#and what if I just didn’t go to work tomorrow. what if. i just did not do that. i can do that.

[lieslab]

I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend accuses you of cheating and leaves for his tour without a proper farewell.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: We're diving into angst head-first. No mercy. Requestee, you specifically requested a little angst, but I might have added far more than that. I had a vision and it expanded into something crazy. Please do not hunt me down and disembowel me. I swear on my life, you get that happiness you craved towards the end <3

_ _ _

“Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that, Chan! How many times do I have to tell you we’re just friends?” 

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. In the kitchen, he leaned back against the granite countertop. “Because going out to your coworker for lunch with your guy friend is surely all it is. Do you know how much it hurt to go into that cafe and find you hugging a random guy?” 

“I already told you I was having lunch with a coworker!” 

“You never said he was a guy!” 

“Excuse me for not fucking telling you the sex of every friend I have! What’s the difference?” You slammed your mug on the table. Coffee splashed out and stained the bar counter. “You were all over Yuna in your last TikTok dance!” 

“All over her?” His eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? We’re idols! I was just doing the dance like it was supposed to be done!” 

“That’s practically the same situation!” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” His voice raised. “How fucking dare you accuse me of-” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, when did you ever become a jealous dickhead that stopped trusting me?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably when I walked into my favorite cafe to get a drink and found my significant other in the arms of another guy!” 

Your hands slapped the countertop hard. “How many times do I have to say we’re just friends? That’s all we are, Chan! I’d never cheat on you and you know it!” 

“Do I? Do I really?” He glared. “Because last I knew, significant others talk to each other if they’re going out with the same sex, so they know cheating isn’t occurring!” 

Your face fell at his accusing words. Tears burned behind your eyes and you tried to swallow the harsh lump building in your throat. No words came out. The two of you couldn’t see eye-to-eye on this. 

You didn’t think going out with your coworker for lunch would harm anything. You picked a nearby cafe, figuring it’d be fine. You didn’t think it’d cause issues with Chan. Coincidentally, he left the company building to grab a drink around the same time. When he walked in, he found you hugging your coworker. 

That’s all it was and that’s all it ever would be. Your coworker transferred to a new department in the building and the two of you hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks. Lunch was the same time for the entire company. You both went to the cafe to catch up on company drama. 

You didn’t see Chan, but he certainly saw you. You pulled away from your coworker, talking and laughing. That same wide smile, the one you showed him. Jealousy ignited. He didn’t bother getting his drink and instead, he turned back around and fled the scene, unable to handle the hurt. 

That rolled into tonight. Tomorrow morning, he’d be leaving for tour and he’d be on the road for months. Between planes and vehicles, it’d be a while before the two of you would see each other. Halfway through his tour, you booked a week off work, so you could visit him and attend a few of the concerts, but it was so far away from now. 

Tension grew between the two of you. His jaw clenched and his tongue pressed against the interior of his cheek. He waited for your response, but your silence seemed to confirm everything. He nodded and his tongue clicked. “I’m leaving.” 

“What?” You croaked. “What do you mean? You don’t leave until-” 

“I’m going to stay at one of the dorms tonight.” 

“C-Chan…” You weakly uttered. “Please don’t do this.” 

He shook his head and walked past you. Your bottom lip trembled and your heart hit the bottom of your stomach. Wheels rolled and down your hallway, Chan walked by with two large suitcases. Both of them, he packed the night before, with your help. 

You called his name again and stepped forward. You stopped when he shot a glare your way. Through your tears, your soul went concave. You sniffled, silently pleading for him to say something, but he didn’t look back again. 

The last thing you saw was his back. His black suitcases disappeared into the hall and the door slammed shut, causing you to flinch. More tears slipped down your cheeks. 

He didn’t even bother to say a proper good-bye, or lock the door behind him; merely two more knives into your bleeding heart. 

~ ~ ~ 

On the plane the next morning, Chan slumped in his seat with his hoodie hood tucked over his head. During this morning’s airport departure, cameras flashed and filmed. Dispatch employees zoomed in eager to get content. 

Staff members of JYP walked with their own luggage. Bodyguards lingered around, making sure space stood between reporters and everyone. In a single file line, the guys walked through the airport and into the correct gate. 

A black face mask covered Chan’s face and a matching beanie sat on his head. Some of the guys dressed nicer for the occasion, but he didn’t. Not this morning and certainly not after last night’s argument. As he walked with his eyes cast on the floor, he briefly wondered if you were watching at home. 

Some fans filmed the scene live and maybe you were back home watching, or maybe not. Maybe you were tucked away in your shared bed. Hair strewn out and limbs sleepily tossed in every direction. His heart ached at the thought, but last night’s anger came back with vengeance. The thought dissolved as quickly as it appeared. 

Last night, he took himself to Changbin and Hyunjin’s dorm. It was the closest to your shared apartment and he wanted to get some decent sleep before the flight. Instead, he ended up tossing and turning on their couch most of the night. 

He got up in the darkness and tried the recliner instead. By the time he fell asleep and woke up to Changbin shaking him, he’d only captured about three hours of sleep. He didn’t shower, or brush his teeth. Instead, he drowned his morning breath in the bitter taste of hot black coffee. 

He didn’t let himself feel anything until he was on the plane. Hurt collided with anger and it fizzled into something monstrous. Razor sharp teeth, pointed claws, and it oozed with a rotten-stenching green substance; envy. 

Last night, it hurt you. 

He hurt you. 

And the worst part? He couldn’t make up for it. Not the way he wanted to. Not the way he needed to. He should have let you explain, but he let go of the reins and let jealousy have its way with you. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the tears slipping down your cheeks. Your bright eyes dulled for the first time. He didn’t see it, but he imagined you flinched when he slammed the door shut. There wasn’t a goodbye. 

The entire thing made him feel like shit, but he couldn’t take it back. He didn’t want to be the first to reach out to you. It’s not like he could make a call on the plane right now, anyway. Too crowded and not enough space. He couldn’t hang out in the bathroom and tell you everything he needed to say. 

So instead, he drowned in self-pity with a hand around his phone. The flight would take hours and hopefully, by the time he landed, you’d text him first. You’d build half of a bridge and he’d build the other, so you could walk hand-in-hand once again. 

“Channie, hyung?” 

He didn’t respond to Han’s voice. Tucked beneath his hood, his airpods blasted music. Han sat beside him full of worry. Usually, Chan tried to keep them all in line at the airport, but not today. When he brought up Chan’s silence, Hyunjin told him the two of you were in a disagreement. 

“Channie, hyung?” He reached over and gently tugged on Chan’s hoodie sleeve. 

Chan’s head shifted. He pulled out one of the airpods and looked over. Red-rimmed eyes and brown bags stared back at the younger man. Han reached out with a bag of trail mix. “Are you hungry?” 

“No thanks.” 

“Are you sure?” Han’s frown deepened. “You don’t look okay. Do you need something to drink? You can wave over one of the flight attendants.” 

“I’m okay for now, Han.” He pushed his airpod back in his ear and slumped back in the seat. 

Han sighed and pulled his trail mix back to his chest. He reached in, grabbed one of the pretzels, and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, he hoped Chan would feel better soon. 

Tour would be miserable if their leader was unhappy for the entire tour. 

~ ~ ~ 

As the days slipped by, you didn’t text, or call him. He didn’t contact you, either. Thousands of miles away, it started to hit him hard. His jealous outburst caused him to lose you. 

He tried not to let it bother him. He put on a brave face for the guys and the fans, but after their third stop, he finished the concert and went directly into his hotel room. He didn’t drop by Han and Minho’s room to talk with the rest of the guys. 

Not only was he physically exhausted from the dancing and singing, but he was exhausted from the emotional aspect. He pretended to be brave, but deep down, he was the most frightened he’d ever been in his life. Losing you meant losing a piece of his soul. 

As someone who lost and gained a lot of things in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could lose you. You were gold in his heart; the arteries that made his heart beat, you were his pride and joy. Giving you up meant certain death to the parts of his hearts he opened to you. 

Face down in a cotton pillow, he let out the tears he tried to hold back. He tried to be strong and tried to pretend it was fine, but nothing worked. Everything oozed out; the betrayal of your actions, the fear of what might be, the brewing fear that he wasn’t and he’d never be good enough. 

Because if you were content with hugging another man, smiling at another man, what would become of him? You meant everything to him and if he failed at keeping you next to him, who was he supposed to love? Didn’t that mean he wasn’t good enough? 

He lived a life laced with a silent fear. Deep down, back in the depths of his brain, a little voice whispered and insisted he wasn’t good enough. His group members couldn’t smother it. The records they broke, the accomplishments they achieved, it didn’t matter. His insecurities grew with him. 

That’s what happens when you spend your life being nit-picked and torn apart by adults when you’re younger. When the JYP staff dubbed him not good enough, not dancing as well as he should be, not working hard enough, not practicing his vocals enough, he’d never be good enough; their words haunted him like a ghost. 

They said they were helping. They wanted him to achieve every goal and he did. He was. They gifted him hand-wrapped disappointment and expected greatness. They got it, but he sacrificed his sense of belonging in the process. 

In the mirror, there were still days he couldn’t recognize himself. Blearily in the studio and practicing different notes, his voice changed, but his self-esteem didn’t. Not even millions of fans could improve that self-doubt. Not when so many of them easily shunned and back-stabbed him to align with their opinions. 

You did. You used to. He clung to your words, trying to believe them. When you spend your entire life forgetting to believe in yourself, it takes so long to bring back your self-esteem. Every hope you whispered, every little compliment, he clung to them with chewed nails and the desperation of a neglected and starved man. 

It was different coming from you. Strangers could idolize him and they always would, but you saw him. Every part of him. The pieces that lay broken and defeated behind the scenes. The anger and silenced voice on the things he couldn’t change. The wants and desires, you viewed it all raw and authentically. 

So why did it seem like you gave up on him so easily? You just reaffirmed the words from the past. He wasn’t good enough. Not talented enough. Not good looking enough. 

Never. 

Not. 

No. 

Nothing. 

The pillow caught his tears when you couldn’t. It heard every whisper and the hotel wall’s soaked with his bitter misery and silent desperation. Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone better and far more desired? He crumpled to the shell of who he used to know. 

The belief that he meant something, it didn’t need to be spoken by fans. He didn’t need it to come from his parents and siblings. Not from his group mates, or other friends. He needed to start believing it himself, but he didn’t know how. He always relied on you to help him see through his fractured self-image, but now you’re gone. 

What does the last survivor on earth do when the sun implodes? The moon clouds over and the tides cease. The stars burst, painting the cosmos with the final glow of a supernova; the last breath of dying stars.

In his damp pillow, his eyes squeezed shut. Sobs locked themselves in his chest. He couldn’t push them out, even if he wanted to. Staff members had hotel rooms on either side of him. He couldn’t break down and let them hear how broken he became.   

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the dark room. Outside, cars cruised downtown. Hums of their engines and the occasional honk of a horn. A gentle rain sprinkled the tin hotel roof. The heavens grieved alongside him. 

Just as his breathing started to slow and his eyes shut, a knock sounded at his door. He thought he was hearing things, but it remained consistent. A steady thrum, another presence lingered outside his dark cave of self-pity. He shifted, turning away from the door, and trying to sleep, but it didn’t stop. 

With a huff, he finally shoved himself up and padded over to the door. His bare feet brushed over the carpet and he wiped his bleary eyes. He jerked the door open, preparing to tell one of the guys to leave him alone, but to his surprise, he found you. 

You stood with a plastic bag full of items and a suitcase behind you. The bags beneath your eyes matched his. Draped in a hoodie and sweatpants, you stood without a word. He blinked a few times, wondering if he was actively dreaming. 

“Hi…” You trailed off when he didn’t speak. Your weight shifted to your opposite foot and your eyes found the floor. “I-I can go back home if you want me to, but I couldn’t just…” The lump started to form in your throat. The exact same feeling washed over you that occurred the night of your fight. 

“This was really stupid,” you whispered more to yourself than to him. “I wanted to make things right. I didn’t want to do it over the phone, so I worked out a schedule with my boss. I only have a few days, but I-” 

He cut you off by lunging forward and wrapping his arms around you. You gasped as you were lifted off the ground. Air removed itself from your lungs and Chan jerked you back into his room. Your fingers didn’t let go of your suitcase, so it rolled with you. Inside, he jerked your suitcase in, shut, and quickly locked the door. 

“C-Chan, I-” 

“I’m sorry,” he squeezed tighter. “I was so stupid and insecure. I shouldn’t have yelled and I should have heard you out. You were just trying to explain and I refused to let you. I assumed things and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Can’t breathe,” you weakly whispered. 

“Oh, fuck. Sorry!” His arms loosened around you and you slipped back to the floor. You sucked in a deep breath and relaxed. He reached out and gently cupped your cheeks. “Are you okay?” 

You sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. I forgot how tight your hugs can be. I feel like it’s been forever since I hugged you. I talked to the guys, they helped lead me here. I didn’t know where to go exactly.” 

He frowned and his arms wrapped around you again. This time, he clung to you with care. He tucked you beneath his chin. “God, I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I meant what I said the other night. I really didn’t cheat on you, Chan. I couldn’t. I never told you I was having lunch with my coworker because I didn’t think it was a big deal. We’ve been friends since I started working there and he transferred to another department, so I-” 

“Shh. You don’t have to explain yourself. I should have trusted you instead of jumping to conclusions. It’s not your fault I overreacted.” 

You slipped your hands behind his back and gently wrapped yourself tighter around him. “I missed you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t call, or text. I was getting ahead on my work, so I could come speak to you in person.” 

“I’m not dreaming, right?” 

“No, I’m here. I’m really, really here.” You pulled back and glanced up. Before he could react, your lips were on his. The soft kiss said everything the two of you didn’t say out loud. 

Lip-locked with arms around one another, the hurt eased. His hands slipped down to your hips and he carefully held you, like he was afraid you’d pull away and never be seen again. Desperate fingers twisted in the fabric of your white hoodie. 

When you pulled away to catch your breath, he hesitated to open his eyes; worried that this really was only merely a dream. When his eyes fluttered open, you were still there and staring at him. You sucked in a deep breath and let go of his body. 

Stepping back, you grabbed the plastic bag you previously held. “I wanted to get you flowers, but I know you’re on tour and traveling with flowers might be difficult. So instead, I got you a bag of your favorite candy. I stopped at a Korean convenience store before I came to the hotel earlier.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Uh-” You blinked and shrugged, “since a little after lunch. I’ve been hanging out in Felix’s room and mingling with the guys. They’re all really worried about you. Han texted me the day you left and said you weren’t acting like yourself. I couldn’t let you suffer for the entire tour.” 

His face softened and he reached out to grab the bag. “What kind of snacks?” 

“The unhealthy kind. I know you try to eat healthy on tour, but I went to the concert earlier. I think all that jumping and dancing deserves some fuel.” 

He chuckled, causing one of his dimples to poke out. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this. It means a lot to me. Actually,” his eyes found yours, “this means everything to me.” 

“I couldn’t let you believe I’d cheat on you. Your my entire world and living without your messages was tortuous enough. I couldn’t stand the silence without your goofy phone calls.” 

“Should we lay in the bed and eat snacks while watching Netflix?” 

“Do you have to be up early tomorrow? Because I don’t want to-” 

“Nah, nah, nah.” He waved away your worry. “That doesn’t matter. Besides, I don’t have to be at sound check until the afternoon. Come on, lay with me.” 

He placed the goodies on the bed while you took off your shoes. Before you could get to the bed, he pounced on you. His arms pinned yours to your sides. Wet kisses speckled every inch of your face, causing you to giggle like crazy. 

“Chan, what are you-” 

“I’m catching up on all the kisses I’ve missed out on! I’m practically a touch-starved man.” Another kiss to the tip of your nose. “Maybe I’ll kidnap you and force you on tour with me.” One more to the side of your head. 

You laughed harder. Happiness ran through his veins. In a fit of excitement and pure fun, his fingers brushed against your ribcage, causing you to shriek into a laughing fit. 

“Hey, no!” 

“Hey, yes!” His fingers moved quicker. You squirmed and laughed harder. You struggled beneath his grip, causing him to laugh just as hard as you. 

A squeal left your body as he picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. Before you could get up, he straddled you. Cooing and tickling, he beamed as you laughed until tears filled your eyes. 

He kissed your lips and when he finished, he pulled away, smiling proudly. “Look at you, you’re all red and out of breath now.” 

“It’s all your fault.” 

“You’re so cute.” 

“Apparently,” you playfully huffed. 

He smiled fondly and wrapped his arms beneath you. His head went to your chest and he squeezed you. “I’m so happy you’re here. We could watch Netflix, or we could just stay here like this. I think I hear your heart fluttering.” 

You went to speak, but it cut off with a yawn. Jet-lag started to catch up with you from earlier. “Yeah, maybe. We could stay here and just-” You cut off with another yawn. 

“My sleepy little baby is so tired.” 

“A little.” 

“Get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a final kiss into the center of your temple. “I love you so much.” 

“Love you.” You sighed and your eyes fluttered shut. His heart melted as he watched you wind down. You were always adorable when you drifted off to sleep. 

He leaned down, pressing his ear to your thumping heart. “Sweet dreams, honey.” Relief flowed through his veins and his own eyes slipped shut. 

Tomorrow morning, he couldn’t wait to be this grabby and possessive all over again. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

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[bullet-prooflove]

Positive: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

The baby comes as a complete surprise to Pope. He sits on your couch staring at the three pregnancy tests, each one lined up one after the other, each one positive. You sit across from him, your hands pressed between your thighs waiting for him to process this new information.

“I’m having a lot of feelings right now.” He tells you, his voice rough as his eyebrows furrow. You can sense the panic raising up in him as he gestures to his chest. “Like too many feelings…”

“Alright Andy, take a deep breath.” You say climbing into his lap, your arms wrapping around him holding him close. He buries his face into the curve of your throat, inhaling the soothing scent of the ocean that lingers on your skin as your fingertips comb through his curls. It’s the only thing that grounds him when he’s overwhelmed, that keeps him here in the moment.

“Is this real?” He mumbles as he looks up at you, his whiskey eyes glistening. “Am I really going to be a father?”

“Do you want to be?” You ask him, your thumb brushing away the salt that mars the freckles on his cheeks.

“It’s what we talked about.” He whispers. “You, me, a baby of our own. I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.”

“That’s kind of on me.” You explain as your fingertips trail over his features. “When you were in prison, there was no need for birth control. I wasn’t on it when you turned up that night, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey.” He says softly, his palm cradling the nape of your neck as his mouth drags over yours. “It takes two to make a baby and I was just so excited to see you I didn’t think about any of that either. It’s like the stars aligned or something.”

“You think the baby was fate?” You ask him and the edges of his mouth twitch up into a smile.

“I think you were.” He tells you, his gaze fixing on yours as his hands come to cradle the little lifeform residing inside you. “I gotta think that maybe this is too. I mean it was always the plan…”

“When we had our own place outside of Oceanside, where your mother couldn’t find us.” You remind him.

His grip on you tightens because your words, they’re a reminder that Smurf can’t let   Andy have good things. She always snatches them away so she can keep him close, keep him chained to her like a dog on a leash, desperate for freedom but never obtaining it.

“We don’t have enough money for a clean break now but there’s a few jobs I’m working on-”

“No.” He says resolutely, his ferocious gaze meeting yours. “I can’t take the risk of something happening to you and the baby.”

“Andy.” You say firmly, cradling his face between your hands. “There’s a bigger risk to the baby if she finds out about it.”

You’re right, he knows you are. It’s different with Baz and Catherine because Smurf knows she can control Catherine on some level. Catherine needs her to help with Lena, to provide jobs for Baz so that they can make rent, afford good things. 

You are a completely different ballgame. You’re fiercely independent, running your own jobs, making your own cash. This whole feud between the two of you started because you knew how to command a room and Smurf didn’t like it. When she did try and get you under her thumb you’d countered it with your own leverage.

Mutually assured destruction Janine, you’d reminded her. You fuck me, I’ll fuck you right back and trust me I’m harder and rougher than most of the men you play with. It created a healthy boundary between the two of you, you stay out of her business, she stays out of yours.

It’s Pope that’s the problem.

You falling in love with him is your biggest downfall because it places you directly in her scope. She’d put a bullet in you and the baby before she’d let him have either of you.

“There’s a big job coming up.” He says finally, running through the figures in his head, doing the math. “My cut from that with the money you’ve already saved should be enough to get us squared away. We just have to wait a couple of weeks, start looking for a place in Santa Barbara sooner rather than later.”

“We can get started tonight.” You tell him, reaching back towards the coffee table for your tablet. Pope stops you, his hands clasping your wrists before he guides them back around his neck, your fingers lacing together.

“Tomorrow.” He says, his mouth capturing yours before he raises to his feet, taking you with him. “Tonight we celebrate.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 15/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : angst, Lando is sad (yes it's a warning)

CHAPTER 15 :

Serie Masterlist

The villa was too quiet. 

The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful but tense, sharp-edged, and waiting to explode. 

No one laughed today. No one joked. No soft teasing over breakfast. No sunbathing by the pool. The warmth of Brazil felt foreign now. Wrong. Like it belonged to someone else's story. 

Ariana had locked herself in her room since their fight. 

Lando hadn’t said a word to anyone. 

Not a joke. Not a glance. Not even a sigh. 

Max tried twice to get through to him: once with food, once with sarcasm. Neither worked. Charles suggested they go surfing. Lando didn’t answer. Carlos tried to break the tension by calling him “Romeo, version parano”, but even that landed flat. 

Everyone knew. 

Something had happened. 

Something big. 

Kika stood outside Ariana’s door at least three times, knocking gently. 

“Babe, just tell me if you’re okay.” 

Silence. 

Pietra eventually snapped. “They need to talk.” 

“Not our job to force it,” Max muttered. 

“No,” Kika said, eyes hard, “but it’s our job to stop them from breaking something real.” 

By the time sunset rolled across the sky like fire, the tension in the house had become unbearable. And Kika had enough. 

Lando was pacing in the living room. Ariana hadn’t emerged all day. 

So Kika did what no one else dared. 

She marched upstairs. Knocked on Ariana’s door. “Put on something. Five minutes. You’re talking to him.” 

Then she went straight to Lando, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him like a furious little storm cloud through the house. 

Pierre tried to interfere. She silenced him with a glare. 

“Get. In.” 

She shoved them into the smallest guest room, snapped the door shut behind them, and locked it. 

From the other side: “You’re not getting out until you talk. So fix it. Or burn it down. But decide.” 

Footsteps faded. 

Silence fell. 

Ariana stood near the bed, arms crossed. Lando by the door, fists clenched. 

The space between them felt oceans wide. 

Neither moved. 

Her voice came first, quiet but sharp. “We just have to pretend we’re fine. Then Kika will let us out. I’ll go back to my room, pack my things, and leave first thing tomorrow.” 

His jaw clenched. “Back to Paris.” 

She nodded. “Obviously.” 

“Back to your dear dancer,” he snapped. 

She froze. 

“What?” Her voice was hollow. 

Lando laughed, humorless and mean. “Isn’t that what this is? You come here, say all the right things, play with me for a week, and then go back to the guy you never stopped seeing.” 

She stared at him. 

He kept going, voice getting louder, sharper. “He’s the one, right? The one from the photos. The one you said was nothing. You still with him, aren’t you? Just couldn’t resist the thrill of sneaking around?” 

Her voice cracked. “Lando—” 

He cut her off. “Was I just a fun distraction?” 

Silence. 

Her tears welled instantly, blurring her vision. 

She took a shaky step forward. “Do you really think… I’m cheating on my ‘boyfriend’ to be with you?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Do you really think,” she whispered, voice shaking, “that I would say all of that, do all of that, travel across the world to be here with you… if I was still with someone else?” 

Still silence. 

Lando stared at the floor, chest heaving. 

She let out a breathless, hurt laugh. “You don’t even see me.” 

“You never said anything,” he muttered. “You never explained. You refused to talk about him. I had to find out online.” 

“So that’s your excuse?” she shouted suddenly. “You believe Twitter over me?” 

He flinched. 

She stepped closer, voice rising. “You think gossip blogs and blurry pictures know me better than you do? Since when do you care about that kind of bullshit?” 

He stayed silent. 

And in that silence, something in her broke. 

“You want the truth?” she said, voice trembling, “here’s the truth.” 

She took a deep breath like she was pulling a blade from her own ribs. 

“I dated him, yes. His name is Marc. He was my partner for three years. We were together the whole time. I thought he was the love of my life.” 

Lando blinked, stunned. 

She kept going. 

“But he lied, hurt me, change me in a way I hated. Turns out he was cheating on me with half the damn company. Sleeping with students. Assistants. Anyone who smiled at him.” 

Her voice cracked fully now. “I found out. I left him. That was a year ago. That’s how old those photos are. And no, I’m not still with him. I fucking hate him.” 

Lando’s breath hitched. “Ari—” 

She shook her head. “No. You wanted the truth, so just listen.” 

His mouth snapped closed. 

“I still have to dance with him. Still have to see him. Smile. Be civil. Pretend everything is fine because it’s my job. Because it’s the fucking Royal Ballet and I can’t let heartbreak cost me everything I’ve worked for since I was a kid.” 

She wiped a tear off her cheek, furious with herself for crying. 

“And this fucking jerk is still around me, remembering me of how much an idiot I was for falling for him, to believe all his lies and manipulation. He still posts about me or hugs me after a show like I am still his and it’s killing me. But I can’t say a thing because he is the fucking lead dancer, he had power and connection, so I had to work with him and pretend I get along, until the day my contract end and I will return to Paris, until now.” 

Lando didn’t say a thing, he just looks at the ground, his heart fill with guilt and shame. 

“So yeah. I lied that night at the Opera in London. I told you he was just a friend because back then, you were a stranger, Lando. A stranger I met at a Christmas party. And I didn’t owe you anything.” 

He stood frozen, every muscle in his body aching. 

“But now you know. Now you’ve ripped it out of me. Congratulations.” 

Her voice dropped. 

“Do you know what hurts the most?” 

He lifted his gaze. 

“I told myself I would never trust another man again. Never fall for someone. Never let anyone in after him. And then I met you.” 

His throat burned. 

“I fell for you. I loved you,” she whispered. “I know I should've explain it to you but Lando I was scared, and it's a part of my life I prefer to forget, to not talk about. You could've understand it, be patient, be kind, but no the moment it got hard, the second you felt doubt… you turned on me. You threw everything I gave you in my face and treated me like the villain."

She tried to breathe, to find words through the mess clawing at her throat. 

"I never asked you about your past," she whispered, voice cracking with hurt. "Because it didn’t matter to me. Because I trusted you." 

He was crying now, silent, hot tears that slid down his face like punishment. 

"After everything I've been through..." she pressed on, voice breaking, "after everything, I still chose to trust you." Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to look away. "I saw the pictures too, Lando. I'm not blind. The girls at the clubs. The rumors about you. About the way you used to be." 

His mouth parted, chest shifting with a sharp inhale. 

"Ariana, I—" 

She shook her head sharply, cutting him off before the words could leave his mouth. 

"Don't," she whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. "Don't you dare try to explain now." 

He stepped forward instinctively, reaching for her, but she stumbled back, out of reach. 

"I ignored all of it," she said, voice trembling. "Because I knew you. Because I believed the Lando I fell for was different." 

He flinched at that, visibly. 

And then she added, softer, broken, like it was costing her everything, "But maybe I was wrong." 

The silence that followed was suffocating. 

Lando stood there, hand half-lifted like he didn’t know whether to reach for her or let her go. 

She turned to the door. 

“Kika!” Her voice was sharp. “Open the door.” 

Seconds passed. Then a quiet click. 

The door swung open. 

Kika stood there, silent. 

Ariana didn’t look at Lando again. 

She walked out. 

Up the stairs. 

Straight to her room. 

And the sound of her suitcase unzipping was the final note in the symphony of everything falling apart. 

The house was still dark when she left. 

6:04 a.m. 

No sunrise yet. Just a dim grey light casting long shadows across the marble floors of the villa, painting everything in the dull palette of goodbyes. Just her suitcase in hand, hair pulled back, eyes heavy but dry, the tears had already come in the quiet of the night. 

Ariana descended the stairs like a ghost. 

Kika stood first, wrapping her in a long, warm hug, whispering things into her ear that Ariana would later forget the words of, but not the warmth. Pierre kissed the side of her head gently and said nothing. Alexandra gave her a sad smile and Charles a long squeeze of her hand. Max, still in his hoodie and socks, looked heartbroken. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered. 

Ariana nodded. 

Pietra was crying in Rebecca arms while Carlos had no words. 

Lando stood in the doorway. 

He hadn't slept. Hadn’t eaten. His hoodie was stained with salt from silent tears dried and cried again. 

Ariana didn’t look at him. 

Didn’t say a word. 

Not goodbye. Not even a fuck you. 

Just silence. 

The kind that broke bones. 

And then she was gone. Out the door. Into the waiting car. Into a plane. Out of his world. 

Back in their room, it was still dark. 

The air was heavy. Still. 

Lando stepped in slowly, as if the room would collapse if he moved too fast. 

Her perfume was still there. 

Sweet, floral, soft. Like summer mornings and pointe shoes. Like the softness of her neck pressed into his chest. Like her laugh when she tried to cook pasta barefoot. 

And on the chair by the closet, the hoodie she always stole from him. 

Folded. 

Untouched. 

Cold. 

He sank to the floor. 

He didn't sob. Not at first. 

He just sat there. 

Then his chest heaved once, twice, and suddenly he was curling into himself, arms wrapped around his knees, the hoodie clutched to his chest like it was the only thing tethering him to her memory. 

And he cried. 

Hard. 

Ugly. 

Painfully. 

The kind of cry that comes when you realize you’ve truly, completely, irrevocably fucked it all up. 

She was gone. 

She had left him. 

And this time, it wasn’t a game. There would be no playful texts. No teasing glances. No lazy mornings and paint-stained kisses. No ballet tickets. 

Just absence. 

Downstairs, the mood was shattered. 

The group didn’t know what to say. 

No one wanted to touch it. 

Max, finally, got up and went upstairs. Quietly opened the door to Lando’s room and saw the boy he’d known since childhood curled in the ground. 

“Mate,” he said gently, stepping in, “I don’t want to tell you how to feel right now. You’re in hell. I get it.” 

Lando didn’t answer. 

“But you need to talk to her. Fix it.” 

Still nothing. 

Max sighed, ruffling his curls, helpless. “Alright. Be sad. But don’t stay here forever.” 

He walked back out. 

And that’s when Kika came in. 

She didn’t knock. 

Didn’t soften her voice. 

Didn’t give him any chance to prepare. 

She walked right up to him, arms crossed, eyes blazing. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” 

Lando flinched slightly, looking up from the floor. 

Kika didn’t stop. 

“She’s gone. She left. And you’re just sitting here like you’re the victim in this?” 

“I know I’m not,” he muttered hoarsely. 

“Then why are you acting like it’s over?” 

He looked away. “Because it is.” 

“No.” Her voice was sharp. “It’s over because you’re letting it be over.” 

“Kika—” 

“She loved you.” 

“I know.” 

“She trusted you.” 

“I know.” 

“Then what the hell are you doing crying on the floor instead of going after her?” 

Lando stood up slowly, eyes bloodshot. “Because I broke her. Because I said things I can’t take back.” 

“And?” 

“She won’t forgive me.” 

“Not if you don’t fight for her,” she shot back. “But maybe that’s the truth, maybe you don’t actually love her the way she loved you.” 

His head snapped up. “Don’t you dare.” 

“Then prove me wrong,” she hissed. “Because right now? She’s in a car. She’s in an airport. She’s in a goddamn plane flying away from the guy who she thought would never hurt her. And you’re just… what? Gonna stay here? Let her leave?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Kika’s voice cracked now, not angry, desperate. 

“Are you really going to let the love of your life walk away from you, Lando?” 

His eyes closed. 

“You know where she lives. You know where she dances. If you really love her, if you meant all of it then one mistake shouldn’t ruin everything.” 

Lando was breathing hard now, like he couldn’t catch his breath. 

Kika whispered. “Or will you let your fear ruin it.” 

The room was quiet again. 

But something inside him had cracked open, wider than guilt. Deeper than sadness. 

Something that ached to be fixed. 

And for the first time since she walked out the door… 

Lando wasn’t crying. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1

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[partygirlpiastri]

PRESS PLAY TO LISTEN ; IH6.

synopsis: A series of transcribed voicemails from your childhood best friend, Isack Hadjar.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Use of swear words in French and English; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Descriptions of car crashes; Descriptions of injuries; Suggestive remarks

a message from the author: This idea came to me just as I was falling asleep. I scribbled it down on a piece of paper (which was almost illegible), and I was thankfully able to craft a story from the “Voicemails, Isack, Best friend. . . More?” that I wrote.

VOICEMAIL 1.

Bonjour, Y/N. I know it is late, I don’t know why I am calling you this late. You should be asleep. If you aren’t. . .stop destroying your sleep schedule. Anyways, I am in Australia right now. As you know. Getting ready for the Grand Prix tomorrow. 

And I cannot breathe. It is everything I have worked for, everything I could ever want. But at the same time, everyone is watching me. Just earlier today I was walking down the street and two girls asked for a photograph. That’s never happened to me before. 

And I’m not exactly afraid of the attention, but I am. . .How do you put it? Je m'inquiète de ce qu'ils vont penser de moi. (Worried what they will think of me.) You will probably respond to this message and think I am so stupid. Who wouldn’t want to be famous, or whatever? And I’m not unhappy. I just want people to like me. I just want to make my parents proud.

I want to make you proud, Y/N. You’ve been to so many races. So many practices. And I forced you to go, you didn’t want to go at all. But you did it for me, and I want to show that it was worth it.

I am upset you could not fly in this weekend to watch me. I will try to get points. I want to get points. Imagine how incredible it would be, points at my first race. If I get points, you have to come next weekend. 

No, wait. You’re going anyway. Merde. (Shit.) I’m so tired. It’s almost five in the morning and I have barely slept. I have had so many nightmares about this. I’m trying to breathe, to meditate or whatever you told me to do. 

I’ll stop talking. Thank you for listening.

Au revoir, ma belle. (Goodbye, beautiful.) Talk to you later, hm?

VOICEMAIL 2.

You never pick up the phone when I call you. C'est ridicule ! (This is ridiculous.) I have so many things I want to talk to you about. Suzuka, I’ve heard stories about how hard it is, but it was so much harder than I expected. All those turns? I thought I was going to fly out of my seat.

And you couldn’t make it to the Grand Prix again. I am so angry with your university. Yes, you need an education. You’ve told me how important it is, and I agree. But it’s getting involved in our races. You told me you’d do anything for me. 

Well, come to a race. Prove it.

I miss you so much, Y/N. It’s been so long since I saw your face. 

Do not! I know you just opened your mouth. Je m'en fiche. (I don’t care.)

Three races in to the season, I want to talk to you. Call me whenever you can. The time differences are hard, but I will sleep late if I have to. You are more important. My best friend.

Oh! I also wanted to say, I listened to the song you wanted me to. The Sabrina Carpenter song. It was funny. Some of her lyrics were very. . .What is the word? Sexy. She is smart, like you. I put it on my pre-race playlist, so you might hear it blasting in my headphones before a race. If you ever come to one.

I talked to your father about the summer break trip to France. He said he is considering it if you pass your exams. If I have to help you in studying, I will. I want to spend time with you.

Putain. (Fuck.) They’re calling for me right now. Call me please!

VOICEMAIL 3.

Thank you for calling me last night. You don’t have to call me back, because I know you have an exam coming up for your organic chemistry class. I do not want to distract you. I only have a few minutes anyway, I am about to go in the car for the first practice session.

I hope you know that I am so proud of you for your hard work. We might not be in contact as much anymore, because of our schedules, but I am always here. You know too much.

My mother reminded me of that one time, when we were little – I let you practice makeup on me. You were, what, six? It was so bad. So much blush. But I laughed. And I kept it on the whole day. A little artist, you were. 

Honestly, I don’t know who else I would have let do that to me. You’re special.

I’ve asked you this a thousand times already, but it doesn’t hurt to say it again. Come to Miami. We can go to the beach. You can tan. Read books. Annoy me.

Whatever it takes for us to be together.

J'ai adoré te voir en Chine. Ma belle. (I loved seeing you in China. My beautiful girl.)

VOICEMAIL 4.

I cannot sleep. At all. I’ve tried. It’s — three in the morning. And I went to bed at ten. Don’t tell me to get off the phone and keep trying. It’s not working.

I can’t stop thinking about you. Before you yell at me or tell me to be quiet, I wanted to say. . . I know we are just friends. That we aren’t anything more than that. But I think about you a lot, I care about you more than a friend.

You don’t have to answer. In fact, this was a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry for bothering you.

VOICEMAIL 5.

I saw your post. You look stunning. Putain, I thought I was going to fall to my knees in the middle of the paddock. (Fuck.) That dress is too beautiful. That color, the blue-purple, whatever it is? You look absolutely stunning. I could not breathe.

And that caption? What you wrote?

“Only bought this dress so you could take it off.” Are you trying to kill me? Mon dieu. (My God.)

I can’t wait to see you later this week. Bring that dress. We can do what you wrote. Please, ma belle. (Beautiful.)

I will call you again, later. When you are free. I love you.

Mwah.

Bye.

VOICEMAIL 6.

Dinner was fun with you. Even though you were nervous. You thought that they would kill us, but no! I cannot believe we told your parents that we are together. And they all said, “Finally.” Are we that ignorant? Two idiots in love?

Je sais que je le suis. (I know I am.) Every time I see you, I am worried that you will realize what a fool I am. How utterly in love I am with you.

Since we were eight. Can you believe that? I have loved you, ma belle, since we were eight years old. And it has taken me thirteen years to say something about it. (Beautiful.)

Mon dieu. Thank you for loving me back. (My God.)

Credits: Dividers — @thecutestgrotto

[orellazalonia]

You Didn’t See That Coming, Did You?

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes turn your precognition into a playful, flirtatious game. What starts as harmless teasing evolves into a deeper connection as Bucky challenges your abilities in creative ways, from sparring matches to leaving cryptic notes and pulling mischievous stunts. Eventually, the game becomes your shared language and you have the quiet realization that even when you see things coming, some moments are worth letting surprise you. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power of precognition.

Word Count: 1.4k+

A/N: Honestly, I was worried how I’d create a good story with this power. However, it turned out so fun. I definitely have a second part in the works if y’all like it too. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You weren’t exactly a spy. Or a soldier. Not even an Avenger. You were just… useful. That’s what Natasha had called you the first time she brought you in. “This one sees things. Makes life easier.”

Your gift, if you could call it that, was simple in concept and chaotic in execution: you could see short flashes of the future. Usually just a few seconds ahead. Sometimes minutes. Rarely, a day. It wasn’t flashy like Wanda’s magic or Steve’s shield throws. It was quiet, subtle, and often annoying. Like déjà vu that never stopped happening.

That’s how Bucky Barnes became your daily torment.

The man had the audacity to be interesting. A mystery wrapped in a grumpy, tactical jacket with eyes that were always watching. He didn’t trust easily. Neither did you. But trust was a little easier to fake when you already knew what someone was about to say.

At first, he hated it. You’d finish his sentences before he even opened his mouth:

“You're going to say we should sweep left instead of right.” “What the hell-“ “I know. You hate that.”

He scowled at you for a solid two weeks straight. But then came the mission in Prague, when a bullet meant for his temple missed by a fraction because you shoved him sideways exactly one second before it hit. After that, his scowl softened into something else. Something wary. Something curious.

"How did you know?" He’d asked that night in the safehouse, a whisper between the click of his metal fingers unbuckling his gear.

You looked him straight in the eye. “I always know.”

You didn’t mean to flirt. That was the problem with precognition. Sometimes you said things you hadn’t decided to say yet.

Bucky started testing you after that. He’d toss questions at you when your back was turned. “What am I thinking right now?” “What number am I holding up?” “What color shirt is Steve going to wear tomorrow?” You were right every single time.

Eventually, he stopped testing and started playing.

He’d make dramatic predictions just to throw you off. "I bet I’m going to trip over that table."

“Nope, you’re going to stub your toe on the leg and then swear under your breath like a cartoon villain.”

Which he did. Twice. You caught him smiling after the second time.

Somewhere between missions and late-night kitchen raids, you began orbiting each other like clockwork. He’d brew two mugs of coffee without asking if you wanted one. You’d hand him his forgotten gloves before he remembered them. He’d mutter, “You already knew I’d forget, didn’t you?” and you’d just shrug, sipping your drink like you weren’t smug about it.

The Avengers noticed. Steve raised an eyebrow at your synchronized movements. Sam teased Bucky mercilessly. Natasha didn’t say anything, just gave you a knowing smirk that said she’d been right all along.

The thing about seeing the future is, you never get surprised. Not really.

But Bucky managed it.

It happened on a Tuesday. You were both holed up in a quiet corner of the compound, a storm pelting the windows. You were curled up with a book pretending to read, and Bucky was tinkering with his knife. You saw the future as easily as breathing. The next page. His next move. The way he’d stretch, then ask if you were cold. You prepared to tell him you were fine before he said anything.

But he didn’t follow the script.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out. A crumpled slip of paper. It was a fortune cookie message, the cheap kind from the takeout place a few blocks away.

“Surprises are the universe’s way of making sure you’re paying attention.”

You blinked.

“You didn’t see that coming, did you?” He asked, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. For once, your foresight had gone quiet. No flashes. No hints.

Bucky chuckled. “Finally caught you off guard.”

And you realized, he’d been trying to surprise you this whole time. To prove he could. Not to annoy you. But to know you, in a way you couldn’t predict.

You looked at him then, really looked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The tension in his shoulders as he waited for your reaction. The hope he was trying not to show.

You smiled, slow and genuine.

“I didn’t see that coming,” You admitted.

He grinned back. “Good. Maybe I’ll keep you guessing.”

And for the first time in a long, long while, you hoped he would.

After that night, Bucky made it a thing. A challenge. A game neither of you officially acknowledged but one you both played with increasing intensity.

“I bet you think I’m going to grab the left mug,” He’d say the next morning, hand hovering indecisively between two identical coffee cups.

“You already decided on the right one three seconds ago,” You’d reply, not even looking up.

“Damn.”

The rules were simple: he tried to surprise you. You tried to stay unshaken. It was fun and harmless. At first. But then came the curveballs. You walked into the training room one afternoon and found the lights dimmed, the floor cleared, and Bucky standing dead center with a smug expression.

“What’s this?” You asked.

He tossed something underhand at you. A soft, rolled-up T-shirt. Your T-shirt. “Figured you’d want to change before I beat your ass in hand-to-hand.”

You caught the shirt easily. “You really think I didn’t see this ambush coming?”

He grinned. “Oh, I knew you saw it. Doesn’t mean I won’t win.”

You sparred for half an hour, laughter echoing off the walls. You dodged every feint, every fake-out but there were moments when he moved unpredictably. Sloppy on purpose. Lazy where he should’ve been sharp. You were reading him, but he was adapting.

By the end of it, you were both breathless, flushed, your back against the mat with his weight braced above you, metal arm warm against your ribs. He was close enough to kiss. Close enough that the future went blurry.

You expected him to pull away but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and whispered, “Didn’t see that one, did you?”

Your heart stuttered. “No, not this time.”

But he didn’t kiss you, not yet. That bastard just smirked, rolled off, and offered a hand to pull you up.

The game? Still on. And it only escalated from there.

Sticky notes started appearing around your room: “Bet you can’t guess what I’ll cook tonight.” “Wrong sock color. Check again.” “Don’t look in the third drawer unless you want to scream.” (You did. It was a glitter bomb. He laughed for ten minutes.)

He started carrying around coins, flipping them when you least expected it. “Heads or tails?” He’d ask, already knowing you’d call it right. But then he’d switch coins on you mid-flip. Or not flip at all. Or throw it across the room and say, “Plot twist.”

He lived to frustrate you and he loved when you slipped.

The game became your language. Your dance.

You pretended not to know when he would brush your hand in the hallway. You pretended not to see the moment he’d glance at your lips and look away. And eventually, you started bending the truth. Saying you “weren’t sure” even when you were. Letting him win.

Because sometimes, it was nice not knowing.

One night, you found a note slipped under your door: “Meet me on the roof. No peeking ahead.”

The stars were out when you arrived, cold air kissing your skin. Bucky was already there, leaning against the railing, arms crossed, watching the city lights twinkle below.

You stood beside him in silence.

“I had a vision,” You said softly after a moment. “About tonight.”

He looked sideways at you, wary but amused. “Oh yeah? How’s it end?”

You smiled. “That depends.”

He leaned a little closer. “On what?”

“On whether you finally kiss me, or if you chicken out again.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I thought I was supposed to surprise you.”

You shrugged. “You still can.”

He hesitated but not for long. The kiss was unhurried. Intentional. Less about passion, more about proving something. That even if you saw every move, every possible path, this choice was still his. And he was choosing you.

When he pulled back, he searched your eyes.

“Did I get you?” He whispered.

You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. You got me.”

“Good,” He smiled. “Because I’ve got at least ten more moves planned and I bet you won’t see half of them coming.”

You laughed, head against his chest, and let the future fade for once just enough to stay in this moment.

Game on.

[rio-ava]

In Her Arms - Agatha x Reader Fic

Hi!! I wrote this as a oneshot last night, and people seemed to love it so I am creating a series! This should be part one, and will go all the way tp Agatha and readers first meeting. I am in fact making this a sort of slowburn, because that’s all I know to do. I have to keep y'all on your feet. The oneshot I posted earlier will just be a little sneak peak into their dynamic, I guess! Once again, if you hate it, don’t tell me, if you love it, please tell me and share feedback!! Yay! - A

Warnings: Agatha being Agatha

Word Count: 3758

You’ve always had a certain way about you. Some people described you as a “spiritual battery”—when you walked into a room with your usual joy, everyone could feel it. It lifted them. Pulled people up to your level without you even trying. But with that same gift came a curse: when you were feeling low, it was contagious. You’d always been mindful of this phenomenon, doing everything in your power to bring a positive attitude to whatever you did. So far, it had never steered you wrong.

You were in your second year at Columbia Law School, studying to follow in your late dad’s footsteps—to work as a litigator in court. The law had always come naturally to you. It was structured, logical, and often predictable. It made sense in a world that didn’t always. Unlike many of your peers, you tackled the challenges of law school with optimism, meeting every standard you set for yourself with a steady smile. It worked for you. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you could even change that mindset, even if you wanted to.

Currently, you were juggling two jobs—one as a barista, and the other as part of Columbia’s late-night janitorial staff. Your mom had left the picture after your dad passed away, and he’d only left you with so much money. Which meant that it was entirely up to you to pick up the pieces and pay your own way through school.

One evening, while walking through the quiet hallways of Columbia, you spotted a flyer for an assistant job. But what really caught your eye—your breath, even—was the name on it.

Agatha Harkness. The Agatha Harkness. With a law degree from Harvard and two decades of courtroom dominance under her belt, Agatha wasn’t just respected in legal circles—she was legendary. Possibly getting to work under her while finishing your degree at Columbia was something pulled straight out of a dream journal. Her mentorship, while known to be intense, would give you firsthand experience beyond what most practicing attorneys twice your age could claim.

And truthfully? It would be nice to gain both experience and a paycheck at the same time. You couldn’t turn it down.

That same night, adrenaline still buzzing in your bloodstream, you sent in your resume, contacted every reference you had, and applied online.

Just a few days later, an email landed in your inbox—from Harkness herself.

Subject: Interview – Assistant Position To: y/n@gmail.com From: a.harkness@hklaw.com Date: 5/14/2025 Time: 5:42 AM

Ms. L/N, I reviewed your application. You’re either extremely competent or dangerously optimistic. I intend to find out which.

Interview scheduled for Wednesday at 9:00 AM at my office. Be early. If you are a minute late, I will not see you. Bring a printed resume and the ability to form a complete sentence under pressure.

—A.H.

You stared at the email for what felt like an hour. Her signature sat at the bottom like a final verdict. Something about the way she carried herself—even from behind a screen—sent a chill rippling down your spine. You could practically hear her voice just from her punctuation.

You spent the entire week preparing for the interview, running mock sessions with anyone who would help. Your roommate Wanda took the brunt of your stress.

After watching you pace in front of the TV for the sixth time in an hour, she finally sighed dramatically.

“Y/n, I get that your interview is tomorrow, but you’ve gotta chill. You’re blocking Arrested Development. Please.”

You stopped mid-step. “I’m sorry, but this is the biggest deal of my life. This has to go well. It will go well. Right? I can do this... right?”

Wanda arched a brow, then softened. “Look, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run from a challenge—and I don’t think you’ll start now. You just have to get in there, show the lady what you’re made of, and hope for the best.”

She paused, then smirked. “And hey—flash her one of your famous smiles. No one can say no to that.”

You gave her a grateful grin before heading off to take a shower and turn in early. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

You woke up the next morning to find Wanda eating cereal, scrolling through some flashy law gossip blog on her phone.

“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped. “I decided to do some digging on your lovely Agatha Harkness. And…I take back what I said last night. I’m kind of scared for you.”

You stopped in your tracks, still half-asleep and fully skeptical. “Really? You’re scared? For me? Why?”

“Well,” she began, not looking up, “turns out Agatha Harkness is more than just an intimidating lawyer. People say she can make a grown man cry with a look. Some even call her a witch.”

You scoffed. “A witch?”

Wanda finally looked up, serious. “I’m not joking. You should be ready for that.”

You rolled your eyes and continued with your morning routine. When the clock struck 8:15 AM, you knew it was time to head out. As you grabbed your bag and walked toward the door, Wanda called out from the couch.

“Try not to trip over your own sunshine. Or hers. Or her murder witch aura.”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head as you stepped outside for the 20-minute walk to the office where Agatha Harkness was waiting.

The walk passed too quickly. At 8:50 AM sharp, you signed in at the receptionist’s desk and took a seat in the sleek marble-floored lobby alongside the other hopeful candidates. You were dressed in a crisp pink button-down and a fitted but professional skirt. In your hands, you clutched a strawberry-covered notebook—your go-to for notes, lists, and grounding your nerves.

You loved strawberries. Obsessed over them, even. Strawberry lemonade, strawberry candies, strawberry candles. You had been sipping a strawberry lemonade just last night while printing your final resume, and a shortcake-scented candle had flickered nearby. It was silly, maybe. But it was you. Completely, unapologetically you.

After what felt like an eternity, a blonde assistant with a sharp bob stepped out and called your name. Your heart stuttered. This was it.

You followed her down a long hallway lined with glass offices. Through the transparent walls, you caught sight of your destination—Agatha Harkness, seated at her desk, facing the sprawling skyline of New York City. Her back was turned, but even from behind, you could see the way her dark waves cascaded over her shoulders, her hands skimming paperwork with elegant precision.

Your legs suddenly felt like jelly.

The assistant led you in and quietly stepped away, leaving you standing alone inside the lion’s den. But even the lion, it seemed, was letting you make the first move.

Before you could spiral into panic, Agatha spun around in her chair.

And dear God, she might’ve been the most gorgeous human being you’d ever seen.

High cheekbones. Piercing blue eyes. Bubblegum pink lips curved into the faintest, calculating smirk. She didn’t speak. Just watched you, cool and silent, like a predator trying to decide whether or not to pounce.

You clutched your strawberry notebook like a life vest.

“Um. Good morning, Ms. Harkness. Thank you for—”

“Sit.”

One word. Crisp. Low. Like ice cracking in a glass.

You obeyed instantly, settling into the leather chair across from her desk, spine straight, knees together, notebook balanced on your lap like armor.

Still, she didn’t speak. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, one leg elegantly crossing over the other. You handed her your resume. She accepted it without a word, towering over you for a moment before resuming her seat, eyes slowly raking over you like she was assessing every inch of your existence.

You wondered if this was a test. If so, your palms were already sweating.

Finally, she hummed. “You’re nervous.”

“A little,” you admitted honestly.

“Good. If you weren’t, I’d think you were either arrogant or stupid. Possibly both.”

You smiled reflexively, not sure if that was meant to be comforting.

“I see you go to Columbia.”

“Yes. I’m in the dual-degree law program—”

“I read your résumé. I don’t need you to recite it.”

Her tone was flat, unimpressed.

“I want to know why you want to work for me. Specifically.”

You hesitated—just a second too long.

Agatha tilted her head. “Tick-tock.”

You straightened your posture. “Because you’re the best. You’ve built your reputation on precision, power, and winning. Everyone in law school knows who you are. Everyone either wants to be you or hopes they never have to face you in court.”

That seemed to earn you a flicker of amusement, though she didn’t confirm or deny it.

“And I want to learn from someone who doesn’t just play the game—but reshapes it around her.”

A pause.

“That was rehearsed,” she said.

“A little,” you admitted. “But it’s still true.”

Agatha leaned forward, her posture shifting just enough to pull all the air from the room.

“You’re very... bright.”

“Thank you?”

“I don’t mean intelligent. I mean bright. Optimistic. Energetic. Like a motivational mug with legs.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Silence again. She opened your resume and flipped through it, page by page.

“Strawberry?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your resume. It smells faintly of strawberries. Perfume? Candle? Teenage optimism?”

“Probably the candle,” you muttered.

She looked up. “Fitting.”

Kindly or not—you had no clue.

Then she snapped the folder shut.

“Let’s get something clear. I don’t coddle. I don’t repeat myself. And I don’t tolerate incompetence, whining, or anyone who thinks that just because they’re clever, they’re useful.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

“I need someone who can handle long hours, my temper, and my coffee order without screwing it up.”

You opened your notebook. “Double espresso, splash of oat milk, no sugar?”

She raised her brows—barely.

“Just a guess,” you said.

“Hm.”

A long beat. Her lips twitch. The ghost of a smirk. Then, Agatha stands. The movement is fluid, calculated, like every motion she makes is for effect. She walks around the desk and perches against the front of it, arms folded.

“Okay. Let’s give you a test.” She looks down at you, and hands you a folder. “Walk me through how you'd organize this for litigation prep. You have ten minutes.”

You panic at first, before realizing that this is your specialty. You can do this. And you’ll do it with a smile. 

After reading through the file, and talking through it knowing Agatha is scrutinizing your every thought, you finally come to a conclusion. When you finally present your plan, Agatha stares at you, letting you simmer in the silence. 

Finally, she pushed off the desk, walks behind your chair, and nearly whispers right behind your ear,

“You’ve got a mind for chaos. That’s rare.”

She walked back around, facing you, and said, “You’re not the best candidate on paper. But, you aren’t absolutely insufferable.”

With that, she walks back to the desk, and motions for you to leave her office without even a goodbye.

As you make the walk through the office, down the elevator, and back through the lobby past the other possible employees, you hear your phone ding. 

From: Unknown Number

You start Monday. 8 AM sharp. Do not be late.

— A.H.

Wanda was still on the couch when you got home, halfway through a bowl of popcorn and watching some old sitcom with the sound off.

“Well?” she asked the moment she saw your face.

You collapsed dramatically beside her, hugging your strawberry notebook to your chest.

“She hired me.”

Wanda blinked. “You’re serious?”

“She said I wasn’t the best candidate but the least insufferable.”

Wanda raised her hands. “Hey, that’s basically a love confession. Congrats!”

You both laughed, the sound buoying the room.

But later that night, when you finally curled into bed, your mind drifted back to Agatha’s eyes. How sharp they were. How they seemed to see through you. How her voice, cool and cutting, had somehow left you craving more.

You told yourself it was admiration. Professional awe. Maybe fear.

But as you drifted to sleep, notebook still within arm’s reach on the nightstand, a single thought hummed quietly in the back of your mind:

You were in way over your head.

And you couldn’t wait to go back.

—------------------

Three weeks go by, and you're finally starting to fall into a rhythm. There’s a pattern now — one you can follow without second-guessing yourself every other step. Every chance you get, you throw a smile toward Ms. Harkness, hoping to get one back, usually to no avail. The only time even a ghost of a smile had graced her face was the morning you tripped on the curb outside the building, spilling her coffee all over your white blouse.

She had smirked — a small, cruel thing that flickered at the corner of her mouth. But when she realized it was her coffee that had spilled, the smirk didn’t last long.

You’d gotten into a routine with Agatha: you woke up at 6 a.m., got her coffee, went to the office, worked on whatever task she threw at you, went for lunch at 11, came back at 11:45, finished your assignments, left the office at 7 p.m., and then started on your online schoolwork — just to get up and do it all again.

It was relentless, but you didn’t let the pace or her impossibly high expectations get to you. You kept up with her every single day, a quiet determination behind the smile you wore. You were just happy to be there, learning from her. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and you weren’t about to waste it.

One day, though, you were swamped. The workload had built up too fast, and skipping lunch felt like the only option. You didn’t think anyone would notice — least of all her — so you stayed glued to your cubicle, hunched over your laptop, eating the hours as they passed.

Until you heard a throat clear behind you.

You turned, startled, and found Ms. Harkness standing there with her arms crossed. She didn’t say a word, just flicked her fingers in a silent command: Come.

You stood immediately, following her with the quiet urgency of someone who never wanted to give her a reason to stop looking your way. Like a lost puppy, you trailed behind her as she led you into her office.

There, spread out on the couch, were takeout bags and two drinks.

“I saw you didn’t leave to eat,” she said as she sat down, casual like it wasn’t a surprise she’d noticed. “So I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”

She motioned for you to sit beside her.

As you did, your legs nearly brushed hers. The couch wasn’t large, not for two people, and the new proximity left you flustered. This was the closest you'd ever been to her, physically. And emotionally? That was harder to measure.

From the bags, she began to unpack a borderline absurd amount of food. Cups of ramen. Orange chicken. Fried rice. Egg rolls. It smelled incredible.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just bought a little of everything,” she said with a grin, subtle, almost imperceptible. But you noticed it, because you noticed everything about her. All of the time.

Then she handed you a drink. You took a sip without thinking, and the moment the flavor hit your tongue, a low sound escaped your throat, a satisfied groan you didn’t have the energy or presence of mind to stifle.

Your eyes lit up. “It’s my favorite! Strawberry lemonade? How did you know?”

She looked over at you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but a heated glance that you had never seen her hold. “Just a lucky guess.”

Something about the moment triggered déjà vu, but you shook it off, more focused on the food and her presence than anything else.

Conversation came easier than you expected. The tension that usually hovered around her seemed to ease, just enough to let a bit of warmth in. At one point, you even made her laugh, really laugh, and the sound of it lodged itself in your brain like a hook.

You didn’t realize it then, but you’d spend the rest of your life chasing the sound of Agatha Harkness’s laugh.

When the meal ended, she leaned back on the couch and said simply, “Go get your things. You’ll work in here the rest of the day.”

You obeyed without question.

That day marked the beginning of a new tradition.

Each morning you’d begin in your cubicle, until,  without warning,  Agatha would appear with new takeout in hand and a barely concealed flicker of amusement in her expression. You started brewing a special tea mix for her every morning, something earthy with just a hint of lavender, and brought it with you when she summoned you.

You sat across from each other on the same couch, legs criss crossed, ankles often brushing. It became its own kind of ritual. She brought the food. You brought the tea. And between bites and banter, the distance between boss and assistant kept shrinking.

After lunch, she would return to her desk. You would curl up on the couch with your laptop, finishing your work under her watchful eye.

It was comfortable. Predictable. But charged.

You started to notice things, like how her hand would linger on your arm when she handed you your tea, or how she’d stare at you when she thought you weren’t looking. You noticed the way she bit her lip whenever you made some sly, half-inappropriate comment about topics that probably shouldn’t come up between you and your boss.

But were these lunches really strictly professional anymore?

It wasn’t like Agatha Harkness could ever feel the same way. She was forty-four. You were in your twenties. She surely wasn’t married, no ring, no pictures on her desk,  but she was probably in some kind of relationship. And even if she weren’t, she must have seen you as too young. Too immature.

It was fine.

You told yourself it was fine.

But as the third week ended and you caught her staring again, her gaze slow, deliberate, thoughtful, the same thought bloomed in your mind for the hundredth time:

Agatha Harkness was going to be the death of you.

The days keep slipping by, soft and silent, like a tide creeping in unnoticed, until it’s already around your ankles.

You're still not sure when exactly it happened. Maybe it was the third time she brought you lunch and didn’t immediately retreat to her desk. Or maybe it was the way her fingers brushed yours just a second too long when she handed you a container of rice, pretending not to notice the way your breath hitched. But something had shifted. Just slightly. Like the first hairline crack in glass, barely visible, but impossible to ignore once seen.

Agatha hasn’t gotten any less terrifying. She still walks with that same sharp clip of her heels, still speaks like her words are blades meant to be carefully handled. Her critique of your work is just as relentless, her standards sky-high, and her moods unpredictable. But you’ve started to see through the cracks in her armor, however faint.

There are moments now, brief, rare, and precious, where her eyes soften when they land on you. Moments when the sarcasm in her voice slips into something bordering on fondness. Still, she catches herself quickly, snapping the wall back up so fast you wonder if you imagined it.

Today, she doesn’t come to get you for lunch. You glance at the time, 12:03. A small knot forms in your chest. Maybe she’s actually swamped with work. Maybe you misread everything. You try to ignore it, focus on your screen, but nothing sticks. Every sentence you type feels hollow.

At 12:14, the door to her office opens. You don’t even look up until you hear her voice.

“Didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you?”

She stands in the doorway, holding two containers in one hand and a bottle of your favorite lemonade in the other. Her hair is a little messier than usual, and she looks… tense. Not angry. Just a little frayed at the edges, like she’s been holding too tightly to something.

“No,” you say quickly, rising to follow her. “Of course not.”

You’re already halfway to the couch when she speaks again, quietly. “Good.”

This time, the couch feels smaller than ever. Maybe it's the way your knees keep knocking, or the way she keeps looking at you when she thinks you're not paying attention. The food sits forgotten in your lap as you try not to drown in the silence growing between you.

Finally, she speaks, her voice low, almost hesitant.

“You’re handling this job better than I expected.”

You blink at her, surprised. Praise from Agatha Harkness is rarer than snow in August.

“Thank you,” you say, the warmth in your chest spreading like wildfire. “That… means a lot.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Her gaze drops to her food, then to the space between your knees, where hers keep brushing against yours.

“It’s not just the work ethic,” she adds, more to herself than to you. “It’s the way you—” She cuts herself off, scoffing softly. “Never mind.”

You should let it go. You know you should. But your voice comes out before you can stop it.

“No, what?”

Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you wish she’d just look away. There’s too much in them. Frustration, conflict, longing—buried beneath her usual edge. It’s like watching a storm hold its breath.

“You’re distracting,” she says finally, her voice rough.

That word hangs in the air like smoke.

You open your mouth, but there’s nothing to say. Your heart is pounding too hard in your ears.

Then, just like that, she stands, brushing invisible lint off her skirt.

“I need to finish reading those drafts you sent me,” she says, her voice clipped, her back already turning toward her desk.

You stay on the couch, stunned, your food untouched and cooling in your lap.

She doesn’t say another word for the rest of the day.

And yet, that night, when you finally crawl into bed and close your eyes, all you can hear is her voice echoing in your head.

You're distracting.

[cams-cult]

—𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍ᜊᜊ—

you had just finished getting dressed for your evening run. putting on your little athletic tank top, your little athletic shorts, and lastly the shoes that matt had bought for you especially for your run. what matt didn’t know is what you were leaving the house in. matt wasn’t controlling, but it was a neighborhood in LA that you were running in. in the evening.

you rarely ran in the evenings. mainly mornings. but this was one instance where you didn’t get the chance to and had to skip it.

you hesitantly walk in the living room, putting your hair in a high pony as you check the time to estimate how long this run would be. but your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a faint voice, “where exactly are you going?” matt grumbles, walking up behind you putting his hand on your lower back.

“on my evening run—skipped it this morning” you say double checking the time, attention hyperfixated on your goal miles of the day. “dressed like that? at this time? in LA?” he scoffs, shaking his head as he walks in front of you. “i have to get in my miles, matty” you sigh, pouting up at him.

he pouts back, cooing down at you “sweetheart—you can go tomorrow” he grabs your chin softly, his gaze stern into yours. you roll your eyes as you step away from him, “matt! i’m not a baby!” you whine, crossing your arms. “could’ve fooled me” he chuckles, grabbing your ponytail and twirling it in his fingers.

“stop it! just let me go run!” you huff as you swat his hand away, brushing past him as you walk towards the door. he quickly grabs your arm and spins you around making you face him. “i’m not asking, i’m telling.” he says sternly, his grip on you gentle, his gaze stern as well as his voice.

“you can run tomorrow morning—it’s getting dark” he says in a soothing manner, his gaze still stern and his touch—soft on your now flushed skin. “matt!” you pout, stomping your feet as he ruffles your hair. “you heard me” he says sternly. “now go change into your pjs and i’ll let you pick out a movie tonight, yeah?” he smiles, kissing your cheek as he lets you go.

you huff in annoyance, stomping off to his room to find one of his shirts and sweats to change into. his clothes big on you basically drowning you in fabric. you do finishing touches and trot along back downstairs, sitting on the opposite side of matt on the couch.

he chuckles as he reaches over to hand you the remote, nudging your arm with it. you grab the remote and flip through streaming services in hopes of finding something to watch. “don’t pick something stupid” he adds on to your already frustrated feelings. “you told me i could pick what i want so i am..” you protest, not looking at him once. “are you gonna give me attitude the whole time?” he tilts his head to the side, scooting closer to you.

“considering it” you say still skimming over streaming services, your gaze not meeting matt’s once. “reconsider it” he grabs your chin, making you look at him. “or what?” you argue back, your skin burning with retaliation. “or i bend you over my knees until you’re trembling and sore..” he smirks devilishly, letting go of your chin.

your face heats up with embarrassment as you quickly adjust your attitude. matt had never said anything like that to you before, only small warnings. never anything remotely suggestive like that before, though. you feel your pussy throb with need, distracting you from picking a movie. your cheeks still flushed as you clench your thighs together hoping matt wouldn’t notice the effect his words had on you.

your quickly snapped out of your thoughts by matt’s laughter, “you thought i was serious?” he giggles as he pats your thigh, making it jolt in response, your body trembling. matt takes notice as his expression falters, his gaze softening as well as his expression. he moves over to you as he grabs your hand, “oh baby—m’so sorry” he says softly, “did i get you worked up?—hm?” he coos as he removes his hand from yours, grabbing your waist and maneuvering you onto his lap.

“n-no…” you stammer, your cheeks still flushed as you squirm in his lap, making him let out a low groan in response. “stop..stop moving—“ he whimpers as you feel something growing beneath you. your eyes widen as you look back at matt. this whole situation being accidental could make or break this friendship between the two of you.

“sorry sorry” you apologize, scooting off of his lap and sitting beside him. “don’t apologize baby—this is all m’fault” he frowns, moving your hair out of your flushed face. “i shouldn’t have had an attitude with you..should’ve listened” you say softly, your gaze moving around the room instead of in matt’s direction.

“can’t argue with you there—“ he chuckes, “you have been getting bratty with me lately, hm?” he smirks as he places his hand on your thigh, tracing circles on it. “only because you’ve deserved it” you giggle as he grabs his chest with his other hand, scoffing in fake offense. “all seriousness i want what’s best for you—i just want you to be okay” he says gently, his hand still tracing circles on your thigh.

“i know—but..” you whine, sighing heavily as you pout at him. “no buts, baby—cmon..” he takes the hand that’s circling your thigh away to tilt up your chin once again. “matt—“ you huff, crossing your arms. “hm?” he coos, furrowing his eyebrows. “what is it, sweet girl?” he asks again, caressing your chin gently with his thumb. “i just hate when you treat me like a baby..” you say softly, eyes wide pooling into his own. “i know honey—i know..” he frowns, taking his thumb off of your chin to ruffle your hair. “it is refreshing to know that you’re always here though—DESPITE your babying..” you smile slightly, tilting your head to the side. “yeah?” he coos, he too tilting his head to the side.

“mhmm” you hum, nodding your head. “admit it—y’like it when i protect you..” he nudges your arm, patting his lap for you to sit in it again. “only sometimes” you mutter, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying yes. you then maneuver yourself back onto his lap, your wide gaze meeting his. “all the time?” he urges, wanting to get the truth out of you. “say it—“ he adjusts you on his lap, caressing your thighs. you sigh as you lean your head back in defeat, knowing that your little facade would have to be put to an end sooner or later so why not now? “i like it when y’protect me..” you say under your breath, barely above a whisper. “what was that? i didn’t quite hear you” he taunts, nudging your arm once again.

“i like it when you protect me” you speak up, your cheeks flushed. “there we go—that’s my good girl..” he kisses your cheek adding to your flustered face. “now pick a movie f’us, baby—“ he bites his lip, redirecting his gaze to the tv, still caressing your thighs.

a/n: this is ass, but i wanted something to post :(

tags: tags: @starrii-sturns @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @hjvi @chrepsi @chrisstomach @izzylovesmatt @mattssslutbby @chrisslut04 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnsxbitvh @grace-sturnz @divinesturn @sturniolo-szn2 @riasturns @whore4chris @jensturnss @riggysworld @h3arts4nat @sophand4n4 @lvrsturniolo @trustinsturniolos @chrxsprettygirl @mialovesyouchris @fictionalboysstuff @iloveduckssm @eeyoresturnz

[kakashisacademia]

pairing: Satoru Gojo x you x Suguru Geto | warnings: (failed) primal play, soft coercion & cnc, praise and degradation mix, edging, domination, bondage, orgasm denial, possessiveness, rough sex, use of toys, safe word use

summary; a failed primal play turns into something darker as the boys punish you in the only way they know

ೃ⁀➷ Run Again, I Dare You

It started as a game. The boys had that look in their eyes. The dark, dangerous, starved one. The car ride to the abandoned house was filled with sharp grins and teasing threats, their hands already all over you in the backseat.

“Ten minutes,” Geto said as he stepped out into the dusk, rolling his shoulders like a lion stretching before the kill.

Gojo smiled, wide and deadly behind the wheel. “Better make them count, sweetheart. Once we catch you, you’re not walking tomorrow.”

You ran. Through the overgrown weeds, past the broken swing set and into the skeletal forest behind the house. You ran knowing what waited for you at the end - hands dragging you down, breath on your neck, a body pinning you into the earth while the other smirks and murmurs filth against your skin. But then. you got bold. Or maybe a little mean.

Instead of getting caught, you hid. Slipped back into the house through a side door, barefoot and silent, heart pounding. Up the creaky stairs. Into one of the old bedrooms with the boarded windows and cracked wallpaper. And you waited.

At first, you expected to hear them crowing in triumph any second. But the woods stayed quiet. And then your phone vibrated.

[Satoru]: where the fuck are you?

You smirked. Switched your phone to silent. Curled up beneath the broken bed frame, listening.

[Suguru]: baby. answer. this isn’t funny anymore.

Your smile faltered. Then came the calls. One, two, five. Voicemails you couldn’t hear, but you could imagine Gojo’s voice, shaky, angry in that terrified way. You checked the time. You’d been missing for nearly 40 minutes.

The next text was just:

[Satoru]: did you fall? i swear to god.

And suddenly the idea didn’t feel so mean. It felt like maybe you’d misjudged just how fast the game could turn into something else. They weren’t just playing anymore. You crept out from under the bed.

“There you are.”

The voice cracked through the silence like a whip. Gojo was standing in the doorway, his hair a mess, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. Behind him, Geto appeared, breathing hard, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might break a tooth.

You opened your mouth, but Gojo was already stalking forward. “You thought that was funny? Making us think something happened to you?”

“I was just hiding-” you started, but Geto cut in, voice low and trembling.

“You don’t get to disappear like that.”

His hands were on your arms before you could react, gripping, not hurting, just grounding. His forehead pressed against yours.

“We thought you hit your head. That you were out there in the dark, alone.”

Gojo’s hand fisted in your shirt. “I was ready to tear the whole goddamn forest apart.”

You didn’t know what to say. Guilt settled heavy in your throat.

But Gojo let out a breath that wasn’t quite a threat anymore. It was something darker, primal. “You’re in so much trouble.”

“Go ahead,” Geto murmured, stepping behind you, arms caging you in. “Try to run now.”

You knew you crossed a line. Not the kind they could laugh off later, not this time. You could see it in the way Gojo’s jaw clenched, in how Geto wouldn’t stop pacing the room behind you like he was still trying to work the panic out of his muscles.

So when they told you to strip, you obeyed. No teasing. No bratty little comments. Just trembling fingers and a racing heart as you peeled your clothes off and stood bare in the decaying bedroom, the old wallpaper peeling like skin behind you.

Gojo sat on a dusty chair like a king, legs spread wide, still in his black hoodie and torn jeans. His eyes were on you, electric and unreadable. Geto came to stand behind you again. You felt his chest against your back, solid and warm, and his hand fisted in your hair.

“You think this was cute?” he murmured against your ear. “Making us believe something happened to you?”

You whimpered, “I didn’t mean to.”

“You did,” Gojo snapped. “You wanted us to suffer. So now…” He nodded to Geto. “You suffer for us.”

They bent you over the creaking mattress. No prep. No warm-up. Geto’s fingers were already between your legs, finding you soaking and shamefully ready.

“Tsk,” he murmured. “You like this, huh? Getting punished?”

He slid one thick finger inside, slow, deliberate and you moaned, hips twitching. But then he stopped. Pulled away completely.

You cried out in frustration. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t get to be sorry yet,” Gojo said, standing now, palming himself through his jeans. “You get to be used. Not satisfied.”

They made you take it. All of it. Geto behind you first, pushing inside with a low growl, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your throat. He fucked you, no mercy, no rhythm, just chasing his release while you begged to come.

“No,” Gojo snapped when your voice broke. “You don’t get to come, not until we say.”

And when Geto came inside you with a groan, you sobbed, shaking, desperate, your body screaming for release. But they weren’t done.

Gojo was next, facing you now, pushing your legs apart and sheathing himself inside with a moan of relief. His thrusts were deeper, meaner, like he was fucking the fear out of his own chest.

Your hands scrabbled for him, but he pinned them above your head. “Not yet, baby. You don’t get to come just because you want to.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks. Your thighs shook. You were right there, pulsing and desperate and broken open and they wouldn’t let you fall.

“Please,” you hiccupped. “Please, I’ll be good, I won’t ever-”

Gojo kissed you hard, swallowing your sobs, and when he finally came with a rough groan, it felt like the world stilled around you. They pulled out slowly, both of them dripping out of you, and you collapsed on the bed wrecked, empty, aching.

Only then did Geto kneel beside you, brushing your hair off your sticky cheeks. “Next time you hide, baby girl,” he whispered, kissing your temple, “we’ll tie you to the bed first.”

Gojo curled up on your other side, lips brushing your shoulder. “You scared us.”

“I know,” you whispered.

They held you for a long time, bodies tangled, your release still stolen, but in their arms, you didn’t feel punished.

You felt kept, even when you were still trembling.

Your thighs were slick and sticky, aching from being held open for so long. Every pulse of your cunt was a cruel reminder of what you haven’t had, a release. They took their pleasure from you and left you empty, raw, and utterly wrecked. You thought they were done. But they were not. Not quite yet.

Gojo’s fingers were between your legs again, featherlight. You twitched at the contact, hips jerking away out of instinct, but Geto held you down, pinning your wrists with a calm strength that made your breath hitch.

“Still so wet,” Gojo murmured, almost lovingly. “Poor thing. Your cunt’s crying for us.”

“You said,” your voice cracked. “You said I couldn’t-”

Geto kissed your shoulder, voice low and wicked. “We said not until we let you.”

Gojo hummed, brushing lazy circles over your swollen clit. “Well… what do you think, Suguru? Think she’s earned it yet?”

You were already nodding, desperate. “Please,” you whisper, “pleasepleaseplease.”

Geto leaned down and bit your neck, slow and claiming. “Then you beg for it. Like a good little toy.”

Gojo’s fingers sank into you. First two, then three, and your back arched off the mattress. The stretch burned, your walls fluttering so hard it was almost painful. You were teetering on the edge already, like a single breath could push you over.

“Who do you belong to?” Gojo asked, curling his fingers just right. “Say it.”

“You,” you sobbed. “Both of you, please… I’m yours!”

Geto’s hand slid down to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding. “Then come.”

And when you did, it wasn’t a climax, it’s a collapse. You broke apart with a scream, your body locking up, then shuddering as wave after wave rolled through you. Your vision went white, tears spilled down your cheeks, and you couldn’t even breathe through how good it felt. How long they kept you waiting.

They didn’t stop. Gojo kept fucking you with his fingers, drawing it out until you were gasping, sobbing, your body too sensitive to handle it, but you couldn’t make them stop, and deep down… you didn’t want to.

“That’s it,” Geto whispered, licking the tears from your cheeks. “So pretty when you cry for it.”

“Next time,” Gojo said, pressing kisses to your thigh, “you don’t make us wait so long to see you like this.”

Eventually, they slowed. Eased you down with gentle hands and soft praise. Pulled you into their arms like you were made of glass. You were too exhausted to speak, but they were already murmuring against your skin, promising baths and blankets and water and chocolate.

And later, when you were clean and tucked between them in the back of the car, wrapped in hoodies and love, Gojo kissed your forehead and whispered, “Run again, baby. I dare you.”

The night was warm and quiet. You were asleep between them, soft breaths rising and falling in a rhythm that soothed their battered nerves. You curled in tighter when they turned the lights out, instinctive and vulnerable, as if your body knew now that you belonged nowhere else but here, tangled in their limbs.

Geto got one arm slung across your waist, his fingers twitching now and then like he was still chasing you through the trees in his dreams.

Gojo didn’t sleep. Not really. And when he did, it’s shallow. Light. Twisted. He jerked awake around three a.m., drenched in cold sweat, breath ragged. His heart was pounding like a drum in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, at the moonlight crawling across the old plaster, and tried to breathe.

Because in his dream, you weren’t hiding. You were hurt. You were lying in the forest, twisted and bleeding. Calling for them. And they couldn’t reach you in time.

“Fuck,” he breathed, sitting up, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Beside him, Geto stirred. Instinctively aware. Always attuned to Gojo’s shifts. “Toru…?”

Gojo turned to him. “I can’t let it go. I need to finish it.”

Geto blinked, then looked down at you, sleeping sweetly between them, completely unaware.

Gojo’s voice was hoarse. “She made us think she was gone, Suguru. You saw me. I was out of my fucking mind.”

Geto sat up, his hand brushing over your back. You didn’t stir.

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Gojo whispered. “But I need to remind her. That she can’t do that to us again.”

Geto was quiet for a moment, gaze lingering on you. Then he nodded. “We do it slow,” he said. “We wake her right. We do it safe.”

He slid out of bed and grabbed the kit from their bag - the ropes, the cuffs, the soft silk blindfold. All of it packed not for punishment, but for pleasure.

You were so deeply asleep that you barely move when they shifted you. They were gentle. Careful. Your wrists were cuffed first, soft leather, buckled to the headboard. Ankles bound next, parted just slightly. The blindfold went on last, and Gojo pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Still, you slept.

Until Geto kneels beside you and spoke, low and soft. “Sweet girl… wake up.”

Your body stirred. You shifted against the restraints and froze.

Gojo hums behind you, stroking your thigh. “That’s it. Good girl.”

You gasped, twitching against the cuffs. “Wha… what’s happening?”

“You’re safe,” Geto murmured. “But you’re ours. And we’re not done teaching you that.”

Gojo’s voice was darker now. “You scared me. Worse than I’ve been in years. And I need to feel you scared again.”

You trembled. “Please.”

“Ah, ah,” Geto soothed, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Before we go any further, you tell me your safeword.”

You swallowed, chest rising and falling. “Peach.”

He smiled. “Good girl. And if you say it?”

“You stop. Immediately,” you whispered.

Gojo leaned down and nips at your shoulder. “Fuck, I love it when she remembers the rules.”

Geto pressed a kiss to your trembling lips. “Now… no ‘stop,’ no ‘wait,’ no crying unless you mean it, baby. You don’t get to hide from us. Not anymore.”

You nodded, breath catching, already writhing gently in the cuffs.

Gojo grinned, stripping off his shirt. “Let’s remind our little runaway what happens when she plays games with her owners.”

You’ve never felt so helpless. So completely at their mercy. Arms bound, legs spread, blindfolded and shaking. Their voices float around you, low, amused, hungry. You can’t tell where they are until you feel them.

Gojo first. The blunt head of his cock drags through your folds. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t ask. He just shoves in, slow at first but impossibly deep, punching a whimper out of your throat as your bound wrists tug against the cuffs.

“That’s right,” he groans. “Take it. You want to scare me like that? Then take all of me.”

He thrusts once. Twice. Then loses it. There’s no rhythm. Just need. Desperate and sharp, his hips slamming into yours, the mattress groaning beneath you as he ruts like he’s trying to carve himself into your body forever.

You cry out helplessly, overstimulated already and Gojo just laughs.

“Look at her, Suguru. Fucked dumb already and we just started.”

Geto’s voice is calm, close. He’s kneeling beside your head, stroking your jaw, coaxing your lips open.

“She’s perfect like this,” he murmurs. “Soft, obedient… ours.”

You can’t speak. You can barely breathe from Gojo’s unrelenting thrusts. But you open your mouth anyway, and Geto slips inside without hesitation. His cock is thick, hot against your tongue. He doesn’t thrust at first. Just rests there, letting you adjust as Gojo slams into you like a madman, each movement jarring you up onto Geto’s length.

And then both of them move.

You’re being fucked from both ends, caught in their rhythm. One thrust pushing the other deeper. Your body shakes, arms straining, tears leaking from beneath the blindfold.

You moan, gag and sob and they don’t stop.

Gojo’s voice is wrecked. “So tight, so fucking good. She’s clenching like she’s scared.”

“She is,” Geto murmurs, his hand now wrapped around your throat not squeezing, just holding. Anchoring. “Aren’t you, baby? You scared of us now?”

You can’t speak with your mouth full, but your body says everything. He pulls out just far enough for you to gasp, and his voice lowers.

“Still okay?”

You nod, the sound ragged and desperate.

“Safeword?”

“Peach,” you whisper.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s back in your mouth, deeper this time. His grip tightens just a little around your throat as Gojo hammers in harder, muttering filth like he’s unraveling.

“You feel me, baby? Gonna be sore for days.”

You sob, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth. You’re drowning in them. Owned by them. You’re not even sure where one ends and the other begins.

Gojo’s thrusts grow erratic, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Fuck, fuck. I’m gonna cum”

“Do it,” Geto says, voice husky but controlled. “She’s ours to ruin.”

Gojo shouts your name as he comes, buried to the hilt, shaking with it. He slumps forward, chest heaving, lips pressed to your shoulder.

Geto pulls out of your mouth slowly, stroking his cock with a few tight pumps before spilling across your lips and tongue, painting you with quiet groans.

You’re sobbing now. Not from pain, from everything. And they’re already untying you. Gentle hands. Kisses against your throat. Whispered praises.

“You did so good.”

“Our brave girl.”

“We’ve got you now.”

You fall asleep again between them. Used, worshipped, and so completely theirs.

You wake up slowly. Your whole body aches in the best way. Your wrists are sore from the cuffs, your thighs from holding them open. You’re sticky with dried cum, lips swollen from being stretched. But you feel… safe. Anchored. Your boys are on either side, one hand on your waist, the other tangled in your hair.

And they’re already awake. Watching you.

“You looked too sweet not to touch,” Gojo murmurs, trailing a fingertip down your belly.

“She still looks wrecked,” Geto adds, voice husky. “Still leaking from last night.”

Gojo presses a kiss just below your navel. “Then let’s see what she’s got left.”

You don’t speak instead you just whimper, nodding faintly. You want it. You do. Even as your body protests.

They move you gently, spreading your legs. Gojo between them, mouth warm and wet as he licks up the mess he left. Geto cradling your head in his lap, murmuring praise into your hair while his hand strokes your throat.

You gasp when you feel Gojo slipping something cold and smooth inside you. A toy. Glass. Perfectly shaped to hit your softest places.

“She’s still so tight,” he groans. “Like she’s never had us.”

He starts slow. Thrusting it in and out, twisting just right. Geto’s thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna take it like a good girl, right?” he murmurs. “Gonna let us use you one more time.”

You nod. Barely. Then Gojo adds another smaller plug, warm from his mouth, slipped into your ass.

“Too much,” you breathe, hips twitching.

“You can take it,” Geto says gently. “You always do.”

They start to move together. Gojo with the toys, Geto with his fingers on your clit. You’re already trembling, already wet again, your body betraying how close you are.

It builds fast. Too fast. You try to keep up, but it’s too much. And then you say it. So soft they almost miss it.

“…Peach.”

Everything stops. Instantly. Gojo freezes. Geto’s hand leaves you. Both of them lean in, hovering, panic crawling under their skin.

“Did you say it?” Geto asks quietly, brushing hair from your damp face. “Baby, say it again if you need us to stop.”

Your lip trembles. “Peach,” you whisper.

They move fast. Toys gone. Arms around you. Blankets tugged up. Kisses on your cheeks, your temple, your throat.

“I’ve got you,” Geto says, again and again. “We’re done. You’re safe.”

Gojo is shaking more than you are. He buries his face against your side. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t… We should’ve checked.”

You’re crying, overwhelmed, but not afraid. Not anymore. You’re held.

Geto cups your cheek, makes you meet his eyes. “You did everything right. You did so good. This is what that word is for.”

You nod. Slowly. Breathing easier now.

Gojo lifts his head and kisses your forehead. “Never too much, okay? You say it anytime. I’ll always stop.”

Geto smiles softly, pulling you tighter. “You’re not just ours to ruin, sweet girl. You’re ours to protect.”

And in their arms, shaking and raw, but heard you believe them.

[xoxochb]

“okay. I think I’m finally done. get over here.”

percy lifts himself off the bed with a “yes ma’am,” walking over to where you stand in front of your bookshelves, admiring.

“so… tell me about what’s happening here.”

you sigh and clasp your hand together quickly before pointing to the top shelf, standing on tippy-toes. “this is all jennifer lynn barnes. so the inheritance games, the grandest game, and the naturals.”

percy hums attentively, nodding his head and ushering you to go on.

“then this.” you outstretch your hand to the next section. “is empyrean. and this tiny dragon the young campers made for me. and my tairn keychain.”

“I bought you that one.”

“yes!” you move down to the next shelf. “here is stephanie garber and lynn painter, and sarah j maas on the end.”

“but this isn’t all of your books.”

“gods no, I only reorganized this bookshelf. I’m doing the others tomorrow.”

“oh. can I help?” percy slips his arms around your waist, leaning down to rest his chin on the top of your head.

you place the palms of your hands over the backs of his, toying with his fingers. “really help or just distract me the whole time?”

“you think so little of me, sweet girl. is it so hard to believe I want to actually help you?”

“I believe that you’ll help but you have the attention span of a goldfish. you’d get bored by the second shelf.”

“accurate. but at least I’m willing to help at all.”

you sigh and turn your head backwards to face percy. though it makes your neck ache, you suffer through it because looking into his big green eyes is worth it.

he kisses your forehead at this new angle. “my sweet girl.”

“hmm, this is what I mean. you’re distracting me.”

“it’s all about perspective, sweet girl.” he kisses your head again. “I’m helping by distracting you.”

you furrow your brows. “that’s not how that works and you know it.”

“it could work like that if you keep an open— wait come back.”

you slip yourself from percy’s arms mid-sentence, but only to fully turn your body to be more comfortable. with this position, you rest your hands on his biceps, his own returning back to your waist.

“I’m back. did you miss me?” a smile slips onto your lips involuntarily. percy pecks it with his own grin.

“more than anything. how’d you guess?”

“it’s a soulmate intuition. guess what I’m feeling.”

“aroused?”

“no! try again.”

“really? because your hands are grazing my arms awfully—”

“percy.”

“right. uhmmm… happy? no— playful. wait…” he pauses and closes his eyes.

“what’re you doing?”

“my spidey-senses are tingling…. you’re buoyant.”

“I didn’t know that you knew that word.”

“oh yes.” percy opens his eyes with a smirk. “I listen when you talk, y’know.”

you only hope the pink hue isn’t very visible beneath his gaze. “okay, romeo. so you do.”

“I do. thank you, juliet.”

“you… are a loser. I’m walking away.” before he sees your lousy attempts in stifling a laugh.

but he calls after you, “they ended tragically, I remember that too!”

[inawickedlittletown]

Through The Darkness To The Dawn (BuckTommy) - 8x17 coda - 2/2

Notes: I started writing this right after watching the episode. I wanted to get into Buck's head and also sort of deal with the Eddie of it all because I really do think he has quickly become my least favorite character in 9-1-1. I don't think I'm alone in that.

The title comes from Nobody Knows by The Lumineers

Summary: Buck is grieving and Eddie is just kind of the worst. 8x17 coda.

Words: 3.5k

Read on Ao3

Part One

-

Part Two: Love Is Deep As The Road Is Long

Tommy: Hey. How are you?

Evan: Okay all things considered. 

Tommy: I’m sorry. 

Tommy: How are you? 

Tommy: If you need anything, let me know. 

Tommy: I heard you guys are going back to work tomorrow. Good luck. Be safe. 

Tommy: Hope you’re doing alright. I figure you’ve at least read my messages so that’s something, but if you want me to stop texting, let me know. I don’t want to bother you, but I do want to know that you’re okay. 

Tommy: Hey, they asked me to be a pallbearer at the funeral. Figured I’d let you know so it’s not a surprise. 

Evan:  👍🏻

Tommy: Wish we’d gotten a chance to talk, but I know how hard today was. It was for me too, but you told me once he was like a father to you. If you want to talk about it or anything at all, I’m here, Evan. 

Tommy: Hey, wanted to see how you’re doing. Crazy, all this stuff with the water. Be safe out there. 

Tommy: Hey, just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. It’s been a few weeks, but I know what he meant to you. I’m here, Evan. 

Buck: Are you home? 

Tommy: I am. Do you want to come over? 

Tommy opened his front door when he heard Evan’s truck pull into the driveway. He stepped outside and waited. For being so close to Summer, there was a bite in the air, but Tommy ignored the urge to go back inside to grab another layer. 

Since the funeral, he hadn’t heard from Evan or really anyone from the 118. Tommy understood. He also knew that he didn’t belong with them, no matter how much he wanted to. They were a family and they didn’t need him, the interloper who didn’t even have the excuse of dating Evan to be included. It was, in a way, helpful for him to know that they all had each other and could deal with it together. He figured that they would all most likely just close in with Evan right in the middle. 

It had been a bit of a shock, if he were being honest, that he’d been asked to be a part of the funeral, that he got to walk with the 118. After the funeral, he’d had a moment with Ravi and Hen, got to hear how they were both doing, but he’d seen Eddie and Evan leave together. He couldn’t leave well enough alone, so every few days he texted Evan. Just knowing that he did read the messages was enough. If he ever turned off read receipts, Tommy would be devastated. 

Did Tommy hope that eventually Evan would answer? Maybe. But he just wanted Evan to know that Tommy was a text or call away and that he would always answer. It was the very least he could offer because what Tommy wouldn’t do is try to be where he wasn’t wanted. At the first sight of Evan, Tommy wondered if that had been the right choice. 

“Hi,” Evan said, voice a little raspy. 

He looked defeated. Grief struck and sad. It wasn’t that Tommy hadn’t expected Evan to still be grieving, it was that he had never seen him this…well, diminished. In that moment, it felt like something or someone had taken grasp of Tommy’s heart and squeezed for how much it hurt to see Evan like that. 

Tommy had yet to shake, even after so many weeks, the image of Evan collapsing in that hallway. He didn’t know if anyone else knew about that moment, because when Evan came out after going through decontamination, his eyes had been rimmed red and swollen but he’d been far more put together than Tommy had expected. A little out of it, maybe, but holding it together. Tommy didn’t think that Evan had even noticed that it was Tommy that made sure he made it home. 

As he stepped towards him, Tommy opened his arms. “Hey, Evan.” 

Evan collapsed into him. He was cold and shaking. He sniffled. Tommy wrapped his arms around him and heard Evan sigh. 

“You’re freezing,” Tommy said. “Let’s get out of the cold.” 

Evan kept close, but he let Tommy steer him inside. He also let Tommy settle him into the couch and wrap the throw he kept over the back of it around him. 

“Tea,” Tommy said. “You need something warm.” 

“Okay,” Evan said. 

Something was wrong. More than Bobby’s death. Evan looked like the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders and he had no one asking him if they could help him carry it. 

Evan followed him to the kitchen, leaned against a counter as Tommy got the electric kettle on. He moved to his mug cabinet and then chose two tea bags. Chamomile Lavender felt apt considering the time. He kept looking back at Evan. 

“Can I ask what happened?” Tommy asked. 

Evan moved towards him and Tommy lifted an arm so Evan could press himself into him. He was shaking a little and Tommy didn’t think it was all the cold. Evan didn’t say anything and Tommy figured that maybe that was what he needed. So he held him until their water was ready and even then Evan kept close as Tommy poured the water into their mugs. 

“Couch?” 

“Couch,” Evan responded. 

They situated themselves, Evan wrapping the throw over his shoulders and curling into himself, legs tucked in under him, his hands cradling the mug. Tommy sat next to him, let his knee rest against Evan’s knee. 

“I went to the beach,” Evan said. “I think I was out there too long.” 

“Why the beach?” 

Evan shrugged. “The stars. Good place to talk to Bobby. I keep trying to…I don’t know, find him? It’s stupid, I know, but…”

Tommy blew over his cup of tea. He saw Evan do the same.

“It’s not stupid,” Tommy said.  

“I spoke to him right before,” Evan said. “That night, I mean.”

Tommy had known that. He’d seen it. The door had closed with Bobby on one side and Evan on the other and then Bobby took off the protective gear, 

“He told me I’d be okay but I think he was wrong. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

“Oh, Evan,” Tommy said. “I don’t think he meant you’d be okay right away. No one expects that.”

Evan scoffed. His face twisted into anger and Tommy knew almost right away that there was more to whatever was going on with Evan. 

“Is someone expecting you to already be over it?” 

“More like that I’m making it all about me.” 

Tommy put his cup down on the coffee table, leaned towards Evan and placed his hands on his knees. Evan’s eyes were watery and Tommy was filled with a combination of adoration for this man and also a wave of sadness and protectiveness. 

“Losing someone you care about is about you, Evan,” Tommy said. “It’s about everyone that lost him. Who? Tell me who said that to you.” 

Evan took a sip of his tea. He winced a little. “It doesn’t matter.”

People did strange things when they were grieving, but he knew Hen and Chim would never make Evan’s feelings less important. Neither would Maddie. That left Ravi and Eddie which really did just leave Eddie. Unless it was someone else…Evan’s parents? Another friend that Tommy didn’t know? Someone else from the 118? Gerrard? 

“Well they’re wrong,” Tommy said. “Your feelings and your loss and your grief are about you. They’re about you and Bobby and maybe they overlap with how everyone else is feeling, but that doesn’t make you or what you’re going through less important. Sweetheart, you are one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met and I know you haven’t been putting your grief and your feelings above anyone else’s. I know you.”

Evan let out a sob and he shook enough that Tommy reached to steady the tea mug before Evan spilled it, grabbing it and setting it aside. He took Evan’s hands in his own. He rubbed the back of Evan’s hands with his thumbs.

“You’re not selfish, Evan,” Tommy reiterated. “In fact, you could do with being a little more selfish.” 

Evan leaned forward and kissed him. Tommy hadn’t expected it, and it was over before he could properly kiss back. 

“Sorry,” Evan said. “I just…I shouldn’t have but I—”

“Don’t ever be sorry for that.”

Evan’s lips turned up a little. “So it was okay?” 

“Better than,” Tommy said. He reached over to touch Evan’s cheek, wiped a tear away. 

Evan leaned into his touch, closed his eyes for a split second and then opened them again. 

“You don’t see me like everyone else. Not…not in a bad way. You know, Eddie said I didn’t do enough…that he doesn’t know what he could have done to save Bobby.” 

Eddie Diaz. Of course. 

Tommy supposed that if he really thought about it, no one else could probably break Evan down this much. Well, Bobby probably could have, but he never would have. Tommy hadn’t thought that Eddie was capable of it either, wasn’t he supposed to be Evan’s best friend? 

“He said I never considered what it was like for him to wake up in the middle of the night to hear about Bobby, how he had to tell Chris—”

“Who else would have told Chris?” Tommy asked and then shook his head. “Not important. Sweetheart, he wasn’t here because he moved to another state and even if he was here, it wouldn’t have made a difference. You know that. I know you know that. We did everything. Do you think I don’t question it, wonder if there had been anything at all to change? There was only one dose. The only person we can blame for all of this is Moira.” 

Evan closed his eyes. He gulped. “He’s just feeling guilty he wasn’t here.” 

“Which is not your fault and that’s him making his choices your fault, the one thing that isn’t about you. Just answer this, what difference could Eddie have made? Really?” 

Evan opened his eyes again and he nodded. “I think I know that Eddie being here wouldn’t change anything. We, uh, we got into a fight.” 

“Clearly,” Tommy said. Maybe a little too deadpan. 

Evan’s lips twitched, but then settled back into a frown. 

“I was so mad,” Evan admitted. “Figured we’d clear the air the next morning but…Anyway, I thought he left, but it turns out he just went to get Chris from Texas. Tonight I came home expecting no one to be there and instead he was there with Chris and his Aunt Pepa. So after she left, I left too and I went to the beach. I couldn’t…I couldn’t handle being there with him in that house. I still can’t go back knowing he’s still there.” 

Fuck Eddie Diaz. Had he even apologized to Evan? Had he bothered to notice that what he’d done had shaken Evan down to his core, made him question things about himself and how he was dealing after losing someone as important as Bobby was to him? Somehow, Tommy didn’t think so. 

Thinking back, Tommy didn’t know why he’d admired their friendship? Maybe because he saw how much Evan put into it? But, it didn’t seem like he got any of that back. You couldn’t give and give and give without getting anything back. Tommy had some experience with that, in fact, and he hated that he hadn’t seen that it was the dynamic between Eddie and Evan. 

“Stay here,” Tommy said. “If you don’t want to go back there, you’re always welcome here.”

Evan gave a short but thankful nod. 

Tommy squeezed his hands and then let go. 

“Tea’s going to go cold,” he muttered. 

Evan took back his mug, brought it to his lips and sighed. Drank some more. 

“It’s his house, you know? I really thought that I was finally settling into it but he’s still here and I just…it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I don’t know that it ever did.” 

Tommy didn’t know what to say. Had it been a little strange for Evan to be living in Eddie’s house? Maybe. Had Tommy maybe taken it as a sign of something that he was hoping even more than ever that he was wrong about? Probably. 

“When’s Eddie going back to Texas?” 

Evan shrugged his shoulders. “No clue. He doesn’t tell me anything. I think we was supposed to leave a couple of days after the funeral, but then he just stayed. Soon, I guess. He, uh, he got the job with the station in El Paso but I had to find out from Ravi about it because Ravi thought I already knew and because Hen was planning a surprise barbeque she didn’t bother to tell me about. That’s sort of what started the fight when I asked about it.”

Tommy probably didn’t do a good job hiding his reaction to that. 

“It’s not…it’s not just Eddie,” Evan said. “It’s all of them. I’ve tried so hard to be there for them…but they don’t like it or appreciate it or even really need me. They have each other and I’m just on the outside of that. I guess Bobby was wrong about that too. He said they would need me. They don’t.” 

“Evan,” Tommy said, “I’m sure that isn’t true.” 

Tommy couldn’t imagine the 118 splitting in any way, but then he supposed with Bobby gone that might be the thing that did create some cracks. Grief did crazy things to people. Tommy brought his own cup to his lips. It was still warm and he’d always loved the smell and taste of chamomile tea which was probably leftover from his mom loving it so much. There was comfort in it and he hoped that Evan felt that. 

“It is,” Evan said. “None of them want to talk about him or about how they’re feeling or…or anything. Hen and Chim keep just going off together while at work. I heard Chim say he doesn’t know how to build the crib for the baby and I’m right here. I know how. I did it the last time for Jee. Guess he forgot all about that. Ravi at least is trying to make things normal. I just feel like I’m floundering and none of them…none of them care.” 

“They do,” Tommy said. “You know they do. They’re your family and they’re grieving too and maybe they don’t know how to approach you because they know that you lost more than just your Captain.” 

Evan took a huge gulp of his tea, his eyes darted away, looking over the room as if Tommy had changed anything since the last time Evan had been there. He blinked away more tears. 

“How, uh, how have you been, Tommy? I’m sorry I never…I wanted to answer your messages but it just, I couldn’t.” 

Tommy allowed himself a smile. 

“I know, I figured. I’ve been alright. Sad when I think about him and about that day. God, I really wish things had gone differently. I liked Bobby a lot. Respected him even more. He was a good man, a good Captain. He made his impact felt in the 118 for anyone that worked under him, me included.” 

When they finished their tea, Tommy took both mugs back to the kitchen. Evan followed after a beat, the throw no longer around his shoulders. Tommy left the mugs in the sink, made sure the backdoor was locked and turned off the lights. 

“Are you sure I can stay here tonight?” 

“Yes. Tonight. Tomorrow. Any night, Evan. I’ll set the guest room up for you.” 

Evan shook his head. “No, you don’t have to.” 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Tommy said with a chuckle. “It’s not a—”

“No,” Evan said, stepping closer towards him. “I was thinking maybe I could sleep with you?”

“Oh?” 

Pink colored Evan’s cheeks and there was a glint in his eyes that was very familiar to Tommy. 

“Just to…just to sleep,” Evan said. “I want…can you just hold me? I mean if you…that is if you’re okay with that because I can understand if you’re not and I know I just kissed you and maybe that wasn’t what you—”

His words were tangled together, coming faster and faster and Tommy stepped closer, grasped his arms gently. Evan stopped mid sentence. 

“If you need someone to hold you, my arms are right here, Evan. Come on, it’s getting late.”

It almost felt like deja vu to get ready for bed with Evan. Their shoulders brushed when they stood by the sink brushing their teeth and every once in a while their eyes would meet on the mirror. Evan’s eyes still had a sad quality to them, it wasn’t something that would leave any time soon. Tommy bumped their shoulders. 

Evan had deposited his phone on Tommy’s bedside table and at a glance he could see several missed calls and texts. 

“Do you want to answer any of these?” 

Evan shook his head. “I’ll deal with that tomorrow.” 

It was easy to arrange themselves in Tommy’s bed. Familiar. Both of them were on their side, Evan in front of him and happily snuggled into Tommy’s chest. 

“They didn’t have enough time,” Evan said. 

“Who?” 

“Bobby and Athena,” Evan said. “I keep thinking about that.” 

He wasn’t wrong. It was the tragedy of death. Tommy had seen Athena at the funeral and he had been wholly impressed by her poise, the way that she held herself together. No one would have blamed her for showing more emotion, but that just wasn’t who Athena was. He’d heard she was already back at work but that wasn’t much of a surprise and she probably needed the distraction. Tommy didn’t know what he would have done in her shoes and just thinking about it made him want to hold Evan even tighter, to bundle him up in as much protective gear as he could just to make sure that Evan came home every night. They weren’t even anything, but Tommy knew that losing Evan would devastate him.

“I was there when they met,” Tommy admitted. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, it was a call to a stab victim, I think. Anyway, the assailant was a rooster and after Bobby captured it, he just handed it to Athena. Maurice, that was the rooster’s name.”

Evan chuckled. “Wow. Doesn’t beat taking a helicopter out into a hurricane, but…” 

Tommy rolled his eyes fondly. “Our first meeting is very unique. That was Bobby’s first week in LA.”

“I forget sometimes,” Evan said, “that you knew him from the start.”

“I did,” Tommy said. 

Evan let silence settle between them and Tommy almost thought he was asleep, but then Evan turned and they were facing each other. 

“Evan?” 

“I know it’s probably not the best time to say this, but I don’t want to waste any time when…anyway, I’m sorry for what I said that day. You know I only said it because you kinda hit a nerve insinuating I could ever have feelings for Eddie…I mean he’s my — my friend, but he’ll never be anything more than that. You know that right?” 

Evan’s hand reached up to touch his face, fingers skirting gently over his cheeks and his thumb landing on his cleft. 

“I don’t think he’s even a friend to you, not really,” Tommy said. 

He saw Evan frown, but he didn’t deny that. 

“It’s not about him,” Evan said. “I don’t want any more time to go by without you knowing how I feel because anything could happen tomorrow so…I love you, Tommy. I think I have for a while.” 

The words felt impossible. A part of him, the part that ran when things got hard and that couldn’t actually believe in the good could almost believe he’d imagined it. Evan was right there, though, inches from him. Tommy was touching him and Evan’s fingers were still on his face. Waiting. Watching him. 

“I love you too,” he responded. Knew it was true. Felt it.

“Good,” Evan said, grasping his chin. He pushed forward and kissed Tommy, just a quick sweep of his lips. It felt like a promise.

Evan burrowed his face into Tommy’s neck, yawning. It didn’t take long for him to succumb to sleep. Tommy was up just a bit longer. He felt so protective of Evan and he didn’t know what he was going to do about it when the morning came. The Evan that had arrived at his house tonight was still more than a little damaged by the loss of Bobby but worse was whatever had been happening with Eddie as well as the rest of the 118. Knowing Evan, he would forgive and move on, but that didn’t mean that Tommy had to. 

He dropped a kiss to Evan’s head and slowly drifted off. 

In the morning, Evan was still there safe and warm in his arms, but he blinked slowly awake as if realizing that someone was watching him. 

“Hi,” Evan said. 

“Hi,” Tommy repeated. “How are you?” 

Evan let out a sigh. “I don’t know, but better. It helps, having someone in my corner.” 

“I’ll always be in your corner, Evan.” 

[organic-bloodbath]

Lobotomy: kills & kisses

Episode IV: Butterfly

Chishiya x Reader x Niragi

Summary: You find something unusual in the asylum.

A/N: Ok i got it done after all. I try to avoid describing the reader's appearance, but i had to write couple of things for the plot here </3 Next episode will probably take a forever too.

♤ List of Chapters ♤

Six days. Six days they kept you in the solitary confinement, which was the longest time yet.

During that time, once in a while you were sure that you’d be never let out; you would rot in there and eventually die out of hunger or thirst. If you did get out, you’d be instantly escorted to the surgery table and be face to face with the surgeon holding a hammer and icepick.

But instead, they brought you straight to your room. A tray was waiting for you on your bed, filled with food. So, you enjoyed your dinner in your room instead of the dining hall like usually. Fair. Either the dinner was already over or they didn't want you around other patients just yet. No complaints from your part, you’d actually rather eat by yourself if that was an option more often too.

As you took a bite of the cold broccoli, you couldn’t help but imagine this to be your last meal. The last meal you’d be able to eat all by yourself with your own hands. You felt like an inmate in death row sitting in her cell, all alone thinking about death even though you weren't going to die.

But you'd take an electric chair or an injection into your veins instead of lobotomy if those were options. However, you had no options or free will anymore. Not here, not ever again.

Were they going to do the surgery on you tomorrow? No, of course they wouldn’t. They couldn’t, right? It wasn’t your time yet, it couldn’t be.

Stop it. Calm down and eat your food. It’s alright.

You didn’t know what time it was, but it must be time to sleep soon. Maybe any moment now the nurse would come in with the useless medication. Hopefully it was going to be the nice and too-good-to-be-here nurse again, not the old hag who’d push her entire fist into your mouth if you started to resist at all and she had to force the pills down your throat.

For your surprise and relief, you weren’t dragged into the surgery room the next morning. Your day started normally like any other: wake up, medication, shower, breakfast and work. What did you have to do to be taken to the surgery? Or had they assigned a specific date for you which they wouldn’t move to earlier or later day? You had assaulted another patient after all.

Was she okay? Did she lose an eye?

You got back into doing the laundry — which was a surprise how they let you back so soon alone with a few other patients but what did you know about their thought processes —, but this time putting the dirty clothes and sheets into the washing machines. The room was a little cleaner than the one where you folded the clean and dry clothes into piles, but you were certain that there was still mold in some part of the corners of this room and god know's what else.

When you had scanned through the people in the room who’d be working with you, you noticed a new face. A girl with long dreadlocks pulled back in a high ponytail. She had replaced the blond guy who had fixed your finger, right now he was nowhere in sight. They didn’t add any extra people for already existing groups; only replace someone who couldn’t attend work that day.

There could be many reasons, but of course your mind wandered instantly to the worst option: the lobotomy. Maybe he had acted up again and was thrown into the solitary confinement and would be released tomorrow or even later this evening. That’s what you wanted to think right now. Honestly, you'd rather not think about anything, but that had appeared to be impossible.

It wasn’t that you necessarily cared that he specifically would face the operation, even though you didn’t wish it to anyone. You didn’t personally care about anyone here. It just meant that your time for the surgery was coming closer and closer and there was no way to run or place to hide.

The new girl, who you’d seen before but couldn’t recall the name (maybe it started with a K?), barely made eye contact with anyone during the work. You had seen her and the laundry guy together couple of times. Were they friends? She looked slightly upset. Something was clearly on her mind but you weren’t going to ask what it was. It was none of your business. You would mind only your own things, not anyone else’s.

At one point you noticed that the new girl, who had worked hard at first, was now examining one of the detergent bottles a bit longer than necessary. She was reading the product label with furrowed eyebrows, thinking about something with a concentrated look on her face. When she noticed you looking at her, she quickly resumed to working like the rest of your group, shaking her head and putting the bottle away after pouring a little bit into the washing machine’s slot.

“Eww, gross!” a girl — the same one who the guy next to her had shagged the other day during your work shift — cried, throwing a pair of dirty pants on the floor away from her.

You’d think you’d get used to handling clothes with shit stains after working here for months, but for some people it never seemed get easier. Of course it was disgusting but the entire place here was full of shit — both physically and psychologically. Grow up, for fuck’s sake.

The girl with locks just rolled her eyes, looking as annoyed at the whiny little princess as you were, every single time too here. At least you wouldn’t have to be alone with her.

After probably five minutes, the prissy princess screamed, startling everyone else in the room. She jumped on the table on top of the clothes, staining a few of them with the dirt on the bottom of her shoes and shaking the unstable table from side to side. It was already close to breaking, and she wasn’t helping it at all.

“Oh my god, kill it! Please, kill it!” she shouted at her fuck buddy. You looked over the table, locking your gaze on a cockroach crawling on the floor.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” the girl with locks yelled at her, a furious look on her face as she slammed her hand on the wood. “It’s just a damn cockroach, it’s not going to hurt you.”

Right then, the guy stepped on the cockroach, pressing his foot hard on the floor to make sure it really was dead and would never walk again. You were used to seeing here all kinds of insects, going from cockroaches to several different species of spiders; by far you had identified five different types. Some day you’d slam that girl’s head on the wall, but it wasn’t today.

After the cockroach situation, everything calmed down and nobody said another word. When you were finished with your daily work in the laundry room, all the washing machines on, you sat down for a moment, resting your arm on the table. The washing machines were so loud that you could barely hear any other noises around you, if there were any. The others had left the room before you, but you had to sit down for a while, starting to feel a little dizzy. You figured it must be dehydration since you didn’t remember when was the last time you had a glass of water; most likely not after the breakfast.

As you were falling into your own thoughts and trying to gather enough energy to stand up and leave the laundry room, something landed on your finger. You flinched slightly out of the sudden contact and aimed your gaze at your finger.

A butterfly.

You furrowed your eyebrows, sure it was just an illusion but you could physically feel it. None of the hallucinations were the type you could actually feel. But how the hell could a butterfly get in here? And why?

It was an actual butterfly.

You inspected it a little closer, carefully bringing your hand towards your face, recognizing it to be a monarch butterfly. You were amazed that it didn’t fly away, but stayed there, resting against the wound that was still healing but didn’t need a band-aid anymore. Like the butterfly knew you beforehand and was comfortable around you, trusted that you wouldn’t crush it in your fist or rip its wings off.

Then, it flew away and disappeared, leaving you to wonder if it had been there in the first place. You looked around the room and saw the only possible option of entrance on the other side of the room on the ceiling.

The vents. That was where the butterfly had come from and where it had left as well. Somehow the butterfly had managed to get inside this building, which meant that the vents would lead outside this building.

There was a way out of this place through the vents. Whether it was only the size of an insect or possible for a human as well — there was some kind of way outside.

Niragi.

That was the guy’s name who had been bothering you a few times with this suicidal escape plan of his. You scanned the room for him until noticed him sitting at one of the tables with the Hatter and two other men whose names you didn’t know. One of them large, muscular and intimidating who you hadn’t even seen before.

You walked up to them and stood next to Niragi, not caring that you were interrupting their conversation and whatever card game they were playing. It was obvious by the look of Niragi's face that he was losing.

Three of the men turned to look at you, but you kept your eyes only on Niragi.

“Can I help you?” Niragi asked, raising his eyebrows.

You nodded towards the other side of the room, hinting him to get his ass up and follow you.

“We’re in the middle of a —“ he started but you already turned around and started walking away from him. You knew he’d follow you, there was no doubt about it at this point.

And he did. Rolling his eyes and letting out a silent scoff, he got up from his seat and started catching up with you.

“Now wait a minute,” Niragi groaned.

You looked around the two of you, making sure that nobody saw you, and then opened the door to a storage closet. Stepping inside, you yanked Niragi there as well by his arm.

When the door was closed and you were left into the darkness — you weren’t sure where the light switch was located — a smirk spread on Niragi’s face.

“You want to make out or something?” Niragi asked, cocking his left eyebrow, though you couldn’t see the expression on his face right now. “I get it, I get horny while being isolated too, mind racing to all sorts of fantasies. You wanna let out some steam? I definitely— Ow!”

While he spoke, you were desperately looking for the light switch and tried to ignore whatever he was rambling about. When his hand found its way on your waist, you instantly hit him on his shoulder with your fist, making him let out a silent and annoyed wince. You were well aware that people came into the closets to make out and bang each other until they could barely walk but that wasn’t your intention at all with this man. Even the thought of it made you grimace.

“Fine, so what are we doing here?” Niragi asked, rolling his eyes.

You pulled tweezers from your pocket, showed them to him and pointed at the vent above you in the ceiling. You couldn’t reach there on your own, but Niragi might.

“Does that mean that you’re in, huh?” Niragi asked, raising his eyebrows. “Thought you had given up with the idea.”

You took Niragi’s hand and laid the tweezers on his palm.

The ceiling was surprisingly high, though they were high everywhere in this building. Niragi was just tall enough to reach the vent, standing on his tiptoes, and was able to remove the screws. He laid the plate on the shelf next to you.

“So, here’s a paper and pen. Mark here how many directions this leads to, where and how long it takes for you to get there, got it? Be fast, someone might walk into here any moment,” Niragi explained.

The next problem was how you were actually going to get up there, but Niragi was one step ahead of you. He laced his fingers between each other to make a firm spot for you to step your foot on so he could lift you up. You looked at him with an unsure expression on your face.

“Come on, step on my hands I’ll lift you up,” Niragi said.

You took a hold on his shoulders and as you stood just couple of inches away from him, making a short eye contact with each other. There was something familiar in him but you couldn’t figure out what it was. It was the first time you saw him that closely. You tried to ignore the feeling and put your foot on his hands. You crawled up against him, putting your hand on the top of his head and the other on the shelf to keep you balanced when he had lifted you high enough.

While you crawled upwards, Niragi was awfully aware of your body pressed against his. How your stomach was pressed against his face, your visible ribs hard against his cheek. He hadn't realized how skinny you had become, but many people here looked starved. Niragi automatically grabbed your ass with his other hand to keep you up when he was about to lose his balance, making you to hit him on the side of his head.

“Well sorry, princess, but I gotta hold onto something to get you up,” Niragi insisted but couldn’t help but smirk a little when you didn’t see his face. You just shook your head and rolled your eyes, trying to just concentrate on getting up.

God, you should have climbed on his back and sat on his shoulders, maybe that would have been a bit easier. You did get a hold on the edge of the hole in the ceiling soon and was able to push yourself inside with Niragi’s help.

The vent was just the size that you fit to crawl in there. Niragi was right, he wouldn’t be able to go through these vents as easily as you could. Well, perhaps he could fit, but with your size moving was way faster.

After a moment of crawling through the vents, you saw light coming through a grid and heard two different voices coming from somewhere.

“Please, please don’t do this,” a man cried.

“Shh, it’s going to be over soon,” another man tried to comfort him. “You’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

You stopped by the grid and looked down just to see a man being tied down on a able, every limb restrained so he couldn’t move. The surgeon was standing next to him with an icepick and hammer, a few nurses surrounding him as well. Your eyes widened as you took in the scene below you. Oh my god.

“Please!” the man cried, on the verge of tears.

You felt like you were going to be sick, vomit ready to rise up your throat. You had to put your hand against your mouth to muffle any sounds coming out of your mouth, afraid they would hear you even breathing and catch you sneaking around. Open the vent and perform the lobotomy on you too for constantly breaking the rules and doing things you were forbidden to do. You looked away, ignoring the operation happening under you and continued crawling forward, pretending that you hadn’t seen anything at all.

The next time you saw light coming through another grid, it was an entrance to another room. As you had crawled right by the grid, you heard two people talking in the room. At first you weren’t entirely sure where you were anymore, having turned around a few corners and explored the vents further, but it didn’t take long to recognize the room and figure out the location.

“Has the illusions of your father lessened at all after increasing the dose?” Doctor Kano asked, her hands resting on the yellow pages of her usual notebook.

“I guess a little,” the young boy said quietly. He was clearly nervous and avoided eye contact with her.

“Define a little,” the psychiatrist pushed. “Do they still appear every day or less often now?”

“Well, I suppose not every day anymore. Maybe every other,” he answered shyly, sounding like he knew the answer but was unsure what the psychiatrist wanted him to tell her. That there was a right and wrong answer and if he chose the wrong one, he’d fail and show he wasn’t getting any better. She had that sort of effect on many patients here; not able to talk freely without the fear of facing immediate consequences. Like it was their own fault that they weren’t getting any better.

You shouldn’t eavesdrop, you knew that but couldn't help it. You didn’t know the boy personally, but you did know his name: Kodai Tatta.

“I see,” Doctor Kano mumbled and wrote something on that stupid notebook of hers which was full of notes from the sessions with the patients and how they went. Full of lies the patients told her because they were too scared to tell the truth. However, Doctor Kano was good at spotting who was lying and who wasn't.

You shook your head and moved on; there wasn’t enough time to waste, someone could enter the closet any moment and catch Niragi hanging around in there. What excuse would he come up with being there by himself? Would they realize that he had helped another patient to go up and explore the hospital as a ghost nobody would notice?

Then, you faced a dead end. Only a metal wall and no way forward. However, as you got closer, there was a ladder upwards. A ladder you could climb up. You grabbed the metal ladder and took a deep breath. It was a long way up, but you were going to do it.

As you were climbing up, you imagined the table you’d be lying on, all of your limbs restrained against it so you wouldn’t be able to move and escape. A doctor standing in front of you, an ice pick and a small hammer in his hands, leaning towards you while you screamed as loud as you could for him to stop. To back off and cancel the operation. To leave you with the pills that had no effect on you. To let you live as a human and not a breathing vegetable.

You shuddered at the thought and how it wasn’t just a theoretical situation that wouldn’t actually reach you. You had seen the operation with your own eyes just a moment ago. It was real and cruel.

You reached the top after a while, now being face to face with some sort of a hatch. You tried to push it open but it wouldn’t move an inch; it had been sealed with a lock which would require a key or someone who was skilled at picking locks. The only thing you had in your pocket right now were the tweezers, and they wouldn’t be much of a help for getting the lock open.

You started to wonder where the hatch would lead. Would it be the entrance to the roof? Surely not. The climb along the ladder was high enough that it could skip the upper floors entirely, though you couldn't be sure about it. Was it possible that only this rusty metal hatch was separating you from the outside world? The world which you had been isolated from for months? Sure, they let you go outside but it was always a fenced yard with no way to exit the grounds of the asylum.

Coming to the conclusion that your little adventure was now over, you climbed the ladders back down and started crawling back to the way you had originally come from. Over Doctor Kano’s room, where she was still talking with Tatta, and over the surgery room which was now empty and completely silent. You tried to prevent yourself from letting your mind wander back to the operation and started to move faster. Being in this tight space was starting to suffocate you.

You couldn’t help but wonder where the butterfly had come from earlier. The vents went through many directions inside this massive building, so maybe there was another way outside as well? Other than a locked hatch? Obviously you couldn't know which direction was the correct one for the butterfly's route. You didn’t have time to explore the vents any longer either, not right now. You had already been there long enough. Maybe a little too long.

You arrived back to the vent opening above the storage closet where you had come from, approaching the open hole. As you peeked down, Niragi was still standing there on the same spot, arms crossed leaning against the shelf. Good, none of the nurses had come there and snatched him away, interrogating what the hell he was doing alone in the storage closet.

When he noticed your presence, he looked up and your eyes met.

“You done?” he asked, and you only nodded as a response. “Alright, I’ll help you down. Jump and I’ll catch you.”

You raised your eyebrows, eyes growing wider. There was no way in hell you trusted this man enough to be able to catch you without you twisting your ankle when you’d hit the floor, him accidentally not being able to catch you.

Niragi rolled his eyes, as if reading your mind. “Come on, you can trust me. I won’t drop you on the floor, alright?” You rolled your eyes when the same smirk you had seen before returned on his face. “Wouldn’t want to break that pretty body of yours.”

Well, what choice did you have anyway? You took a deep breath and turned around, letting your feet tangle in the air for a moment.

As you let yourself drop down, you shut your eyes tightly together, waiting for the pain on your legs when you’d hit the floor, hitting your head on the edge of the shelf as well — but there was no pain. Instead, sooner than you realized, Niragi was holding you in his arms. Your legs were wrapped around his waist for support when he held you with his arm around your waist, other hand squeezing your thigh.

Your body was slightly shaking and heart racing, even though the drop wasn’t so bad and you were safe and sound out of the vent. But you didn’t have time to get off Niragi when the door opened, just a few seconds after your jump down. Both you and Niragi turned towards the intruder, seeing two patients standing next to you. A young woman and an older man, holding hands. All four of you looked at each other for a moment, confused what the hell you should say or how to react.

“Can’t you see this room’s taken? Get the fuck out!” Niragi shouted at the two patients who were quick to slam the door shut. Niragi turned his head back towards you, smirking at how red your face was at the moment out of embarrassment. “Now, you seem a little tense and like in a need of someone making you feel good. I can take care of that, hm?”

Niragi glanced at your lips, just a small gap between your faces, and squeezed your thigh a little tighter, but you only grimaced in disgust and wriggled off his grip, standing on your own two feet again. Niragi chuckled for your reaction.

You ignored him and started to draw a quick picture on the paper. A simple picture of the building and the approximate way in the vents you had crawled through, as well as the ladders leading up and ending to the hatch. You drew a lock too, pointing at the hatch that it needed a key to be opened. While you sketched the picture of the paper, Niragi put the screws back in their places, making it look like he hadn’t removed the grid in the first place.

“It leads to the roof?” Niragi asked when he had examined the sloppy drawing for a moment, sounding surprised. You only shrugged. “So, there’s a lock, huh? Any ideas where the key for that would be?”

Then, before you and Niragi could proceed the conversation any further, the door opened once again. This time, it was a male nurse. He looked at the two of you for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. “And what do you think you’re doing here?”

Instead of looking shocked and panicked of getting caught, Niragi only smirked. “Needed to let out a little steam. You’re a man, so you get it, hm?”

The nurse only rolled his eyes and stepped aside to not block the way out anymore. “Mhm. Now move on, it’s time to go back to bed soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Niragi said and bowed, leaving the closet first but you followed right after him and avoided the nurse’s gaze. There were two types of nurses for the hookup situations: the ones who didn’t care (usually men) and the ones who gave you a warning (usually women). Luckily, this time you were caught by a man who didn’t care enough to warn you not to do it again or there’d be consequences.

The two of you walked forward in the corridor side by side, and after a while Niragi leaned closer to whisper into your ear, “If you ever want to go back to the closet together, just let me know. I promise we’d have a good time.”

You stopped walking, taking a step away from him. With one last wink and smirk at you, he kept walking and left you alone. Your cheeks felt hot and had definitely turned deep red.

You had finally fallen asleep faster than in a while, but were then woken up by someone entering your room. You opened your eyes, seeing three figures approaching your bed. Rubbing your eyes, the light blinding you and still half asleep. Confused of what was going on, you slowly rose up enough to lean against your elbows.

Then, as your vision turned clearer, you recognized the person by your bed being one of the nurses.

“What’s going on,” you mumbled, but then felt something on your arm.

A needle piercing your skin, inserting something into your veins. Your eyes widened when you realized what they were doing but before you’d manage to do anything, everything turned all blurry, dizzy and eventually pitch black.

When you came back to your senses, you weren’t in your room anymore. No, you were in a completely different place, laying down on a hard surface. A few nurses surrounded you, tightening the straps around your wrists, locking you down on the surface wherever you were lying on right now.

You tried to look around but you couldn’t even move your head to the side. Then, when the realization hit you, your eyes widened and terror filled your body. Your heart started racing so fast it might as well shoot its way through your chest completely.

No, no, no — this couldn’t be happening.

No, I had to have more time. Just a couple of days. Please. Not now, let me go back to my room, I’ll be nice. I’ll behave, I won’t cause any trouble anymore, just let me go. Please.

But of course none of the people in this room could read your mind. To hear your desperate thoughts and cries for help. You knew it’d be useless to start screaming for them to let you go. They wouldn’t open the straps and let you walk free. No.

Then, another figure approached you, holding an ice pick and a hammer in his hands. This was the exact image in your head which you didn’t want to become true. Ever. The strongest fear you had here right now, and it would become your new reality.

I thought I still had more time, you thought. The butterfly. The butterfly had caused you false hope. False hope that you could leave this place. Find a way outside. Of course you could never leave.

They knew you were trying to escape. Of course the knew — they had eyes everywhere. Or did they know?

Your thoughts were interrupted as the doctor spoke to you. Said the few chilling words that made you feel sick. “This will be over sooner than you realize. You’ll feel much better afterwards, Y/N. Nothing to be scared of.”

Then, laughter all around you. Manic laughter, almost mocking you at this situation. The laughter covered any other words the doctor said to you, echoing everywhere around you and inside your head.

No, no, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Don’t —

A/N: Any likes and comments are much appreciated, thank u for reading <3 Let me know if i forgot to tag you or you want to join the tag list!

Tags:

@audiiix

@lizxoxeth

@psychobitchsthings

@jeewhat

[jacksonekennedy]

"— the article was my idea…"

Huh. Something about that stirred a bit of pride in Jack. And then worry. What did she think of him before coming here? Did she think he was another arrogant politician? Or did she admire his beliefs and what he stood for? Or maybe she had no opinion at all. If Jack had to bet, he figured maybe it was the first or last option, but after her arrival, she’d changed her mind.

He’d changed her mind.

The phone call ended not long after. Jack stared ahead at the mess of candy wrappers and snacks. Alice was apologizing, and Jack shook his head in protest.

“No, don’t be sorry. Please.”

Jack’s face was red. He felt a little awkward. How to address what had just happened between them? Maybe they didn’t. Not right now, anyway. And maybe that was a bad idea, too. Jack felt bad initiating anything now, knowing that she’d just gotten in trouble for … being distracted.

Alice had admitted that she’d written about him, but she hadn’t provided Ron with any rough drafts. The things she’d written were private, it seemed. Not for the public. Had she written any of the article at all?

“Yeah. The big red button. I’ll definitely add Ron to the list.”

Jack stood because, well, the couch wasn’t somewhere that he could be sitting at right now. Or ever again, Jack thought. Maybe he’d have to throw the couch away. Maybe he’d have to seal off that room completely because he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to watch a movie in there without thinking of Alice. The way she’d moaned and arched beneath him —

No. Jack wasn’t going there again. No, no, no. No more thoughts about that.

“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. I should clean up anyway, and …”

He checked his phone for the time. He could take Cora for her evening walk. Clear his mind. Or he could go work out. Maybe that would feel better. Yeah, maybe sprinting a few miles would take his mind off of everything.

“Take care of some other things.”

There was plenty of leftover candy for another day, but Jack had a feeling that he and Alice wouldn’t be having another movie day anytime soon. He sealed the Reese’s bag shut and swept up a few crinkled wrappers of Kisses. He tossed the trash into the sack.

“I don’t want you to be in trouble. So, please. Take the evening to write and send Ron whatever you need to. And we can spend tomorrow working on the interview.”

He was always tearing Alice away to do things, wasn’t he? A trip to a waterfall and swimming and movie days. They'd even planned a trip to New Mexico. A trip that they only had ... three or four more days to actually make happen. Somewhere in between that, she was supposed to write an article.

Jack was blowing this.

He wouldn’t do that tomorrow. He’d be on his best behavior.

“I won’t distract you,” Jack promised.

There was no sound more grating than Ron's voice.

Which is funny, because Alice is fairly certain she didn't hold that belief a few days ago– look how quickly things had changed!

Her hand raises, lifts a mass of curls off her neck as the older man drones on. Fuck— she was warm there. Alice was warm everywhere!

"There were a lot of other writers I could have delegated the assignment to."

Alice cuts in swiftly.

"— the article was my idea..."

"Just the same. When you're writing for this publication, I expect consistent communication. You're not some rogue agent in deep camouflage. Update me, when I ask, and get that rough draft to me right away."

She wants to laugh— what rough draft? The only thing that existed right now, both in her brain and on her computer, were pages and pages about Jack. None of it was investigative journalism, really.

All of it had to do with the way he made her heart stir simply by grinning. Or grilling vegetables. Or spinning her, atop a sun-warmed patio. Or listening to her as she detailed the darkest time of her life and somehow managing to make her feel buoyant. And cared for. And special. And protected.

Jack whispers back to her— it's okay— and the hushed reassurance makes her smile back, despite how mortified she is they were interrupted this way.

Fuck, though. The heat in her belly was noticeable. The wetness between her legs too. Poor Jack, too.

This was the pool, all over again.

But no dalmatians to be blamed here— simply one very obnoxious boss. Despite her attempts to catch Ronald's last words, all Alice can think of is the way Jack had asked to fuck her. The blue, blazing heat in his eyes. How was she supposed to sleep tonight thinking of that?

"Yeah. Yeah. I will turn all that in. I will email you, and I'll email Samantha too."

Samantha— Alice's copy editor. Noticeably, that woman, that saint, had not harangued her once about getting the draft!

A long sigh escapes her, watching Jack fasten his jeans— oh, fuck, to think he could have been inside her by now— before picking up some of the trash littered about their seats. God. She misses his hand at her ankle. She misses the weight of his body.

"I have to go. But I will touch base with you tomorrow."

Well— not if she could help it, but. Anything to get away from this conversation.

Alice drops her phone, drops her face into her palms and lets it rest there for a long, mortified, frustrated second.

At last she raises it.

"I am so sorry."

A long groan escapes her.

"He's usually not such a fucking ... nanny boss. I don't know what that was! Maybe everyone else at the office was behind and that's why he's being so insane right now..."

It was embarrassing, to be chastised like that in front of him. As if she were some teen that was late returning home from prom.

Alice swallows, smiles at Jack apologetically before flopping back against the couch. What a fucking stark reminder this was— that they hadn't simply met a bar, or some mundane event that led her coming back to his home for the week. This was a work trip!

Or something.

Or something.

Alice has already decided that the article cannot exist now; not in the way it was originally intended, at least. Not when her feelings for Jack slip into every sentence and simile.

What Alice will do? She's not certain, and confusion swirls around in her head like sediment. But in her gut, she knows she cannot write about Jack as if he didn't make her heart thud loud in the morning, whenever she heard him stirring for a run. Funny, how her body had already started waking up around that time.

Ronald would just have to fucking deal with the change. There was no way that Alice would betray Jack, nor her own blazing feelings.

A beat. Alice straightens from the couch, collects a half-empty M&M bag, simply because she doesn't know what else to do with her hands.

"— I know you mentioned that big scary button you keep up in your office?" Jack had joked about that on the first day. How did three days ago already feel like months? "You should definitely feel free to use that on him."

Maybe Jack could drone strike him and that ugly old Camaro Ron insisted on driving.

[godblooded]

my brain: delete everything, disappear completely, take your dogs, drive until you have to stop, stop existing.

[rinsko]

want to theme but cannot theme therefore we will ignore the current state of my blog and i will post uninhibitedly!

[mars-ipan]

kinda funny when ur brain’s gut instinct is repression so you just kinda watch while your stress and emotions get bottled and corked and the whole time ur just like “that is going to bite me in the ass so bad later but i can’t seem to open the damn bottles without getting glass everywhere so! guess we’ll wait”

[asexualjedi]

Ao3 down? Fuck it. Commanders your cody.