cold sensation soothing over your skin as he moved his wand. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the gentleness, but you found yourself beginning to become completely dehydrated.

Regulus brought your hands up to his lips while he put his wand away to grasp at them with both hands. He kissed the spots he had just cleared up. Long, lingering kisses in the middle of your hand, followed by soft butterfly kisses all over it. His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing tightly, giving the flesh new sensations to remember instead.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, almost like a revelation. You had loved him and you had trusted him, you had just not trusted that it would be forever, that it would be more than any loyalty to his family. You were ashamed at the thought now, as you looked at the boy on his knees in front of you, crying from loving you, kissing away your pain. It filled you with something you had not believed this day would hold for you – hope.

“I’m not,” he whispered, letting your hands settle together in your lap. “But I hope to be. I want to be. I will be.”

You smiled wetly at him and leaned forward to kiss him once more. Originally intended as a peck, the kiss grew deeper, a slow passion as you held his lips between yours, feeling the love seep through the thin skin. He continued pressing kisses all over your face, much like your hands. Any teary or red skin had his lips faintly brushing over it, taking his time to dote on you. You let your breath calm down in the meantime, panic and tension slipping away from you to be replaced by a deep exhaustion as you leaned into him.

He noticed – he had to notice, swore he always would from now on.

“Are you ready to lay down in bed, amour. Face the light?” He smiled sheepishly at the poor attempt at a joke. You seemed surprised as you looked around, almost like you had forgotten you were in a shadowy dorm bathroom.

“Only if you will lay with me.” Your tone was nearing teasing, though not quite there. He was determined to achieve it within the hour.

“I promise,” he whispered, kissing you one last time before helping you up.

And he would go on to help you to bed and hold you tight for as long as you would let him. He would listen to you cry and laugh and worry without a second thought. He would take you with him to ask Sirius for help on escaping and keeping you safe and he would devote himself to being better. He would do anything for you – because you were, after all, everything.

[woniehugs]

The Touch of Extinction

—✧ summary: in a future plagued by a deadly virus, scientist Y/N is unexpectedly paired with the enigmatic government official, Lee Heeseung, as they work to save a fractured continent. What begins as a mission for survival transforms into an intense, forbidden connection, only to be shattered when Heeseung’s own secrets come to light. With danger lurking and time running out, the truth behind their mission and their connection unravels in ways neither could foresee. Will their shared sacrifice be enough to leave a lasting mark on the world they tried to save? This isn’t a love story, it’s a story about love.

—✧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem! reader

—✧ genre: dystopia, futuristic fiction, not really romance

—✧ warnings: mentions of blood and abuse (only brief), non-consensual sex, let me know if i missed anything!

—✧ word count: 4.3k

—✧ author’s note: putting this out here in the meantime because i’m not finished writing the next chapter for “operation: fuck sim jaeyun” yet. i wrote this for a school project, and no, i didn’t actually use y/n and heeseung’s names lmao. and also, this is actually inspired by the handmaid’s tail and manacled, so if you’re familiar of those, you’ll know.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

Who would’ve thought the future would end up like this? We could never have predicted that life would slowly cease to exist.

50 years ago, in the country of Netherlands, a group of young and intelligent scientists from BioCorp worked on experiments that focused on enhancing human genetics. After much hard work, they had made vast progress, thanks to the advancement of technology over the years and took a week-long break to celebrate Christmas. However, during a hazy night on the 24th of December, the night of Christmas Eve, one of the scientists had gone inside the laboratory that contained their equipment and supplies, completely out of their mind— drunk. The scientist had accidentally knocked one of the containers used in their experiments, breaking each flask containing what seemed to him as “mystery fluid” and spilling it all over the laboratory floor.

Knocked backed into consciousness realizing what he had spilt, he panicked, and tried to clean it up before it could contaminate the entire room, but because of the state he was in, the broken flasks and test fluids had caught onto his dazed and drunken state, causing the scientist to drop on the floor, unconscious. It took 12 hours until the whole building was contaminated due to the open vents, notifying security and the other scientists about the situation.

Luckily, the scientist woke up the next day, completely healthy and well, which was a surprise. Authorities had brought him to the hospital, along with his colleagues who waited for him to wake up. While the other scientists continued working on the experiments a week after Christmas, they were stopped by the news of another colleague’s sudden death in the comfort of their own home, exactly a month after the laboratory incident. Days after, the scientist’s own wife was laid to rest on her deathbed, a month after she had made contact with her husband who had gone home from the hospital. This prompted BioCorp into a mass crisis. Taking multiple hours of rigorous research, studying, and hypothesizing, the scientists discovered that the incident had caused a new infectious virus to erupt. …Infectious, how? With the knowledge of the deaths of the scientist and his wife, the scientists concluded that the virus was transmitted by skin-to-skin touch and that the virus’s effect didn’t accelerate despite how much one has touched another infected person.

By the time the scientists had made this horrible discovery, hundreds and thousands of people had died in the lower parts of Europe. The virus had spread rapidly, with no one knowing who had it or didn’t. There weren't any symptoms showing and one could only know they had caught the virus when they had taken their final breath. The moment the Dutch government was made aware of this tragedy, they took in scientists from BioCorp, while in the meantime, putting the whole country on lockdown to protect the people from the virus and could conjure a cure. They supplied the scientists with everything they needed for their research, but as they did so, many Europeans died at their expense, the number of deaths increasing with every single day that passed. Choked up by guilt, the scientists persevered, but even so, they still had little knowledge of what they could do to solve the pandemic they had caused, and some died never seeing the day they could fix this mess.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, the European population dropped to an all-time low. Due to the pandemic, the continent of Europe was divided into two: the Eastern and Western Parts. A boundary was placed, dividing the Netherlands, Germany, France, Italy, and more countries in the eastern part, from the entire western part of Europe. A military base was placed upfront on the boundary to prevent anyone from trespassing. This sent the Netherlands government into turmoil, as the situation had not been handled well years prior, affecting their neighboring countries, most especially their own population.

The division wasn’t enough to make anything but a benefit. Soon, the governments of each country worked together and came up with a repopulation effort, a program attempting to revive the dying population. Women, from the lower class, and the ones who are single will be assigned to men and will bear children for them. Whether the men have wives and children is out of the question, they will still have to participate in the program. They will be monitored frequently by authorities if they have done the job, if not, a punishment shall be done. The selected women were quarantined in a prison-like building, yet still being fed well. However, because of how many of them were trying to escape the hell they had to go through, having to bear children they didn’t want with men they didn’t even know, the government grew strict and eventually became a totalitarian regime. For all the women, it was hell on Earth.

Y/N L/N, the daughter of one of the scientists who took part in the failed experiment, and followed in the footsteps of her parents, happened to be a part of the selected women for the repopulation program. With your last name at the forefront of people’s minds, “the daughter of one of those evil scientists who caused this animosity”, you get assigned to one of the higher-ranking government officials in Europe.

On your first meeting, you had been dragged by the authorities, hair secured in a bun at the base of your neck, wrists manacled behind your back, lip busted, one of your cheeks bruised purple, and your face bloody fighting off the authorities. You wore a robe as white as snow, streaks of your blood painted the areas near your waist, a skirt spreading down to your feet, and long sleeves covering your entire arms.

Screaming at the top of your lungs to let you go, the authorities pushed you until you fell to the ground, your face first hitting the ground with a loud crack. You heard the door close behind you, clicking with a lock as you groaned in pain, tears falling down her face. As you slowly tried to stand up from the ground, you hear a chair creak, someone standing up from their seat. You look up, coming face to face with the man you had to endure. Lee Heeseung, the son of the prime minister of the Netherlands. He had an unreadable look on his face, his eyes dark as he examined you carefully, looking you up and down. Filled with disdain, you gathered enough saliva and spat at his feet, a drop of spit landing perfectly on his polished shoe.

Before you could get any more disrespectful, you were brought up to your feet, Heeseung’s hand gripping your forearm as you yelped in pain. Dragging you across the room, he turned you around and pushed your body down on his desk, pressing your manacled wrists behind your back with one hand. You struggled to get out of his grip, trying to kick him but to no avail. He was too strong, and so much taller than you. You feel tears prickle on the corners of your eyes, one side of your face scraping against the wood of the table.

With your eyes shut, Get this over and done with, you think to yourself, hope slowly leaving your body as you count down the seconds until he is done with you. Barely 5 minutes had passed until he stopped moving, and as swift as a fox, backed away from you. You felt your wrists free from the manacles, and planted your palms on the table, slowly guiding yourself to stand up and turn to face him, but before you could utter a word to him, he was gone. Uncontrollable tears fell from your face then. You felt pain, disgusted, and used. Your whole world had been reduced to a room where you’d be forced to do things you didn’t want to do, and that hurt you. You could do better things than this. But no. For now, you fall back down on the ground, your body sprawled out on the floor as sleep takes you in.

You wake up the next day on a bed and in a room you don’t recognize. This wasn’t where I was yesterday, you think to yourself. Looking to your left, you see a doctor scribbling on his notebook with medical equipment laid out on a small table on top of the bed. The doctor notices you, a sad smile on his face, “How are you feeling, dear? You passed out on the floor yesterday and Mr. Lee had to carry you to your bed.”

Confused, you shake your head, “After being forced to do things against my will? Yes, I believe I’m feeling a lot better.” The doctor lets out a sigh, letting you drink your medicine before leaving your room quietly. You take in your room. It was huge and filled with everything she needed to survive this hellhole. Keeping yourself busy, you took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and read. There was a long shelf of books at the side of the room, so you grabbed everything that caught your eye. You read, and read, and read until you couldn’t anymore.

Food was served by two maids during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When you asked if you could get out of your room, one of the maids answered that you needed to rest and could only get out the next day as said by their master. Rolling your eyes, you nodded your head, grabbed the dinner from their hands, and sat back on the bed. As you ate, you thought about how grateful you were that Heeseung hadn’t gone into your room and took advantage of you again. Peacefully, sleep takes you in once again when you finished eating.

The third day. “It’s not so bad here”, you think — yet. While you ate breakfast on your bed, the door opened. Your eyes looked up to see Heeseung close the door behind him. You feel your heart race, dropping the utensils on the plate. The sound catches Heeseung’s attention, quickly looking at you to see what’s wrong. He takes a few steps towards you but you raise a hand to stop him. “N-not yet.” you managed to speak out despite your voice and hands shaking. Heeseung shakes his hand, and continues his way toward you, “I’m not here for that. Not this early, at least.” Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you nod at him in relief, picking your utensils up to continue eating. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, hands trembling.

“I wanted to let you know that you can come out of your room now, anytime you want.” Heeseung starts, “However, I expect that you’ll be back here by 6 pm. I have duties I need to attend to later that night, so we’ll have to…” he clears his throat to get his point across, “...do it, before I leave. Is that okay?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. You’ll do it anyway.” you hear his breath catch at that.

“How frequently does this have to happen?”

“Once every two days.”

“What? Who do they think we are? Rabbits?” you try to joke but Heeseung’s face remains expressionless. “I have something to ask from you. It’s the least you can do for, erm… me.” You cringe at your words but proceeds nonetheless when Heeseung doesn’t say anything. “I need a laptop so I can research, and books and studies on anything that could help me on knowing more about this virus. I can’t not do anything here but bear your children, the thought disgusts me as it is.” you explain, your tone desperate. “That’s all I ask for. I’ll do anything you wish, just let me continue my research. Please.”

Heeseung nods his head, “Of course. I’ll provide you with everything you need.” you thank him. He hesitates for a bit before returning to the door, about to leave. Before he does, he looks back at you, “I apologize for how I acted before. I had just been made known about you that day, and I acted… out of remorse. I’m sorry.” you nod your head at his apology, “It’s quite alright. I acted irrationally too. I was scared.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” Heeseung replies, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. “Let me know if you need any help with your research. I’ll see you tonight.” The door shuts close behind him, leaving you alone in your room. That night, Heeseung visits you in your room, only this time, he acts gently and — you let him. Your business was finished as quickly as it had started. When you fall asleep in his arms, he carefully positions you back on the bed, covering you with a blanket, and delicately pats your forehead. Once Heeseung is sure that you are deep into your slumber, he leaves.

You immediately rise from your bed to start your fourth day with some research. A stab of pain erupts from your abdomen, making you groan in pain. You slowly get up on your feet, to the chair in front of the desk placed on the right side of the room. The moment you sat, you noticed a stack of books placed neatly on the table and your very own laptop that you were sure you left behind at home. You smiled at the effort that Heeseung had put into making sure you had everything you needed. Shaking your head, you began as you took a bite of mango and chocolate toast specially made for you. Hours passed and you were able to read most of the information you had already known: about the incident years ago, the non-existent symptoms, the lockdown, your parents along with other scientists locked away and dead, and the division. Searching on the Internet, most of the articles you came across were more on people’s predictions and not based on scientific evidence. That was all you did that day. Research, read, study, and make your hypotheses. — Why aren’t there any symptoms? you think to yourself. It was the most bizarre thing you had known, it was a virus with no symptoms. No wonder everyone was dying around you because, to this day, no one had found the answer to that question.

“I see you’re still up.” A voice interrupts you from your reading, dropping your highlighter on the book she was reading about viruses. You had been so distracted you didn’t even hear Heeseung enter your room in the first place. “I can’t seem to figure this out on my own. I’ve been reading for hours.” you answer, rubbing your temples with the pads of your thumbs. Heeseung hums behind you, taking a peek at what you were reading. “What I’m about to tell you might help.” you turn your head to him, “I’ve been feeling some strange sensations. My head’s been feeling light since yesterday. I’ve taken some painkillers but it doesn’t seem to go away.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “A-are you implying you’ve caught the virus?” Heeseung shakes his head, “No, or wait, maybe a little. I’m not so sure honestly. But seriously, anyone could have caught the virus by now, even indoors. We’ve also already made skin-to-skin contact. Shouldn’t we not be surprised about that possibility?” You think carefully before answering him, “I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right. Anything could happen.” But I don’t want any of us to die. A few moments pass before you clap your hands together, bringing Heeseung’s attention back to you, “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind, just in case, however, it doesn’t mean you have the virus.” you send him a look that makes Heeseung sigh, “Right, but I just thought I should tell you.”

“And you didn’t do anything wrong by telling me. I appreciate it, Heeseung. Really.” you assure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Heeseung looks you dead in the eyes when you do, and you quickly put your hand away once you realize. “Right. It’s getting late. You should be going. I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” Heeseung didn’t end up leaving you that night, and it wasn’t entirely his choice. He stayed with you until you fell asleep on your desk, and he carried you once again over to her bed. Half-asleep, you manage to pull Heeseung towards you, whispering “Stay with me.” and Heeseung does, falling asleep next to you.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft breathing beside you. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing Heeseung was still in bed with you. The realization brought a mix of emotions—confusion, and fear, but also a strange comfort you hadn’t expected. You gently removed yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and moved to the desk where you had been working the night before. Your thoughts were swirling with everything Heeseung had revealed to you. His admission about the strange sensations he had been feeling gnawed at you. If he was indeed showing symptoms, this could be the breakthrough you had been desperately searching for—a lead that could explain the virus’s behavior. You needed to gather more data. If Heeseung truly was infected, how much time did he have left? How much time did you have left? If Heeseung was infected, then that would mean you were too. You both didn’t have much time left.

You pulled up a document on your laptop and began typing down everything you remembered from Heeseung’s account. You noted the onset of his symptoms, their progression, and any possible environmental factors that might have contributed to his condition. If you were going to make any progress, you needed to treat this as a case study—methodical, detached, and purely scientific. The hours slipped by, and when Heeseung finally stirred, you had already compiled a preliminary report. You turned to him as he sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair. His expression was unreadable as he glanced at the clock, noting the late hour.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Heeseung frowned slightly as if considering the question. "A little better, I suppose. The lightheadedness hasn’t completely gone away, but it’s manageable. Why? Are you worried about me?"

You hesitated. "I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. If you’re showing symptoms,” You hesitate finishing your sentence, “...if I’m showing symptoms, it could be critical information for my research. But more importantly, I don’t want anything to happen to you."

Heeseung’s eyes widened at your words. "You think you’ve caught it too?” you nod your head, “It’s plausible since we’ve been together… for the past few days.” You cringe at your choice of words, “So it’s best that I entertain the possibility. If we both don’t have much time, we should stay here until we’ve figured this out. Together.”

His gaze softened, “I agree. I appreciate what you’re doing. I didn’t expect you to care so much, given the circumstances."

You shrugged your shoulders, "I may not have a choice in this situation, but that doesn’t mean I’m heartless. We’re both victims of a system neither of us controls." He looked away, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

"The world has gone mad, hasn’t it? People reduced to numbers, in a repopulation program, and those responsible for the mess are either dead or hiding behind closed doors." You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "We’re trying to survive in a world we barely recognize anymore. But if there’s even a chance that what we’re experiencing could lead to a solution, we have to pursue it." Heeseung nodded slowly. "Then let’s work together on this. If we’re both infected, we need to know how it’s progressing and what we can do to stop it … if anything."

Over the next few days, you and Heeseung settled into a strange routine. During the day, you focused on your research, cataloging Heeseung’s symptoms with clinical precision, while also poring over your parents’ old notes and the limited data available on the virus. Heeseung made sure you had everything you needed, from medical supplies to access to secure networks that could aid your research. At night, you did what you had to. The only difference is that afterward, the two of you shared a bed, a tenuous bond formed out of necessity, and a growing, unspoken understanding.

Heeseung continues to visit you daily, and with every visit, you sense that he is hiding something. There’s a restlessness in his eyes, a kind of weight that he carries with him each time he steps into your room. One night, as he sits at the edge of the bed, a quiet question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Why are you doing this, Heeseung? Why did you bring me all these things when you could have just kept me locked away like the others?”

He looks at you, a flicker of something like regret in his gaze. “Because, Y/N… I owe it to you. I owe it to everyone who’s been affected by this virus. My father and his colleagues may have failed, but I… I won’t. If there’s any chance you could help find a cure… I’ll give you everything you need.”

His words stir something deep inside you. You can’t decide whether it’s hope, resentment, or both. You’re still unsure whether to trust him, but as days turn into weeks, you notice a subtle shift in the way you interact. There’s a tension that lingers between you, unspoken but palpable—a tension that is not entirely borne of fear or obligation.

As time goes on, you and Heeseung start to talk more. He tells you about his childhood, about his strained relationship with his father, about the weight of expectations that had always loomed over him. It’s not much, but it’s enough to remind you that, like you, he’s just a person caught up in the chaos of a world turned upside down.

One evening, as you sit together in silence, you find yourself blurting out, “What if this virus can’t be stopped? What if we’re all just… delaying the inevitable?”

He meets your eyes, his voice soft. “Then we fight it anyway. Because that’s all we can do, Y/N. We fight until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

You don’t respond, but his words echo in your mind long after he’s left the room.

The next evening, as you sat together, you noticed a slight tremor in Heeseung’s hand as he passed you a cup of tea. Your heart sank, but you kept your expression neutral. "Heeseung," you said softly, "Have you felt any other changes? Anything new?" He shook his head, setting the cup down with more care than usual. "Just the tremor. It started yesterday, but it’s not too bad. I can still control it for the most part." You bit her lip, your mind racing. "We need to accelerate our research. If the virus is progressing, we’re running out of time." Heeseung nodded, his expression grim. "I’m with you, Y/N. Whatever it takes."

Weeks pass, and the once suffocating atmosphere of your confinement begins to change. The tension between you and Heeseung continues to grow, evolving into something more complex. Conversations that once revolved around the virus and research now include moments of shared silence, subtle glances, and small admissions. There’s an unspoken understanding between you, as if the mere act of surviving together has created a fragile bond. You can sense that he’s struggling with something more than just the weight of the world outside—something personal that he hasn’t yet shared.

Days after, the usual routine is disrupted when Heeseung arrives later than usual, his expression troubled and distant. You notice his hands shaking as he sets down a tray of food. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he steps closer, his voice low and strained.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Y/N. It’s… it’s about the virus.”

Your pulse quickens as you watch him take a seat across from you, his head bowed as if weighed down by a burden he can no longer carry alone.

“My father wasn’t just one of the researchers involved,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “He was one of the first to become infected. They kept it a secret, covered it up because of his position, and… they used him as a test subject for the early trials of the cure.”

The revelation hits you like a cold wave, leaving you speechless. The pieces begin to fall into place—the rushed experiments, the hidden agendas, the urgency in Heeseung’s actions. You feel a pang of anger for being kept in the dark, but it’s quickly swallowed by an unexpected sense of empathy. Heeseung’s determination to find a cure isn’t just about the greater good; it’s personal.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and understanding.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, his gaze finally meeting yours. “And… I didn’t want you to think that I was using you for the same reasons they used him.”

For a moment, the room is silent. You look at Heeseung, seeing the torment in his eyes and recognizing a kind of vulnerability that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before. It’s as though, in sharing his secret, he’s offered you a glimpse of the person he is beyond the government official, beyond the virus. And perhaps, you realize, it’s the same for you. This whole time, you’ve been hiding behind the walls you built around yourself to survive, afraid to let him see the parts of you that long for connection in this cold, fragmented world.

“You could have told me,” you say softly. “I would have understood.”

Heeseung gives a faint, bitter smile. “I didn’t know if I could trust you to understand, or if you would see me as just another monster.”

Before you can respond, a wave of emotion sweeps over you, and without thinking, you reach out and touch his hand. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to break down whatever was left of the barrier between you. His fingers curl around yours hesitantly, as if he’s not quite sure if he should accept the comfort you’re offering, but then his grip tightens, and you realize just how much he needed it.

The days that follow are marked by an unspoken shift in your dynamic. The tension that once existed has transformed into a closeness that you’re both wary to acknowledge, and yet neither of you can deny. When he’s with you, the air feels warmer, the silence less suffocating. But in the back of your mind, you know this fragile connection is built upon the uncertainty of a world ravaged by disease—a world that could take everything away in a heartbeat.

It’s in this closeness that you begin to notice Heeseung showing signs of fatigue. He tries to hide it, but you see the subtle winces, the way his hand trembles when he thinks you’re not looking. The truth becomes impossible to ignore when, one night, he collapses in front of you, a fever burning through his skin.

“Heeseung!” you cry, rushing to his side. As you help him to the bed, the realization hits you with a brutal clarity—he’s infected.

The weight of the situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you’ve come to understand, every unspoken moment between you, is now overshadowed by the one thing you feared most. Heeseung is dying, and you don’t know if there’s any way to save him.

The next few weeks were a blur of research, testing, and increasingly frequent moments of quiet despair. You were relentless, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion as you combed through every piece of data you could find. You reached out to the few remaining scientists who had survived the initial outbreak, sharing your findings and seeking their input. But the virus remained an enigma, its origin rooted in the nightmarish accident that had taken place decades ago. The more you learned, the more you realized how little you knew, and how close you all were to the edge.

As Heeseung’s condition worsened, you felt a growing sense of urgency. The lightheadedness had evolved into dizziness, the tremors into violent shakes that left him bedridden for hours. You continued to document everything, but your fear for him, something you had tried to keep at bay—began to overshadow your scientific detachment.

Then, one night, as Heeseung lay in bed, his breathing labored and his skin pale, he reached for your hand. You took it, feeling the tremor in his grip, and held on tightly.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Don’t be," you replied, your throat tight with unshed tears. "We’re doing everything we can."

He managed a weak smile. "I know. But if this is it...if this is the end...I want you to know that I don’t regret these last few weeks. I’m glad we met, even if it was under these circumstances."

You swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his forehead, your tears finally spilling over, with Heeseung sharing an embrace.

"I’ll keep fighting," you promised. "For you, and everyone else. I won’t let this be in vain."

Heeseung closed his eyes, his hand tightening briefly around hers. "I know you will."

In the early hours of the morning, Lee Heeseung took his final breath. You stayed by his side, holding his hand until it grew cold. When the sun rose, you gently released him and began writing down the final stages of his symptoms, your tears blurring the words on the page.

Two days later, your symptoms began to manifest. You felt the same lightheadedness Heeseung had described, followed by the tremors. But you didn’t stop working. Every moment you had left was dedicated to your research, to the hope that your final notes might contain the key to stopping the virus.

When the end came for you, it was peaceful. You had finished your last entry, detailing the progression of the virus within yourself, and had left instructions for the remaining scientists on where to find your work. You lay down on the bed you had shared with Heeseung and closed your eyes, a sense of calm washing over you.

Your body was discovered a day later by the authorities, just as Heeseung’s had been. The room was quiet, save for the hum of the laptop that still displayed your final research notes.

On the desk, beside the neatly stacked books and papers, laid a single handwritten note:

"To whoever finds this, remember us not just for what we did, but for what we tried to do. The virus may have taken our lives, but it will not take our legacy. The answers are here. Please, finish what we started.”

Signed,

Y/N L/N

And with that, Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung’s story came to an end, but their fight continued on in the hands of those who followed.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

©2024 ©woniehugs

[fairyhaos]

How To Fucking Write: a guide by fairyhaos

[masterlist]

this post details:

STARTING A STORY

PACING A STORY

hi gays and gals and welcome to "how to fucking write", a post (series) where i talk about how i brainstorm for writing, plan for writing, write the writing, and everything in between. nothing too serious here lmao, but i'm definitely planning on making at least a couple posts on this bc a) it's fun and b) i wanna help! so if you find this useful then pls lmk by reblogging + drop an ask if there are any specific things u want me to give my two cents on ^^

okok and now without further ado,,, let's look at the topics i'll talk about in today's post!

#1 - HOW TO START A STORY.

.. bullet point one : have an idea

the first big thing is that you need an idea. doesn't matter if you're a pantser and don't plan out your writing before you start. that's totally fine! but before you begin, you need at least an idea: maybe it's a vibe, a character personality, a specific journey you want the characters to go on. maybe it's a piece of dialogue. maybe it's the ending- the point you want to end up at after however many thousand words.

whatever it is, it's best to have some inspiration, some idea of what you wanna do. no point in writing if you don't know what you're writing, you know?

(of course, that brings up the issue of Having An Idea in the first place, but finding inspiration to write is a whole other can of worms we can open in another post.)

.. bullet point two : practice

okay, so now you have an idea. how do you put that idea to paper? how should you actually start your story?

it’s all to do with practice.

it’s the most annoying piece of advice in the world, but it helps so much. you just have to write lots and lots and lots, to find the way that works for you. whether you wanna start your stories with pretty scene descriptions, with dialogue, with dramatic one-liners. finding your voice, your style, what’s most comfortable for you, is really really important. and takes practice.

an example, though: for me, i prefer either a line of dialogue, or one-liners that a) help immediately establish a character’s personality or can b) introduce an interesting setting.

[chan + swingset] — one-liner example

[hoshi + silly] — dialogue example 

but of course, everyone’s style is different. so i’d recommend playing around! find a list of one-word prompts and just write a few that inspire you, writing the beginnings. it’s important, also, that you’re having fun, because if you’re already struggling with starting to write, it’ll be even harder if you’re doing it while feeling stressed.

.. bullet point three (mostly just for longer fics)

maybe you don’t find a style, in the end. maybe you’re comfortable with all of them, which is totally fine! but then you look at your writing, and you think, “oh… this isn’t as good as i thought.” 

and it makes you want to give up. what do you do, then? how do you carry on with your start?

just put words to paper. it doesn’t matter if the words are terrible, if you’re making up shit and using placeholders for description words or whatever. just carry on, get to a place you’re happy with, like the end of a scene, or maybe a dialogue exchange you really like.

because now, guess what? you’ve successfully created a first draft.

making first drafts is actually so important. seriously. first drafts allow you to fuck up, allow you to write terribly. they help you fumble and trip your way to the finish line (or at least a rest point) so that you can go back and do better.

even if your first draft is terrible, it’s helped you make your way to a point you’re happy with. now you have a vague idea of what you want, even if the description or characterisation or something is way off. because now, you can edit it, or even scrap it and use only a few words from that draft in your next one. or maybe, if you look back at it, maybe it’s even decent enough for you to use. 

whatever it is, when you first start writing that story, think of it as ‘The Worst Draft’. because it probably won’t be as good as you want it, and it’s okay. just write, with no fears of it being bad, because that’s literally fine. it’s not set in stone. the backspace button exists. after your first draft is made, make another. and another, and another, because i promise, after that first draft, it only gets better from there.

#2 - PACING A STORY.

.. bullet point one : adding things

pacing is always really tricky. however, i do think that slowing a story down is easier than speeding it up, so here we go,,,,

finding out the exact way to slow down a story really depends on what type of story you're writing, but there are a few all-round things you can do which can help pretty much any setting.

if it's a scene with loads of dialogue, and things feel like they're jumping to the end topic too quickly, add descriptions. your readers are blind, writers, and they depend on you to be able to see what's going on. are your characters having a conversation on the street? take a break to describe what they see. are they in a coffee shop? maybe someone comes in with a huge noise, or their coffee arrives at their table. are they hanging in midair with nothing around them? well, describe the actions of the character they're talking to, then.

example: (from my seoksoo fic bc it's the only long fic i'm working on rn)

by adding character descriptions, movement, thoughts, instantly everything seems to have slowed down. it thickens time, allowing you to move at a more leisurely pace.

if it's a scene full of action, you can do the exact same thing. maybe there's a high-tension moment and something significant happens. slow down time there, describe something small in great detail. talk about the thoughts they're having.

and even if it's just an ordinary scene, describing is important. the setting, the characters' actions, their thoughts. it's okay to write too much. then you can delete things which make things feel like they're moving too slowly.

.. bullet point two : delete

not gonna lie, finding out how to speed up the pacing of the story can often be really specifically tailored to the setting of the story.

with stories that have loads of action (spy, apocalypse, etc) i'd recommend adjusting sentence length. you'll want short, punchy sentences, without loads of commas and clauses, but you'll also want to experiment with having those short sentences gradually get longer. it helps with tension and suspense.

it has to be short. running fast. something to elevate fear. quick, but also desperate, before they then spill over each other, picking up pace, all of the thoughts blurring together and going faster, and faster, and faster, and then-

then the penny drops.

people use the metaphor of music a lot, and it really does work that way. it needs to ascend to its climax: gently, cautiously, before sprinting upwards and only describing things like the barest emotions (the fear they feel, the panic, anger, anything) before everything reaches its peak and comes crashing down in a flurry of action descriptions.

but of course, the easiest way to speed up something is to delete. delete swathes of setting description. delete unnecessary dialogue. delete an entire scene and rewrite with only the things you remember (which can help make sure you only have the essentials in your scene, btw. very helpful).

it might take a bit of adjusting, rewriting, moving things around, but ultimately, quickening the pace of the story depends on the way in which you write things. be concise, be dramatic, and don't dawdle.

... and that's it ! if anyone has anything else they want advice on (how to structure, how to write dialogue, how to plan etc) then just shoot me an ask, because i'd love to help however i can :)

tagging: @selenicives who asked for this in the first place hehe ^^

[watchmegetobsessed]

AND THE GRAMMY GOES TO

A/N: this is literally just a little something i thought of upon seeinf this pic of Lizzo recording Harry lmao

WORD COUNT: 698

SUMMARY: The moment Harry wins another Grammy.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

“And the Grammy goes to…” Trevor Noah starts the big announcement as he opens the envelope and the whole room goes eerily quiet.

You have your eyes glued to the stage, you’ve forgotten about how uncomfortable your dress feels around your chest (note to yourself, corsets only look good, but they are straight from hell when you actually wear them). You’re holding your breath while both of your hands are gripping Harry’s underneath the table and his hold is just as tight, his palms sweating as you all wait for the winner’s name to be dropped.

You allow yourself to peek at him and you see his blank stare, but you know there’s a whole tornado behind it, his mind is probably racing faster than ever and you almost miss how he is anxiously kicking the foot of his chair as the silent moments tick by.

When you look back at the stage you see Trevor opening the envelope, but instead of saying what’s inside, he looks behind, as if he was searching for someone and when he steps over to the adorable old lady in the line behind him, you already know.

Harry won.

He won another Grammy. 

“Har-Harry Styles!” the lady screams and you jump to your feet, unable to control your excitement any longer.

“Oh my God! Yes! Yes!” you scream and jump around, like a deranged football fan after her team just won. Everyone around is cheering and clapping and you look at Harry who has his face buried in his hands, his shoulders gently shaking.

“Baby, you won! I’m so proud of you!” You practically jump on top of him and he finally lifts his head, all his happiness reflecting from his eyes as he jumps to his feet and gathers you in his arms, squeezing you so tight that air gets knocked out of your lungs, but it’s okay, because you want to feel it all, you want to feel his pride and happiness in the moment he deserved so much. 

“You did it, H! I’m so so so proud of you!” you bounce in his arms before he pulls back and his lips land on yours, probably for the first time ever at an event like this. There are thousands of people around you, but in that moment it’s just you and him, sharing this magical experience he earned.

When he lets go of you to accept more congratulations you keep jumping and clapping with your hands up in the air, screaming in happiness and then you spot Lizzo behind you, her phone in her hand as she records your reaction.

“He won! My man won another Grammy!” you scream into the camera, making her laugh before it’s her turn to hug the winner himself. You’re out of breath by the time Harry heads up to the stage and you have to fix your dress so you don’t flash on national TV.

“Oh my God, this is amazing,” Lizzo laughs next to you and peeking over her shoulder you see that she is watching the video back, you’re acting like you just lost your mind while Harry is just hugging everyone one after the other.

“Don’t you dare post that anywhere,” you warn her, but you already know from the look in her eyes that she won’t gatekeep this one.

“Oh babygirl, your birthday is coming up, right?” She laughs like a maniac as you gape at her, pretending to be shocked, but before you could say a word Harry’s voice is heard coming from the speakers. 

He starts his totally random acceptance speech, rambling on about how thankful he is and how much this means to me, his gaze keeps flickering down at the award in his hands and you’ll never forget that smile that’s etched onto his face in that moment.

“...so, thank you so much and, erm…” he looks up, eyes swiping over the crowd before landing on you as he continues.” I wouldn’t be here without you.”

It seemed like he was addressing it to mostly his fans, but from the way his eyes were piercing into yours, you knew that it was meant only for you.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[cloudcountry]

jamil, help!

SUMMARY: Kalim discovers he likes you a little more than he thought. Jamil deals with the consequences.

CHARACTER: Kalim Al-Asim.

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: i love him so much hes my little meow meow i want to marry him. this takes place after the book four overblot btw (jamil is much sassier with kalim LMAO)

~~~~~

Kalim bursts into Jamil’s room like the force of a thousand winds was behind him, causing Jamil to nearly jump out of his skin and drop the book he was holding. Jamil sucks in a quiet breath as the book just barely misses his feet, and turns his ire to the frantic Housewarden.

“Jamil, please! You’ve got to help me!” Kalim squawks, eyes wide as he flails around the room like a caged bird being set free for the first time in months, “I don’t know what to do!”

“Calm down, Kalim!” Jamil hisses, taking a pillow off the bed and whipping it in the boy’s direction. It hits him square in the chest, and Kalim falls over with a soft “oof!” as he hits the carpeted floors. Jamil rolls his eyes and sits in front of him, brow furrowed as Kalim thrashes around on the floor.

“It’s so muuuuch, I don’t know what to do! I can’t take it anymore!” he yells, squeezing the pillow to his chest like a lifeline.

Jamil sighs heavily. This is going to be a long night.

“Okay. Tell me. What’s going on?” Jamil asks, crossing his legs and staring, unimpressed at the mini temper tantrum Kalim was throwing.

“So I invited the Prefect over for dinner, right? And they sat next to me and they looked so nice because they weren’t wearing their uniform, not that they look bad when they are, it’s just that their casual clothes were a nice change of pace! And they were so sweet and tried so many dishes I recommended and they even rested on my shoulder when they got tired, and when I asked if they wanted to go on my magic carpet and ride around the dorm they said yes and when we were shooting through the sky they kept acting weird and scooting closer and they looked so nervous so I asked what was wrong but then they just placed their hand right over mine and looked away and-!” Kalim screams loudly into the pillow and Jamil feels a headache coming on, “They looked so cute! And I didn’t do anything and I don’t want them to think I hated it but I was so nervous and I couldn’t do anything so I didn’t and-! Grah! Jamil, help! Please help! I don’t want them to think that they weirded me out! Please, you’ve got to help me!”

“Do you...like them?” Jamil deadpans, raising a brow as Kalim’s worried frown turns into a wobbly, lovesick smile.

Oh dear.

“You should go talk to them, not me. I can only give you so much advice.” he sighs, shaking his head.

“You’re so right, Jamil! I’ll go talk to them right away!” Kalim cheers, jolting up from his spot on the soft carpet with a huge smile on his face, “I’ll go see them right now!”

And before Jamil can say another word, Kalim bolts out of his room and down the hall, laughing the whole way. Jamil can only pity you.

[holllandtrash]

better late than never | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 3 to better left unsaid (the better series)

the first race weekend after the break is filled with drama, tension and words that you all wished could be taken back, and you're not even referring to what happened on the track

word count: 5.1k tags: angst lmao also more social media stuff

“What if you just quit your job?” Pierre asked. You told yourself he was only joking, but when you glanced away from the computer screen to look at your propped up phone and his charming eyes on facetime, you knew he wasn’t joking.

“I’m not throwing away six years of post secondary education and thousands of dollars of tuition because you’re batting your pretty little eyes at me,” you looked back at the computer screen that held the blueprints for an upcoming gallery exhibit. As an assistant curator at an art gallery, you had a lot on your plate and you had a dozen things to catch up on before your next trip out of the city.

“You think my eyes are pretty?”

Of course that was the only part he heard. 

“Pierre I can't-” you cut yourself off when someone in the background called Pierre’s name. It took a second but you recognized the female voice as one of the student engineers at Alpine. You waited until Pierre and her finished their quick conversation and he turned back to you.

Pierre smirked at how your expression dropped. Even when you forced yourself to focus on your computer screen, those forehead lines could be spotted through the bad quality facetime call.

“Ma chérie, don’t tell me you’re jealous because I’m talking to another girl,” Pierre laughed. You had half a mind to hang up on him.

If you were being honest, the female voice did speed up your heart rate a bit until you figured out who it was. Pierre was somewhere in a hotel, you weren’t sure where because his face took up most of the screen, but you knew he wasn’t alone. 

And you didn’t have a right to be jealous either. You and Pierre still weren’t an item, despite what the rumour mill was saying. 

You just talked everyday and he sent you flowers to your place of work and he bought your next plane ticket for you to watch the race and you were constantly thinking about how nice it would be to wake up beside him. 

For fuck sakes, you liked him. 

A lot.

In a matter of weeks you had fallen for him. And he hadn’t even kissed you yet. There were a few times when it came close, but the moment was never right. You weren’t going to rush into anything either, especially not with Lando being an ever lingering thought in the back of your mind that you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“I’m not the jealous type,” you told him. Lies. You liked when his eyes were on you and only you. You liked how he had treated you during the break. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Pierre didn’t seem to believe you, but he changed the topic regardless, “Did you watch qualifying today?”

“P7 baby,” you grinned, hitting send on the last email before calling it a night. “Alpine’s kicking ass in the midfield.”

“So you’ll be watching the race tomorrow?” 

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Pierre liked knowing you’d be rooting for him. “I wish you were here now, though.”

With yours and Pierre’s relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, starting at the beginning of the summer break, you had yet to accompany him during a race weekend. 

That would change next weekend. You were set to attend the Monza Grand Prix. 

And for the first time, you wouldn’t be hanging out in the McLaren garage. Pierre had to pull some strings to ensure you’d be allowed access, but once he made it clear that you didn’t have any affiliation to the papaya team, he sent you the paddock pass and flight information.

Pierre really wanted you with him that weekend. He had won in Monza before, he considered it one of his lucky tracks. Plus Italy was like a second home to him, he wanted everything to be perfect and your presence was a crucial part of that.

You weren’t sure if you were ready for the fans to share their opinions online. Lando had a huge following, and because of that, most of his fans knew who you were. You could only imagine what people would be saying when you were spotted in the Alpine garage for a change.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you weren’t as strong as you wanted to be.

“Chérie,” Pierre’s voice had the ability to calm your nerves, even if it was just temporary. “If you’re having second thoughts about Monza, please let me know.”

It was insane how well he knew you. In a few short weeks, Pierre was able to recognize even the slightest change in your mannerisms when something was bothering you. He was observant and it showed.

“No,” you assured him, or maybe you were assuring yourself. “No, I want to be there with you.”

He believed you, why wouldn’t he? These last few weeks with him were otherworldly to say the least. You wanted to keep this going for as long as possible. Pierre left you feeling hopeful and optimistic and after the fallout with Lando, you needed that. 

Pierre couldn’t replace Lando, not like you wanted him to, but you knew you had room in your heart for that French driver.

And you were going to see things through.

———————

pre-race press conference

The pizza had just been delivered. You poured yourself a rum and coke. You had on booty shorts and one of Pierre’s Alpine jumpers and you were ready to watch the race. 

What you weren’t ready for, was a knock at your door.

“Who the fuck…” It was a Sunday, you weren’t expecting anyone. You put your drink down and headed over to the front door. You rented the bottom half of a house, it wasn’t ideal but the private entryway was nice. 

You pulled the door open and was quite literally taken aback to see Max standing there. A case of beer in his hands as he sported a Quadrant sweater.

“Hi,” you said, hearing Will Buxton's voice coming from your speakers. It was only a few minutes until lights out. 

“Want some company?” Max asked. 

You missed him, there was no doubt about that. He had been so intertwined with Lando’s life these last few weeks that you genuinely thought he forgot about you after your phone call. You didn’t even see him in Monaco until you stopped by Lando’s place. 

You weren’t going to question why he was in London. He, like you, was always flying back and forth. At least he had the decency to reach out this time. 

“Always,” you stepped aside, making room for him to come in. 

Max didn’t comment on your apparel. He also didn’t comment on the state of your place which was always in slight ruins. You had been travelling so much and when you were in the city, most of your time was spent at work and you just could not be arsed to hang your jackets up when you got home, or put your shoes away properly. 

It was a little awkward when Max sat down. Not because he wasn’t comfortable in your home, he had been there dozens upon dozens of times before. But because you hadn’t spoken in weeks.

And now here he was with a case of beer acting as an olive branch. You were both hoping it would work, honestly. You didn’t want to have to rely on Lando to be the glue in your friendship. He didn’t own Max. 

“How’s Pierre?” Max asked, eyes glued to the screen.

You laughed, reaching for a slice of pizza and sliding the box across the coffee table for him to grab one. “We’re not dating, Max.”

“Kind of seems like it,” Max chuckled as well. You shot him a look, one that basically said shut up and he held his hand up in defence. “I’m just saying, Y/N, he seems to make you happy. It’s not a bad thing. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as he opened up one of the cans he brought but the second it started foaming over the sides, he jumped up in a panic. You covered your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing at his mess and he just stared at you with wide eyes.

“For Christ sakes women, get a towel!” He tried to drink what he could but excess liquid was streaming down his chin.

You held your hand out towards the screen, “The race is about to start! I’m not cleaning up your mess!” 

“I’m using the pillow as a towel then,” Max scoffed, wiping his hand on his jeans and grabbing one of the round pillows from the other couch. He did what he could to clean up the spill with the pillow, but your attention was on the screen. You could help him later.

The second the five lights went out, the drivers were off. You held your breath as the twenty cars fought to be the first to make it to that first corner, but all in all it was a pretty clean start. Pierre gained a place. Lando lost one. They were currently P6 and P5.

Why were you even watching the McLaren?  

Don’t kid yourself, you still cared.

You cleared your throat, “How’s Lando?”

Max seemed surprised that you asked. So much so that he paused to make sure he actually heard you correctly, “Yeah he’s good.”

“Is he?” The question slipped out. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Max was telling the truth but you just knew there was more to it. Lando was never just good. And especially after your last conversation…part of you knew he was struggling as much as you were, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

‘See you around then, maybe.’ He said. He could have just said goodbye. He could have just stayed quiet. 

Max sighed. It wasn’t a good sigh, but he kept his eyes on the race. Probably for the better. If you saw the hurt he was feeling for his friend, it would have broken you.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Max asked. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. You weren’t hot a minute ago but your mouth was dry now and your hands were clamming up. “He’s been better, that’s for damn sure. I know he regrets what he said to you and I also know he hates seeing you with Gasly. He nearly breaks his phone every time a photo of you two pops up.”

“So why hasn’t he reached out?” You weren’t under the impression Lando regretted anything. He might have missed you, but he seemed to stick by his words, as did you. 

Max turned it around on you, “Why haven’t you reached out?” 

“It’s not on me to fix anything.” your voice trembled. Focus on the race. Pierre was doing good. He defended one of the Aston Martin’s seamlessly. He was catching up to Lando. “Plus I-”

Nope, you didn’t need to say it. You shook your head, shoving the last bit of crust into your mouth. 

“You still love him?” 

And then you were choking on said crust. Max swore under his breath and grabbed your drink for you, encouraging you to take a sip and clear your airways. Water would have been better but maybe chugging the rum and coke would make this conversation a little easier.

You dabbed the corner of your eye, “No Max I don’t,” you inhaled a heavy breath, “I mean, it’s hard to say, okay? Part of me will always love Lando, but I need it to be a different type of love. I need to be content with knowing that him and I will never happen, that we were never supposed to happen. I want to be able to look at him and be his friend but not have it hurt and I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever get to that point.”

Max nodded. You could tell he was trying to understand but you were feeling way too many emotions at once and spilling that beer on his Quadrant hoodie was probably the most traumatic thing he’s had to deal with in the last month.

“So do you want him to reach out or not?” Max asked after a few minutes.

You slumped further into the corner of the couch, “I really don’t know.”

The two of you could have dived deeper into this topic. There was no one better to bounce your thoughts off of than Max. He knew you, he knew Lando. He wouldn’t purposely steer you in the wrong direction and secretly, he was rooting for the two of you to make up. 

But the race suddenly got interesting. 

You both saw it. Your eyes were glued to the tv throughout your conversation and while the multitasking had worked, now the only thing that mattered were the drivers.

It was only lap 10 of 72, but Lando braked early going into turn 13. Too early, like he knew Pierre’s Alpine was within DRS range behind him and wanted to purposely fuck with him before the start/finish straight. 

Pierre usually had better reflexes. But Lando shouldn’t have braked when he did. 

The front wing jammed into the back of the McLaren, sending both cars off the track. Lando’s tyres locked up and he spun out but Pierre went directly into the barrier. The cars behind them managed to avoid it, but there was no salvaging the damage on either car. Pierre would have to retire and the hit from the Alpine caused a sudden hydraulics issue in the McLaren.

They were lucky, honestly, it could have been a lot worse. 

But you didn’t give a shit about the cars. You were watching the drama unfold on screen as a red flag was announced to pull both cars off the track. 

Pierre climbed out of the car first. A marshall tried to usher him towards one of the exit holes in the gate, but he turned his attention to Lando who was also being escorted by a marshall. 

Pierre pointed his finger at Lando. The cameras couldn’t pick up what they were saying but you knew it wasn’t friendly. Not by the way the marshall had now positioned himself in between the two drivers.

“He did it on purpose,” Max voiced what everyone and their dog was thinking. 

“He wouldn’t,” you wanted to believe that Lando just made a mistake. “No, he wouldn’t sacrifice a race like this. Not to be petty.”

Max could argue that in a second. He had seen first hand how livid and unbearable Lando had become recently. He wouldn’t put it past his friend to pull a dirty move like this. 

The camera followed the drivers getting into the separate golf carts as they were driven back to the pit lane. From body language alone you could tell how frustrated Pierre was. This wasn’t his own error that caused him to retire, it was all on Lando. There was no doubt about it.

Somewhere along the lines you had reached across the couch to grab Max’s arm. The anticipation killed both of you as you watched in silence. You didn’t know if one of the drivers would approach the other in the pit lane but you were praying they would stay in their own garages.

“I told you,” Max whispered. “Lando hates that you’re with Pierre.”

“Lando’s an idiot for screwing up his own race because of some childish jealousy,” you said through clenched teeth. 

The screen was only showing Pierre now as he pulled his helmet off to speak to his engineers in the garage. His usually charismatic and inviting features were cold and hardened as he vented for anyone to hear. You wished the camera was able to pick up on what he was saying but it was for the better that it couldn’t. 

He wasn’t injured, thank god. That was always a fear you had when you watched collisions. But now there was a new fear. 

The media was going to have a field day over this. And because you weren’t necessarily private about hanging out with Pierre after having such a public friendship with Lando, you knew that one way or another, you’d be dragged into this.

“I have to call him,” you said, more to yourself than to Max, but he nodded in encouragement. “Before this blows up, I have to talk to him.”

"Him, who?" Max asked, wanting clarification. There were two drivers involved in that accident. Two drivers that had taken up two very different spots in your heart.

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and your mind turned on autopilot, calling the one driver that you knew you had to speak to first.

“Don’t say anything,” Amelia, Lando’s PR assistant, instructed. “Not to the media, not online, no public statements until we sort this out, do you understand?” 

Lando nodded and Amelia waited until she got verbal confirmation that he wouldn’t turn this into a bigger mess before leaving the drivers room.

“Yes, don’t worry,” he huffed out. “Lips are sealed.”

“God you make my life difficult,” Amelia pulled out her phone and walked back into the motorhome, shutting his door with more force than necessary. 

Lando changed out of his fireproofs, knowing he wouldn’t need them to watch the rest of the race. He slid on a McLaren polo t and a pair of black joggers. He combed his fingers through his hair and grabbed his phone off the table. He didn’t usually look at his phone much during race days, but he was dying to know what people were saying, what sort of assumptions were being thrown around. 

He had just opened twitter when your name showed up on his phone screen. The image being one of the two of you a few years back. He remembered setting it as your contact photo even though you hated how your side profile looked. 

Lando wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or not. He had retired early from races before and if you weren’t watching in the paddock, you wouldn’t call him until the race completed, giving him the time he always needed to cool off or collect himself. 

But you were calling him now.

Lando slid his finger across the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. He didn’t even get a word in, not like he would act as this was a normal conversation anyway. You were calling because Pierre was involved. Hell you probably already called him first and talking to Lando was just additional damage control.

“What the fuck, Lando?” 

He missed your voice. He didn’t miss you scolding him.

“Y/N I-”

“Tell me it wasn’t on purpose,” you demanded. He could hear it in your voice, the shakiness of your breath, the false confidence. You were mad at him, but up until recently, you were never one to paint him as the bad guy so this was completely new territory for you. 

Lando sat down on the edge of the couch, foot tapping against the floor, “I didn’t intend to ruin both our races.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for and all you could do was sigh in defeat.

But that single breath into the receiver made Lando regret every single wrong action he had ever done. It didn’t matter that you weren’t in the same room, that one goddamn breath ringing in his ear had a way of hitting Lando the way no words ever could. 

It reminded him of when you two were twelve and you spent a week at his place with his family and he yelled at you when you tried on one of his karting helmets. You didn’t mean anything by it, you just wanted to see if it fit. Lando yanked it off your head and lost it on you, telling you to never touch it again. 

Your eyes welled up immediately. You didn’t even apologise, you couldn’t. You just inhaled and exhaled the heaviest breath your twelve year old lungs could handle and Lando knew he crossed a line more than you had. You shouldn’t have touched his helmet but he shouldn’t have raised his voice. He spent the rest of the day making sure you didn’t hold it against him. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, he never wanted to hurt your feelings.

And in these last few weeks, that’s all he’s done. 

Pulling that one reckless move on the track didn’t just risk hurting Pierre. Lando knew how much Pierre meant to you, for some fucking reason, and he knew that you’d be watching. He knew that move would hurt you. 

“You braked early on purpose,” it wasn’t a question. Your assumptions were correct. You just needed to hear it.

“I wanted to get him off my tail,” Lando tried to defend his choices but he didn’t sound the least bit convincing. But that’s what he did when he felt as though he was backed into a corner, even if he was in the wrong, he always tried to talk himself out of whatever mess he made. “Gasly’s reaction times are off the charts, Y/N I just thought I’d mess him up a little. I didn’t think he'd crash into me.”

“God you are so full of yourself,” you spat out. “Lando, we haven't talked in weeks. I’ve been happy hanging out with Pierre, I’ve left you alone like you wanted and you go and pull this shit?”

Lando instantly became defensive, he had to. “Oh I’m full of myself? Why are you assuming this had anything to do with you?”

“I- because-” you stammered. “Lando, come on. You and Pierre have never had issues on track before.”

“He’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

“Since when do you bring your outside problems into the car with you?” You asked. 

“He’s been getting on my nerves all weekend, Y/N,” Lando clarified. Why did he feel the need to explain himself? 

Maybe because this was the longest you had spoken in weeks and even if you were arguing, he’d rather keep you on the phone and listen to you snap at him than hang up and not know when he’d hear from you next.

You paused, “What do you mean?”

“He’s been dragging my name through the mud since the press conference, did you not watch it?”

You had been at work during the press conferences, plus they weren’t always entertaining so no, you had missed it. 

“Subtle jabs here and there,” Lando went on further. “He thinks because you’re his now-”

“I’m not his,” you were quick to interject. You weren’t some piece of property that the guys would fight over. You were a goddamn human being and you didn’t ask for this mess. “I also was never yours.”

That shut Lando up. It was a harsh slap to the face. The painful reality he had to accept but didn’t want to because you should have been his. 

He should have worked harder to keep you in his life.

He should have realised how important you were to him before letting you slip through his fingers. 

It shouldn’t have taken him seeing you with Pierre to know that he needed you.

“I know,” Lando couldn’t argue with you. You were never his. “I didn’t mean it like-” God this was harder than it should have been. “It’s just- you care about Pierre now, is all.”

You hesitated. Lando wouldn’t have been surprised if you hung up. This conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere. 

And then your voice dropped to a whisper, like you were even debating letting the next words out of your mouth, knowing they would only add fuel to this fire. 

“That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

Lando froze. Quite literally. His legs went numb, thank god he was sitting down. He counted each individual breath you took and he was asking himself why you weren’t there with him, to say this in person. He could only imagine what you were like right now.

He had no idea that you were curled up on the couch, fingers trembling as you held the phone to your ear. He had no clue that Max was staring at you, mouth agape as you said the words that could have single handedly fixed what went wrong. Lando didn’t know that you called him first and that Pierre would just have to wait to hear your voice. 

You continued, “Lando we both said some hurtful things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re-” you chuckled and Lando instantly felt a weight lift from his shoulders. When was the last time he heard your laugh? “It’s not easy to throw away fifteen plus years of friendship, you idiot.”

“I guess that’s true,” he agreed, a smile forming on his own lips. Things weren’t permanently broken between you. There was damage, but it wasn’t a shattered mirror. You could put the pieces back together and not have the remnants of the incident ruin your relationship moving forward. 

“I think space is needed, though” you then said. Lando’s heart sank a little further into his chest. “I don’t want to be reliant on you anymore, Lando. For so long, you were all I cared about and I can’t keep living like that.”

You needed the time to get over him. 

Lando understood what you were trying to say. You didn’t want to love him anymore. You wanted a clean slate of friendship, something that wouldn’t keep you up at night, haunting your thoughts with all the what-if’s. 

He could wait. 

He had no choice, essentially. 

You weren’t ready to let him go and he was going to do whatever he could to get you back in his life. These last few weeks were hard enough with you. He didn’t want to go the next few years without you at his side. 

“Y/N I-” Lando paused, taking his lower lip between his teeth. He’d been holding onto that night in the club for so long, he had to let it go. “I’m sorry.”

If he could see you right now, he’d probably laugh at the way your forehead wrinkled as your eyebrows pinched together. 

“For the braking?”

“For everything I said,” he ran his fingers through his hair. It would be so much easier if you two were in the same room. “For making you feel as though I was paying for your friendship. For cancelling your flights. For being a shitty person, you didn’t deserve any of it. Especially knowing how you feel- how you felt, I mean. I made everything worse and I'm sorry.”

This time when you let out a breath into the receiver, it sounded more hopeful, if that was even possible. It sounded like the type of breath you’d take before rolling your eyes at him. 

“You couldn’t have apologised the morning after?” You asked. Your tone was finally starting to lighten up. “It took you causing an accident during a race to realise you fucked things up between us?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“I know.”

You were both silent. Lando didn’t want to hang up first. He wanted to keep you on the phone for the rest of the day. 

But he knew he couldn’t. His team was waiting for him in the garage. There was still a race going on. He had to sit and watch and think about his mistakes. He should probably apologise to Pierre. 

“Are we okay?” Lando asked. 

“We will be.”

You didn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t the answer Lando was hoping for. He had to be patient.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.

You knew he meant it.

When you hung up, Max was waiting on the opposite end of the couch for an explanation. He only caught bits and pieces of what Lando said and he couldn’t piece together anything.

“He apologised,” you said. 

The smile that spread across Max’s face was photo-worthy. He’d been waiting to hear that. He’d been telling Lando to say sorry since you ran out of the club with Pierre.

“Thank god!” Max fist bumped the air. “Does that mean we can finally all hang out again? I love Lando, I just can’t deal with him alone. He-”

“Woah, okay, slow down,” you felt bad, but you couldn’t let Max get ahead of himself. “I still need time. I can’t just hang out with him and pretend I never loved him, I need to be in a place where I’m content with just being his friend.”

Max’s face dropped, “How long is that going to take.”

You shrugged. You didn’t have an answer. All you knew was that things were going to be okay. You didn’t lose Lando like you thought you had. He was still there and he would continue to be there, waiting for you to return to his life when you were ready. When you could look at him and not see the face of the man you loved. 

You then thought about what Lando said about Pierre’s comments during the press conference. 

“Hey, what did Pierre say to the media?” You asked. “Did you watch the press conference?”

Max’s face said it all. He inhaled a sharp breath through clenched teeth and you regretted asking the question. 

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it,” Max clarified. “He talked about the competition between himself and Lando, but the underlying tone…you could tell it wasn’t just about the points or the driver standings. Pierre was referring to you. As if you were the prize.”

That wasn’t the least bit flattering, but you made a mental note to search up the clip after the race. 

At that same moment, Pierre’s face showed up in a split screen on the tv. You couldn’t put into words how mad he was that his race was over as he sat in the garage, watching the other drivers continue on without him. You knew he had a few choice words for Lando and honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

You had to talk to Pierre, about the incident, about what Lando said, about where you two stood. But after your conversation with Lando, you decided that Pierre could wait. 

You were leaving for Monza on Friday anyways, which was a good thing. You were going to need those extra days to prepare for what was to come.

part 4 here read all parts here

[persephone-writes]

On the Streets of Coruscant: Part Two

Obi-Wan x Fem!Reader

Read Part One (posted on my old account @persephone-writes2)

Obi-Wan image by ObmanBalagan on pinterest

Description: Over a decade after their spontaneous stroll around the Plaza, Y/N is working as an aide to Senator Amidala. When the Senator is placed under the protection of two Jedi after an assassination attempt, Y/N is reunited with the now Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings & Tags: canon typical violence/the assassination attempts of Padme (mentioned only), mild discussions of low self esteem, reader specifically does *not* have children, probably a crap ton of grammatical errors, lots of Y/N usage, fluff, kissing, happy ending!

Notes: Sooo, full warning, I hate this, but I'm posting it anyway! This takes place during Attack of the Clones, so I had to change a few things around to fit in the reader (some things just happen because I said so lol) This also means that I HAD to include Jar Jar. I attempted at writing dialogue for him but I just couldn't bring myself to, so I tried my best to just have him barely be there lmao. Also, mullet obi-wan is top tier and I will die on that hill

Y/N clicked away on her holopad, attempting to get through the pile of work that had been dumped on her that morning.  While her job was always demanding, and sometimes overwhelming, this was the busiest she had been in a long time.  With Senator Amidala set to arrive on Coruscant today amidst an increasingly intense political climate, Y/N was tasked with taking what seemed like hundreds of messages, thoroughly organizing and answering every one.  While Padmé had an array of other aides to help her, Y/N was the head of her office on Coruscant, leaving her with the majority of the responsibility when she was on-planet, besides that of Dormé. 

Despite her spinning head, Y/N adored her job, as well as Senator Amidala.  She had worked in a variety of low level positions for different Senators, many of which were not nearly as kind.  No matter how much pressure she faced, Padmé never spoke harshly or berated those who worked for her.  Y/N couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must be to represent an entire planet, all while keeping up a professional appearance.  Outside of her office, Padmé had to seem relaxed, dignified, and confident no matter what she was up against.  At least Y/N didn’t have to face the wrath of the public or the argumentative nature of the Senate.  Always tucked away inside the office, Y/N could plug away at her work without the eyes of thousands upon her at any given time. 

Another aide knocked on the door of the office before entering, peeking his head in. 

“The Senator is landing.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, frantically pulling up the most urgent messages in preparation.  The aide hurried away down the hall, the door closing behind him.  After a few minutes, a guard came running down the hall, opening the door abruptly.  Y/N jumped at the sudden intrusion, growing fearful when she saw the look on his face. 

“The Senator’s ship has been attacked,” the guard said, a bit out of breath.  Y/N felt her stomach drop, dread rushing through her. 

“Is she alright?” Y/N asked, voice desperate. Before he could answer, Captain Typho pushed past him, leading Padmé into the room.  Her face was contorted in sadness and confusion, obviously still in shock.  She wasn’t wearing her usual attire, dressed identically to Typho in a dark turtleneck and leather vest.  She immediately sat down in one of the chairs, head hung low.  

A wave of relief came over Y/N knowing Padmé was okay.  She immediately rushed to her, kneeling down beside her chair. 

“Milady, are you alright?” Padmé only nodded.  Y/N looked up at Captain Typho, who was pacing around the room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said, eyes darting around in thought. “Someone bombed the ship.”

For a moment, Y/N stared out into space, swallowing thickly before she stood.  

“Milady,” Typho began, to which Padmé lifted her head, “We must get you somewhere safer.”

She nodded, standing up and taking a deep breath.  Her composure was regained, and Y/N marveled at the speed to which she recovered from such a terrifying incident.  She turned to Y/N, eyes determined. 

“Y/N, send me all the necessary documents for the vote,” she paused, turning to Typho, “We shall go to my apartment.”

“Yes, milady,” Y/N answered.  Typho then led Padmé from the room, Y/N immediately returning to her desk to get to work once again.  

A few hours later, Y/N received a message from the Captain that she would be meeting with the Chancellor and would not be returning to the Senate today.  Further, Y/N was to meet Padmé at her apartment to discuss a series of negotiation plans which Y/N had been organizing.  Y/N was no stranger to working in the Senator’s apartment, having done so on many late nights when Padmé refused to get some rest.  However, it had never been under such circumstances.   

Later in the afternoon, Padmé’s team sent a transport for her along with a guard.  Y/N thought it was overkill, as no one was after a random aide, but she didn’t make too much of a fuss about it.  No one could stop Padmé from worrying about her team, especially after some of them likely died in the attack.  As the transport flew through the busy city, Y/N peered out of the window, wondering who could have been behind the explosion.  Padmé had many adversaries, though it surprised Y/N that any one of them would attempt to assassinate her.  The Separatist movement had uprooted nearly every system, turning the Senate into more of a battle ground than ever before.  Even so, war had not broken out yet, and all Y/N could do was hope that it wouldn’t resort to that.

Pulling up to the apartment, Y/N was escorted by the guard all the way up the glass turbolift, exposed to the city.  Stepping in, she remembered the first time she had been called here, unable to pull her eyes away from the city growing smaller as she ascended.  

As the turbolift doors opened, she immediately heard the happy voice of Jar Jar Binks.  While she thought it strange for someone to be excited at a time like this, it was hard to tamper Jar Jar’s spirits.  The guard led her into the apartment, where she saw Padmé sitting on one of the long sofas.  She was clothed her usual fashion, hair in an updo, wearing a wide skirt dress with long flowing sleeves.  Although Padmé looked good in almost anything, it was a small relief to see her back to her normal self.  Captain Typho was standing a few feet away, with Dormé sitting beside Padmé.  On the sofa opposite sat two men who Y/N instantly recognized as Jedi.  Working for the Senate, Y/N had seen her fair share of Jedi over the years, though their presence usually didn’t bring good news.  Of course, today wasn’t the day for good news anyhow. 

Padmé stopped speaking, spotting Y/N as she walked into the room.  She turned to smile at her, which Y/N returned easily.  The other’s followed Padmé’s gaze, and Y/N grew a bit nervous at the attention.  Her eyes went to the two Jedi, now given a clear view of their faces.  The one sitting closest had short, cropped brown hair and the braid of a padawan falling across his shoulder.  He appeared slightly annoyed, and Y/N wondered if she had intruded upon an important conversation she was not meant to be a part of.  Her gaze drifted to the other Jedi, whose hair was on the longer side and a light copper in color.  His beard was short and neatly trimmed, though there was still an air about him that was rugged, ever so slightly ruffled.  After her brief first impression, the realization hit Y/N with a full, intense force.  Her heart sped up significantly as she thought back to over ten years ago when she had met a Jedi at a nightclub. 

Before Y/N could make any sort of reaction, Padmé stood, followed by the others.  

“Y/N,” she said kindly, walking over to greet her. 

“Senator,” Y/N said in return, bowing.

Jar Jar happily pranced over and shook Y/N’s hand, telling her it was nice to see her again.  Y/N chuckled at his enthusiasm before turning back to Padmé. 

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his padawn, Anakin Skywalker,” she introduced.  Y/N was forced to look at the two Jedi, feeling heat rush up her spine and into her face.  She had no idea if she should acknowledge that they knew each other, or pretend they were strangers.  Obi-Wan reached out his hand to shake hers, a small, polite smile on his lips.  She took it wearily, forcing herself to make eye contact.  It was easier to shake the padawan’s hand, who only nodded at her. 

Now that she was closer to Obi-Wan, she stole a look at him from the corner of her eye.  He was just as handsome as he was when they first met, perhaps even more handsome.  His face was not boyish as it had been, now more mature, his features stronger and more pronounced.  The buzz that once existed all around him was settled, but not completely gone.  Remnants of it remained in his eyes, which still held their playful shine.  Suddenly, Y/N grew self conscious of her appearance.  She was older than she had been, no longer the young girl she once was.  It was hard for her to know how different she truly looked, as she had watched herself slowly age over many years.  Her clothes as well were more mature, or rather refined.  She realized that Obi-Wan had only seen her in her party clothes, never something professional, clean-cut, more simple.  Her rapid thoughts were interrupted by Padmé, who went on to introduce her.

“This is Y/N L/N, my leading aide on Coruscant,” Padmé said.  Obi-Wan let out a small laugh at her words, earning a confused look from Padmé.  His laugh was a bit deeper than it was all those years ago, but it held the same lightness and ease. 

“We’ve met,” he said, accent still smooth, “a long time ago.”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, knowing that Obi-Wan was looking at her face.  Padmé appeared pleasantly surprised, Anakin raising his brows at his Master. 

“You have?” Padmé asked, smiling at Y/N.  

Y/N nodded, trying to think of what to say.  Obi-Wan saved her, speaking before anyone could ask questions. 

“I was still a padawan then,” Obi-Wan said, light hearted without giving anything away.  Anakin looked suspiciously towards Y/N, but wiped his face quickly when she noticed. 

“This is the day of reacquaintance,” Padmé said, pleased with the surprise. Y/N gave her a confused look, and she laughed a bit, realizing her mistake. “I met Master Kenobi and Anakin ten years ago, when I was Queen.”

Y/N nodded. “I see,” was all she could think to say.  

“You must excuse us,” Padmé began, “We have much work to do.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Y/N said to Anakin.  She then looked to Obi-Wan, mind reeling. “And it’s nice to see you again.”  She then left to follow Padmé and Dormé, cheeks burning.  

Y/N spent the afternoon into the evening with Padmé and Dormé, going over documents and discussing her next moves.  Y/N did most of the clerical work, leaving the politics to Padmé and Dormé, who knew the ins and outs.  Although Y/N had picked up a lot, she still felt overwhelmed by the current climate and all its complexities.  The whole time, she was hyper aware that Obi-Wan was in the other room, doing who knows what.  

As the evening fell, Padmé excused Y/N, asking her to return tomorrow morning.  She was thankful, as the eventful day had her tired, as surely Padmé was as well.  At least she knew that Padmé would take it easy for the rest of the night, forgoing any further work until morning. Exiting the room, holopad in hand, Y/N saw Anakin and Obi-Wan talking on the balcony.  She hoped they wouldn’t notice her, allowing her to slip out quietly, though the chances of this were likely slim.  In all honesty, she had no idea how she would handle being so close to Obi-Wan for the foreseeable future, unable to acknowledge the circumstance of their last meeting and pretending as if they hadn’t gone on a romantic escapade.  

Perhaps feeling her eyes upon his back, Anakin turned, catching Y/N staring.  To her surprise, he gave her a small smile, which she anxiously returned before whipping her head forward.  She walked quickly to the turbolift, hoping that somehow Obi-Wan would remain ignorant of her growing uncertainty. 

Her alarm blared and she hastily reached over to turn off the cacophony of noise.  She laid in bed for a quiet moment, still groggy but remembering the events of the day prior.  She groaned upon the realization that she’d be forced to face Obi-Wan, all with the intent not to embarrass herself.  She envied his even manner which gave nothing away, not letting anyone know of their odd history.  As she pondered over this, she felt a pang in her heart at the thought that Obi-Wan was completely unaffected by her presence.  Yes, Y/N had a series of relationships since her single, solitary kiss with Obi-Wan, but that didn’t take away from the fact that she was entirely unprepared to ever see him again.  Until now, Obi-Wan was a fleeting yet meaningful moment in her life, one which Y/N would look back on every once in a while with an immature sadness.  The thought of him, someone who was so kind, so bright, so considerate, unable to form any romantic attachments, was poignant to say the least.  When this kind of thinking arose, she’d kick herself for giving it the time of day.  You only met him once, you only kissed once, what's the big deal?

Y/N got ready for the day with the intent of forgetting about Obi-Wan, focusing on the far more pressing matters.  Today would likely consist of setting up calls with many different Senators, some of which would want to discuss the recent attack, others who would simply want to argue about the motion to create an army.  Further, Y/N had no clue how long Senator Amidala would stay on-planet, so she would have to get to organizing all she could before she was off somewhere else.  As she brushed her teeth, Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror, paying far too much attention to how she looked.  Just as she had sworn off thinking about Obi-Wan, the image of herself brought back feelings of insecurity.  She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what Obi-Wan thought when he first saw her again, thinking that perhaps his placidity came from the fact that he no longer found her attractive.  Although she tried to brush the thought of him away, she didn’t stop herself from putting on her best work-appropriate outfit.  

In a kind gesture, Padmé sent a speeder to pick Y/N up from her apartment, again accompanied by a guard.  She made small talk with him on the way to Padmé’s in an aim to calm her nerves, which despite all her efforts still bubbled beneath the surface.  When Y/N arrived, she saw Padmé and Dormé sitting opposite each other in the seating area, multiple holopads and projections on the table between them.  Off to the side, Obi-Wan and Anakin stood, Anakin seeming on guard and brewing with energy.  Padmé looked up from her work, waving Y/N over to sit with them. 

“There was another attack,” Padmé said, voice even and calculated, “I’m leaving for Naboo tomorrow.”

“Why not today, milady?” Y/N asked, full of concern. 

“I must leave on an unregistered transport, it will take some time to organize,” Padmé explained.  Seeing Y/N’s worries, she placed a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. “I will be alright, Anakin will be with me.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit better.  She wondered why Obi-Wan would not be joining her, though didn’t ask.  

“In the meantime, we must get as much done as we can.  I doubt I will be able to work much in hiding.”

With that, they all got to work.  Y/N was mostly silent, leaving Dormé and Padmé to talk over the majority of her decisions.  Padmé received a warm call from Senator Organa, who extended any help to her that he could offer.  Y/N never had the chance to work under him, though she expected it would be much like working for Padmé.  To Y/N, they seemed to be the only two honest and truly kind politicians in the galaxy, setting them in stark contrast to the increasingly unscrupulous nature of the Senate at large.  Amidst the growing chaos, Y/N hardly paid attention to the two Jedi guarding the apartment. 

Some time that morning, Padmé decided to move to a different room which housed a large table so that they could spread out more.  Y/N was off to the side, plugging away as usual, happy that her responsibilities seemed mild in comparison to Padmé and Dormé’s.  

Y/N hadn’t even noticed that they had worked well into midday, brought up from her work when Dormé suggested they break for a short lunch.  They were all left with a little free time, as it would take a bit for the chef to prepare their meals.  That was one thing Y/N loved about working at Padmé’s apartment; the chef.  Padmé and Dormé left the room as Y/N finished the last few sentences of her address to another Senatorial aide, sighed deeply as she sent it along. 

Walking into the main living space, she found Padmé standing beside one of the long floor to ceiling windows speaking to Anakin.  Padmé’s smile was calm, and for the first time in a while she seemed genuinely relieved.  If Y/N didn't know better, it looked as though Padmé and Anakin were close, long time friends, used to seeing one another.  Her eyes were taken away from the pair, drifting to Obi-Wan who was pouring over something on his holopad.  He too appeared incredibly natural, though tense in the shoulders.  If it weren’t for his robes, he could've been just another aide hard at work. 

Y/N lazily walked over to the balcony, pushing open the large glass doors and feeling the cool air of Coruscant brush against her face.  She sighed with contentment, taking in the view of the city from such a great height.  It wasn’t often that she was so high like this, nearly above the clouds.  It was as close to peaceful as she’s had in a while, not since her last visit to Corellia several years ago.  A few minutes passed, Y/N’s mind wandering to the various tasks which still needed to be done before Padmé left for Naboo. 

She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her.  She glanced back, expecting to see Dormé or perhaps Padmé, only to find that it was Obi-Wan.  Her heart rate picked up as she took in his regal appearance, robes tidy and neatly tucked.  He smiled softly as if to ask permission to join her.  She returned it the best she could, trying to push her nerves down.  He came up beside her near the railing and looked out, sighing to himself. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to peek at him, fearful that her emotions would too clearly show upon her face. 

“I’m glad to see you working in the profession you wanted,” Obi-Wan said, voice abundantly friendly, yet somewhat professional in nature.  Y/N bravely glanced at him with a kind expression, genuinely pleased that he remembered. 

“Yes, I am too,” she paused, realizing that unlike before, it wouldn’t be awkward to mention his profession. “And now you’re a Master, with a padawan of your own.  Congratulations,” she said honestly. 

He chuckled, “Thank you.”  Obi-Wan shifted his weight to one foot, turning to look at her profile. “Truly, I am pleased to see you again.”

“I’m a bit surprised you remembered me,” she let slip, growing a bit more comfortable with the exchange.  Her teasing earned another small chuckle from him.

“I don’t easily forget,” was all he said in return, leaning an elbow on the railing. 

Y/N fully turned towards him, met with the same face she saw that night in the club as they both stood at the bar.  Now, his jaw was partially obscured by a beard.  She thought it suited him, as did his longer hair.  She wanted to tell him so, but decided against it, not wanting to break what felt like a fragile moment. 

“I’ve since visited Corellia,” Obi-Wan began again, tone still light. 

Y/N smiled at him, brows slightly raised. “You did?”

“Yes, though as you might expect, I was occupied most of the time.  However, it did not disappoint.”

Y/N realized he was very much still the same, though perhaps more subtle in his cheekiness. 

“I’ve been back as well, though only a few times. It’s still as boring as I remembered,” she joked. 

“Now, I am sure you are longing for boredom as well.”

Something electric shot through her with his words, reminding her more and more of that night.  It appeared as though Obi-Wan did not lie; he does not easily forget.  A small seed of innocent, foolish hope made its way into her heart.  Had he thought about me since then, as I did him?  She quickly reprimanded herself, shaking her head to clear the thought away. 

“You’re right,” she sighed, “For the Senator’s sake rather than mine.”

Obi-Wan paused, not replying for a moment. Y/N couldn’t stop herself from wondering what was going on inside his mind, which puzzle pieces he was trying to fit together.  She had no clue who was attempting to assassinate Padmé, too many possibilities floating around to grasp.  However, she was sure Obi-Wan had a much better idea than herself. 

“It’s a tricky business we both are in, though all things important are difficult.”

Once again, she was infatuated with his wisdom, which had only grown. 

“I bet you are a wonderful master to Anakin.” 

He took the compliment well, not as bashful as he once was. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said her name warmly, resurfacing a slurry of emotions she didn’t know still existed.  All at once she felt ten years younger, enraptured with her name said in his accent, in his voice.  

“I mean it, really.  I could hardly imagine trying to lead someone, teach them what I know.  The whole thought of it makes me feel like I know nothing,” she was letting more and more of her feelings slip, far more than she originally intended.  This morning, she had vowed to be wholly professional, to focus on the job she had to do, not to get caught up in buried emotions.  However, there was something about Obi-Wan’s presence that made her too free with her words.  It was the same way over ten years ago, where she found herself spilling her guts to an almost stranger.  If he stuck around any longer, one of these days she might just get herself into real trouble.

“I’m sure you could, if given the chance.  It takes courage to come to a new place, to build a new life.  That is something you know far more about than I.”  There he went again, melting her from the inside out. 

“Perhaps, and I’d have to bet I’d beat you in a typing contest,” she jested.  

Obi-Wan let out a hearty laugh, unconstricted and full, “I believe you are right.”

The conversation lulled, with Y/N unsure what to say.  Her guards were still up, despite the fact that they were steadily lowering against her will.  She wondered how much she could get away with addressing, which facts were off limits and which were okay to mention.  Obi-Wan seemed to be perfectly comfortable with speaking about everything but the kiss, though she didn’t want to push her luck.  

She settled on something simple, something pertaining to the here and now. “I’m happy Anakin will accompany the Senator, I’m sure she will be safe in his presence.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, glancing down for a moment. “His eagerness often worries me, though it may serve him well with his task,” Obi-Wan said. 

“A product of youth,” she commented, amused at the thought of Obi-Wan having to deal with the antics of a young man.  She thought that perhaps once, Obi-Wan had done the same to his Master. 

“Unavoidable, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan replied effortlessly, turning to look at her face once again.  She felt bare under his gaze, as if he could see through her every shield, each mask she wore.  

“I’m sure with your guidance he will grow into an exemplary Jedi.  I don’t think you could mold him into anything less.” Her flattery was not lost on Obi-Wan, whose ardent smile felt like a flowering bruise, a reminder of his oxymoronic, sweet rejection.  

“Your faith in me surpasses that of myself,” he retorted frivolously, making Y/N chuckle.  After a pause, Obi-Wan spoke again, “How long have you worked for Senator Amidala?”

Y/N thought for a moment, adding up the years in her head. “About four years now.  I hope to work for her as long as she’ll let me.  She is by far the kindest boss I’ve ever had,” she laughed a bit with the thought of begging Padmé to let her stay, offering to do anything but go back to working with the other Senators. 

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, eyes darting around the skyline. “She is a rarity, no doubt.”

“I’m sure you have worked with a fair few Senators.  You must know how…difficult they can be.”

Obi-Wan chuckled with a sigh, seeming surprised by her admission. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

Without thinking, Y/N said what was on her mind, letting it pass through her filters as if it were a smuggler, “I’m glad you have not lost your sense of humor.”

“I need it to deal with Anakin,” he joked, now his turn to surprise Y/N.  

She couldn’t stop herself from giggling girlishly, placing a hand over her mouth.  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing a mildly devilish look on his face.  

“Your sharp tongue must get you into trouble sometimes,” she teased, pushing the limits a bit further.  

Obi-Wan tilted his head a bit, shrugging slightly. “It only appears amongst friends.”

Friends. The word danced around her head, bouncing all the way to her chest, pulsing against her heartbeat.  She thought that perhaps he was humoring her, throwing her a bone.  He couldn’t possibly think of her as a friend, could he?  Technically, they’ve only known each other a total of three days, which was far too soon to be friends.  Acquaintances, yes.  Friends? No.  While Y/N struggled with the idea that he might just be indulging her, she was suddenly reminded of a detail of their first encounter, one which she played over and over in her head the days following: I should not have allowed myself such an indulgence.  

Obi-Wan glanced back through the glass door, then back to Y/N, who didn’t notice his staring. “Do you still see those whom I met that night?” he asked.

It took a second for Y/N to understand what he meant, remembering he probably never got their names. “Oh, yes, I do.  Well, some of them.  I still see Ripp, whose father owned the club.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chuckling to himself, “They seemed like a lively bunch.”

Y/N laughed, thinking back to the times they had together while in school. “Yes, they were.  Thankfully, we are all doing quite well for ourselves now.”

“I’d say so,” Obi-Wan said genuinely, eyes soft.  

Y/N looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Did you ever find that man?”

“I believe we did,” it sounded almost like a question, as if he wasn’t quite sure.  

Y/N wanted to comment on the fact that he had told her he doesn’t forget things, but thought that it might come out wrong.  Instead, she focused on the vast expanse of skyscrapers and traffic in front of her.  She could sense Obi-Wan looking at her profile, resurfacing her nerves. 

“You have not lost your wonder,” he said gently, almost a whisper.  Suddenly, she could not stop herself from looking at him, met with his tender expression.  His words confused her, throwing her off the delicate footing she had found herself on.  Her mind raced with endless possibilities, attempting to decide what he expected her to do, what he wanted her to say in return.  

With her breath caught in her throat, she said the only thing that came to mind, “Neither have you.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed too intimate for their odd relationship.  Y/N felt honored to have been on the receiving end of such a smile, especially from Obi-Wan.  The gesture made her weak, pathetically chasing another look like that, completely insatiable.  Amending her earlier thought, Y/N decided that if he stuck around, her truthfulness would not be the only thing to get her in trouble.  It seemed as though there were a million things Obi-Wan could get her to do or say with a simple look towards her or a single suggestion.  It wasn’t because he was charming or persuasive, or even because he was handsome.  No, it was because he listened to her so intently, spoke to her so kindly, and seemed to remember insignificant details from a night which occurred so long ago. 

Y/N fought the urge to reach out and touch this cheek, or at least his arm.  She yearned to feel something which solidified his presence in front of her, anything to tell her he was real and not a ghost conjured up from her memory.  His eyes would have to do for now, sparkling against the midday light, so beautiful Y/N couldn’t possibly have dreamt them.  

“I envy your opinion of me,” Obi-Wan said, still soft but with an air of jest, “But I feel you may be wrong.”

She shook her head instantly, bewildered by his statement.  She wondered how he could possibly think that about himself, while at the same time saying such kind things about herself. 

He laughed quietly, taking his eyes from her.  Mourning the loss of their clear blue color, Y/N stayed staring at face, wanting to soak up every second she had with him on the balcony, where everything seemed simple. 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she countered.  

He glanced at her with a playful smirk. “For a moment I thought you had grown a bit more shy, but I see that I was wrong.”

She chuckled, feeling embarrassed by his words.  Her whole body was burning hot, despite the high altitude breeze that came whipping past.   

“I’ve just learned when to hold my tongue,” she joked, relaxing a bit as the intensity of the moment began to lift. 

“I only wish Anakn had your skills,” he sounded serious, but Y/N could tell he was joking by his upturned lips and the crinkle on the corners of his eyes.  His sarcasm was new, though it did not feel unnatural, for his wit had always been sharp as a blade.  Y/N giggled to herself, thinking of Obi-Wan talking to his padawan, pestering him with father-like nagging. 

“Something amusing?” Obi-Wan teased, though played it off as if it was a genuine question.  

She shook her head. “No, no,” she faltered for a moment, chuckling to herself, “Are all Jedi as funny as you?”

Obi-Wan sighed as if to think it over, “Perhaps, if you get to know them.” As Y/N was beginning to get caught up in his hidden meaning, he spoke again, “Are all Senatorial aides as diligent as yourself?”

His question caught her a bit off guard, and she wondered if he had peeked into the room and seen her working.  The idea sent butterflies soaring in her belly. 

“No,” she laughed, “But it’s easy to be devoted when Senator Amidala is leading you.”

“You think quite highly of her,” Obi-Wan said a bit curiously.

“Yes,” she answered without thought, “I do.”

“I know how much of a gift it can be to be led by such an admirable example,” Obi-Wan said, voice a bit far off. 

“You’re thinking of your master?” she asked hesitantly, hoping not to overstep her bounds.  Obi-Wan nodded, though his smile had faded.  His eyes, too, were not as bright as they were before.  “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it-” she rambled, fearing the worst.  

Obi-Wan gave her a sad smile, but his face soon turned neutral. “It’s quite alright.  He died many years ago,” he confessed.  Y/N felt a devastating privilege to have received such an admission, surprised that he gave it so freely.  

“Oh,” she said without thinking, “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn’t know.”

“How could you,” he said, unperturbed, the sadness on his face all but washed away.  She wondered where he got his resilience, so that she could get some for herself. 

“He was a good man, and a fine Jedi,” Obi-Wan began again, sounding as if he was speaking only to himself.  Y/N clung to every word, hanging on tightly to anything he chose to tell her. “Though he was a bit more like Anakin than myself.”

Y/N smiled, which soon turned into a grin when Obi-Wan gave her a mischievous sideways glance. “Just think of it as practice.” 

“Yes,” he chuckled, pausing for a moment, “I was lucky to have him, as I am lucky to have Anakin as my padawan,” his tone was deeply warm and full of love.  

Y/N couldn’t believe that he so readily told her about his life in this way, how openly he shared small, intimate details.  While his words alone were not particularly notable, the way he said them told her that he was bearing little pieces of his innermost world.  She wondered how many people were lucky enough to see him like this, punishing herself for assuming that she was special in some way.  Perhaps he was always this open, this unfettered in conversation.  Regardless, she craved a deeper look, even if it was just a peek like a sliver of light coming through a slightly open door.  

After her internal gushing over Obi-Wan’s divulgence, she noticed him looking somewhat hesitant.  It was the first time he faltered since their reintroduction, his expression seeming foreign and unlike his usual self, although Y/N couldn’t deny that she wasn’t the leading expert on the matter.  She cocked her head, flashing him a confused look. 

“What?” she asked, clueless as to what he was thinking. 

He looked down reticently, quickly bringing his eyes back to hers without any shyness.  “Do you have children of your own?” he said it innocently, as if he wasn’t nervous at all.  

Thinking perhaps she had misread his expression, Y/N laughed a bit at the question, “No, I do not.”

“Then you are free of that particular headache,” he chuckled, and Y/N laughed along.

“I can barely take care of myself,” she joked.

“You doubt yourself far too often,” Obi-Wan paused, watching her face, “and ignore how far you have come.”

His kindness spread through her like the tranquil waters of Corellia she used to swim in during the summer months, waves falling in a steady ebb and flow.  She sighed, staring at her hands which rested on the railing.  What could she possibly say to him, what words could express what she felt while also concealing the attraction which had begun to float to the surface?

Before she could think of a reply, Dormé opened the door, causing each of them to turn. 

“Our meal is ready,” she said with a small smile.

“Thank you, Dormé,” Y/N replied, heading back into the apartment with Obi-Wan following behind.  Padmé was already sitting at the table, along with Anakin.  Y/N and Dormé sat down opposite the pair. 

“Join us, Obi-Wan,” Padmé offered.  

Obi-Wan looked a bit hesitant.  “I’ll keep guard, milady,” he said, walking over to the entrance near the turbolift. 

“Captain Typho is on watch,” Padmé insisted, “Please, come eat.”

Obi-Wan sighed, giving in quickly to Padmé’s request.  He took a seat beside Anakin, directly in front of Y/N.  She grew a bit nervous, forced to face him directly, but her attention was diverted as the meals were placed on the table. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Padmé asked Obi-Wan and Y/N, beginning to tuck into her food.  Y/N should have known the question was coming, but she was a bit bewildered nonetheless.  Her mouth opened to answer, but she was at a loss for words. 

“I was on a small mission here in Coruscant,” Obi-Wan began cooly, “Y/N was kind enough to offer a bit of help.”

Anakin smirked to himself as Padmé looked towards Y/N, unaware that she was currently fighting off jitters. Y/N nodded, knowing that she should speak. 

“He was looking for someone, but I was no help,” she said in an even tone, picking at her meal.  

“Surely something must have happened,” Anakin commented, a bit of mockery in his voice, “How else would you remember each other?”

Obi-Wan smiled, completely nonchalant.  Y/N was left wondering how nervous she truly looked, hoping she was playing it as well as Obi-Wan, but seriously doubting her abilities. 

“If I am remembering correctly, a friend of yours knew the man that I was searching for,” he answered, taking a bite. 

“Yes,” she said with a breath, regaining her composure, “His father had kicked him out of the club some time before.”

“The club?” Anakin asked with a raised brow, a smirk playing upon his lips.  Realizing her mistake, Y/N felt heat creep up her cheeks.  Padmé laughed a bit, though Y/N could not tell if it was due to her reaction or Anakins. 

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan clipped, side-eyeing his padawan, “You’re no stranger to them.” 

Obi-Wan’s jab did not seem to affect Anakin, who looked rather pleased with himself.  Y/N focused on her food, not wanting to face the eyes which were surly looking at her.  Normally, she wouldn’t be embarrassed if people knew she went to clubs, especially in her younger years.  However, there was something off about mentioning it in front of a Senator and two Jedi.  It felt as though she had admitted to committing a strange sort of crime.  

“What an odd string of fate,” Padmé said pleasantly, smiling at the others. “It is not often that we are reunited with such fleeting acquaintanceships in a city this large.”

“You are right, milady,” Obi-Wan said, seemingly unbothered by the whole ordeal. 

“Yes, it is quite funny,” Y/N forced herself to say, fearing that her silence may enact suspicion. 

Thankfully, no one brought it up for the rest of the meal.  At first they discussed politics, though soon Obi-Wan went on to share a few stories of missions he and Anakin had gone on over the years.  Y/N listened with interest, holding onto every word.  Obi-Wan was an excellent storyteller, she realized, finding herself content just to hear his voice.  When the meal was finished, Padmé and Dormé went to discuss the details of the plan with Obi-Wan, excusing themselves to speak privately in another room.  Y/N was left with Anakin, who was to keep watch while Obi-Wan was occupied.   

With her holopad in the other room, Y/N was left to kill time on her own.  She walked over to the large windows, watching the speeders fly past, criss-crossing lanes along the skyline.  She soon began to worry about Padmé, wishing that whoever was behind the attacks would somehow slip up and reveal themselves.  It was a futile hope, but there was nothing else she could do.  So deep in thought, she did not hear Anakin coming up to stand beside her.  

His voice came without warning, “I have a feeling there is more to you than meets the eye.” 

She jumped, placing a hand on her chest as her head whipped around to see him.  He chuckled at her unease, and she gave him a weary smile.  However, it soon left when she processed his words. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, still a bit fretful from the scare. 

He let out a slow chuckle, looking out the window instead of at her. “I know my master well, better than most.  Which means I know when he is concealing the truth.”

She inhaled shakily, her hands coming together, fingers winding around with nervousness.  Something in her face or tone must have slipped during lunch, letting Anakin in on her secret.  She bit her lip, wondering what to say and how to deny it.  

He smirked, eyeing her steadily. “Something else happened.”

She shook her head, deciding to act as if she had no clue what he was talking about. “No, it really is as simple as what he said.”

Anakin laughed again, “You are a terrible liar.”

She wanted to groan, knowing it was fruitless to play ignorant.  She decided on a new game plan: tell him as little as it takes to satisfy his curiosity. 

“Fine,” she surrendered, wavering a bit, “I bought him a drink. A single drink.”

Anakin stared at her, spurring her on.  As she gave her a resolute look back, he raised his brows. “You know I know that's not all.”

She faltered, feeling his provocation pulling her towards his will.  Unwisely, she had thought her admission would be enough for him.  

“I promise not to tell my Master,” he offered.

After a long pause, she gave in, knowing he would not easily let the matter go. “We got talking, just small talk.  I asked him if he’d ever been around Coruscant while he’s not working, and he said no, and I…” she trailed off, scared that she would reveal too much if she went any further.  

Anakin’s eyes lit at the confession, and he let out a happy sigh. “You see, I knew my Master wasn’t as good of a padawan as he says he was,” he laughed, “He’s probably reeling, worrying that I would find out.”

She shot him an angry look, afraid that he would tell Obi-Wan of her indiscretion.  Anakin rolled his eyes, waving a hand in her direction. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell, even though I want to,” he drawled, looking proud that he had gotten the secret from her.  He crossed his arms over his chest, standing tall.  Y/N would have been infuriated if her embarrassment wasn’t so strong.  While Y/N overthought their interaction, running it over in her head until the words sounded foreign, Anakin strolled off as if nothing had happened.  

She was left a bit stunned until Padmé, Dormé, and Obi-Wan emerged from the room.  Obi-Wan went over to Anakin, telling him that he would have to leave.  He sounded quite urgent, but his composure did not waiver.  Anakin only nodded, and with that Obi-Wan left without a goodbye.  Usually so polite, Y/N guessed that the matter likely pertained to the assassination attempts, which had doubled over the course of a single day.  

Padmé walked over to Y/N, calm and collected as she always was. 

“Y/N, you are free to go back to the Senate,” her voice was tenacious, strong-willed as always.

Y/N nodded. “Yes, milady.  Would you be needing anything else from me before I leave?”

“No, that's alright,” Padmé answered with a smile, “I’m not sure when I will be in contact with you next, so give all messages to Jar Jar, who will be representing me in my absence.”

Y/N bowed, going over to her workspace to collect her things.  She had a feeling Padmé would be getting ready to depart tomorrow, and it was safer for her to have Y/N know as little as possible.  She was already a bit surprised they let her know that Padmé would be leaving Coruscant, though she had been working with her for some time.  Y/N was warmed by the thought that the Senator trusted her so much, feeling a bit proud of the work she had done thus far. 

Y/N returned to the Senate to get the rest of her work completed, not even realizing that she might never see Obi-Wan again until the end of the day.  When the thought came, a wave of sadness drifted all around her, especially since she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.  In spite of all her efforts, she felt the same as she did over a decade ago, sitting on the bench in the Plaza as Obi-Wan faded into the crowd.  It was stupid, foolish, and entirely immature, but her mind could not release its hook from their conversation on the balcony.  She went over every word, every expression, each twitch of the lips.  Instead of pushing the memory away as she should, she held it tighter, embracing it with open arms.  It only appears amongst friends. You have not lost your wonder. You doubt yourself far too often, and ignore how far you have come. I don’t easily forget, I don’t easily forget, I don’t easily forget.  It was if his words were echoing around the empty office, fading out into space only to begin once more.  The letters rolled on top of each other, spinning into a melodious song sung in his pleasant voice. 

As she left work, she walked slowly down the wide corridors of the Senate building, arms limp at her sides.  A haze of melancholy enveloped every step, dulling the click of her shoes against the polished stone floor.  During the taxi ride home, she looked out of the window like she always did, following the lines of the buildings with her eyes, locking onto a particular point until it was lost in her peripheral.  The noise of the city outside was dulled in her ears, as if she was listening underwater.  She thought of Obi-Wan, his copper hair, his aquamarine eyes, then dismissed it, back and forth into oblivion.  She told herself it was not by fate that they met again, that his words were simply friendly and meant nothing, though her efforts were in vain.  Every irrational bone in her body overpowered her feeble attempts to break them or expose their falsehoods.  It was a losing battle, so she pushed it off as best she could, telling the soldiers it could wait until morning. 

Her head pounded to the beat of the alarm clock like a punishment for the day before.  Turning off the vexatious beeping, she headed straight for the ‘fresher to take some pills for the pain.  She shook her head at herself in the mirror, tsking her half-witted hope that somehow Obi-Wan would fall for her again.  Even if he did happen to feel the same, he was older now, not so impulsive.  He’d never let the past repeat itself.  Y/N had to remind herself that she was an adult now too, that she would have to get over her childish infatuation and move on.  It wasn’t as if she’d never dated anyone since then.  They were never quite like him, though.

In order to regain some sense of normalcy, she went about her routine in the same way she always did.  When it was time to dress, she found herself staring into her closet at all the clothes she had hanging there, her nice outfit piled in the hamper.  She chuckled at her ridiculous decision to wear what she did the day before, somehow thinking that it was important to look nice for a man she could never have.  

The taxi ride to the Senate was longer than usual, traffic congested but thankfully never completely stalled.  It was only a few hours into the day and already it was turning out awful, though Y/N’s patience was thin to start out with.  Unlike the previous evening, she walked quickly through the Senate to her office, giving the people she passed a cordial, but somewhat frigid smile.  She didn’t know if she’d be able to get through the pleasantries of “how are you?” or “nice to see you again”, thinking it better just to get to her office and hole up there until she was ready to go back home.  On the bright side, today her mind would remain busy with work, unable to muse over other things. 

Only a few people popped into the office that morning, mostly for a quick word and nothing more.  It was a blessing that everyone was incredibly swamped as well, unable to take any down time to chat.  Every once in a while, when Y/N wondered if Padmé was off planet yet, or something came in mentioning the assassination, she was practically forced into thinking about Obi-Wan.  With how much he was likely occupied, she thought it would be highly improbable that he was thinking of her at all, even in passing.  His work was important, far more important than her own, demanding diligent, careful attention.  Despite these small reminders of him, they did not stick around like they had last night, remaining fleeting and pulled from her mind when she looked back at her holopad.  

It was the afternoon, the sun over its peak, slowly descending over the city.  A ray shined through the curtainless window, specks of dust revealed in the air which looked almost like falling snow.  Deep in thought, Y/N jumped as the door wooshed open, her head shooting up from the holopad.  As she looked at the door, her breath caught in her throat, making it feel as though she had forgotten how to breathe.  There in her office, Obi-Wan was standing, his brown robe skimming the floor, eyes wide as if he was surprised by his own entrance.  Y/N stood abruptly, her chair pushing out behind her and bumping the wall.  

“Obi-Wan,” she said in shock, or perhaps as a question.  He took a step into the room, then went to take another, though stopped in his tracks. 

“Y/N, I,” he paused, swallowing, “I never got a chance to say goodbye. I’m leaving now, and I am unsure as to when I will return.”

“Oh,” was all she could muster, still paralyzed and unmoving.   

He looked down for a moment, hands clasped together. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said with a small smile.  She didn’t return it, still too stunned to do anything but stare at him.  Obi-Wan promptly turned and left, the door closing behind him.  

She just stood there, her thoughts a thousand miles high.  She questioned if Obi-Wan had really just come into the office or if it was a figment of her imagination, created by her night-long mulling over of the day before.  Her breaths remained shallow as her thoughts caught up to themselves, their summersaults ending with a finale of fireworks erupting between her ears.  She was baffled by his entrance, completely unaware of his motives.  Gradually, all else dropped away but her need to find Obi-Wan, to ask him if had really come back only to say goodbye, or if he had something else to say.  Her mind willed her legs to move, but they stayed still, frozen in time.  

“Come on,” she whispered to herself, not hearing her own voice, “run.”

With that her body finally obeyed, and she rushed to the door, huffing as she pressed the button to open it.  Her feet carried her flying down the hall, not noticing the people who stopped to stare at her along the way.  She skirted around every corner, the white walls and metal doors a single blur like the swipe of a wide paintbrush.  When she came upon the exit to the landing platforms, it was as if the wide door was encased in the glowing light of a new sun, calling her to come through to the other side.  Thankfully, the door was motion censored, saving her the precious few seconds that would be needed to open it.  As she emerged, the sun shined in her eyes, and she placed a hand on her forehead as a shield.  Frantically, she looked around for Obi-Wan, scanning every ship for movement, only to find every ship near to her vacant.  

In the distance, she saw the loading ramp of a ship descend, euphoric at the sight of Obi-Wan’s brown robe.  She began running towards him, sprinting faster as she saw him beginning to board.  Fearing that she would be too late, she called out his name.  Obi-Wan's face was hidden within the ship, though she could see him stop.  He looked down and saw her, though Y/N wasn’t close enough to tell the details of his expression.  As she neared, the realization of what she was doing set in, bringing about a wave of uncertainty.  However, it washed away when she saw Obi-Wan’s face. 

She stood at the base of the ramp, panting from her impromptu workout.  She locked her eyes with Obi-Wan’s, which were soft, brilliantly gleaming as they stared across her face.  Her once racing mind was all but empty, filled only with the serene happiness of having caught Obi-Wan before he took off.  Neither she or Obi-Wan said a word, though he smiled thoughtfully like he had a secret.  Stars, he must think I’m some kind of crazy person.

Despite her lack of shame or uneasiness, she fumbled with her words, not knowing how to express what she wanted to.  

“I,” she began, a doting smile beginning to peek through, “I feel like this is completely foolish,” she paused, bringing her hands up to her face for a moment, “Stars, I just can’t let you leave without telling you.”

“Tell me what?” he murmured, his smile growing slightly more noticeable. 

Her gaze drifted from his, overwhelmed by her boiling face and heart which was beating so fast she ought to be concerned.  Even though she had thought about doing this all last night, running over what she would say and what she would do, the reality of it was unfamiliar territory.  She was flying blind, attempting to find anything that could point her in the right direction.  

Finding a bit of courage left, she glanced back into her eyes, crystal blue and clear.  Within them she saw something new, the knowledge of what he was thinking in this very moment. Without another word or thought, she leapt up the ramp towards him, following all the instincts she had at her disposal.  Throwing her arms around his neck, she crashed her lips to his, a sparkling fuzz running down her spine and into her limbs.  Much differently than last time, Obi-Wan did not hesitate to return her kiss, falling into it along with her.  He held her body to his, pulling her a bit off of the floor and fully into his embrace. Their lips moved as if they had kissed a thousand times, synchronized in each other's affection.  She felt the tickle of his beard against her cheek, his hands gripping her waist tighter as she gasped.  

Breathless, she pulled away, only enough to suck in a gulp of much needed hair.  Obi-Wan did the same, breath uneven and shaky as if he had just been in battle.  Y/N stared into his eyes, watching as their surprise settled into something else, something tender.  A blush had formed upon his cheeks, peeking out from his beard and dotting across his nose.  The rush in her ears was gone, replaced by the low hum of the ship and the soft sound of her hands upon his robes.  She held him tighter, dreading the moment when she would finally have to let go. 

“Will I see you later?” she asked, not bothering to disguise her pleading and desperate tone.  She didn’t know what she was expecting him to do, but his wide grin pleasantly surprised her. 

“Yes,” he said with a long exhale, studying her face.  She grew warm with the attention, even though they had just done much more than look at each other.  Something about his gaze was always so intense, more passionate than she could easily handle.  It was as if flustering her came naturally to him, like he was born to make her shy.

Finally, he slowly set her down, and she relaxed her beskar-like grip she had on his shoulders.  Her hands settled on his chest briefly before falling down at her sides, already missing his touch. She was unsure what to say, but as usual, Obi-Wan was not at a similar loss for words. 

“Perhaps it is the absence, but you’ve grown even more beautiful,” the fondness of his voice did not escape her, bringing about a buzzing feeling in her stomach. 

She felt her knees nearly buckle, growing impossibly weak at his words.  With them, all her fears and worries about herself subsided, and she felt like the most beautiful person in the galaxy.  Forcing herself not to look down at her feet, she gave Obi-Wan a sickly sweet smile, agonized by how much she cared for him in so little time.  He was smiling as well, pleased by her total disarmament.  She longed to tell him how handsome he was, how well he had grown into himself, but she felt the time quickly slipping away.  Knowing he needed to leave soon, she stepped back, still grinning ear to ear.  She bit her lip, giddy with the reemergence of her clandestine romance, now with the promise that Obi-Wan wasn’t gone for good. 

“Be safe,” she said softly, making her way partly down the ramp.  Obi-Wan chuckled, looking self assured as he stood in the entrance of his ship. 

“I always am,” he answered, voice smooth and warm like Gatalentian tea. 

Mustering up every bit of her willpower she had, Y/N turned and walked down the ramp and into the landing platform.  The ramp closed behind her, and she rushed off near the entrance of the Senate building.  She watched as the ship powered up, rising into the air before zooming away all too quickly.  It was bitter to watch him leave, though their parting felt parsecs different than the last time.  From all she knew about him, Obi-Wan was not in the habit of lying, and her chances of seeing him again were close to certain.  With his ship out of sight, Y/N dreamily walked back into the Senate, feeling light as a feather.

[212-apricity]

1999 part three

another long one LMAO SORRY💀💀

this one’s a trip so get ur snacks, drinks and one direction pillows and blankets from 2014 because this one’s a trip🤭🤭

lmk how we feel abt this part and ur fav moments, enjoy!!

warnings: angst, blood, underage drinking, violence, swearing

conrad fisher masterlist

masterlist

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Conrads pov

in…out

in…out

in…….out.

I clench my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. I shut my eyes as tight as I can to stop the tears from flowing out.

in…out

in………out.

Calm down Conrad.

she’s upset, she’s tired. it’s fine.

no, it’s not, you did this to her, you’re the problem here. you made her cry. you might as well be like that guy she was with.

That guy.

Dean.

I slowly shut Y/n’s door behind me and race to my car, ignoring Mom and Laurel’s worried exclamations.

“Everything’s fine, she’s okay, she’s sleeping right now. I just- I need to do something. I’ll be back soon.” I assure them quickly before grabbing my car keys and making my way outside.

calm down Conrad.

the only person who could calm me down right now is Y/n. I smile softly as she enters my thoughts but that smile quickly drops as I think of how she was crying tonight.

Dean.

My hands clench the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

She wouldn’t want you to do anything.

But the way she was sobbing in my arms…

Fuck this.

I turn the ignition on and start reversing to the main road before my car even has a chance to warm up. I drive for what seems like seconds and go to the place where Jere told me he saw Dean last after I drove Y/n home.

It feels like my entire body and mind are on autopilot. I don't even realise what I'm doing before Dean opens Thérèse’s house’s door and my fist connects with his jaw. I don't realise how much anger I had in myself until he falls backwards and I don't give him a chance to get up. I keep punching him again, and again, and again. I don't stop until the blood from his nose is dripping to his white tee, until it's all disfigured and there's more bruises on his face than the hickeys on his neck.

“You ever lay your filthy hands on her again and I’ll make sure you wish you were never born asshole.”

I keep walking to my car as Dean and Thérèse scream threats back at me and flip them off as I get inside and drive back home.

I make it back home and immediately go to Y/n’s room to check if she’s asleep yet.

God, I'll never forgive myself for hurting her like that.

I gently cover her with the duvet on the end of her bed and kiss her softly on the top of her head.

When I make my way out of her room and quietly shut her door behind me walking to the living room, mom and laurel are already waiting for me. I don't say anything as they take me in their comforting arms and hold me. It feels like they're holding me up as my body racks with sobs, threatening to give out at any second.

“I just…I just didn't want to hurt her I didn't know what to do I-” My sentence gets broken off as another sob escapes me and Laurel kisses the top of my head. “I didn't know what to do after you got sick and it got worse I’m sorry I'm so-” I say to Mom struggling to breathe as she shushes me and wipes my tears away.

‘I’ll be okay Connie, I’ll be alright.” she whispers smiling softly but the tears in her eyes tell me otherwise.

They hold me, letting me cry for what feels like hours until their words of sweet nothings and assurances blur out and my eyes get heavy.

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Y/n’s pov

“No, it’s not Jere you don't need the cover that's just for decoration. No trust me I know Bels, I've seen Gordon Ramsey do this like a thousand times on tv.”

Stevens's earsplitting voice breaks me out of the trance of sleep.

How can he be this loud so early?

What time is it?

I pull the blanket off me and start making my way to the kitchen where all the voices seem to be coming from.

Wait…blanket? I don't remember putting one on after Conrad left.

My heart drops to my stomach as I think of him.

My thoughts spiral my mind starting to overwhelm me until Stevens's voice pushes them away. Thank God for his optimism.

“Alright you guys ready?” he says optimistically at the two unsure teenagers next to him, “Stop looking at me like that Jere. Okay, 3…2…..1!” he shouts as he presses ‘blend’ on the blender without a lid and just as he does, all the ingredients in the blender splatter all over the kitchen walls.

“STEVEN!”

“OH MY GOD MAN!”

Jere and Belly shout at Steven as he looks around in a worried state at the mess he's made in the kitchen.

“Hey, what are you guys doing?” I laugh as I take a seat at the kitchen island.

“We were trying to make my legendary miracle hangover smoothies but since Steve-o here wanted to be a masterchef so bad he can take over and clean while Belly and I do it properly.” Jeremiah says as he throws Steven a kitchen towel and starts getting more ingredients out to make the smoothie again.

Belly comes up behind me at the kitchen counter and hugs me tightly, “Hey, we heard about what happened with Dean. I’m so sorry, he was a rat anyways. And Thérèse too.”

“Yeah, totally he was a dick.” Jeremiah agrees as he hugs me after Belly. “You deserve better Y/n.”

“God, when Mom told us I was ready to break all this guy's bones for messing with my baby sister and I swear I would’ve if Conrad hadn’t already beat me to it.” Steven says as he bins a chunk of fruit.

I laugh until I fully process what he’s said, “Wait what? Conrad did what?” I exclaim as worry starts to creep up on me and I get off the stool to find Conrad.

“Oh yeah, you didn't know? He's in the living room!” Jere shouts after me and I mumble a ‘thanks’ in response, too distracted trying to find Conrad.

I find Conrad fast asleep on the couch with his hair in his eyes. I sit next to him and brush the hair away from his face. I notice his knuckles peeking out from under the throw and I pull it away to show the entirety of his cut up hands. I gasp as I see them and hold them immediately examining them closely to see how deep the cuts are.

“M’fine I swear. You should see the other guy.” A raspy voice interrupts my thoughts and I look up to see Conrad looking at me sleepily.

“You didn't have to do this Connie.” I say, upset that he hurt himself over me.

“What, you think I’m gonna let the guy who hurt my girl walk around all fine? Had to fuck him up a little at least.” he smiles with his eyes closed.

I blush at him calling me ‘his girl’ although the words make my chest feel heavier.

Why wasn’t I his girl before?

I push the anxious thoughts away as he speaks to me.

“I’m really sorry about yesterday Y/n, I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you after you broke up it was shitty I’m sorry.” he says regretfully.

“It’s okay Connie don't worry about that right now,” I smile at him, “how much do your hands hurt?”

“Not that much. I could use a kiss though.” he smiles playfully.

I laugh and peck his knuckles carefully. One, two, three, fou-

Conrad lets out a loud hiss and furrows his brows in pain. Worry runs through my entire body as I ask him if I hurt him frantically. He bursts out in laughter at my reaction and tries to get off the couch.

“Oh, you dick.” I say as I push him down the couch and smile to myself as I walk away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Come back baby!” he shouts behind me in laughter.

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timeskip to the beach

“Whoo! Yeah, let’s go Jere!” Steven shouts as he pushes his wet hair out his face and grabs his surfboard, getting in the water again.

“STEVEN! PUT YOUR SUNSREEN ON!” I shout at him knowing it's pointless and he’s just going to ignore me and get sunburnt again. Every year, I smile to myself rubbing sunscreen on my arms.

I look out into the distance and see Belly trying to surf but drastically failing, Jeremiah trying to help her and Steven trying to get Jere to watch his ‘new cool trick’.

Poor Belly. She’ll never get a moment alone with Jere at this rate.

“You’re not going to surf?” Conrad says as he comes up next to me.

“I don’t know, I’m not really feeling like surfing today, might just sit here and read.” I say smiling up at him trying not to look down at his naked chest.

He nods and puts a cigarette in his mouth, reaching into his pocket to light it up.

“You’re gonna slowly kill your kidneys like that Con” I say as I look in disgust at the thing in his mouth.

He smiles down at me as he goes to light it up but stops and takes the cigarette out of his mouth before putting it back in his pocket. “Well good thing I only need one kidney to survive.”

“I’d prefer if you had two.”

He laughs at me before making his way to the waves with his board.

“CON!” I yell after him.

He turns back and looks at me questioningly as I hold up the sunscreen in my hand.

He trudges back to me complaining about the smell and slightly sticky feeling of it as I rub it all over his back and chest trying not to blush.

I make my way up his collarbones, to his neck and finish with his face. I brush his hair out his face before smiling and whispering saying, “There. All done.”

He stares down at my lips and I stare at his as we lean closer, my heart beat speeding up by the second. His hand comes up behind my neck inching our faces closer and closer-

“Hey Con you coming?!”

ugh. Steven.

Conrad and I break away quickly before Steven has a chance to see anything and I awkwardly pat him on the back. “Yep. All done.”

“Did I interrupt something?” Steven asks, sensing the tension around us.

“Nope. Not at all.” I smile at Steven and see Conrad glare at Steven out of the corner of my eye. If looks could kill…

I stifle a laugh as I see Belly giggling at the scene.

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timeskip to car

We’re driving home with “Keep Driving” playing on the radio and Conrad’s hand holding mine.

Holding each other's hands like this has been a habit of ours for years, it’s just a comfort thing.

“Hey have you guys heard about that party going down tonight at Emmy’s house?” Jere says looking at his phone from the backseat.

A couple of no’s are heard from almost everyone until Belly says, “Should we go?”

“We don’t really have anything better to do” shrugs Jeremiah.

“Alright then. It’s a plan.” Belly smiles before we all start screaming the bridge in ‘Keep Driving’.

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at the party

Conrad and I walk in together hand in hand and go to sit on one of the couches after meeting Emmy.

We talk for a bit until we decide to get some drinks in the kitchen. We’ve never really been “party people” unlike Jere, Steven and Belly, so Conrad and I always stuck together in these things. We’d just stand or sit in some corner (with a pet if there were any) and we’d talk about anything and everything while enjoying the free alcohol.

“Thank you my good sir.” I joke, accepting the drink Conrad gave me as we make our way back to our couch. “Hey you know what we should do?” I say enthusiastically smiling at him.

“Uh-oh. What?” he says taking a sip of his drink.

“We should get tattoos. You and me. Matching ones. Emmy’s cousins upstairs and she’s got a tattoo gun, Belly was telling me.” I grin.

“For real?” Conrad asks.

“Yes Connie, I mean we promised we’d get our first tattoos with each other when we were younger so why not right now?” I ask standing up and downing my drink, holding my hand out expectingly.

There’s a pause before Conrad says, “Our moms would kill us.”

“Who says they have to know?” I smile mischievously at him as he says “Fuck it.” and grabs my hand pulling me upstairs, our drinks and couch long forgotten.

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timeskip

“Holy shit this is badass!” I gasp as I see the two tiny ivy leaves on the side of my ribcage. “I’m so glad I wasn’t one of those people who cry when they get their tattoos.” I said to Conrad who was getting his matching leaves on his left shoulder. “Please, you didn’t cry but you sure as hell crushed my hand.” he says, shaking his hand around before I grab them and kiss them.

“I’m gonna go put a little lotion on this it’s starting to sting, will you be okay here?” I say to Conrad and go to the bathroom across the hall after he nods.

I put some lotion on the tattoo and immediately feel better until someone barges in.

Thérèse. Of course.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” I say, trying to turn away from her but she stops me.

“We need to talk Y/n.”

“Excuse me? No way Thérèse. No fucking way.” I say trying to open the door behind her but she’s too quick and locks it before standing in front.

“Thérèse what the fuck?!” I exclaim, starting to get mad now.

“Just hear me out. Give me five minutes to explain myself. Please Y/n.” she says and I can feel the guilt and regret seeping out of her.

I don’t want to hear a single word from her no matter what she has to say but if listening to hers my only way out of this bathroom then…

“Fine. Two minutes.” I say and immediately see the relief on her face.

“I want you to know how sorry I am. I got jealous of you and Dean like insanely jealous and I…I guess I just wanted to be with him and I didn’t think you were good enough for him and I know how stupid this sounds but I swear I’ve ended things with him and I just want our friendship back Y/n. I’m so sorry.” she says and when she finishes, she looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

I repress the small part of me that wants to take her back and be friends again out of pure respect for myself.

“I feel sorry for you Thérèse, I really do but no. I’m sorry but no, I don’t need shitty friends like you. If you liked Dean before we started dating you should’ve told me rather than making out with him and being a bitch to me when I saw you. Like I said the other night, you two assholes deserve each other. Now move.”

I’m walking back to the room Conrad was in trying to forget the interaction with Thérèse, trying to focus on just having fun with my friends and Con until a tall figure stands in my way.

No fucking way. What is everyone’s obsession with getting in my way tonight?

“Get the fuck away from me Dean.” I spit his name out.

“Babe I’m sorry, I fucked up please just-“ he tries to grab my hands and I immediately stomp on his feet.

“I said get the fuck away from me asshole!” I scream in his face before he stops wincing and quickly grabs me and pins me on the wall.

He looks at me with pure anger and possession in his eyes, scaring me to the bone.

What he says next has my fist flying straight into Dean’s jaw.

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Conrad’s pov

I step out of the room as soon as my tattoos done to show Y/n before I see her pinned against a wall by…Dean.

Anger rises in my body until I can’t think straight but before I can say a single word Y/n’s fist connects with Dean’s.

A chill runs down my spine and I swallow back the acid that crawls up my throat at her cry.

He tests his jaw, rubbing at the place she hit him. “You fucking…”

I see red as I lunge for Dean, but my attention shifts when Y/n lets out a whimper.

“Ow.” A single year runs down her face as she checks her fist.

I don't think as I jump into action. She hisses at me when I try to assess her hand, all while she swipes the tears off her face with her non-injured hand. Something definitely doesn't look right with her pinkie, and she winces as I lightly run my finger over it.

"That doesn't feel too good-" Y/n curses as she brushes her thumb across her knuckles.

"That's what you get for thinking you could lay a hand on me."

I swear this guy has a death wish.

"Oh, I'd like to lay more than a hand on you, you evil fucker.”

Y/n tries to step around me, but I block her path.

"I'll handle this." I give her other hand a reassuring squeeze.

Her brows pull together as she shuts her mouth.

"I was coming here to check in on her and see how she was holding up after seeing me and Thérèse. I'm sure it can't be easy seeing how she’s never going to be good enough for anyon-"

Bone crunches beneath my fist as I slam it straight into Dean’s nose. A deep sense of satisfaction fills me as his head rears back, rolling with the momentum of my punch. Blood gushes down his face and drips onto the carpet.

He tries to staunch the bleeding, but nothing seems to work.

“Call me when you get bored of him Y/n." Dean laughs.

Something dark takes over me. "Get out!" I roar as I lunge at him. My fingers grip onto air as he stumbles backward, tripping over his shoes as he holds his head back.

The pressure in my chest doesn't lessen as he disappears through the double doors. Hopefully he returns to whatever corner of hell he crawled out of before I have a chance to get my hands on him again.

Y/n huffs. "Well, that didn't go exactly as expected." I turn around, finding her hand clutched to her chest. Her twisted expression has my blood rushing to my ears.

I shake my head at her and say, “You’re mad." I laugh softly.

She laughs before wincing at the hand pressed against her chest. "Ouch."

"Let me have a better look." My pulse quickens as I assess her injury. I'm careful not to touch the skin near her knuckles,keeping mind of the swelling. It doesn't look like an open fracture so at least that is good news.

"You're insane. There's no other explanation for why you would punch someone in the face without knowing how."

"I thought it would be like the movies." She finches as she checks out the damage.

"We need to get you to the hospital to have it checked out" I choke on the words, unable to process the reason I decide to make that call. I fucking hate hospitals.

"No! I'm fine. See!" She wiggles her fingers and recoils.

I'm hit with the urge to go find Dean but hold back.

"Why would you punch him?"

Her jaw locks together, and she looks down at her vans.

I lift her chin with my finger. "Tell me."

She sighs, and it takes an exorbitant amount of effort not to shake the answers out of her.

"Promise not to do anything illegal if I tell you?"

"No."

Her head drops. "You're not going to be happy."

"I'm never happy." Except for rare occasions. All of which she is a part of.

She looks back up at me. Her eyes have a sheen to them that has nothing to do with her injured hand.

“He told me to…”

"To what?" Every muscle in my body tenses.

"to be with him or he’d make me regret it." She looks away as if she can hide the way her face is a wreck of emotions.

I'm already halfway down the stairs, body hot to the touch and my head empty of any thoughts besides finding Dean and pummeling him into the ground.

I should have known he would try to pull off a stunt like this. Part of me had stupidly hoped he would have some sense of decency left, but it seems he doesn't have a moral bone left in his body. I underestimated just how far he would go to retain her.

Y/n grips onto my arm and tugs me back. "Wait!"

"I can't talk to you right now.”

I can't talk to anyone, let alone her.

You're the one who brought her into this mess. What did you expect? You could’ve just told her how you felt last summer and prevented her getting with Dean in the first place.

Blood heats beneath my skin. I try to shake her off, but her hold only grows more desperate.

"I need you to take me to the hospital."

I pause, seeing through the cloud of red haze blocking my decision-making. "What?"

Her misty eyes lock onto mine. "I'm in a lot of pain."

Fuck. I release a ragged breath and shut my eyes. "Jere will take you."

"Connie, I need you there. Please." Her plea is my undoing.

My plan to send Dean into a coma slips away as I shut my eyes and nod my head. "Fine. Let's get you to a doctor.”

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part three done!!

side note: i wanted them to get matching ivy leaf tattoos bc they reminded me of taylor swifts song ivy🍂🍂

again pls lmk what you think of this part and have a good day/night!!

also pls reblog bc these take me ten years to write and my friend decided to torture me by reading them out loud in a long call about aubergines🤡🤡

[darksxder]

Oh darling, I'm super excited for your event! ❤ If I may go ahead and drop a headcanon request: What would it be like to go to the beach with Price (CoD)?

ILY! ‼️❤️thank you for being the first to send in a prompt!! and i love this big burly man so bad help <3

pre-beach

this man is someone who rarely gets leave, and someone who rarely ever takes it either when it’s offered (he is forced to take it lmao)

i think john is so ingrained in a system that strains his own morals so bad that he doesn’t like to be out of it much.

once you have such a taste for blood, the usual comfort of life have a certain tinge to it

i think you would have mentioned it mid mission. in a gasp, swiping dust from your eyes onto to squint at the sun. half delirious and dehydrated “ever been to the beach, captain?”

and he smiles softly. looking perfectly content in all black with the sun beating down on you all. “why?”

it’s said with a soft drawl that has your heart flipping and hands sweating.

“uhh i don’t know. just wondering. thought maybe a team date at the beach would help with bonding?” and you say it like a question, the confidence that you had to line up a shot or take a man down to the ground with a jump and the force of your legs, never quite correlated with talking to price (it never would)

and like you did in early training runs and drills, and under the scream and spittle of your many older male superiors, you dropped it. gave it up. “you know- forget it-“ you start but his deep british lilt had your words fracturing into silence.

“sounds like a good plan. you have quite the knack for team bonding.” he teased

your body flushed with heat, a thousand times the sun deep in the balm of the desert around you. it was a joke. you had never been subtle about the lack of connection you felt between your teammates and many games that usually started with ‘what’s your favourite colour’ were not uncommon to be lead by you

and you forgot about it. not really. but truly you had thought it a joke. him agreeing.

but when you were laying across your couch on leave, bored as all hell, mind buzzing, lower lip worrying between your teeth, he called you.

called you for the first time ever. his voice awash in your ears, a thousand times more pleasant than the ocean as he told you to “get your swim suit private and head down to the blum in’ beach.”

the beach trip

this man immediately complimenting you. even if you’re wearing a cover up. or your clothes are completely on over your bathing suit

with his uncannily good instincts he notices how you can’t even look at his eyes, even avoiding him entirely. facing the side of sand beside him as you spoke.

it was hard not to. he was in simple black swim trunks, all the broad shoulders, muscled and soft curves was ripe to your sight

and he was smirking at you. his stupid bucket hat still on, but now finally matching the setting around him

his hands on his hips instead of on the neck of his vest like you were used to when he was looking over you

you have to chase this man down to put sunscreen on him (we have seen the lovely amount of freckles ofc)

100% picks you up and puts you deeper in the water when you refuse to go past the water sloshing at your hip bones. no matter your sharp gasp and grip, he will dunk you at least once

absolutely is down for any sport on the beach okay- football, ultimate frisbee, a plain game of catch, everything. but especially beach volleyball

and because gaz is a snitch this man knows you played in high school, so he offers you first serve to “see your moves” and “how you set the pace, love”

it’s canon you absolutely obliterate him on every round. every. single. one. and you’re so humble about it

meanwhile soap is losing it, literally slapping at your shoulder and treating you like a god when you spike another hit directly on their space of sand. his scottish yells drowning your ears

and every new round, when you hand price ‘his ass to him ‘- he gets hotter. from exertion or something else, he will never tell

1000% is the person to tell you to ‘c’mere’ then quickly rub some sunscreen on the bridge of your nose and the soft highs of your cheekbones

he spends the entire time holding his breath instinctually. his lungs strained when he saw your features up so close. he counted every scar and mark, every dip in your smile and the butterflies that bloomed from your soft exhale of warm breath on the inside of his wrist, as the pads of his thumbs trace along the seam of your cheeks

you end up staying till sunset

he brings a cooler with his own ‘prissy beer’ as gaz says. but you make him drink many fun coloured sweet drinks that would be characterized as alcoholic popsicles. all of them in chimed glass bottles and unnaturally bright colours (he downs five)

price loves how your filter dissolved with the alcohol and that you apologized for everything, even if it was just walking alongside them

hours later he spends at home, wondering why he can’t stop thinking of you. the burning image of sand slipping past your fingers, the wind carrying tiny grains along your stretched leg, a soft and true smile carved on your face. every part i grace in his chest. it was a small smile. but private, almost secret, sincere. it made his heart flip and ache. both at once, always the case with you

places you in shade and makes you drink water and rest when you almost get heat exhaustion and get all cranky and weak :,)

brought a nice fluffy towel but shared your barbie one ‘for the principle’

saw you laying in the sun and thought you were tanning, but soap was kind enough to point out “nah she’s just not used to feeling the sun. you know, with her hermit habits..” that got him a kick to the shin and a rumbling chuckle from price that had your eyelashes fluttering along with your stomach

you guys building a sand castle because you strayed from the group and found him in his and i quote “old man time”. smoking a cigar perched on a beach chair, a ripe sunburn on his chest that had you sighing and wincing at once. hands itching to take out some aloe and help ease the burn, but he didn’t even flinch

he just sees you drop off your stuff and head to the shallows with a tiny orange bucket and he just kinda follows you. watches for a moment before he feels pulled to trudge through the warm sand towards you

at first only making short and direct comments on your sandcastle architecture whilst taking puffs of his cigar

loving the burn of sweetness in his chest it gave him. it was nearly the same feeling when you laughed mid recom mission in the Arctic. it had been the first time he ever heard you truly laugh. he never forgot it. the hue. the pitch. he remembered he stopped shaking, as if his brain was in too much shock at the beauty of the sound to realize he was freezing. as in that moment he had never felt so warm in his life.

but after you huff and tell him to ‘do it himself’ he folds and basically throws the stub out (you make him throw it out properly after istg) and this 37 year old, 6’2 unit, gets on his bad knees to help you form the damp sand monstrosity

and after a genuine hour of hushed focus and teamwork

“looks like an evil dwelling.” you say it seriously. your hand poised on your chin, eyes catching ever smoothed edge and exaggerated curve and dip on the soft structure

prices lips twitched. “that right?”

“mhm.”

and he took a minute. fingers drawing a moat along the side of the castle that had your teeth biting into your lower lip slightly. “why work so hard on something just for it to wash away?” he asked, eyes on the separating sand drawn from his touch

it’s not about the sand castle. you know that. but this was surely something you should be asking instead and having him reassure you about

“was the work purposeful?” your voice as strong as the setting sun behind you

he nodded. his eyes a bright blue in the bright peach rays of the setting sun. the light catching onto strands of his beard, and framing his mouth in gold

then maybe it washing away was apart of the job. the end of it. we just didn’t know it.”

and he holds your gaze, noting the glaze in your eyes. the sheen.

sometimes he forgot how young you were. but with your hands next to his and covered in sand, knees knocked and pricked with bruises, hair up and secured with a scarf, you looked painfully young.

too young to know the pain of all your hard work washing away. again and again.

and he’s speaking before he’s even thinking

“i’d build a thousand sand castles with you.” he rasped.

you smiled, bright and beautiful. unrestrained. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he mocked.

and you shuffled closer, just a little scoot of your knees in but it has his breath catching hard

“and i’d wait for them to wash away. and truly only be excited, because we could start anew.”

[storm-and-starlight]

Legacies

I was bored and couldn't think of anything to write so @heronfem gave me the prompt "1000 word cap, no more than four characters, must include the word "aspen"", and this is what came out! Takes place after Final Crisis but just before Dick becomes Batman (and I'm ignoring Battle for the Cowl bc I don't like it lmao)

here's an aspen stand on the grounds of Wayne Manor.

Far up in the back north corner, where the woods have been left to grow wide and dark and wild -- Bruce gets - got - Alfred has always arranged for a crew to come in and tame the nearer trees every other year or so, and the gardens have been tended by an array of incurious hired hands and adopted sons since Thomas's death, but the back woods have been there since the property lines were drawn and have been ignored for nearly as long as that. They've been there since Dick was a child and came fleeing to them in the darkness from locked doors and stifling rooms and the weight of the wealth of centuries, and when he was older and yet no less used to loss, and they're still here now, trunks like thin white columns in the grey autumn light.

The fading leaves whisper to one another, a steady shimmering rustle. Bruce had come for him, every time but the last, to carry him drowsy and still tear-stained back to his room in the Manor, or to fetch him for patrol, or to tell him that the Titans were waiting at the door, and he's no longer a child or Robin or even a Titan but he half-wishes he were, still, just so he might hear Bruce's voice calling for him through the trees.

Overhead, the wind roars on and the aspens quake and shiver but do not bend.

"Master Richard."

A voice -- the wrong voice -- and yet the only one he could have imagined, here and now and in this moment. "Alfred," he says, and lets out his breath in a long and silent sigh.

"I thought I might find you here," Alfred says, clear and professional, empty of anything other than the exact meaning of the words. Dick envies him the trick; he can't do it, not while still remaining himself. "As I recall, you came to these trees a great deal as a child."

"Yeah," Dick says, and finally turns to face him, crisply suited and terribly out of place. Alfred belongs with the Manor, in the ancient, elegant hallways and cleanly modern kitchen and the old dark wood of the library. "Haven't been back in a while, though." The last time was-- after Jason. The summer after Jason's death, when the forest was full of cool green light and silver-edged shadows and the steady peace of growing things and he'd come fleeing here for the last time with the cold cutting shape of Batman's grief still echoing behind him. Bruce hadn't come for him, then, and Dick hadn't gone back to the Manor at all for a long, long time.

Bruce isn't coming for him now.

"No," Alfred agrees, quietly, and they watch the leaves flutter, autumn-gold, in silence.

"How long have they been here?" Dick asks, eventually. "Did one of the Waynes..."

"I am afraid I do not know," Alfred says, and Dick looks over at him in surprise. Alfred knows everything about the Manor, he always has-- "This stand was already on the land when the property was expanded in the nineteen-tens, and was quite possibly already several centuries old by then."

"Centuries?" Dick asks, looking at the slender trunks -- none of these trees look like they can be more than fifty years, at the most, though admittedly he doesn't know much about trees.

"Aspen groves are, theoretically, immortal," Alfred says, placing one hand on the white bark. "Each tree is a clone of the original, grown from a single root system, and though the individuals may die the colony carries on. There are groves counted as a single organisms that have lived for thousands of years. This one has been here since long before you or I, and will most likely outlast us both."

Dick breathes, once, twice, and then a harsh exhale and he drops to the ground, back against a trunk and face buried in his knees. There is a hand on his shoulder, thin and cool, and he loves Alfred, he really does, but it's not the hand he wants right now.

"He's gone, Alfie."

"...I know, my boy. I know."

"What'm I supposed to do now?"

Alfred sighs, and says nothing. 

The wind sighs back, and the trees all shiver.

"I am still here," he says eventually. "As are you, and Master Damian. And your friends among the community would let nothing stop them if you asked for aid--"

"They can't be Batman, can they?" Dick interrupts, and then immediately feels bad about interrupting Alfred.

"It isn't unheard of," Alfred says, slowly, "Mister Kent has, in the past, stepped in, and there are plenty with the required skillset, or the ability to imitate it--"

"But they can't be Batman," Dick says, and looks up at the aspens, unbowed even in the roaring wind. Immortal, even though every trunk here will someday fall. "And someone has to be."

"Master Richard..."

"I think I always knew it was going to happen," Dick says, even though that makes no sense, even though there was no way of knowing. "I'm the oldest. It was always going to be me." He shoves himself up to his feet, feeling ten years older already. "Gotham needs a Batman, Alfred."

"...Yes," says Alfred, after Dick's already started to walk away, "I suppose it does."

Behind him, the aspens whisper on.

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

As You Wish (Part 1): Vergil x G/N Reader

Summary: Vergil loses a game of darts

Beginning Notes: Saw a post on Tumblr about how much people want to touch Vergil’s hair, so this was born. Did this get kinda skewed? Maybe, but I like it--I dunno lol. For dart games, I only know how to play 301/501 and I kinda understand how Cricket works; so, sorry I used something so basic lmao 🎀💙🎀 Vergil x G/N Reader Unestablished relationship; however, the two of you being in love is obvious to everyone besides Vergil and you. You live at the DMC with Dante and Vergil. Stupid Fluff

==

     “Alright, I’m headed out!” Dante smiled widely, “Need anything?”

     “I’m good,” you reached up and ruffled his hair a bit, “Thanks though.”

     The red devil nodded, “Try not to burn down the shop while I’m gone..?”

     You clicked your tongue as you jested, “You sure you’re telling that to the right person?”

     The two of you shared a laugh as he walked to the front door, “I’ll be back later.”

     “Bye, Dante!” you waved as he left and left you alone in the shop’s foyer.

     With a delighted hum, you waltzed over to the jukebox, turned on a random track, and grabbed a drink from the fridge. A loud huff left your mouth as you slumped onto the pleather couch.

     As you tried to relax, you mindlessly wandered through your thoughts when a certain blue devil popped into your mind, “Mmn, wonder what Vergil’s doing…” a warm smile tugged at your lips at the thought of the suave man. 

     When the twins came back from the Underworld, you were enamored with the eldest son of Sparda. The contrast between the brothers was enough to pique your curiosity. As time went on, there was more than just your interest in their dynamic, something deeper than that. 

     At first, Vergil was enigmatic and frustratingly difficult. You felt he was purposely being insufferably insolent towards you; which he definitely was. After receiving a rather difficult contract, it was decided that said elder brother and you were to work together; much to both your irritations. However, as the two of you did more and more jobs together, you began to tolerate one another. Never in a thousand years would you have thought he would be your friend; let alone extremely cordial and, dare you say, kind. 

     Nowadays, the blue devil is always with you: in or out of the shop, recreational or job-related; it didn’t matter, he was right beside you. Admittedly, you found that Vergil’s presence had become extremely comforting.

     A distant part of you wondered if he felt the same about you; if someone like him could find the same unending solace that you do. If you asked the other members of the DMC, Vergil definitely does. It became a regular thing for the crew (especially Dante and Nero) to point out how personable the eldest son of Sparda is with you and how uncharacteristically gentle he is when it comes to you. Your smile grew as you toyed with the idea of your secret feelings being returned.

     “Where is Dante?” a serene voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

     At the bottom of the staircase was Vergil, standing with folded arms, “Oh! Hey- Vergil, I-” you stumbled over your thoughts, “Uh, What did you ask?”

     The eldest twin raised a brow at your jumbled words and dropped his original question, “Are you alright?”

     “I uh,” you shook your head and sat up straight, “Yeah, I’m good,” you set your drink on the coffee table. 

     Vergil squinted at you for a moment before moving to the fridge to get some water. Then he turned to head back upstairs.

     “Hey, wait,” you stood from the couch and Vergil turned to face you, “Did you maybe wanna shoot some darts? Bet I can beat you.”

     A small smirk adorned his lips and he upturned his brow as he responded, “Are you challenging me?”

     “Yeah, you can’t be any harder to play against than Dante or Nero,” you playfully winked at him.

     He shook his head with a small happy sigh, “Fine, I will be right back,” he turned around and headed up the stairs to his room. 

     You grabbed the darts from the desk drawer and pursed your lips in thought, “Yeah, sure, as if I have beaten Dante or Nero before… Vergil’s gonna wipe the floor with me…”

     Vergil reappeared downstairs shortly after, “So, what game do you have in mind?”

     “How about… uh,” you stood there, not knowing what to say since you had only played one type of game before.

     Vergil noticed your odd response and softly chuckled, “Let’s do something simple then. How about 501?”

     “Sure, that works,” you awkwardly smiled, “Especially since it's the only game I know how to play…”

     “Perhaps, if you'd like, I could teach you different games at some point..?"

     “I think I'd very much like that,” you smiled at Vergil and failed to notice the light pink that dusted his features.

     The two of you finished the first game rather quickly. Despite Vergil’s confidence, you weren’t too far off of his score. 

     “Wanna play again?” you were practically beaming, even though you lost. 

     He was standing with his arms folded and leaning against the edge of Dante’s desk, “I don’t see why not,” that’s when Vergil got an idea, “Why don’t we raise the steaks?”

     You raised a brow at the man.

     The eldest twin stood up off the desk, “Whoever wins gets to ask the loser to do one thing for them,” he had a large smirk and was radiating confidence, “No questions asked.”

     You flashed him a wide grin, “You’re so on.”

     The game was tense, to say the least. You were nipping at his heels the entire time and it was now down to the wire. Vergil had fifteen and you had twenty points left. 

     It was his turn. The blue devil had an expression that was akin to the slight frown of concentration he got during a fight; apparently, he wanted to win just as much as you do. In a manner both forceful and delicate, Vergil shot his dart. A triple fifteen. You could see the frustration in his eyes as he went and pulled his dart from the board. He went and leaned against the wall with crossed arms, carefully watching you. 

     It was your turn. You decided to shut your eyes, hope for the best, and throw your dart. Single twenty. A small huff of disbelief left your parted and upturned lips--Vergil doing the same. 

     With a large beaming smile, you turned to him, “Guess I win, huh?”

     He eyed you coldly.

     “Come on,” you slightly pouted at his reaction, “Don’t be like that.”

     With a soft sigh, he avoided your gaze.

     You walked over to the board with a slight spring to your step, “Now,” you pulled your dart from the board and looked over at the sulking devil, “About that bet~” you playfully placed a hand on your hip.

     He regained his air of confidence and folded his arms, “Best choose wisely, I assure you this won’t happen again.”

     “Hm…” you went to put your darts away in the desk drawer, Vergil following suit, “I know,” you moved to the stairs and beckoned him to you, “Come with me.” 

     The eldest twin raised a brow at your request but did as you asked. The two of you went into your bedroom; making sure to lock the door behind you in case Dante came home. 

     “Sit, please?” you gestured to your bed.

     He gave you a confused look but did as instructed.

     You pursed your lips and took a deep breath before moving to straddle his lap.

     A shade of pink decorated Vergil’s face,  “Now what, wanderer?”

     A small laugh left your lips, “I didn’t know you remembered that,” you draped your arms over his shoulders.

     “I remember many things,” Vergil cautiously set his hands on your lower back.

     “Oh?” you hoped he would elaborate, however, he did not.

     He gave you a warm smirk, one reminiscent of V’s, “Is this really all you want from me?”

     “Yeah…” you gave him a sheepish smile, “Is that alright?”

     “I suppose, although,” he gently pulled you closer to him and lowly whispered, “you could have just asked.”

     Your face became flush as you felt his head rest against the side of your neck, “Then can- can I ask you something else?”

     “Hm..?”

    “Would it be okay if I… touched your hair?” 

     His brow furrowed as he let out a laugh followed by a smokey whisper, “You are sitting on my lap… and you want to know if you can touch my hair?”

     “Is that a no?”

     He chuckled, “You may do as you wish.”

     With a joyful hum, you ran your fingers through his pomaded hair. Vergil was unable to hold back a loud purring from your tender soft touch. The blue devil nuzzled further into the crook of your neck, attempting to silence the unwelcomed happy noise. You knew better than to point it out, however, you let out a small laugh at his odd reaction.

     After a few minutes, you removed your hands from his hair. Vergil pouted a bit at your action as he leaned back. The both of you stared into one another’s eyes. Despite Vergil’s assertive nature, he couldn’t have been more nervous and unsure of what to do now.

     Slowly, you placed a hand on his cheek and thumbed over his soft skin as a loving smile adorned your lips, “Can I tell you something?”

     Upon seeing your half-lidded and warm expression, Vergil’s face became a few shades redder, “Of course.”

      “You’re gorgeous, Vergil,” you noticed his brow upturn, “I mean that in the least insulting way, of course.”

     He broke off from your stare and had a sheepish smile, unsure how to respond.

     You gently placed your thumb and forefinger on his chin, “Vergil..?” you turned him back to face you.

     His eyes met with yours once more, however, this time there was an odd shyness to them; one which made your heart flutter. The blue devil’s eyes occasionally broke from yours to look down at your lips. 

     Your voice was barely audible as you leaned in, resting the side of your nose against his, “May I?”

     With a low husky whisper, the blue devil lightly smirked, “Didn’t I tell you to do as you wished?”

     Carefully, you placed a sweet peck of a kiss against his lips. Before he could reciprocate, you shot back up from his face in a panic that you had just crossed a line. However, when you tried to stand, you found yourself flipped underneath him. 

     “Is that what you call a kiss?” he gave you a face that conveyed a mixture of confusion and light disappointment.

     “It is,” you pursed your lips before giving him a meek smile and whisper, “Care to show me yours?”

     The blue devil dipped down and connected his lips with yours. His lips were warm and oddly affectionate. A small moan left your lips as you felt his fingers dig into the sides of your hips. A smirk adorned his lips as he continued to give you slow fervorous kisses. The blue devil made sure to steal your breath and not allow you to break off from him. You took your hands and ran them through his hair, making him let out an unintentional moan. 

     Vergil stopped his kisses and pulled back up to look you in the eyes, “Careful, you might not like what happens if you do that…”

     You gave him a salacious smirk, “You told me to do what I wished, and right now,” you leaned up to kiss the side of his neck, “All I want is you.”

==

Ending Notes: Did Vergil let you win? Who knows (He totally did). Might write a part two that is smut. I don’t know. Let me know if you want to see that or not. Also ngl, writing smut has been kinda hard for me to get in the groove as of late, not sure why lmao.

==

HERE'S PART 2

==

If you like this please consider checking this on my AO3. There are extra chapters and my H/Cs over there, so please consider checking them out! Comments, Likes/Kudos, and shares are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!! :)))

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[sarascamander]

If you love Kit and Ty, you HAVE to read the Adventure of Holloway Holmes — it gives the EXACT VIBE of KitTy. I'm not even kidding. We have two wannabe sleuths absolutely pining for each other, crimes to solve, amazing banters, and just so much more! One of the similarities:

1. The main character is Jack Moreno who Kit wished he was. I LOVE KIT but Jack stole my heart in a way he didn't lmao. They both are sarcastic, hilarious, independent and undeniably in love with their partner in crime. Honestly, being in Jack's head is one of the best experiences of my love. It's so fun!

I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to smack my head against the steering wheel. Off the top of my head, I could make a list: some fairly good weed, a lot of addies, condoms (not that those were illegal), unopened vapes (those were), this rare tentacle porn manga that Ty Bryce had paid me for but asked me to hold on to. After I got out of prison in thirty years, I already knew, Dad was going to make me have a super awkward sex talk.

2. And Holmes aka H (as Jack fondly nicknamed because Holloway Holmes is such a posh name in his humble opinion) is so precious!!!! I want to wrap him in a blanket burrito even though he is actually capable of breaking my arm without blinking. But god! Someone needs to take care of him. Although it's never been specified in the book, I'm 80% sure he's autistic. Either that or he was badly abused (which he was). He reminded me of Ty by the way he speaks and acts.

I examined his face. Then I gave him a smile. He was doing a Holmes thing, not looking me in the eye, so I moved my head until he was. This was something we’d been working on.

3. You know how Kit will suddenly drift to a paragraph of how beautiful Ty is? Well, Jack Moreno might give Kit a run for his money (he's so obsessed with H's knuckles and the thousands of shades of gold in his hair, it's embarrassing)

He made a frustrated noise. Then he smiled. The expression was a little stiff; he wasn’t used to doing it, and it was another of those things that he was self-conscious about. I’d read about people who get up at two or three in the morning—on vacation, no less, when they’re in Hawaii—and then they drive hours and hours, and all of it is to see the sunrise from this one specific spot, and I thought, Come to Utah if you want something worth your time

Context: they're in Utah. Jack basically said that Holmes' smile is prettier than the sunrise!! 😩

4. Their relationship is literally so pure and one of the things that get me insane about them is their communication!! They always worked hard to communicate with each other and sort things out it's so satisfying to read!!

“I lied,” Holmes said, but he still wasn’t looking me in the eye. “I am angry with you.” “I guessed.” “I don’t want to do this right now.” “It’s good practice."

5. Their banter is *chef kiss*

“I’ll tell him it’s a sex thing.” “Good,” Holmes said. “He’ll be pleased that all your hours of mindless pornography are finally paying dividends.” My jaw legit dropped. “H!” “Desk, please.” “That was so amazingly bitchy.” “Desk.” “And, like, also kind of evil. Which I loved.”

And there are literally hundreds of reasons to read this trilogy if you are craving for Kit and Ty. And although their vibes are similar, they are also their own people. And words can't say how much I adore them. The story and relationship is really beautifully written. I honestly don't care much about the crime but I'm obsessed with these two

Some of my favourites quotes:

He sat there in silhouette, head down. I knew the curve of his spine. I knew the span of his shoulders. Anywhere, I thought. I could be anywhere and know you

“You are my soul, Jack Moreno. I do not know why John Watson wrote his stories that way, why he wrote himself so small, when he was so much more. I do not think I will ever understand. But I do not want to know what I would be without you.”

I knew that he was something more than me, something vast and wonderful that I could only touch the edges of. But for someone like me, the edge was enough—just a glimpse was enough. And, more importantly for right now, I knew what he sounded like when he’d been hurt, the quality of his breathing, because I’d hurt him in a way few people ever had. Which was why, in those rare midnight hours when I could be honest with myself, I knew it was better this way, as friends. Because I didn’t deserve him

“But he was so much more. Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant detective, Jack. He would have been that regardless of other circumstances. But he was a good man—he was a happy man—because of John Watson.”

“What do you say to that, I wanted to know. What am I supposed to say? What do you want me to say? But what I was really asking was, How am I supposed to do this again? I barely survived the first time; what am I supposed to do when you leave me again?”

I had seen, this spring, jacaranda blossoms so pale they were almost blue, trembling with the breath of the mountains. I had seen, when I'd been twelve, a foil of goldfinches flocking against the crushed dusk. I had seen a shooting star once, thinning across the sky like combed silver. And I had seen Holloway Holmes smile.

There's so much but I don't want to spam so I really hope you give it a try!!

[ron456]

"The Black Suits" Fanfiction-Nato has a sensory overload

Let me just preface that I did the best I could to write this lmao. I literally just listened to the bootleg of it yesterday so sorry if it's ooc 😭😭 But I think it's okay-

Enjoy!:

*Beep*

Oh god. That’s annoying.

“Chrissss.” Nato whined. "Smoke alarm” he pointed to the ceiling “You need to change it.”

Chris looked up at the ceiling before going back to setting up the instruments for rehearsal. “Uh, yeah, Nato. I’ll- I’ll get to it. Just one second. I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

*Beep*

“Ugh. Whatever” Nato went back to day-dreaming as he tried to ignore the headache that was brewing from the annoying beep of the smoke alarm. 

“Chrissss.” 

“Yeah, Brandon?” Chris returned without looking up.

“Can I put on some music since we’re still waiting on John?” 

Chris sighed as he checked his watch. 4:15. John was late again. “Yeah, sure, that’s- that’s fine.”

“Awesome.” Brandon turned to Nato. “Nato, any requests?”

Nato thought for a moment. What song did he want? If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want anything on at all. Unless he had his headphones. And he didn’t his have headphones so that sucked. He really needed to look for those later-

“Nato? You in there?” Brandon joked.

Nato refocused. “Hmm?”

“What song should I put on?” 

Nato shrugged. “I don’t know. You choose.”

Brandon shrugged back. “Okay.” 

Seconds later, the speakers filled the garage with 'Back in Black' by AC/DC.

Brandon started jumping around the garage, head banging, and mouthing the words.

He went over to Chris and shook him dramatically by the shoulders as he kept mouthing the lyrics.

Chris smiled and shook his head. He playful swatted Brandon’s arms away and went to adjust the legs of the drum set.  “Stop! I’m in the middle of something!”

“Nerd.” Brandon retorted.

“You’re the nerd.” Chris said, still focused on the drums.

“Am not! Nato, back me up on this.” He turned to Nato who sat on a bean bag with a thousand-yard stare. “Nato?” 

Nato's brain was buzzing from the sounds of AC/DC, Brandon, Chris, and the occasional chirping from the smoke alarm blended together. Brandon was having such a good time right now. He didn’t want to stop him from feeling happy. And he had just told Chris about the alarm so it’d be mean to keep pestering him about, right?

Nato turned to Brandon.

“You good?” Brandon asked, causing Chris to look up from the drums to Nato.

Nato shifted in his seat. “Yeah, just tired.”

“Hey, you sure?” Chris asked. His voice tinged with concern.

Nato gave one quick nod. Brandon and Chris exchanged a quick worried glance with each other but decided to leave it, for now.

“Okay, well, let us know if you need anything.” Brandon said before he sat down on another bean bag and scrolled through his phone as he nodded along to the music. 

Minutes later, John walked in with his backpack on his back and a box of microwave popcorn in his arms. “Hey, guys!”

Brandon looked up from his phone. “John!” 

Chris looked at John with squinted eyes. “You’re late again.”

“Well, I brought food!” He flashed an innocent smile. 

Chris eyes went to the box of popcorn. “That’s not real food.”

John shrugged. “It’s edible. Besides, have you even eaten today?”

Chris thought for a minute. John gave a knowing smirk as Chris looked away.

“…no.”

“Whelp, then you can eat now.”

*Beep*

“And you can fix that smoke alarm while I heat this up.” John dropped his backpack in the garage and went inside the house with the popcorn.

Chris sighed. “ Brandon, can you put the ladder under it for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Brandon grabbed a ladder in the garage, opened it and propped it under the smoke alarm. 

Nato winced at the awful scraping metal sounds that the ladder made as it opened and got scooted into place. 

Chris rolled open a drawer and grabbed some batteries before going towards the ladder. He hesitated. “Hold it steady, dude. I don’t wanna fall.” 

Brandon got a hold of the ladder.  Chris climbed up. 

*Creek. Creek. Creek*

Nato frowned at the sound.

Chris started unscrewing the alarm but paused and sniffed.

“Do you guys smell that?”

Only seconds later came a sound from inside -

*Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep-*

Along with a muffled “Shit, shit, shit, shit-“

“Shit, John burned the popcorn.” Brandon said as he rushed to open the door and run inside the house. Light smoke poured into the garage. 

The garage smoke alarm started blaring, too. Chris slammed his hands over his ears and stumbled on the ladder. “Ah! Damn it, John!” He climbed down the ladder and ran inside, too; dropping the new batteries and the smoke alarm cap. 

Nato sat alone in the garage. Music blaring, smoke alarm beeping and the smell of burnt popcorn filling his nose. He definitely didn’t want to be alone here so he followed the others inside.  

Brandon was trying to fan the smoke with towels while Chris yelled at John.

Nato’s head pounded even more so he ran upstairs, went to Chris’ bathroom and shut the door, keeping the lights off. He sat down with his knees to his chest and stuck his fingers in his ears.

Downstairs, the boys finally got the beeping to stop. 

John looked around. “Hey, where’s Nato? Is he still in the garage?”

“Is he? It probably stinks in there.” Brandon said.

Chris walked into garage and called out, “Nato?”

He walked back inside. “He’s not in there.” Chris said, his panic growing. 

John put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine,dude. How bout’ we check upstairs?”

They all walked upstairs and called around for Nato.

“Maybe he went to the bathroom up here or something?” Brandon suggested.

Chris started picking at his fingers. “The lights are off, though.”

John tried to open the bathroom door. “Guys, it’s locked.” 

They all looked at each other with worry. 

John knocked. “Nato, you in there? It’s John.”

Silence.

Chris eyes watered. “Oh, god. What if he passed out or something-“

Brandon cut in “Hey, let’s not think of the worst, okay? Do you have, like, a key or something that we can use?”

“Yeah, uh…” Chris went into his room and rummaged through his nightstand drawer. He walked back and handed the key to John. 

John took it and unlocked the door before saying, “Nato, we’re coming in.”

The boys came into the dim bathroom and saw Nato curled up in the corner with his fingers in his ears. He looked up at them with glassy eyes. 

“Oh, dude.” John voice got soft. He flipped on the light switch which caused Nato to screw his eyes shut.

“Shit, sorry!” John flipped the light back off. Nato slowly blinked his eyes back open. 

“Can you talk right now?” Brandon added quietly. 

Nato thought for a moment. He could talk. But he’d just end up with a bigger headache. He shook his head no.

“Okay, can you.. type?”

Nato nodded. 

“Okay, here.” Brandon pulled out his phone, opened the notes app and handed it to Nato who very slowly took his fingers out of his ears and took the phone in his hands.

Nato started typing then handed the phone back to Brandon.

They looked at what Nato typed:

Head hurts. Very bad. Dizzy. Need headphones. Don’t have mine.

Chris reached out a hand to Nato, “Okay, why don’t we get you off the floor first?” 

Nato took Chris’ hand and let himself be hoisted up and off the floor.

Chris opened his bedroom door. “Here, you can chill in my room.”

Nato sat on Chris’ bed and toed off his shoes as the boys closed the blinds.

Chris looked to Nato who stared back at him. 

“Here, umm..” Chris scanned his room. He grabbed a pair of headphones and handed them to Nato. “Do you have your phone so you can connect them?”

 Nato nodded. He put on the headphones and went to his phone’s settings to connect the headphones while Chris pulled a weighted blanket out of a basket.

He struggled to hold it up and looked at Nato. 

“Here, lay down”

Nato did and Chris draped the blanket over him. Nato gave Chris a tired smile.

Brandon asked, “Do want us to leave or stay here?” He gestured with his hands while he talked so that Nato could understand him with his headphones on. 

Nato pointed down as if to say “Here.”

So the boys sat on the floor near the bed and just existed with Nato.

Nato finally started to relax and drifted off into a nap.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Nato blinked his eyes open. Brandon was the first to notice. 

“Oh, look who’s awake.” 

“Hey.” Nato said, his voice raspy from not speaking. His hair was all messed up from sleep.

“You feeling any better?” John said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah. My head still kinda hurts, though.” Nato sat up, grabbed his phone from Chris’ nightstand, and checked the time. It was 6:00.

“Oh my god! I totally burned through our rehearsal time! Chris, I’m so, so, sorry, man. I-“

“Nato!” Chris cut him off. “It’s okay! We’ll have other rehearsals. Besides, you clearly needed the rest. Let me get you some Advil, okay?”

Nato stared at Chris. “…Okay.”

Brandon got up and sat on the end of the bed near John. “Sorry, about earlier, dude. With the music and the smoke and shit. We should’ve noticed you.”

“Yeah, sorry man.” John added.

Nato shrugged. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t say anything. So, it’s not like you knew.”

Chris walked in with one hand holding two Advils and the other holding a glass of water.

He passed the pills and water off to Nato. He gulped down the pills with the water.

“Ugch.” Nato frowned and shivered at the sensation of swallowing the pills. 

“Why don’t you stay over for tonight?” Chris said. “Just so you’re not driving home while you’re all tired or whatever.”

“Uh, sure. Just gotta text my grandma about it. “ Nato paused. “Thanks, by the way.”

Chris shrugged. “No problem.” 

Nato smiled. He looked at his phone, got curious and put on his front camera.

“Oh god, my hair!” 

[woopyayayayayay]

My perfect love for all these years.

(Muzan x insecure!fem!reader)

(Reminder that it might not be good bc it's like 11pm when in writing and I haven't written in a while, I'm mainly writing for me bc I need this scenario, I was inspired at the snow part by another writter but I can't find their name. I'll stop rambling LMAO)

______

A thousand years ago, in the Heian Era.

Muzan and me where and arranged marriage. He was sick and I proved my wifely duties by helping him with whatever he needed, even though there were servants that could help, he seemed to not take his temper out on me, after we officially married, I fell for him quickly, I wasn't ready for his fate, that's why I helped him and forced him to take his medicine. Sometimes I really had to convince him.

"You need to take this." I have the bowl in my hand, filled with his medication from his "lousy doctor". "I refuse, it never does anything, that doctor just wants to see me die at this point." That broke my heart at his words, I wasn't ready to accept it. "Please.. you need to take this. Don't speak like that." I frown as he try and reason with him, I almost felt tears in my eyes. I loved him, I knew the medicine wouldn't help but I could always hope. "Absolutely not, him not taking that disgusting medicine." He told me, him sitting on his futon, panting as the sickness was getting worse. I couldn't stand to see him like this. "If you don't take this medicine I'm going to force you to, or you could just take the medicine. Please, muzan, I love you, I can't see you like this." It was true, I loved him so much that he felt he didn't deserve this. He hesitantly grabbed the bowl from my hands and drank every drop, he didn't like seeing his wife sad, especially at the thought of losing him. He gave up hope but, he would try, for his wife. "There, now leave, you insufferable woman." He said, placing the wooden bowl in the space between us. I slightly smiled at his comment, he meant "I love you" and I knew it. I grabbed the bowl and put it back onto my lap, my hands on either side as I sand up. "Thank you, for finally listening." I smile sweetly at him before walking away. I can see his eye roll to the side as he watches me leave, he never wants me to actually leave but he never tells me to come back.

☆

When winter came, he felt bad about not being able to go outside. He was too weak to touch it, feel it on his skin as he stared at it through the door. I walked into where he was, he was sitting on his futon, looking out the door at the white, fluffy snow. "Is something wrong, dear?" I ask him politely. "No, just let me watch the snow." He told me, he didn't even face me. I walked out the door and intot he snow, my socks and bottom of my kimono was covered in snow and I kneel, picking up a pile of the fluffy snow in my hand as I walk fasting over to him. He looked up at me, I bit confused as to why he had a pile of snow infront of him, my hands shivering in cold but I smiled softly. "You can touch it now." I tell him, his weak hand touches the mound of snow in my hands, the small peice he grabbed melted in his hand, between his fingers as water drips down them. He smiled slightly. He kept touching and feeling the snow until it was gone. He still kept that smile on his face as he looked up at me, my hands on my kimono, trying to make them warn as I grip the cloth on me. "Did you enjoy it?" I ask, the smile still on my face "..yes, thank you.." He tells me, he slightly moved to the right of his futon. "Sit down woman." It felt like an order, I sat down next to him as we both watched the snow for hours, silent as we watch it fall.

□■

I ran into his room one day, a bowl in my hands, I was sure this would work. I had too. "Please, please drink this!" I tell him as a i place the bowl infront of him. "You know it does nothing, right?" He asks me, genuinely confused as to why I was begging him so much to drink the medicine, maybe it was poison. "Please, I have so much hope in this one. Just one last time, muzan, please." I beg him as I slide the bowl towards him a bit. He knew that i would never poison him, but it was a possibility. He accepted the risk and moved to bowl to his lips, he drank it and then placed it in its original place, on the floor. "There." He said to me, looking in my eyes, he didn't feel poisoned, he saw genuine hope in my eyes. Definitely not poison.

♡

When I was peacefully sleeping on my futon, it was still night when I felt my door open and then close. I force my eyes open and I see muzan, standing infront of me. It seemed his sickness almost disappeared, he had blood on his hands, and his clothes, a small bit on his lips as he looked down at me, he could tell I was a bit shaken, he kneeled infront of me.

"Do not fear, love, I wouldn't hurt you." He tells me, I look into his eyes, the circles where no longer there, replaced with lines that almost looked like slits, his long wavy hair lies free on his shoulders and down his back. "what.. what happened?" I asked him, he medicine seemed to work but, why the blood. Muzan explained what he found out, he was sensitive to the sun, his sickness was gone, he has to feed on human flesh to survive. This all happened when I was asleep? "Would you like to join me on this journey?" He asked, still kneeling as offered. I could only nod.

◇

The present.

I stayed by his side everyday, him being the strongest person in know, literally. I was his demon "queen". I looked exactly like I did when I was human. He loved me and I loved him. He was the only man I ever loved, however, I didn't feel like a "queen". Queens were beautiful, I was suprised He was even attracted to me back then. I couldn't think these thoughts when he was around, he could read my mind, literally. I only thought them in the mirror, when he was at a meeting or working on a experiment.

Sometimes I would cry looking at myself, not knowing why such a beautiful man would keep me around. We still looked the same as when we were human, small changes like the black of our eyes became slits and he cut his hair, he was beautiful as always. One day, I slipped up.

I was crying over my looks as I was only covered by my undergarments as I sat on the futon, tears running down my face, thoughts spiraling in my mind. I didn't hear when he came into the room, he watched from the door, he didn't read my mind, he felt to sad to do so. Why was she crying? He asked himself as he walked closer, standing to my side as he placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched at the action, he sat by my side, frowning. I wipe my tears fast as I look at him, shocked that he saw me like this. "What's wrong, my dear?" He asked genuinely, he didn't know what was wrong, he didn't want to read my mind, he would only if I didn't tell him.

"It's nothing, I swear." I say as I look at him, my tear stained cheeks said otherwise. "I don't like when you lie to me. Tell me whats wrong." He said a bit demanding but trying to be as gentle as possible, he had very seen you cry, not once. "I.. I don't feel pretty enough for you, why would you keep me around if I look so, unattractive..?" I ask him as I look into his eyes. His eyes seemed to soften more. "Your the most perfect woman in the world. I wouldn't want anyone to be by my side than you." He told me. I didn't believe him. "Your just saying that because I'm married to you." I shake my Head. "Darling, you should know I don't just 'say stuff.' I mean every word I tell you. Your my perfect love for all these years." He tells me with a straight face. Completely serious. "I... I just don't see what you see in me." I look away again, it broke his heart to see me like this, how long had this been going on? "Look at me. Your body is art, I don't want everyone else's. Your face is absolutely divine, I don't want to see anyone else's. Your mine, and I don't own anything that isn't perfect." He tells me as he grips my hands. Maybe he was right.?