#attempting positivity and bright thinking is so hard after being so sad and bitter for such a long time but also refreshing

[opheliac]

yeah so apart from a small assignment a professor gave me an extension for, i am all done this semester and thank goodness for it.

[nymphigeon]

From me, to you || 07

♤ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

♤ Genre: fluff, angst, romance, hybrid au, hybrid!Taehyung, detective!reader

♤ Words: 2.5k

♤ Rating: PG-13

♤ Warnings (for this chapter): Mentions of hybrid abuse, swearing.

♤ A/N: Surprise! I'm really sorry it took me this long, but I finally found the time and drive to write again :) Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A story in which he has never known love, so you’ll give it to him.

Series masterlist

06 07

"What do you mean this hybrid doesn't exist?"

Her eyes are wavering with an unspoken fear, perhaps caused by the bitterness my questions holds. I'm not happy, and she knows.

“It’s just, the chance that a dangerous breed such as the tiger hybrid would escape our system is basically zero..” The gaze she held on the computer screen unsurely moves my way. My expression must've instilled another layer of anxiety to the already existing one, as her mouth abruptly stops moving and her pupils dilate.

“Go on, explain.” The tone of my voice softens a bit as I notice her visible discomfort worsening. Even if there is no way that I’ll get any information from this place regarding Taehyung and his owner, I would still like to know why they’re both not showing up here.

Eun-ji takes a few deep breaths to stabilize her voice. As she does her posture slowly relaxes just a little and her eyes lose some of the nervousness they held before. “Because the first ‘successful’ tiger hybrid ran rampant after killing their creator, anyone who still breeds or creates them is being watched very closely by us, as well as by some other institutions.”

Perhaps it’s my lack of reaction that causes her to trail off at the end. Though I’m not judging her or her story, unlike she may think. To encourage her to continue, I give her a nod, tilting my head to show interest.

“The regular citizen isn’t even allowed to have one, needing special training to handle them. It’s like that for most hybrids that find their origins in wild animals. Creating tiger hybrids obviously requires a lot of knowledge when it comes to playing with genes and breeding them…. Well there are only three organization that are authorized to do so. All the resulting hybrids are registered and chipped.”

The explanation, which turns out to be a lengthy one, gets broken by a shuddering breath leaving her lips. She composes herself, clinging on to the little confidence she has left in her line of work to speak about the rest of her clarification.

“Of course people have tried to do it themselves, but those d.i.y operations have always ended in disappointment. If not taken proper care of, with substances only a board certified hybrid doctor can provide you, the pregnancy will fail. These are no easy practices they are dealing with.”

After the girls’ last words I give myself some time to think, letting a silence full of tension fill the room. It must be obvious that my mind is somewhere else at the moment, as the other girl in the room does her best to stay quiet. I don’t need much time however, my thoughts having quickly rearranged themselves as they were trained to do.

“So what you’re saying is, since tiger hybrids are hard to ‘create’, if you will, there are only a few people who actually manage to bring them to life. And so those few people are kept under close watch, as are the hybrids they successfully wake, am I correct?”

Eun-ji nods affirmatively, clearly happy that I seem to understand the situation. “So there is absolutely no way that someone without authorization has had a decent attempt at either genetically merging a human together with a tiger or getting a tiger hybrid pregnancy to be successful?”

Perhaps there might be a bit of scepticism in the question I asked, as her attitude immediately changes into a defensive one. “There is not! Whatever hybrid you’re searching for either gave you a false identity or is not a tiger hybrid at all, which would seem rather unlikely. I told you they get chipped right? Why not go look into that.”

“He doesn’t have one. We already had a hospital take a look at him, they didn’t find anything. ” The statement seems to shock her, the gears in her head instantly turning as to find an answer to this riddle. She however can’t seem to get one.

“They can be removed, can they not? They’re just under the skin. If someone decided to just cut it out they could. Terrifying, but plausible. Either that or one of your faithful authorized employees has been leaking information to outsiders.”

This is where Eun-ji seems to give up. Her shoulders sagging and a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “There would still be the problem of the missing equipment, test subjects, practice… How would you even get hold of fertilized human eggs to play around with? But I guess that wouldn’t be totally impossible. As for cutting it out… There would be a noticeable scar. The implants are always put in the same place, it wouldn’t be hard to miss.”

I make a mental note stating to ask Taehyung about all of this when I get back. If anyone knows how he got onto this world it would be him. “Is there a possibility that you could have someone look into it?” The girl nods in defeat, paying more attention to the ground than to anything else. “I’ll see if I can get someone on the case. I’ll have them contact you if we know anything.”

After those words she turns around in her chair, facing the monitor that had already put itself into sleep, and turns it off. Taking a notepad out of the drawer to her left, she quickly writes something down with the pen from her breast pocket. “I’ll get on it right away. Would you like me to walk you back to the exit?”

I shake my head. “No It’s okay, I’ll find my way back. Thank you for cooperating.” Eun-ji gives me a small smile, followed by a bow and walks out of the room taking the note with her, presumably immediately keeping herself busy with the extra work. Not wanting to waste any time I copy her, walking myself back into the direction we came from. Turns out it proves quite easy to find the exit by myself.

It’s already far past dinnertime when I make it back to the office. Not many of my colleagues have remained in their seats, most of them opting for a nice meal with their families. The few that have stayed behind are mostly known to live alone, quite like myself.

I quietly knock on my supervisor’s door, but when no response emerges from within the room, I can safely deduce that she too has already returned home. “I’ll have to write her a report about today later..” I mutter to myself, before stepping away from the door and instead heading to the cells at the back.

Technically the arrest period had already ended for Taehyung, as the law wouldn’t allow us to keep him locked up for any longer without any charges being held against him. His cell however technically was never locked and so even now, he is free to go wherever he wants. Though it didn’t change the fact that he still has no place to go to.

“Good evening. Had anything to eat yet?” He just chose to stay here and we accepted it. “Oh, hello! Yes, that tall handsome bulky man gave me something earlier, I can’t remember his name. He said something about it ‘being the best shit in town’.”

I slightly giggle at his quote, knowing immediately who it belongs to. “That definitely sounds like something Namjoon would say. What did he give you?”

Taehyung looks a lot better than he did yesterday. The stress of the interrogation seems to have completely worn off, instead traded for the sweet bouncy personality he used to show around me.

“Umm it was something in the shape of a circle and it had meat all over it… Oh! I think he called it a pizza? It was delicious!”

“You’ve never had pizza before?” The words leave my mouth before I actually get the chance to process them, causing me to instantly regret ever even opening my mouth. These days are stressful enough for him as they are, he doesn’t need a painful reminder of the life he never got to live on top of that.

The question doesn’t seem to hit him as hard as I though it would though. In fact, his demeanour doesn’t seem to change at all. Although sadly, it doesn’t make his next words any less painful. “Nope! When I first got adopted all they would feed me was wet cat food. It wasn’t great, but at least I got my three meals a day. The foster family I stayed at after my first owners mysteriously disappeared didn’t actually have the money to even take proper care of themselves, so at that time all I would get was whatever was left of their dinner that day, if there was even any left. It was mostly just greens. The lack of meat made me real sick at the time.”

He pauses talking for a second to look up at my face through the metal bars. The content look on his face quickly changes to one of worry once he catches my eyes. It’s no mystery why, I know I look at him pitifully. Even if he may not wish for my concern, I am only human. I can perfectly hide it when I need to, but this is not one of those cases.

“There it is again, that sad look on your face…” He sits up straight on the side of his bed to fully observe me, a tilt of his head giving him away. I send a sad chuckle his way as I reach for the door of his enclosure, inviting myself into the small space with him. He doesn’t object.

“Is it that obvious?” It was meant more as a way to lighten the mood, not as an actual question that needs answering. He still does however, giving me a simple slow nod. “You don’t need to feel bad for me.”

“Someone has to. You deserve at least that much.”

There’s a chair neatly placed under a small desk in the room. It used to be quite lively, with all kinds of bright colours blending into each other. It was a little positive additive into the dark grey room, but after all the anger that has been acted out on it, it no longer has that same shine.

I pull the chair out to place myself upon it, straddling the seat while I rest my arms on top of the back rest. Facing the tiger I use my arms as a pillow to lean my head on, making myself comfortable on the creaking furniture.

“Say, Taehyung, do you remember anything from when and where you were formed?”

He seems slightly taken aback at first, though quickly regains his composure. He also doesn’t immediately answer, first taking some time to think before coming back to me. “I was born a hybrid to two purebred tiger hybrids. They did their best trying to care for me in the little time we got to spend together, but seeing as it happened on a breeding farm getting to spend time with my parents wasn’t the plan. I got sold off pretty quickly, as soon as I learned to hold my first few full conversations.”

“Do you… Would you happen to know what happened to the farm? To your parents?” I fail to hide my apprehensiveness, needing too much space to form a careful approach. This shouldn’t feel like an interrogation to him, I never even announced one. There is little reason for him to answer me, the vital information from his side has already been given anyway. Nonetheless, even though I probably shouldn’t be doing this right now, I can’t just miss this opportunity.

“I heard my adoptive family talking about how the place was burnt down a while later. Most likely the police had caught a hold of it and they had to delete their left behind evidence. Both building and hybrids.”

Despite talking about the death of his parents, he seems to tell the story with relative ease. Probably not having much connection with the far past, his brain too young to truly hold on to the memory of them.

“They were successful too, as the case got dropped faster than lightning. It wasn’t long before the general public forgot about it too, believing it was just another misunderstanding. Besides, hybrid lives weren’t as important anyway.”

The amount of rights hybrids had when they were first created back in the day were close to zero, only strictly being seen as objects to show off whatever possible wealth one may have had. For a while there was even a popular theory going around that hybrids didn’t actually have the ability to feel any kind of emotion or pain. The genetic puzzle wouldn’t allow for it, as it had been tampered with to an extreme extent. This only built on the carelessness shown towards them, slowly chipping away at their sanity.

Although the rumours were wrong, they came from a place of truth. Facial expressions were rare for hybrids, as was the ability to speak. Most of them couldn’t even keep up with regular humans, exhaustion quickly taking over the little anger they could show. Scientists hadn’t yet quite figured out how to perfectly combine the pieces of genetic code and so hybrids were more like living dolls in the eyes of evil humans. Having no voice to object and barely any means to actually hurt anyone, it wasn’t much of a surprise the selfish nature in humans came to rise.

Luckily, or depending on how you look at it, sadly, these first generation hybrids were never able to reproduce. The doll like hybrid features eventually died out with the rise of the newly perfected pieces and the theory was debunked by a group of scientist who actually did care about the hybrids’ wellbeing. Those hybrids had lived through countless punishments, and every single one of them had hurt. A lot.

Right now hybrids in a lot of ways are superior to the rest of us. Having the combined senses of both animal and human alike, society has reluctantly given up on trying to contain them. They are still to be bought and owned, but no longer to be treated like dirt. The smartest of hybrids have even already gotten complete freedom to do as the please, no longer having to be bound to a human to roam freely. However, those unable to pass the close to impossible tests aren’t so lucky.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

Taehyung gives me a reassuring wave of his hand, effectively trying to lighten the mood, along with a sad smile. It wouldn’t take a trained professional to know he still longs for his parent’s presence, even if he may do well hiding it.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

That doesn’t make the situation more okay, but I hold my remarks back. For now, that might just be for the best.

Taglist

@suhappysuho @intellectualxprincess @sana-b @littlewolfieposts @nellaphine @the8luvr @deathkat657 @elenaramos1 @namjoonies-dimple

[nctsjiho]

Alternate Universe

warnings: mention of COVID. This is was meant to be pure fluff ngl, but you might’ve guessed it, that’s not how it turned out.

era: May 2021

❀ During a sleepover in JiHo’s new apartment, she and Renjun imagine how life would be if NCT never met each other

“Okay, but with space being infinitely big, who says there can’t be multiple universes. And maybe, one of those universes could be an alternate universe similar to ours.” JiHo hummed as she listened to Renjun’s rant - which had been going on for about 30 minutes at this point. She pulled her blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. “Do you think we’d still have met in that universe? Do you think NCT exists there?”

JiHo let out a deep sigh, “Go to sleep Renjun, it’s already past 1.” She turned her head to look at Renjun who was slightly pouting and she let out a small chuckle. “I just wonder how things would’ve been if we hadn’t met each other.” Renjun then locked eyes with the girl. “Any of us.”

Sitting up straight against the arm rest of her new L-shaped couch, JiHo stretched her arms. Renjun mirrored her action on the other end of the couch, curious as to why JiHo did so, she had been nagging him to shut up and sleep earlier anyway.

“As for me...” She trailed off. Renjun took notice of how JiHo’s eyes had focused on nothing particular. Even in the dimly lit room he could see how her eyes looked so bright yet charming. He never told anyone, but JiHo’s greenish eyes were one of his favourite things to look at. They were so pretty and interesting. Not only was she the only member who didn’t have just brown eyes, but something about them had him get lost in her eyes whenever he got the chance to look at them closely.

JiHo coughed before continuing. “I’d be in France right now. Probably had a reckless childhood with my weird friends and helping out at my grandparents’ pension.” Even though Renjun felt sad that he wasn’t part of that alternate-universe-childhood, he couldn’t help but smile when JiHo did. Reminiscing the childhood she had and imagining how it would’ve continued if she’d never gone to Korea to become an idol made her feel nostalgic in a sense. She didn’t get to experience it, but she could imagine it as if it really happened.

“I’d probably have a dog and live a normal middle-class, country side, family and friends oriented life. Maybe continued on with rope skipping and actually go semi-professional.” She contently sighed. “What about you?” JiHo’s eyes fell on Renjun’s shadowy figure. The light coming from the window only hit the far side of his body, so JiHo couldn’t really make out much of his appearance.

“I don’t know. I actually don’t know.” JiHo laughed softly. “Oh, don’t tell me you theorised about aliens, alternate universes, ghost, any kind of supernatural, but you’ve never thought about life without NCT?” Her mocking, yet innocently playful tone elicited a chuckle from him. “I guess I would’ve went on with school and worked hard to get into a good university so I could get a good job.”

“And your art? You’re really talented, you could do something with that.” The unexpected compliment casted a pink tinge on Renjun’s cheeks and he was so happy JiHo couldn’t make it out in the darkness of the room. “Hm. Maybe.” He hummed bashfully.

The two sit in silence for a bit before Renjun speaks up again. “How is it living here?” The sudden break in silence makes JiHo jump the tinniest bit and her head quickly turns to face Renjun. He laughs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His eyes scan the room, or at least what he can see of it. He already got used to the dark, so he could the silhouettes of all the furniture in the spacious apartment. The living room, kitchen and dining era was bigger than those in most of the NCT dorms, but this apartment only had 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, a toilet and a small dressing room - it might as well just be a closet. It looked way more trendy than his dorm. “Esteem must have some good money.” He thought.

“It looks nice.” He then looked at JiHo, awaiting her response. “It looks nice yeah.” Her voice sounded way less chipper than it did before. “Why? Do you not like it?” Once again, JiHo’s head snaps up. “No, I do like it. It’s pretty big, not too much furniture so it’s easy to clean. My bedroom is big enough for a queen size bed. It’s nice.” “You don’t seem too happy about it though.”

Jiho sighed and let her body fall back down in a lying position on the couch. “It’s lonely.” She stated simply. No other explanation, just those two words. “What about your manager?” Renjun asked, but then he remembered. He, and no one of the other members who have visited her over the past two weeks had really seen her manager. Maybe one or twice in passing, but the manager wasn’t in the apartment for more than an hour whenever they came over.

A groan escaped the sleepy girl’s lips as she stretched her arms out in front of her. “She’s still managing for another talent under Esteem. And that person has a lot of schedules currently, so my manager is just out working all the time.” “But we come by often, and you come over to the dorms as well.” JiHo nodded, not necessarily for Renjun to see, she didn’t think he would either way, but he did. “So?” “It’s only the second time someone stayed over here. Which I really enjoy by the way.” She quickly added as not to offend Renjun because of her rather gloomy tone.

“It’s just that whenever I come back home, whether it’s from the company or from your guys’ dorms, I just get hit by the fact that I’m alone in this apartment.” Renjun sympathised with the girl, understanding why it could make her feel lonely. “Not only that, it also makes me realise that NCT really is all I have. I don’t have many other friends, or at least not those who I hang out with. It’s only you guys.”

Not wanting to face Renjun, whether he was able to see the disheartened look on her face or not, JiHo pulled her blanket up to her chin again. “My family lives about 12 plus hours away by plane. I haven’t seen them in six years, and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I get to see them again.”

Renjun felt his stomach sink a little as JiHo slowly lost her ability to hide her real feelings. Each word sounded more and more painful to utter, sounded like it took more energy, it just felt so sad.

In an attempt to cheer JiHo up, Renjun spoke up. “Hey, once COVID is over, you should just get on a plane and visit them.” JiHo let out a bitter laugh and it makes Renjun’s heart clench. Did he say something wrong?

“You don’t think that in those six years I could’ve just gotten on a plane and visited them?” JiHo asked, her tone sounding just as, if not more bitter then her laugh just a second earlier. “Don’t you think that my family could’ve just jumped on a plane and visited me?” She scoffed. Of course it wasn’t directed to Renjun, rather the situation itself, but the boy couldn’t help but feel a bit targeted. He didn’t blame her though, it must of been so frustrating for her.

“Do you mind me asking why it didn’t happen then?” JiHo looked at Renjun, who had pushed himself up further on the couch, his legs now crossed in front of him. “There’s literally no reason it didn’t happen before. It doesn’t make sense that I never went back or that my family never came here. It’s just like this.” “But- How?” Renjun felt so confused, it really didn’t make sense.

JiHo sat up as well and stared out in front of her at the window. “Whenever I wanted to go SM or the managers always made up some excuse. It was either schedule conflict, or I had problems with my visa in my trainee days, or I had a last minute meeting. SM never let me buy my family plane tickets and whenever they would tell me they’d come visit, they would always cancel last minute for something that happened. After a while I just stopped asking.” Renjun carefully stood up after JiHo’s confession. “And after a while, my family stopped planning to come.”

It went unnoticed by JiHo that Renjun had moved over towards her. She looked to the side to see her friend already sit next to her on the couch. “I didn’t know. I’m so so sorry.” JiHo shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She responded, a silence fell over them once again.

Renjun watched as the gears inside of Jiho’s head kept turning. He felt so bad for everything she had to go through is silence. Everything she hid from everyone. All of it was just extra weight in her backpack full of worries and burdens.

He grabbed her hand which had fallen limply next to her lap. The touch making her snap out of her thoughts. “It just doesn’t make any sense.” She kept shaking her head. “Someone inside of SM must have been talking to my family, or maybe they felt betrayed when I left to Korea-” “Never.” Renjun interrupted, not wanting JiHo to even entertain that thought. “Maybe they got mad that I kept cancelling my visits.” Her head still continued shaking from left to right as if she was in denial, and to be honest she was. “Make it make sense Renjun.” Her voice cracked as her eyes locked with Renjun’s.

The same eyes that seemed to light up the dark room earlier felt devoid from all it’s usual brightness and youthfulness. On most days the green in her eyes reminded Renjun of jade, cool and charming, on other days it reminded him of nature, energetic and playful, but right now the green was so dull and was barely visible between the brown colour of the rest of her irises.

Renjun squeezed JiHo’s hand lightly. “I’m so sorry JiHo, I don’t know.” This causes JiHo to nod and let her eyes wander back to the window. “If I could I’d move back in with Haechan and the boys.” Renjun’s eyes stayed focussed on JiHo’s hand. It made him happy that her dainty fingers fit perfectly interlaced with his. The boy was used to holding for example Jisung’s hand, which was way bigger than his own and even though they fit into his as well, it was a different kind of fit. With JiHo’s hand he felt a sense of protectiveness and responsibility, like he had to be the one to make sure JiHo wouldn’t get hurt.

“Chenle doesn’t live with you guys, but at least when he goes home he has his family. Whether it’s his parents or his aunt, he has family with him all the time. As for me...” She trailed off. “This place doesn’t feel like a home at all. I was perfectly happy living with the boys. You guys are all the family I have here.” JiHo released a big breath as if she had just done a physical exercise that required a lot of energy.

Her eyes then fell onto Renjun and her intertwined hands, smiling at the way Renjun absentmindedly drew hearts on the back of her hand. “I love my parents and grandparents. I really do.” Renjun got startled by JiHo’s desperate tone, as if she was trying to prove him of her love for her family. “I know-” “I would like to believe I’d do anything to see them.” “And you would.” Renjun smiled assuring, even if his smile showed sadness. “I don’t think that’s true Renjun.”

JiHo’s breath hitched for a second before she made eye contact with her worried friend. “I could’ve just went. I could’ve not listened to SM and went. If I truly loved my family as much-” “Don’t say that JiHo.” Renjun scolded carefully, but JiHo just shook her head. “If I loved them so much, wouldn’t I have done it? I got on a plane to China for Xiaojun behind our managers back once for God’s sake.” She took a few seconds to calm her breathing. “Why haven’t I gone and visited my family?”

“You’re scared.” JiHo’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?” “You’re scared aren’t you? That going back might not be what you imagined it to be. But why does that matter? It’s your family, they love you and miss you just as much as you love and miss them.”

A wave of realisation hit JiHo and she felt tears well up in her eyes. Throwing her head back she tried her best to stop them from flowing and from more forming in her eyes.

Once the tears subsided she looked at Renjun who had a soft smile on his lips. “I’m scared that if I go back, that I’ll realise how much I actually missed my family.” Renjun laughed slightly amused. “What’s wrong with that?” “If I go...” She started and Renjun nodded along with her words, yet his smile faded as soon as JiHo uttered her next words.

“I might realise I don’t want to come back here again.”

---

Side Note: I wanted to write for Renjun for soooo long! This was based on a cute/funny prompt I found on Tumblr, but literally a few paragraphs in and my mind went “let’s make it a bit angsty”. This might be one, if not my favourite writing I’ve done so far <3 I hope you all liked it as well.

I know my content hasn’t been as good lately so I hope this writing will get me back on track a bit. I definitely have to do something about my inability to think of good titles tho O.O

I hope you have a nice day/evening/night <3

[ushidoux]

Look at Me, Senpai - Hinata x Reader x Daichi (Pt. 4)

Summary: Reader starts to see Hinata in a different light once he returns from Brazil. It turns out Hinata’s inability to give up isn’t just something restricted to the court. (~2.3k words)

Warnings: fem!reader, nsfw, infidelity, a touch of the yandere

A/N: Honestly I can’t even tell who I want to be happy anymore, this is just sad lmfao.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

—

“Shit-” You murmured under your breath, immediately withdrawing your burnt finger from the oven and into your mouth, sucking hard to palliate the sting. As usual, you’d neglected wearing mittens before turning the roasted veggies and inadvertently hit the top rack, adding another burn to the collection of small, barely-faded kitchen scars on your forearms.

Daichi glanced in your direction briefly, before going back to preparing fruit for dessert.

“You need to be more careful,” he said, just a little more stern than usual. The click of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board cut the air sharply, accenting an uncomfortable silence as you watched him from behind.

Your eyes rested on him for just a few moments more. Somehow, throughout the day, your panic at the idea of Hinata showing up to dinner in your own home and laying your infidelity to bear had slowly quelled. To expose you would only be out of spite, and even if Hinata could be determined and ambitious to the point of being inconsiderate, he wasn’t petty. You’d even considered the fact that he might not even show up.

Now the only thing on your mind was figuring out what was generating the cool energy Daichi seemed to be trying very desperately to suppress. Was it a response to your own skittish behavior? You had been keeping yourself (and your phone) a fair distance away from him since this morning, after all.

You shifted closer to him now, grabbing another knife and a cutting board to prepare dessert in silence. You turned to look at him, but he didn’t turn back.

You finished preparing dinner in silence.

To your dismay, Hinata showed up, right on time, and your stomach turned to lead with the familiar rapping on the door. Hesitantly, you trailed behind Daichi as he walked over to let him in.

Somehow, some way, Shoyo was still as bright as the sun despite it being evening, lighting up the room from the very first sight at the entrance. You realized you had missed his smile, when he grinned in your direction as though nothing was wrong and nodded politely at you first; maybe you noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he turned away from you quickly to greet Daichi.

“I brought ingredients for caipirinhas!” He said cheerily, glass bottles clinking loudly in a bulky brown bag he balanced on his side while he took off his shoes at the entrance. Trying to mask the tremble of guilt coursing through you, you reached for the precariously positioned items to help him only to be suddenly intercepted by Daichi cutting you off by standing between you two. 

“Got it!” He said, grabbing the bag hastily from Hinata but as he turned to set the goods on the kitchen counter, a flicker of something dark ran through his face for a split second, and this time you knew you hadn’t imagined the look. Something was up.

“Come have a seat,” he encouraged your guest.

Instead you and Daichi found yourselves seated while Hinata comfortably navigated through your kitchen (once you had located glasses, ice and a shaker of course), having insisted on treating you to ‘Brazil’s national drink!’ once you had set out glasses and ice.

Hinata joined you at the table, setting down different colored prepared drinks - a caipirinha that matched the color of his hair, a pale-green drink for Daichi and you last, a bright yellow cocktail that you eyed suspiciously. 

“Passion,” he said, with that smile again that didn’t reach his eyes. You tensed. 

“The fruit,” Hinata added quickly with a laugh, “I feel like you would enjoy sour and sweet together... I also considered grapefruit for a bitter taste.”

You let out a soft, tinny laugh, stirring your drink before you sipped, and you could feel Daichi carefully studying the two of you as he sat by your side and just diagonal from Hinata, who sat directly across from you.

If Daichi was upset with Hinata in particular, he didn’t make it obvious. Daichi, in usual older brother fashion, took the time to catch up with Hinata properly in ways he couldn’t in a crowded bar, and you wondered if they had talked at all since that night where you had met again for the first time. 

Somehow you already knew everything Hinata shared. You knew too much. You didn’t nod in surprise, as you would when hearing a funny story for the first time, and you spent too much time attempting to be a stranger.

While Hinata was effortlessly at ease, you poked at your food noticeably. 

“You’re not hungry, my love?” Daichi asked clearly, in the middle of Hinata’s sentence, calling attention to your solemn presence at the dinner. You startled at the sudden attention, the eyes of both men on you.

“Oh, uh, I think I just got full from cooking. All the smells and such, you know,” you murmured, and Daichi seemed to smile genuinely.

“Of course.”

Hinata clapped his hands all of a sudden. 

“Ah! I’m very sorry if all I’ve been doing is talking about myself! Enough about me!” He interjected. Smiling now again, he looked towards you with glee. “Oh, have you started wedding preparations?” He questioned, brown eyes settling on the ring on your finger.

The thought that you never had it on whenever you were with him briefly crossed your mind.

Your throat was suddenly a bit dry as you came up with a reply. Daichi took a glance at you and then let out a hearty laugh as though he were covering for you, pulling you close to him. 

“Of course, it’s all we can think about.”

Hinata’s smile did not waver, but he said nothing further. There was another silence in the room as Hinata poked at his food, deciding what to say next.

There was something sudden that filled the quiet air as metal scraped against ceramic, like the sound of a kettle whistling or a pot overboiling and maybe it was the fact that the cocktail had been a little strong, but suddenly you felt that you couldn’t be in the room a second longer.

“I think I’m g-gonna have to turn in boys,” you said, with another laugh that sounded somewhere between nervous and drunk. “Thank you for coming by, Hinata-san.”

The -san was harsh and you knew it, but it was appropriate. You tried not to look at Hinata’s face as you stood up in your chair, but Daichi had other plans.

He pulled you again into a seat on his lap, making your heart stop.

“Ah, but you missed dessert babe... just stay a few minutes longer. You took so much time to prepare this lovely meal.”

His grip was like iron while his eyes again slid away from you and back to Hinata, and when you followed his gaze to look at him as well, if your heart had started pounding before at Daichi’s sudden roughness, it was now attempting to escape from your rib cage and run across the street.

Hinata’s soft brown eyes were now ominously dark and the dazzling white teeth of his smile now gleamed of danger.

Something snapped.

“Stop looking at my wife, Shoyo,” Daichi finally said, coolly and deliberately.

There it was.

You could feel every muscle in your body freeze into ice, but your blood ran even colder at Hinata’s reply.

“Why should I stop?”

Hinata remained perfectly settled, but you could tell he was ready to shake, and the muscles of his forearms tensing on the table slightly before his hands balled into fists.

“If I don’t look at her, will you?!”

His tone was accusatory enough that Daichi’s grip on you tightened, and his voice grew louder.

“So… so you admit it? You’re this shameless?”

Hinata looked at Daichi, then at you, then back to his former captain. The anger in his countenance seemed to defuse only slightly at the shock in your facial expression, maybe at the disappointment that you had for now chosen and would probably continue to choose Daichi over him.

“You stopped looking!” Hinata yelled, and in his voice, you could hear a ghost of the young boy who you had disregarded so many years ago. “You stopped paying attention, and all I’ve wanted my whole life is for her to look at me. So of course, I’m going to take my chance... of course, I was going to spend as much time as I can seeing her for who she really is! I will never stop looking!”

Daichi seemed to recoil from the shock of the kohai he had practically raised yelling back at him, and his jaw dropped and then he looked at you, the woman he loved and intended to marry in his arms. A grave miscalculation. 

“It was such a short time but now I know everything, Daichi. Everything that you don’t care about anymore.

I know what makes her laugh, what makes her sad, what she wants to do with her days. I even know how much she loves you and I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I know about her back dimples, and what she sounds like when she’s excited or when she moans, and that place where she has the tiniest birthmark. Yeah, that one.

You’ve gotten so fucking lazy all these years with her by your side while every day I wake up and wish she would take me seriously.”

The fact that Shoyo managed to keep talking in the backdrop, and his words continued to implicate you further and further felt like a wrench in your heart, but the fervor that dripped in his voice… you were torn.

Shoyo, please stop...

“You…,” Daichi’s voice trailed off as he watched you fall apart, crying profusely.

“Daichi, I’m sorry.”

Daichi’s head started to spin. This was far, far from what he had expected.

A confrontation, yes. A mild one, where he would tell Hinata maybe not so gently to back off. He had seen a couple of the texts Hinata sent you early on of course, and never an answer from you, so of course you were staying faithful to him. And even if you had thought about what it would feel like to be with Shoyo once or twice, trying his name in your mouth in fantasy so that it rolled off the tongue during sex, he could begrudgingly forgive you for that.

But whatever Shoyo implied now was much more than a crush. In fact, this drawn-out declaration of his feelings was so far from a crush that it filled him contempt.

Was it an obsession perhaps? Daichi wouldn’t admit that maybe Shoyo loved you genuinely, that would be too unbearable to think about. But the implication that you had in any way given into him for real, right ahead of your wedding... 

That was too much to endure.

He had always ignored the soft undercurrent of Hinata’s affection towards you. It was painfully obvious. He knew about the confession back in high school, he’d even softly joked about it when you told him about it, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

He’d get over it. Hinata was never a threat. Couldn’t be.

And so Daichi ignored every furtive glance even though he understood more than anyone that Hinata was persistent to a fault.

A moment crossed Daichi’s mind briefly from his third year in high school, when he found himself scolding Hinata for a simple mistake during practice: 

How many times do I need to tell you that you always need to consider how your actions will affect others?

He’d meant it on the court, he never thought Hinata would be like this in real life.

Coveting.

Reckless.

Scheming? No, not scheming. Hinata didn’t hide.  You were the one to hide.

“How long?” Daichi said, his voice still shaking, his hands letting go of you so that you could finally stand on your own two feet and explain yourself.

Your knees started to give way and you knelt down in a heap, hot tears falling freely from your eyes. Disgusting. Were you sad because you hurt him or because you got caught?

Daichi couldn’t bear to look at you, his face twisted in anguish, focusing on his anger at Hinata instead.

“How long?!” He demanded again to know, slamming his fist on the table in Hinata’s direction. Hinata was focused instead on the trembling mess that was you now, and making his way over to encase you, and Daichi’s rage only continued to build.

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

Hinata pushed past Daichi who had now risen to block his way towards you and before you could try to defuse the situation, you heard the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh.

You’d missed the punch but Daichi’s fist was still clenched, and he was shaking it out, his body heaving and his face red and maybe he was crying, but all you could pay attention to was Shoyo who stood in place, stunned.

“There’s a fucking limit, Hinata!”

Despite all these years, Daichi would still be scolding him like a child made Hinata’s fists clench and his muscles strain, and in the next few moments, you knew you had to move before it turned into a full-blown fight.

“Daichi, please!” You screamed, now getting to your feet to stand in between him and Hinata, your stomach turning as you took in the torment drawn into his features as he looked into your eyes.

“Please, please, just look at me,” you said, cupping his face in your hands, even though you knew you had no right at all to touch him, but all to make sure you stopped this, whatever this was. You couldn’t let this continue.

“You slept with him!” He screamed in your face, upset making his voice hoarse, his face now wet with tears. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him cry in all these years.

“How many times? Where? Why? I gave you everything!”

“Please… Daichi, I”m sorry!”

“You slept with him when I worked so hard for you!”

“Daichi-”

“Stop talking!” He said, all but ripping your hands off his face. “How could you… with Hinata? How?”

He now sank to the ground, curling into himself while you and Hinata both watched him become helpless. You wanted to creep closer to him, to hold him in your arms but you couldn’t, you knew you didn’t deserve to touch him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choked out, again. “I love you, Daichi… I’m so sorry.”

He responded with short and strained sobs, over which you could barely hear Hinata slam your front door shut as he left.

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.

Chapter: 1/10

"No luck?"

Mace sighed.

Walking through the door only to come face to face with his former Padawan sprawled across his couch especially after the trying day he's had only served to make his shoulders tighten further. "What are you doing here Depa?" he asked doing his best to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

His fellow council member raised a single eyebrow in reply.

Mace sighed again, hand running over his face and pulling at his chin. "No," he finally answered. "No luck." And if voicing his failings didn't already sour his mood, seeing the flash of disappointment in Depa's eyes drove it home.

"There is nothing wrong with Obi-Wan," she huffed. Her annoyance bleeding into the force as she observed him go about preparing his own afternoon meal along with hers now that she'd decided to make herself at home in his apartment.

"I know," he said, bringing out cups and plates while he waited for their dinner to heat up; not even contemplating asking Depa for assistance as he well knew by this point he could never make her set a foot inside the kitchen after that 'incident'. "But with his prior records and Qui-Gon,"--the Chalactan woman snorted in disgust and Mace paused to send her a warning glare. "having repudiated him," he continued doing his best to clam down on his own anger when the words leave his mouth. "Not many are willing to take a second look."

Walking over to sit by the dinner table Depa sighed; the force muted with her sadness. "It's a cruel faith being stripped of your future because one man has decided to upend all traditions because he thinks himself some kind of force whisperer," she dragged the last words out rather mockingly inciting a snort from Mace which then resulted in him trying and failing to give her another stern glare.

Annoyed as he was with the other man, insulting him was not a productive endeavor. Still, he couldn't fault his former Padawan for her bitterness towards his old friend. Qui-Gon certainly did parade around as if he was the only man blessed with the true gift of the force. "Hopefully young Kenobi still has a future as a Jedi," he said, setting down their plates. "I just need to find one Master who is willing to take him on. He only needs a year or two before he is ready for his Trials."

Depa hummed in agreement but the force swivelling around her was still leaking uncertainty if only a little. Clapping his former student on the shoulder, Mace let encouragement wash over her as he sat down. "Do not worry yourself," he said letting go when he the tension finally eased out of her body.

Companiable silence falls between them after that, the worry for Obi-Wan still lingering in the air but for now, both willing to put it aside to share the little time they rarely get to spend together to its fullest. It's only after the table is cleared and Depa has found her way back to his couch that she speaks on the topic again.

"How is he by the way?"

Staring forlorn at the dirty dishes and missing the good old days when he could make little Depa wash up as part of her training while he excused himself for a short nap, Mace shook his head and made his way over to the opposite coach, leaving the dishes for tomorrow. "He's doing well," he said, folding his legs under him. "All things considered. He's healing."

Depa pursed her mouth. "He's the Sith-killer and we can't even give him an automatic knighting because--" She bit her tongue before the words slipped out, but Mace knew very well what she was going to say.

'Because Qui-Gon is still alive.'

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had both survived the battle of Naboo. Survived the Sith. And while Obi-Wan had accomplished a feat no other, saved his master and come out alive; baring the heavy injuries sustained both men, by saving Qui-Gon Jinn the young man had unknowingly sealed his own faith.

Not that Mace wasn't immensely grateful his old friend had gotten away with his life. But--

With Qui-Gon alive, Obi-Wan could not be Knighted without taking the Trials and to everyone's horror the boy's Master was not willing to wait for him to be ready for them.

No, Qui-Gon had made it quite clear how little he thought of his student's well being when he so cruelly disregarded him in front of the Council, repudiated him and thrown him away in hopes of training young Anakin Skywalker. Mace stomach coiled in disgust just thinking of that day. That moment….. With Qui-Gon standing in the middle of the room, an uncertain Anakin next to him and a distinct lack of Obi-Wan by his side. Qui-Gon had declared for all to hear that he would be training Skywalker and if that could only come to be with Kenobi out of the way, so be it.

Obi-Wan hadn't even been there to defend himself. Submerged in a bacta tank as he was, fighting for his very life and---

Clenching his fists, it's all Mace can do to carefully release his anger into the force and close his eyes against the onslaught of memories. Obi-Wan's clear eyes staring up at him from a hospital bed in abject disbelief, having woken up to a broken bond and a hair distinctly lacking a familiar braid.

The fact Qui-Gon hadn't even had the respect, the heart to tell the poor boy face to face. That he had unbraided his hair while Obi-Wan was still….. That he hadn't explained anything. He…. Mace was a Jedi,

"He…. repudiated….me?”

Mace hadn't known what to say. Standing there in the Halls of Healing, staring down at the too sickly, too skinny, too haunted man in the hospital bed. Mace hadn't known what to say.

What could one say in the face of absolute devastation?

So he had just stood there, seconds ticking by, eyes unable to break away from the dull blue-gray ones of young Obi-Wan Kenobi. Unable to speak, unable to console, unable to utter the words he knew would shatter whatever remained of the fragile sense of self-worth the kid had left.

Finally, as the auburn haired man swallowed thickly, looking away, Mace regained his speech.

Sitting down heavily in the chair stationed by the bed, he'd folded his hands under his chin and lowered his voice into an almost gentle hum. "Yes, he did. In front of the council, a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh."

That single word crumbled something in Mace he hadn't known he ever had.

Kenobi looked so small. Thin fingers clutching at the white covers, bottom lip red from being gnawed bloody, hair damp from recently having been brought out of the bacta tank and eyes swimming with such hopelessness it left the Korun man's heart with dull sense of ache he didn't quite know how to deal with.

Mace Windu was a Jedi. Controlling and releasing his emotions into the force was by now a habit as easy to him as breathing.

Nothing got under his skin, nothing pained him for long. He was focused, he was disciplined and by all accounts he was never brought to the edge of absolute fury. But looking into those gray-blue eyes. Seeing young Kenobi trying so hard to keep himself from crying. Watching the young man chest heave in futile attempt not to collapse in on himself. The destruction of a bright light, of a hopeful child ruthlessly turned into a broken young man at the hands of someone who should have known better---

Mace was a Jedi and his emotions did not rule him.

They did not. And yet, and yet….

So he pressed his fingers against his knees, nails biting into the skin beneath his clothes and he looked Obi-Wan Kenobi dead in the eyes and firmly; without pity, laid out the decree of the council. Explained what precarious position the kid found himself in; all the while being oh so careful not to let his voice catch on the lump choking him from within.

Now that Kenobi had been repudiated he was no longer a Padawan and if the council had followed the Jedi Code to the letter, he should have been expelled or relocated to the ServiceCop or the AgroCorp the minute Qui-Gon had disowned him, but this wasn't an ordinary situation and Kenobi, well, Kenobi was anything but an ordinary Jedi.

So, "with your unique circumstances," Mace had said, hand resting by the kid's knee just in case the proximity dispelled the harshness of Obi-Wan's new reality or even brought the kid some semblance of comfort. "the council has concluded that you will be given six weeks to find a new Master to complete your training and 'if' that Master is deemed acceptable by the council." Mace did his best to emphasize the 'if' for it meant any young Knight trying to do Obi-Wan a favor while having nothing of their own to actually teach him were automatically ruled out; force knew the kid had plenty of friends who would step up to the task (just the thought of recently Knighted Quinlan Vos boldly declaring himself Obi-Wan's new Master gave Mace a headache. If the sheer embarrassment didn't kill Kenobi, Quinlan's teachings surely would.) "Then your apprenticeship will be transferred to them until you're deemed ready for your Trails."

Obi-Wan had nodded, fingers tracing unknown patters on the cover. "I assume you have already spoken to a fair number of potential Masters?"

There is a certain ease to his voice, the raspiness behind it the only thing giving away how hard the kid was trying to cover up the burnt edges of his anguish. Even after Mace had seen with his own two eyes how Kenobi; as soon as the visible grief of his former Master's betrayal had run its course, gathered himself up. Taking a deep breath and then as if it was an artform storing away his emotions, carefully and meticulously behind unreadable eyes until a hurt child once again transformed back into a composed young man.

It was…… concerning the ease with which Kenobi could look as if his entire world hadn't just been shattered into pieces.

"I have." he had said in answer; swallowing down the bitterness of his own failure and watching as Obi-Wan's fingers darted across the knuckles of his outstretched hand (that Mace had yet to move) almost as if unconsciously seeking out comfort; only for the young man to then realize what he'd done making him flinch away. Mace nearly scowled in distress 'What had Qui-Gon done to this child?!'. "Unfortunately I have yet to find a Master willing to take on a Padawan your age," he managed to finish.

"Ironic isn't it?" Obi-Wan muttered, self deprecating amusement dancing in his eyes. It took Mace a second to grasp the context behind the words but when he did, a sardonic smirk pulled at his lips.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

For it was. To be rejected for a child too old to become a Padawan, only to turn around and find yourself the one who is now too old to be anyone's Padawan. Ironic indeed.

And so very awful.

They had talked about nothing of note after that. Obi-Wan content in pretending nothing outside the four walls of his room existed and Mace wanting to indulge him, just this once.

Still, even though he regaled the kid with stories, particularly of that one time Master Yoda had kidnapped him to lure five other Masters away from a council meeting, his brain was still running through potentially willing Masters for the child he was so unwilling to give up on just yet.

"I would take him if I could."

Depa's words managed to bring him back to the present with an abruptness he wasn't ready for.

He blinked, once, twice. Then sighed deeply as he closed his eyes. "I know."

Depa shifted across from him. "His time is nearly up."

Mace tensed. "He still has two more weeks left."

Now it's her who uttered "I know."

A suffocating silence once again wrapped itself around them. This one hinging on uncertainty, worry and concern. Emotions that swiftly were released into the force and yet lingered in the room like an unspoken blemish. Finally Depa spoke. Her words nothing but a whisper but holding all the strength of an ocean slamming against the shores of Mace's stability.

"You could take him."

It's not a question, not quite a suggestion either. It's more like…… a promise.

Mace startled, eyes flying open. "What?" He had expected much from her, maybe a suggestion of one of Kenobi's little Knight friends taking him on, which he would have soundly rejected but not this. This was unexpected to say the least.

Depa only shrugged away his incredulity. "You could take him as your Padawan learner. He would only need a year or two at most like you said and Kenobi is mild tempered, level-headed and a quick study, you would get along great." She said it all with such casualness and certainty Mace couldn't help but stare.

Crossing her arms and folding her knees under her in a mirror image of him, Depa lifted a single eyebrow. "You cannot tell me you have not considered this?"

Mace bit back a wince. "Of course I have. Unfortunately that doesn't."

Depa cut him off. "Why not?"

If there was anyone who feared him less than Depa; excluding their green troll of a Grandmaster, Mace had yet to meet them. And now watching as she stared him down, Mace was torn between pride and indignity. "You know why." He gritted out, mindful to keep his voice even. "I'm Master of the Order. I will not have the time to train him properly. My duties are on Coruscant. Young Obi-Wan will need someone to go on missions with him, look out for him and I'm afraid I cannot do that."

If he'd thought his words would discourage his former student, he was wrong. Now she looked even more resolute than before he'd made his argument.

"May I remind you Obi-Wan is Senior Padawan. He does not require someone to hold his hand every step of the way." Here a ghost of a smile grace her lips. "He is only a year or so away from his Trials, Mace. He is supposed to take solo missions by now. You just need to oversee the remaining of his training, help him polish a couple of things and he'll be ready." Her eyes flickered with something too fast to detect. "Please Mace, at least think about it."

He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "Obi-Wan deserves someone who can devote their time on him," he said yet the idea running through his mind with possibilities.

Kenobi deserved better than what Mace could provide. Especially after Qui-Gon. Especially after the countless setbacks, traumas and horrors the kid had been through. He didn't deserve a Master who wouldn't always be there even if the kid only needed minimal help at this point. "I may not be what he needs?"

Now Depa was glaring at him. "Maybe it's about time people stopped assuming what is best for Obi-Wan and started giving him the chance to choose what he thinks is best for him? And maybe it's about time he received the knowledge that he is actually wanted for once in his life?!" The last words are said with such vehemence Mace is momentarily stunned.

Quickly as the anger came it vanished, leaving behind a sheepish smile and mildly apologetic eyes. But Depa did not take her words back.

Mace couldn't find it in himself to scold her. After all, wasn't that the root of Obi-Wan's issues? How everyone kept assuming what was best for him, never once listening to what he wanted?

Would it be wrong for Mace then to lay his cards on the table. To ask? The kid did not have to accept; although Mace would be disappointed if he didn't. But to ask, he could do that, couldn't he? Let the kid know that he wished to train him, had always seen the potential in him. Might have taken him on from the very beginning if Depa hadn't still been his Padawan. That he would see him to Knighthood if Kenobi let him. What would be the harm in that?

"When he's released from the Halls of Healing where will he go?"

The abrupt change in topic makes the Korun man blink up at his for Padawan in confusion.

"Without a Master," she continued eyes glinting with something. "He will be relocated to the Initiate dorms will he not?"

Mace was already shaking his head before the question had fully left her lips. "No."

"No?"

He nodded. "He will move in with me until a Master chooses to claimed him as a Padawan."

Now the glint in Depa's eyes are all but twinkling like stars but why…..

Mace own eyes widen in realization.

Oh

He hadn't thought much of it. Having just assumed Obi-Wan would stay with him until a Master stepped forward to accept him. Hadn't even contemplated putting the traumatized young man with the Initiates. In a way, he had already made his choice days ago, hadn't he? And of course Depa had see right through him to a part he hadn't even been aware off.

If he was a lesser man, Mace might have flushed red with embarrassment having essentially claimed Kenobi as his own Padawan without knowing. But he was Mace Windu, Master of the Order, so all he let himself get away with was a huff and a slight twitch of his mouth. "Looks like my mind has already decided what my head has yet to conclude."

Depa answering smile is teasing. "Seems so."

The relief that hits him at those words is almost staggering. Knocking into his chest and nearly toppling him back against the headrest.

He'd been worried, angry, concerned and at his wits end these past couple of weeks. Knowing he was letting Obi-Wan down every day he was politely rejected by another Master who'd seen Obi-Wan's records, heard of his repudiation and refused to take a chance on him. Knowing Qui-Gon repudiating him had essentially sealed the young man's faith. Feeling disgusted by the false rumours of Kenobi's insubordination, and having to go see him every evening watching the light flicker out of his eyes as each shred of hope he had of being a Knight was torn away from him.

In the end it was all so very simple wasn't it.

The minute the kid had looked at him with those eyes, Mace had known.

He would never let him go without a fight. Not Kenobi. Never Kenobi.

It didn't matter how busy his schedule was he would make time for Obi-Wan if he accepted him. No longer would he stand by and watch those hunched shoulders trailing after the rigged figure of one Qui-Gon Jinn. No longer would he stand by and let the kid be used to wash away someone else's darkness.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would be his Padawan.

Overwhelmed by the sheer sense of calmness that washed over him, Mace momentarily closed his eyes and breathed. Releasing all the emotions clinging to him into the force. Worry, anger, fear, concern, care and most of all pure, unwavering protectiveness.

If he had something to say about it, and he did. Qui-Gon would never step a foot near the kid ever again.

"Do you think he will take to Vaapad as quickly as you did?" He asked as his composure fell into place and his eyes sought out his former student.

The startled laugh that burst out of Depa made a sharp smile twist at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe Soresu is more is speed," she lightly jabbed back.

Tilting his head; playful for those who knew to spot the miniscule changes in his expression, Mace glared. "Don't you even think about interfering Kenobi's lightsaber studies behind my back."

Depa looked amused. "Wouldn't dream of it."  But then the mirth vanished and gave way to contentment. "It would be nice," she said. "Finally having a Padawan sibling."

Mace found himself smiling, gentler this time. "It would."

They share a smile before Depa is on her feet, making her way to the door. "Best to inform Obi-Wan of your decision as soon as possible," she called over her shoulder. "He'll be out of the Halls in three days time."

Mace stared and stared. And then, stared some more.

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" he said out loud, not quite believing she managed to manipulate him so thoroughly . "You came here today to coax me into accepting Kenobi as my apprentice."

Depa doesn't look back at him, but she doesn't have to. The Force danced around her with mirth and shades of guilt for having deceived him. The Korun man could only let himself shake his head, heart tugging with pride at how much his little spitfire had grown while also frowning in realization. "Depa." he said firmly, but his former Padawan was already palming open the door.

"Don't be like that Master," she said turning back to give him a final look, the familiar title she only used sparingly coming out of her mouth with overflowing warmth and fondness. "We both know I only guided you to the decision you wanted to make all along."

She was right. Still,

"I don't like to be manipulated Padawan mine."

She only smiled. Mischief in her eyes and a single dimple creasing her left cheek before she was gone, vanishing out the door.

Mace was left sitting alone in his living room. A mirroring smile painting his lips and chest for the first time since Naboo filled with nothing but anticipated flicker of hope.

To go from being repudiated one day to being the Padawan of Mace Windu, Master of the Order few weeks later….. Kenobi would have hell of a time trying to compute the insanity of the news coming his way tomorrow.

Mace hoped Obi-Wan Kenobi he slept well tonight for both their sakes.

The next couple of weeks would be….. Hectic to say the least.

The end

Believe it or not the idea that Depa's preferred form is Soresu is half the reason why I wrote this fic. Just her taking Obi as her unofficial baby brother and helping him on his path to becoming a Master at Soresu makes me all giddy, so here you have it.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[kurosara]

Hongjoong x Reader

I didn’t proofread this or anything. I just wrote some middle of the night comfort I needed. 

Angst, sad

I felt my spine unconsciously shiver as yet another cool breeze fluttered heavily past me. A quick glance at my phone told me it was nearing 3 in the morning. The dim light of the screen faded, as my eyes cast back to the bare sky. It was a new moon tonight, and there weren’t many stars out either. There wasn’t anything interesting in the chilly fall weather, unless you counted the never slowing raindrops falling down my cheeks.

Why was I even crying again?

I couldn’t remember. I’d been crying that long. It hadn’t felt like it, but I’ve been sitting on the balcony of my bedroom, suffering in the chilled air, for nearly 6 hours. How long could such an overwhelming feeling last?

An eternity…

A cynical voice taunted me further with evasive thoughts similar to this. It’s dark, and lonely. I’ve whispered curses and wishes to no one. I’ve replied to… no one. Because all I could wonder was if anyone was really listening. The neatly decorated interior, fit with (f/c) furniture and various art pieces and large photos of me and my boyfriend hanging on the wall, felt eerily cruel the moment I walked in. The fleeting thought of my boyfriend stuck for a moment, like the breath hitching in my throat as I visualized his soft smile, a bit of nervousness from smiling at me for the very first time. The happy thought turned sour, the smile fading into a blank stare.

“I’ll be home late…”

The image dissipated with his words. I could barely taste the remnants of the ramen bowl I’d forced down before coming out onto the balcony. The taste was bitter and dry as I forcefully swallowed the growing lump of anxiety. My fingernails, or rather the remaining nubs since I’d chewed off all my nails earlier, felt sticky as they scratched nervously at the cold concrete I was sitting on. I could only assume it was blood from the scraping contact. The balcony’s railing taunted me similar to bars of a jail cell. But at least in prison there are other people.

But here? In this dark and lonely space I created for myself? There is no one. I’ve self-isolated. And every attempt to escape has never been followed through. If I unlocked my phone you’d see the contact pulled up where I’ve nearly called him. And before that a lengthy text that boiled down to one thing; I need you. The text was never sent of course. However, even now as I describe these feelings and sensations, I don’t feel them. They aren’t processed in my mind or my physical body. I simply sat in the corner of the balcony, knees pulled to my chest, staring into pure dark, as my body and the world continued past my racing thoughts of how this is where I should be.

I deserved to be alone.

Keys jingled in the background and it was painfully obvious the individual tried being quiet, but it wouldn’t matter. He could’ve kicked the door in screaming, and I wouldn’t budge an inch.

Hongjoong removed his shoes and hung up his coat on the nearby rack. His bag made a soft sound as he tried to gently slide it onto the couch, hoping his partner was sleeping peacefully, and trying not to disturb that. As he typically did when he ended up home this late, he trekked to the kitchen for a bottle of water to carry to bed. As he exited the kitchen, a cold breeze caught his attention.

Where’s that coming from?

Just like Hongjoong. He knew how much I hated being the slightest bit cold, so the house was always a warm temperature. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he gazed around the empty living room, noticing the cracked balcony door. Cautiously, he approached the door, peering out just the slightest bit and hoping there was no intruder lurking around.

Though he’d really hoped for that to be the case right now versus the sight he was met with.

His eyes barely made out my trembling figure in the corner, huddled against the wall. Immediately Hongjoong turned on the outdoor light and rushed to my side, carefully kneeling beside me.

“Y-y/n?” The worry was so thick in his voice, yet sweet. Like honey.

There he was. My boyfriend. Acknowledging my presence as he always does, yet I hadn’t heard a word. There was no light, though he very clearly turned one on. For a moment Hongjoong panicked. His eyes worriedly scanned my body, searching for any signs of hurt or reason for my being like this. He saw the bloody fingers and the tears still flowing. He knew what was happening, for sadly he’d seen it too many times even before they were dating. At least more times than I’d like. By now though, Hongjoong knew almost how to help. He adjusted his position to sit in front of me, his knees pulled up like mine. He touched his knees to mine, gently pulling my hands from the concrete as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs.

I felt the tingling of sensation from the touch, still all I saw was a never ending tunnel of darkness. Hongjoong brought my knuckles to his lips, placing gentle kisses on them before resting them onto our knees. His thumbs didn’t stop caressing the top of my hands as he simply stared into my eyes and mustered the kindest smile he could as he looked at my broken state.

“I know you probably won’t process what I’m saying right now, and that’s alright. Just focus on my voice ok?” He took a shaky breath, feeling his own tears well up, “You’ve been having a hard time lately haven’t you? I know you’ve been eating well and everything because I’ve seen it, but that doesn’t mean you’re alright. And it’s ok to not be ok. It’s not your fault.”

There was a flicker of light, like a shooting star passing across my vision. I swallowed another lump, feeling a bit of warmth from the original tingling sensation.

Hongjoong squeezed my hands, trying to urge warmth into your shivering body. Just the thought of how long you could’ve been freezing made him sick to his stomach. Nonetheless he continued to talk as calmly as he could.

“Just remember that there is someone here for you. I know you don’t always believe that, but it’s true. I am here. Right here.” A single tear rolled down his cheek unwillingly. “I’ll help you pick up the pieces you feel are broken and hold them together for you. I’ll be here to hold you steady when you’re shaking and keep you warm when you’re cold. I’m sorry I was late this time. There’s no telling how long you’ve been here.” Another tear. “But I’m here now baby. I love you.” He squeezed my hands gently once more.

Like a thread, his words formed a silver lining in the dark tunnel. My vision corrupted from pure black, to blurry shapes and images. The feeling of being frozen to my core was slowly warming in the places where his body touched mine. And finally, his beautiful, kind smile. So bright, and such a contrast to the dark space I’d been suffering in. There was a soft ringing that slowly got louder, as I realized his lips were moving. Hongjoong was speaking, yet I could only hear the ringing. Hongjoong saw the way my eyes scanned his face just the smallest bit. His smile grew a bit.

“There you are. It’s ok. Take your time.” He leaned forward, never breaking eye contact as he kissed the back of my hands lovingly.

I squeezed his hands gently, the feeling, or void of feeling, was quickly fading, and in its place a crushing weight on my throat and lungs. My chest heaved at my increased breathing pace, worrying Hongjoong as he realized the anxiety was setting in more than the previous emptiness. Without releasing my hands, he scooted to sit beside me. He let go of one hand to wrap his arm around my shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss on my temple as he whispered sweet nothings.

His voice trickled in like a small river, every other word registering before his kindness fully processed. My beating heart didn’t slow, but it became easier to breathe as I buried my head in the crook of his neck silently. He pulled me closer with one arm, resting his forehead on my hair.

“Do you want to go inside and get under the blankets?” The first full sentence I’d registered in my mind.

I absentmindedly nodded, but before I could attempt to move, Hongjoong was picking me up bridal style, careful like I was an expensive glass or diamond jewelry. Once in our shared bedroom, he placed me on the bed before tossing back the covers and tucking them around me like a child. With a reassuring smile he left the room. Although I knew where he was going, I gripped the covers tightly anxiously waiting for his return.

In a matter of minutes Hongjoong returned with two cups of hot chocolate with small marshmallows, and a pack of hershey’s kisses tucked under his arm too. He set one cup down and offered me the other, which I had to fumble from under the covers to shakily take the cup. The warm liquid felt comforting, with just a splash of caramel the way I loved it. A soft melody played as Hongjoong connected to the bluetooth speaker on the dresser, playing soft instrumentals he had been working on the days prior. Hongjoong climbed into the bed, careful of me and my drink, and opened the chocolates, feeding me one as he grabbed his own drink.

He took the drink gently from me, and pulled a small first aid kit from his pocket, beginning to tend to my wounded fingers. He tried to be as gentle as possible, though I couldn’t stop the involuntary flinching everytime there was direct contact to the broken skin. He continued mumbling soft apologies and comforting words nonetheless. Once he finished wrapping my fingers, he continued with his early motion of serving me my drink and feeding me hershey kisses.

I’m not sure how long we sat like that. Hongjoong rested his head against the headboard, one hand gently playing with strands of my hair, while the other held my own hand. Originally, he had alternated between feeding me chocolates and bringing his now cold drink to his lips. The time on Hongjoong’s phone read 5:52 am. I had long since finished my drink and passed out with my head on his shoulder sometime after 4 I think. Hongjoong hummed softly to the still playing music, like a soothing lullaby. He wanted to make sure I was fully asleep before deciding to move.

Hongjoong gently laid me on the pillow, going to turn off the lamp he’d had on and turning the music down a little more, before crawling back into bed. He cuddled me from behind, his warm chest pressed against my back as he pulled me closer to him in a tight embrace.

“Goodnight my love. Have sweet dreams. When you wake, I’ll be here. I promise. I won’t let you be lonely in the dark if I can help it. I love you. So I hope you use that love as a light. It’s not too late. So don’t give up, ok? We can do this. I love you.”

With a simple kiss to my head, he nuzzled closer, leaving me with floating thoughts.

It’s not too late. I’m not alone.

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.6

it leaves me cold

Chapter Five

This is the sixth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Penelope ambushed Spencer in his apartment, proved herself the best friend ever, and finally got him some psychiatric help.

In This Chapter: Aaron — furiously angry at the team and convinced Spencer wants nothing to do with him — finally has enough and goes to visit him. Even Penelope can't prepare him for what he'll find.

TW: same as usual — except this time the depictions of depression are representative of a major depressive episode. Spencer requires help with bathing/washing/personal care.

Word Count: 4.7k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

I can't exactly describe how I feel, but it's not quite right. And it leaves me cold. — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Love of the Last Tycoon

Aaron has spent the last three weeks in shock, floating through the days absently as he goes through the motions of his daily routines. Guilt has been throbbing through his veins with each painful heartbeat, only exacerbated when every one of his attempts to reach out to Spencer is rebuffed. He can’t exactly blame him, though: he hasn’t let anyone down this badly since Haley’s death, the least he deserves is the silent treatment.

It doesn’t matter that objectively he knows his life has been far too hectic to notice something Spencer was trying so hard to conceal, because when he runs over every interaction they’d had in his head, he can’t believe he missed it. Spencer’s misery was staring him right in the face and he was too blinded, too self-absorbed in his own problems to help the man his heart won’t shut up about, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself of its impropriety.

Penelope had taken yesterday off to help Spencer with a few things, and Aaron couldn’t have been quicker to grant her the leave. If Spencer doesn’t want him around, he can at least rest easy with the knowledge that he was allowing someone to help him. And there isn’t anybody better at caring for other people than Penelope Garcia. That doesn’t help much, though. Not when he spends every moment she’s gone wishing he was the one looking after him, fulfilling his every need and want.

Honestly, he’s just glad they don’t have a case on at the moment. For one, he has a mountain of paperwork he needs to catch up on — including finding Spencer’s replacement, a necessary task no matter how painful — but he also knows he’d not be much use in catching America’s Most Wanted in this mindset.

He looks up from his blurred-over gaze at the paperwork on his desk when Dave taps on the doorframe. “Got a second?” he asks, already making his way into the room.

Aaron sits back in his chair, running a hand across his face as he takes in Dave’s concerned expression. He’s been avoiding him the past few weeks — he’s been avoiding everyone the past few weeks: he works with profilers who are paid to figure out what’s going on in people’s heads and he knows he’ll be read like a book if he lets himself get close enough. Not to mention his desire to lay blame at the feet of his co-workers. As far as he’s concerned, they should all be consumed with guilt even stronger than that which is eating away at him; they all let Spencer down, and emotional turmoil is a small price to pay for such a heinous crime.

“How’s the hunt for a new team member going?” Dave asks, and Aaron resents his easy, honest body language as he sits with his knees apart and shoulders relaxed and open. It’s alright for some, he supposes.

He sighs and reaches for the pile of applications to his right, thumbing through them half-heartedly. “A lot of people want to join the BAU,” he says, after a moment of reaching for something to say.

“Well,” Dave raises an eyebrow as a knowing smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “have you even started looking through those?”

Aaron looks up at him from under his dark eyebrows, leveling him with a steely gaze. He leans back in his chair again a few seconds later, clasping his hands in front of him. “What do you want, Dave?”

He sighs at that, looking down for a moment before meeting Aaron’s eyes with a determined look of his own. “You’ve been avoiding the entire team since Spencer left,” he says frankly, “and as private as you try to be, Aaron, I know you. I know how you feel about him. You’re torturing yourself.”

“Well, maybe I deserve that torture,” he bites back angrily, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them. “I failed, Dave, we all did. And sometimes I think I’m the only one who actually cares about that. I know everyone’s sad Spencer’s gone, but how can all of you feel that way and not hate yourself for contributing to the loss of this unit’s best asset, both personally and professionally?”

Dave looks puzzled at that. “Spencer left of his own accord, Aaron. That’s got nothing to do with the rest of this team.”

Rage — furious, agonising rage — sparks in his chest and he closes his eyes for a moment as he pleads with himself to keep his cool. It’s not his place to share with the rest of the team why Spencer left, but he’s also furious that Dave can apparently use his profiling skills to work out he’s half in love with Spencer, but not apply them enough to realise how much pain their youngest team member was in.

“I suggest you think about the last year long and hard,” Aaron murmurs, low and bitter, and he knows he sounds passive-aggressive but he doesn’t care. He’s too blinded with fury at himself and the rest of this team to care about professionalism right now. “Maybe you’ll understand, then.”

He doesn’t watch Dave leave the room.

Penelope comes into his office that evening, dropping off files he had asked for.

“Come and sit down, Garcia.” He’s exhausted and human contact is not what he really wants right now, but Penelope has information about Spencer he longs to hear. Burying himself in his paperwork again can wait a few minutes.

“Sir?” She looks a little puzzled as she obeys and takes a seat across from him, her bright yellow dress bringing a little colour to his day.

“How’s Spencer doing?” he asks, bone-weary tiredness seeping into his voice as he meets her gaze.

She casts her eyes downwards, her fingers fidgeting in her lap as she considers how to answer the question. “I took him to the doctor yesterday,” she starts carefully, “but he’s hurt. And miserable. He thinks we all hate him, that we’ve excluded him on purpose… he was telling me how he’s been feeling for the past year and it broke my heart. Sir, I’m only being this honest with you because I know you’re aware of Spencer’s mental state, but the others aren’t. And it’s not our place to say.”

“I agree,” he reassures her, nodding. “I’m glad he has you, Garcia. You’re a good friend.”

She pauses for a moment, but she must see something in his face because she eventually musters the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but Spencer… he needs you, Hotch. I know that he’s been over to see you and Jack a few times and from what I hear that’s the only thing that kept him going for those last few months working here.”

“Garcia, he’s not answering my calls or texts,” he sighs, wishing with every bone in his body that Spencer really does need him the way Penelope says he does; the way Aaron needs him, but he thinks there’s probably a better chance of the sky falling in. “I’ve got the message. He definitely doesn’t need me, I can promise you that.”

“Sir, I know you’re my boss,” she says evenly, averting her eyes slightly, her tell that she’s trying to stay calm, “but you’re being really stupid right now. Spencer is in a lot of pain, I’ve seen it first hand this last week, and I’m in a much better position to say what he needs than you. Communication is overwhelming and exhausting for him, and he’s feeling guilty about leaving you and me. I feel as guilty about all of this as you do, but you can’t let your emotions dictate how you act right now. You’ll only end up hurting him further. If you turn up at his place, I can promise you he will let you in.”

She takes a breath in before meeting his relaxed, open gaze. “I love you both very much, but you are both being idiots,” she huffs before levelling him with a stern glare and storming back to her own office.

With Penelope vacating the room, Aaron is left alone with his head reeling. He knows how close Penelope and Spencer are and he can’t think of a reason for her to lie, especially with Spencer being in such a fragile state, but he simply can’t wrap his head around the possibility of what she’s saying being the truth. He’s so desperate not to get his hopes up; he isn’t sure he can take another heartbreak so soon after losing Haley.

When he turns his phone over, he sees two messages from Penelope: He took today off to recover from yesterday. He’ll be home. Under the files she’s left in his office is a key and a pretty, pink piece of note paper with the code to Spencer’s building printed in dark purple gel pen.

🌧

Aaron can’t believe he’s doing this. He’d spent most of the drive over convincing himself he wasn’t — he absolutely was not — going to use the key Penelope had slid into his office without him noticing. She wasn’t far from begging him when she walked into his office and that’s the only reason he even considered it in the first place. But that innocuous ‘considering’ had landed him here, standing outside Spencer’s apartment, trying to work the courage up to actually go inside.

God, there are so many reasons not to do this. It feels wrong to even be thinking about someone other than his dead ex-wife, but he also knows she’d want him to be happy, and when he really thinks about it those sparks of emotion he wasn’t able to put his finger on were happening long before Haley passed.

“Spencer is in a lot of pain.” Penelope’s desperate words to him earlier wouldn’t stop rattling around his head. Knowing what his heart is longing for now, and knowing what Haley would have wanted for him and Jack, he was finally launched into action.

He can’t believe he’s doing this. That’s true. But he is also absolutely going to do it. He slides his key into the lock on the front door of Spencer’s apartment and pushes it open gently. The living room is dark but tidy; Penelope had told him she was helping him around the house, and he walks in just enough to close the door behind him, its soft click the only sound to be heard.

Gingerly, he makes his way through the lounge and kitchen, heading towards the bedrooms at the back. Two of the doors are open, one obviously the bathroom, the other seeming to be an office of sorts, but one of them is closed. There isn’t any light coming from under the door despite it only being 7, and if he didn’t know better he’d assume nobody’s home.

He does know better though, and not just because of Penelope’s earlier text. He knows Spencer is fighting depression, and he knows he’ll be exhausted both physically and mentally from his day yesterday. That only leaves two options: Spencer is laying completely silently in the dark, or he’s asleep. Considering the time of day, Aaron isn’t sure which of those is better.

“Spencer?” he calls quietly as he pushes the door to his bedroom open. There’s a Spencer-shaped lump hidden under the blankets, but he isn’t moving, so he flicks the hallway light on before making his way towards the bed. The light casts a pretty shadow across Spencer’s face, but Aaron is more focused on the tear tracks staining his cheekbones. “Hey, Spencer?” He touches his arm gently, rubbing a little when he doesn’t flinch. Relief flashes across his chest as soon as he starts to move.

“Aaron?” he asks sleepily, sounding confused. He doesn’t spring upright though, simply burying deeper under what he suspects are very comfortable, warm blankets.

“How are you feeling?” He tries to keep his voice soft and careful, but he can hear the naked, unadulterated fearful concern he feels for Spencer bleeding into his words.

“Tired,” Spencer sighs, and as soon as he admits it, a fresh tear drops from his eye straight to the pillow. “Sad.” Aaron watches as he blinks to try and stop any more tears from betraying how he feels, but it just makes things worse. His heart aches as he watches Spencer curl further into himself as he tries to fight the emotions welling up inside him.

“Hey,” he says gently, “it’s okay.” He reaches out to tenderly touch Spencer's cheek, fingers so light he barely makes contact. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he honestly doesn’t care. Everything inside of him is screaming to take care of the man lying in bed as he falls apart. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Surprisingly, that actually seems to work. Spencer relaxes slightly and lets the tears fall, uninhibited. The defeated expression on his face still eats Aaron up inside, but the pain is mixed with relief that Penelope might actually have been right. Maybe Spencer does need him. As much as it kills him that Spencer’s even in this position to begin with, he’d much rather he be going through the darkness with him at his side than alone; he’d much rather actually be able to do something to ease the pain than sit in his office feeling helpless.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He caresses Spencer’s cheek with a bit more confidence, and his heart clenches tightly when he feels the younger man lean into his touch. Emboldened, he reaches his other hand under the duvet and clasps one of Spencer’s cold hands in his own, threading their fingers together. He swears he can hear music when Spencer holds his hand tightly, clutching at it as though it’s the last connection he has to the real world.

“Don’t think so,” Spencer murmurs, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“Do you think you maybe feel like eating something now? If I made it for you?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed at that and clasps at Aaron’s hand even tighter. “No, please don’t go,” he begs, sounding as desperate as Aaron feels.

“Hey, hey, okay,” he says soothingly, holding Spencer’s hand tightly in his own as he lays his other palm flat against his cheek, noticing how the firm touch seems to relax him. “How about if we ordered something? Then I don’t have to leave.”

He waits patiently for Spencer’s hesitant nod of consent before pulling his phone out and quickly ordering from the curry house he knows is his favourite. Later, he’ll stop to think about all the little pieces of information he’s stored up on Spencer over the years; he’ll consider why his brain thought small things like his favourite foods and the way he smiles every time a Sarah MacLachlan song comes on were important enough to store away for moments like these.

Right now, though, all his focus is on the man in front of him.

“Can you…” Spencer starts hesitantly, voice cracking, “can you come up here?” He refuses to meet Aaron’s eyes as if sure he’s going to refuse, and he doesn’t know how to tell him just how unfounded his fear is. He’d lasso the moon and wrap it in ribbon if Spencer asked for it.

He climbs onto the bed carefully, surprised when Spencer immediately moves to lean his head against his chest, burying into his warmth. Aaron can hear his pounding heart in his ears and he knows there’s no way to conceal its fast-paced rhythm from a man with his ear to his chest, so he simply forces himself to relax into the bizarre position he’s somehow found himself in, and it slowly starts to calm down.

“Aaron?”

God, he loves it when Spencer uses his first name. It’s so personal, so intimate, and it fills his chest with something akin to euphoria every time it graces his ears. “Yes?”

“Why did you come?”

Well. Isn’t that a question. Truthfully, it’s because it feels like there’s some magnetic pull between Aaron’s heart and Spencer’s; like anywhere Spencer is, Aaron needs to be. The feelings he’s been confused by — the ones he’s been trying to ignore, the ones he’s pretending not to understand despite his subconscious longing for Spencer’s company, his touch, his love — are more prominent and undeniable than ever before. But above all, he came because Spencer needed him. And he’d do that no matter what his brain was screaming at him, or what his heart longed for.

This isn’t exactly the time for a bold, terrifying declaration of love, though, is it?

“You needed me,” he says simply, after a long, telling pause. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

Spencer nods, pressing impossibly closer to Aaron. Tears are still making their way down his cheeks, wetting the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. He’ll be anything Spencer needs, and if that’s a hug and a good cry, then that’s perfectly fine. He wraps his hand around Spencer’s waist, hugging him closely and he feels him relax even further. The feeling of his small frame pressed against his own is unparalleled, and he has to breathe deeply to keep himself calm. He’s so far gone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when he feels another sob wrack Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m exhausted, Aaron,” he replies, voice thick and eyes droopy. “I’m mentally and physically exhausted and I’m lonely. I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ll never be happy again. I’m tired like I’ve never been tired before, and I just— I can’t keep going like this, you know? I’m never going to get the things I want.”

He presses closer as he says his last sentence and, distantly, Aaron wonders what it is that he wants exactly. A small voice in his head suggests something so preposterous he has to push it aside violently. He might have these feelings for Spencer, but expecting any kind of reciprocation is only going to end in heartbreak; getting his hopes up is simply irresponsible no matter how many stupid, reckless, hope-ridden inklings he might have.

“Spencer,” he starts, but his voice catches and he has to take a moment to compose himself. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have told me, I— I would have helped you.”

“Aaron, you had — still have — so much on your plate, I couldn’t burden you with my… feelings.”

At that ridiculous notion, he reaches for Spencer’s hand and takes it, holding it gently in his own. “You, Spencer Reid, are never a burden to me,” he insists, moving his hand from Spencer’s waist to his short hair, caressing his head soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You are so incredibly important to me, I’m so unbelievably sorry that I ever let you forget that. That we — that this little family ever let you believe you were anything less than crucial and adored. I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing how much pain you were in sooner.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do,” Aaron interrupts him. “We let you down, Spencer. There are no two ways about it. I will spend the rest of my days apologising to you for not seeing how much agony you were in, no matter how well you were concealing it. You work with profilers, and not one person spotted the burden you were carrying. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.”

Just like that, the quiet, steady flow of tears Spencer had been crying since Aaron woke him up turn into loud, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs. He turns his face to bury it flat into Aaron’s shirt, rolling so he’s almost on top of him as he searches desperately for purchase in his imploding, grieving state. He holds Spencer as tight as possible, letting him scramble and grip at whatever he can as he completely falls apart, sending little pieces of himself into the atmosphere until he’s nothing but a shell of himself, a broken skeleton with nothing left to give.

It takes almost ten minutes for his violent sobbing to subside, and by the time it does Aaron’s crying too, heart breaking clean down the middle as he tries to hold a broken man together with just his hands. The raw, hopeless, unrestrained emotion in Spencer’s sobs cuts straight through his soul, as if every one of this godforsaken earth’s weighty, miserable grievances have been spilled by one man’s tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again as Spencer collapses against him, exhaustion palpable as he allows his boneless body to be cradled by Aaron. He has to push aside his self-hatred in order to comfort the younger man — the wrath at himself and the rest of his team can only be unhelpful right now — but he can’t help it from swelling in his chest.

Their food arrives minutes later, and Aaron carries Spencer to the sofa in the living room, internally cringing at how ridiculously easy it is to pick him up, even with his own, albeit mostly healed, injuries still flaring up from time to time. He flicks on the lamp and tucks him in a blanket before running out to get their food. When he returns, Spencer’s staring at nothing as he lays on the sofa, looking so utterly defeated Aaron feels it himself.

“Hey, how do you feel about some food?” he asks softly, perching next to him on the sofa. “Maybe just a little naan? Or some poppadoms?”

Spencer stares at the food Aaron’s laid on the coffee table, a stray tear running down his cheek. He doesn’t even think he’s even crying anymore, it’s just his body doing what it’s used to. Aaron recognises pretty quickly that he’s not up to making any sort of decision, so he plates up a small serving of food: a little naan, half a poppadom, some pilau rice, and some onion bhajis. “Try this.”

Spencer takes the plate obediently and brings a bite of naan to his lips. Aaron gives him some space and serves up his own food before checking the kitchen for some drinks. The naan and some of the rice have disappeared from the plate by the time he gets back with two glasses of water, and he doesn’t even fight the small smile that makes it onto his face at the sight. He’d prepared himself for a hunger strike.

“Let’s watch a documentary,” he suggests, reaching for the remote and flicking the TV on. “How does that sound?”

Spencer actually brightens a little at the suggestion, breaking off a piece of bhaji and sitting up a bit taller. He takes the win and sets the TV to the history channel, catching the beginning of a documentary on European castles.

“Did you know that Wales has more castles than any other European country?” Spencer offers quietly, and Aaron’s heart flip flops happily in his chest — hearing Spencer talk about something he’s interested in, hearing a fact fall from his lips feels like some sort of progress. It’s like seeing a little piece of the real Spencer through the cloak of sadness he’s been shrouded in for so long now.

“Really? Why?” He tries to sound as casual as possible, but he knows his eagerness to keep him talking is showing. “Isn’t it a tiny country?”

“It’s one of the smallest in Europe, but it was a contested territory for centuries, especially in the Medieval era, so countries would set up fortresses and castles to stake their claim,” he explains despite his weariness, before picking another bit of bhaji off. His face isn’t lighting up with quite the same level of enthusiasm as it used to, but just explaining a bit about his knowledge on some obscure topic is enough for Aaron.

When he doesn’t explain beyond that, Aaron simply smiles and reaches for the food on the coffee table. “Do you want any more?”

“Uhm— some more naan?” Spencer sounds almost shy, and it takes him back to when he first joined the bureau, so shy and unsure of his role in the FBI and the world in general. Aaron had felt that flare of protectiveness from his first day in the department, and it’s only grown stronger over time.

“Sure.” He breaks off another piece of naan and hands it over, and the thankful smile he receives in return feels more gratifying than solving any case ever has. The circumstances might not be ideal, but in that moment it strikes him that he wants to spend every evening for the rest of his life like this, watching something that interests and inspires Spencer while they share a take-away on the couch.

Just days ago the thought would have terrified him. Tonight it’s oddly comforting.

As soon as they’ve finished eating and the documentary’s finished, he leads Spencer into the bathroom and makes sure he’s brushed his teeth and washed his face. “Do you want me to help you with the shower?” he asks tentatively, but Spencer shakes his head. “I’ll wait outside, okay? Call me if you need anything.”

He leans against the hallway wall while he waits, but after ten minutes goes by, he knocks on the door. “Everything okay, Spencer?” He calls out a few more times but left with no reply he pushes the door open and finds Spencer sitting on the floor of the shower, staring motionless at the wall as tears stream down his face. “Oh, sweetheart.” The nickname falls from his lips before he can stop it, but that’s the least of his worries.

As he grabs the clean, fluffy towel from the hook on the back of the bathroom door he finds himself, not for the first time, thanking the heavens for Penelope Garcia. He steps forward and turns the water off, grabbing Spencer’s attention, hushing him as he wraps him gently in the towel and lifts him out of the shower. He sits him on the closed toilet seat and dries him the best he can. It’s not like he’s a trained carer, but he does his best. Only his absolute best for Spencer Reid.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says through his tears, “I can’t stop crying. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. Let’s focus on getting you ready for bed, okay?” He brushes the tears from Spencer’s cheeks before continuing to dry him off.

When he’s dried and dressed in a clean t-shirt and boxers, he carries him — at Spencer’s very adorable insistence — back to the bedroom, tucking him under the duvet and making sure he’s warm and comfortable before he stands upright.

“Stay,” Spencer whispers, grabbing Aaron’s wrist.

Conflicting emotions wage war with one another in Aaron’s mind as he considers such a request. On one hand, it feels majorly inappropriate, even though he’s not Spencer’s boss anymore. He doesn’t want to take advantage of his vulnerable emotional state and they haven’t had a proper conversation about how they feel. But on the other hand, Spencer’s miserable, and if having someone close to reassure him he’s okay is going to make him feel even the tiniest bit better, then he doesn’t know how to say no.

After all, he promised himself that tonight, he would be whatever Spencer needed.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” His expression is so sincere and earnest that he can’t help it when he slides under the duvet next to him, a warm body immediately cuddling up next to his own.

9.30 is far too early for him to go to sleep usually, but he finds his eyelids drooping only minutes after Spencer’s breathing evens out. The subtle magic, the heady cocktail of desperation and anticipation mingles deep in his heart as he feels himself drop off to sleep, and it’s far too easy to ignore the screaming voice in his head telling him all the awful ways this could go so terribly wrong. Because maybe, his heart whispers, this could go so gloriously right.

Chapter Seven

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban–gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @thataveragenerd (add yourself to my taglist here)

[iridescent-hallucinations]

When the Night Comes

Mildly Angsty Jemily Fic

Summary:  Emily Prentiss finds comfort in the darkness. Jennifer Jareau is a shining beacon of light. Can their worlds ever really collide?

Pairing: Jennifer “JJ” Jareau x Emily Prentiss 

Word Count: 1921

Read it on AO3

Nightfall is easier. The cloak of darkness wraps around her body, concealing as well as comforting. People are usually afraid of the dark, but not Emily. She embraced the darkness a long time ago, specifically, on a mild Italian evening, just 15 years old, when the light was too much to bare and the hand wrapped around hers as they walked through church was pulling her from the depths of despair.

No, there’s safety in the shadows, the shadows don’t expose the secrets buried deeply in ones soul. Maybe that’s the reason this job came so easily to her, she didn’t even flinch at the horrors presented to them on a daily basis. Maybe that’s why she took so naturally to profiling; she already chose to dwell among the darkness.

With the daytime comes the scrutiny, people can gaze and the trauma is harder to hide. That’s why she buries herself in her job, so the stares are averted from her, onto the monsters and the demons that walk this Earth. It’s easy to lose oneself in the false sense of security created by the sun light, that’s why she strives to push it away, waiting until night comes to truly show herself.

As she sits in her apartment, drinking alone, she has to admit that the days have been easier since joining the BAU, Penelope, Derek, Spencer, JJ, they break up the danger. Learning to trust them has been a difficult road to walk - there’s a sense of dread that swells in the bottom of Emily’s stomach at the thought.

None of them really knew her, she felt a sense of bereavement at this thought, the little girl inside of her was screaming for her to just give in, be known, be seen, be heard. It had been too long since she’d felt any sense of commitment to another human being.

The second she felt a pang of belonging Emily knew she was in trouble. If she belonged she risked being hurt, all those years of moving pillar to post had given her enough rejection to last a lifetime. The last time she belonged anywhere were the darkest moments of her life, pretending to play house with a mob boss; a killer. But that wasn’t her, that was Lauren, she once again reassured herself, that life had been a constructed reality. It wasn’t real.

So then why did it hurt so much? If it was all just make believe, why did she risk it all to protect that little boy? Surely the affection she felt for Declan was real? But if so, was there some part of her that actually felt warmth towards Ian?

The thought sharply slammed her back to reality. Sighing to herself Emily shifted, standing from the single seater she’d been lounging in to pour herself another drink - Gin and Tonic. If her mind was going to do this tonight, she needed the liquid confidence to take the edge off. Watching the clear liquid fill her glass, Emily tried her best to think of something, anything, other than Lauren.

Picking up the glass with both hands, Emily made her way back to the chair. Resuming her position, she drank deeply, wincing at the way the alcohol strummed harshly at her taste buds. She knew this wasn’t productive, she should have just gone to the bar with everyone else, but when Derek had asked if she was joining, something in her knew what tonight would bring - and it was not going to be the night she unravelled to them. Night time can only bring cover if you let it.

Alarm bells and the way she saw disappointment flicker across JJ’s face told Emily she was making the right choice. Her thoughts had wandered from her old life, she was pleased to be thinking of something else. Jennifer. Emily mouthed the word, no noise coming out, testing how it tasted on her tongue. Like honey. Sweet, but with the potential to be sickening.

Emily had been struggling with her feelings for the younger woman for a while now, she blamed herself, it was typical of her to read too much into things. The looks, the comments, the touches, Emily had documented every single one, logged them into some sort of database in her brain to be over analysed when she was alone. It wasn’t the fact that JJ was a woman that was throwing Emily off, she had found out quite quickly into adulthood that she had a preference for women, it was the tugging in her chest and the tightening at the pit of her stomach.

If Emily didn’t know better she would have thought she was in love. A preposterous idea. To be in love was not part of her plan. If she was in love, she left herself exposed to all kinds of pain, she left herself open, vulnerable to attack. All of this seemed perfectly logical to the brunette, who had almost drained the last of her drink, staring into the glass, watching the ice clink against the side.

Sighing again, Emily swallowed the last of the liquid, waiting for the coolness of the sharp alcohol to hit her stomach. As her head span slightly from intoxication, the darkness settled in, it’s where she belonged, and Jennifer Jareau was not darkness. JJ was light, bright, stunning, she was everything that Emily longed to be when she was young.

The blonde was graceful, strong but subtle, she illuminated any room she walked into, and Emily was very aware that this caused her to retreat. Jennifer Jareau could single handedly unravel all of the hard work Emily had put in to remaining unseen, in the shadows.

The cover of darkness could only do so much when the younger woman was around, the brightness she emits had the potential to eradicate even the most stubborn of shadows that Emily longed to remain hidden in.

A rap echoed from within the apartment causing Emily to jump at the sudden sound. Immediately on high alert, she stood, quickly reaching for her weapon she kept in the drawer of the living room. How sad that she felt so wary in her own home - the thought was passing - but a split second, before she made her way to the front door. Another knock, louder this time, but Emily had braced herself for it, the sound didn’t pierce the silence like it had the first time. Creeping quietly to the door, Emily looked through the peep hole.

Exhaling a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, Emily relaxed, lowered her gun and placing it on the chest next to her keys. Blonde hair and blue eyes greeted her on the other side of the door. Why JJ had decided to show up at such an hour puzzled her briefly, had something happened? She was sure she’d had her phone on loud. The third knock caught her off guard, startling her but grounding her back in the moment.

Swinging the door open, Emily couldn’t hide the obvious confusion knitted in her eyebrows. JJ saw it immediately, and chuckled slightly at the brunette before her. Engaged in an accidental stand off, the two women just stood there, blinking at each other for a good few seconds before JJ finally spoke.

“Hey, you gonna let me in or?”

Realising she was still blocking the doorway with her body, Emily’s mind raced through a hundred different scenarios in a fraction of a second, stepping back and allowing JJ in.

“Gosh, of course, sorry - I, I hadn’t been expecting anyone this late.” Emily offered, closing the door behind the blonde.

Finally settling on an emotion, Emily was not thrilled to realise it was panic. JJ’s presence was already filling her apartment with a soft but bright hue, this was not part of the plan, this was not part of the plan; she repeated the thought as if it were a mantra.

“So what can I do for you?” The brunette finally managed, stepping further into the apartment, cautious not to get too close to the blonde and her ethereal glow, who was stood in the middle of the room.

“Can’t a gal just stop by to say hi?” JJ laughed, still finding Emily’s rigidity amusing. “Actually... there was something I wanted to talk about.”

JJ had obviously also had a drink, she wasn’t drunk - Emily could see that in her piercing blue eyes - but she was loose, looser than usual. Emily checked herself quickly, noticing her hard stance, and dropped her shoulders that she hadn’t realised she was tensing. Taking in JJ’s words, Emily realised it was normal for friends to visit each other out of the blue, it saddened her briefly to think she had never had anyone to stop by unannounced before joining the BAU.

“Of course, you’re always welcome here, can I get you a drink?” Emily asked, ignoring the way JJ’s eyebrows had lifted at her casual comment. Friendship was as foreign to Emily as Russian was to the average Americans.

“If you’re offering - I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” JJ answered, attempting to hide her nerves by deflecting attention away from herself and pointing to Emily’s discarded Gin glass on the coffee table.

“Oh, I was, uh, just having a nice G&T, takes the edge off after a long day I find, makes for a good night cap really, although it’s bitter as hell, they didn’t have any pomegranate tonic at the store,” Emily cursed at herself for being so awkward, why did she say so many words? No one asked, she was better at communicating than this. Making her way to the kitchen counter to pour JJ a glass, she blamed the mild intoxication.

JJ followed Emily into the kitchen, bringing the discarded glass with her.

“You might need this if you’re going to have one too,” JJ said, placing the glass down next to Emily.

Looking up to meet JJ’s stare, Emily dropped the cap of the gin bottle onto the floor, the brightness JJ exuded was getting dangerously close to the shadow Emily was trying to lurk in.

Bending to reach for the cap, Emily took a deep breath to compose herself, and thankfully, by the time she returned to pouring the drinks, JJ had wandered back into the living room.

“Pull it together Prentiss, this was not part of the plan” she muttered to herself, she grabbed the glasses and made her a way back into the other room silently praying the cover of night would disguise the way her heart was racing and her hands were shaking.

Unbeknownst to Emily, JJ was having her own internal conflict. It had been a long time coming, but sat in that bar, watching her closest friends flirt, dance, and laugh with other people, JJ couldn’t shake the picture of a certain brunette from her mind. Clouding the edges of the image, JJ always saw a shadow creeping around the outline of Emily. Whatever was hiding there, JJ decided she was going to find out. After all, isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? Shine a light on the darkness and hold your hand?

Shaking her head, JJ knew she was kidding herself. Emily Prentiss was more than a friend to her, she just hadn’t worked out how to express this in a way that wouldn’t ruin everything if it all fell apart. Instead of shining a light on Emily, maybe it was time to find her in the darkness.

[softsketching]

That Spring Noon

For Ashlyn. 

Word Count: 2505 words

By the time that white blankets of snow melted to unearth the vibrant, green blades of grass underneath, your own heart had thawed. You sighed happily. Thanks to Suga's unrelenting kindness, the wounds from your first love's rejection slowly healed over. A seemingly humiliating experience had only deepened your friendship with Suga; you were beyond thankful for his camaraderie. But at some point, the feelings of gratitude he'd sowed in your heart sprouted into something that transcended the boundaries of friendship. With the amount of time you two spent together during that winter, you'd be a fool to deny the familiar yet paradoxically foreign feeling bubbling to the surface.

Stop it. He's just a friend. You shook your head, dispelling your thoughts. And he likes someone else anyway.

It'd taken you almost ten minutes to decide where to spread your yellow picnic blanket. You wanted to find the perfect spot to lay it down–somewhere underneath a tree with a significant radius of shade and surrounded by small spots of bright, white flowers. Luckily, the only people at the park today were a few little children and their parents, so finding an ideal location proved little challenge. After laying down both the blanket and your picnic basket, you checked the watch on your wrist. 11:40. Suga would probably arrive in five or so minutes, knowing him and his tendency to overdo everything. You smoothed down your white dress, then moved to pat your frizzy hair down with your fingers. A soft breeze picked up and ruffled at your skirts. Checking your watch again, you tugged at the hem of your clothing, waiting on Suga to arrive.

"Sorry I'm late," came the voice you most wanted to hear. "I think I went a little too far with prepping the side dishes." Bingo!

You tore your eyes away from the fabric of your dress and turned to face Suga. Today, he wore a light pink, long cardigan. You could see the outline of his sculpted body through his white undershirt, a fact that brought spots of heat to your face. When your eyes moved further down, you realized he was wearing the black jeans that you gave him as a Christmas present.

"How much did you prepare?" Your eyes quickly snapped back to his face as you feigned a laugh.

Suga gave a sheepish smile before plopping down across from you. "Just...this and that."

That day, the two of you joked around until both your sides split from laughter.

"You look like a hair stylist!" You cackled, watching Suga's mouth drop open in fake hurt. It was easier for you to make fun of his appearance than it was to admit that his outfit fit him perfectly, accentuating his toned body and contrasting perfectly with his fair skin.

"Are you kidding? This cardigan is great!" He retorted. "At least I don't look like-" Suga scanned your outfit with lovestruck eyes. What was he going to say to you, anyway? You looked beautiful today. The white dress you wore highlighted every dip and curve in your body, and he had to resist every urge to run his hands through your soft, silky hair.

"Like what, huh?" You laughed harder.

"Shut up," He blushed, tears of laughter brimming in your eyes. "let's just eat already!"

While jesting at each other, you both pulled out the insulated lunchboxes and thermoses stored in your picnic baskets, revealing the contents inside. The smokiness of charbroiled meat, the dance of steamed vegetables, and the earthy aroma of sesame seeds filled your nose as you and Suga uncapped the food. You two dove in.

"Try the meat with perilla leaves and this sauce, Y/N." Suga brought his lunchbox closer to yours, trapping bits of sauce-coated beef and vibrant, green perilla leaves between his chopsticks and bringing it to your own.

"Mah pwate ish fuh." You said.

The laugh that came out of Suga's mouth made your heart skip a beat. "Stop talking with your mouth full, dummy." He waited patiently for you to swallow your food before talking again.

"I'll just feed it to you then."

What? You must've heard that wrong.

"Say ah!" Suga's chopsticks approaching your mouth confirmed that what he said was definitely not a figment of your imagination. And for just that moment, you allowed yourself to succumb to the romantic feelings begging to burst open inside of you. Suga gently place the food onto your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut to imagine how lovely it'd be to have Suga by your side like this everyday–what it'd be like to be someone special to him.

Suga's heart pounded against his chest. So beautiful. At the first taste of the smoky combination of flavors, your eyes shot open. "Mmmm!!!"

Suga smiled and returned to eating his own food. It hadn't even been more than five minutes when...

"Wipe your mouth. There's sauce on it." He poked your forehead. You scrunched up your face in embarrassment. Taking a napkin from the picnic basket, you aggressively rubbed it against your lips.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. I told you to wipe your mouth—not maul it."

You giggled, sticking your tongue out at the amused, gray-haired boy. "Alright, mom. Wipe it for me then."

"Okay."

The next turn of events passed by too quickly for you to properly recall them. All you could feel was the ghost of Suga's fingers swiping at your bottom lip. He'd closed in on you by then, the beauty mark below his brown eye fading into view as his hands cradled your face. Faint hints of strawberry wafted off of his skin as his thumb delicately wiped at the corner of your mouth. When Suga retreated back to his food, no words left your lips. Your chest tightened; your mind was spinning.

You knew that Suga's presence served as a catalyst that allowed your heartbroken wounds to heal faster. He helped you regain the confidence you'd lost post-confession, and with that confidence came newfound feelings of intimacy for him. But the fact of the matter was that speeding up the process of healing doesn't mean that you've fully recovered.

And when you open up a wound that hasn't healed over...

You gasped, freezing in your spot in Karasuno High's courtyard. In that moment, you could no longer feel Suga's warmth by your side. The world around you crumbled. You were face to face with your first love, eye contact unavoidable, longing eyes square against cold indifference. You were shaking. The thought of glancing over at the smaller figure next to him terrified you, but you did it anyway.

It was like a punch to the stomach, seeing your first love with his arms wrapped around another girl. All the confidence you'd built up over the course of the winter drained out of you at the sight of him and her, and in its place was the same freezing emptiness that choked the life out of your trembling body.

How long had it been since school started? A few months, maybe some months and a half? How long ago was your picnic with Suga? Two weeks, maybe two weeks and some change? Your grasp on time was shaky at best. All you knew right now was that you had to get away. So with a quick turn of your heel, you did.

Your pace was slow at first. You didn't bother turning around to see the look on anyone's face. But as soon as you were out of your first love's sight, you took off sprinting. You quickly pushed past groups of students chatting idly after school, asphalt and cleanly trimmed lawn blurring together to form streaks of grayish, green ground. You sniffled. Tears flooded the corners of your eyes, drowning your vision. Before you knew it, you'd tripped over your own feet, crashing onto the pavement with a hard thud. The impact had scraped both your elbows and your knees, but you couldn't feel the pain. You just needed to get away. Run. You hoisted yourself up off of the ground, tiny pebbles jamming into your palms, and made your way across the school, stopping only when you'd turned a corner that was devoid of students. Soft cries escaped you, rattling your entire body. You felt like the air in your lungs had been ripped out of you. Anger and disappointment churned in the depths of your stomach; you'd been swallowed whole by the plethora of negative emotions swirling dangerously inside.

"Y/N!" You looked to the side to see an out of breath Suga approaching you. The expression on his face told it all: you'd worried him so much that he chased after you.

"Suga?" You whispered. "why'd you follow me? You're gonna be late for prac-"

"It doesn't matter." He replied quickly.

"B-But it does. I was supposed to walk with you to the gym."

"It's okay." Suga said.

You wiped at your eyes aggressively. Seeing this, Suga sighed and inched closer to you. With the same kindness he'd shown you the day you were rejected, Suga ran his thumb across your closed eyes to wipe away stray tears, delicately, as if you were bound to break apart at any second.

"I'm here now..." He whispered. But unlike before, the bitterness in your heavy heart had all but consumed you.

"Don't be sad.." You heard him say.

"He's just one guy. You can do better..." Ha. How would you know? Frustration licked at your insides, and you flinched away from his tender touches. Suga scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

"You're lucky, Suga." You hiccuped.

"You're lucky that you're so perfect. Nobody would ever pass up on being with you."

Suga retracted his hands, taking a perplexed step back. Despite your own brain telling you to stop, you pushed forward with your distateful thoughts.

"Of course you think he's just another guy. You don't even know how painful it is to be in my position."

Stop. It isn't his fault.

Suga shook his head in an attempt to block your words. "That's not true. I understand."

"How could you get it?" The pointedness of your question left him speechless. "You have no idea what it's like to be rejected!" For some reason, the more you talked, the louder your voice grew. Suga hadn't done anything wrong. Matter of fact, he was the only reason you hadn't broken down from sadness that winter. But why? Why were you so frustrated at the gray haired boy who was oozing care for you? Why?

"You don't know that at all," came his uncharacteristically curt response. The air hung heavy around your skin.

"Really?" You said back. "Because the last time I checked, you haven't even had the guts to confess to the girl you like. You really think that you can understand how I'm feeling right now?"

Suga's jaw tensed, but his eyes remained on you. You couldn't breathe.

"Am I ugly?" You asked. Dull pains littered your body.

"No."

"Am I boring?"

"No."

"Am I stupid?"

He broke eye contact with you. "No."

"Then why, you cried, "don't I deserve to be loved?"

"You do."

"The person I wanted already rejected me, Suga!" A formidable distance had grown between you and Suga, both in physicality and in mentality. "Who could ever like someone like me?!" Tears streamed down your cheeks in huge bursts, obscuring your vision. Perhaps it was because of your tears that you couldn't see his own expression.

Suga was gnawing at his lip, his eyebrows furrowed as he burned holes into the ground. His brown eyes were telling their own story of hurt, confusion, and love, but you were blind, so blind. He looked up.

"Me. I would."

It was like the world stopped moving the moment he uttered those three words. You blinked your tears away, eyes widened in unadulterated shock.

"You say I don't know what rejection is like? I watched you, listened to you spill your feelings about him for two years." A thin layer of ice was beginning to coat Suga's voice. "I listened to you every night when you'd tell me why he was perfect for you. All those times you and I climbed onto the roof of my house to talk–I had to hear you tell me he's the one even when he treated you like crap. All I could do was comfort you when you cried and I-"

"I would like you—no, I do like you. I like you so much, Y/N! Why can't you...look at me like that?"

His voice shaking with desperation. "It's always been you."

Suga's eyes stung. He couldn't believe that he'd exposed his feelings for you this way. With just a few words, he'd ruined everything. Gone were the days where he could admire your laugh, your smile, your sparkling eyes. Your hugs, your voice, your platonic love. Your support, your jokes, your care. You were fading, fading because he couldn't hold his selfish feelings in. Fading because he overstepped his bounds. Fading because he could no longer deny his heart.

You couldn't think of any words to say. For years, you assumed that Suga was head over heels in love with some enigma. You never bothered invading his privacy, thinking he'd tell you when he was ready. But to think that the girl he'd been longing for, the girl he used to cry over during his lowest nights, the girl who dulled the twinkle in his eyes at just a mere mention of her...

was you?

Despite every feathery touch he'd leave on your hands, the overextended bear hugs he'd give you when you two were alone, the slight blush on his cheeks that only appeared when you were around, you were oblivious.

How could you not have figured it out?

"I might not know what it's like to get turned down after finding the courage to admit my feelings." Suga's breaths were uneven, wavering. "But to say that I haven't experienced what it's like to be rejected isn't right." The sound of his breaking voice made you want to rip out your ears.

"You rejected my love before I even had the chance to give it to you."

He shook his head then. You watched in agony as a single tear cascaded down your friend's loving face, your friend's loving face which was now twisted from the hurt. Your heart was in absolute shambles.

"I'll see you later" was the last thing Suga said to you before his back faded out of sight. The sound of his retreating footsteps rung in your ears. Regardless, no matter how much you wanted to move your feet and chase after him, you stayed glued to your spot.

Warm spring air slapped you in the face as you stared out into the open fields. The sun was supposed to be beating down on your wet face today, rays of light supposed to be tanning your uncovered skin. But you were stone cold, alone.

...you get a deeper scar.

[shedreamsofstars]

Cataclysm of the Heart - Chapter 5

She’d waited so long to hear those words fall from his perfect lips. She’d never even stopped to consider that they might not be sincere.

They were going to die. He’d been sure of it. It had only been meant as a comfort. Something to keep a smile on her face as their end loomed. Neither of them had counted on being rescued.

Start from the beginning  |  Next Chapter

...xxx...

Sonic tapped his fingers against the table, drumming out a fast-paced rhythm.

He'd heard that a steady beat could calm raging nerves but so far it was doing nothing for him. If anything, he was inclined to say that the drumming was making him more nervous. Even still, he couldn't stop his fingers from moving.

Two cups of tea sat in front of him, the steam floating off the top in psychedelic swirls. One was his own, and the other for the girl he was meeting here any minute now. He took a careful sip from his cup, not sure if he enjoyed the taste or not before placing it carefully back on the dainty plate on the table.

It seemed a little ridiculous that he was sat in a tea shop of all places. Especially when just days before Eggman had levelled parts of the city with his laser canon. But life was persistent and apparently, so were teashops.

Although the reason why Eggman hadn't finished what he'd started was a mystery that haunted him, his own survival still seemed impossible to comprehend. The base he and Amy had been inside was one of the direct targets of the canon.

He had resigned himself to a slow and inevitable death, and right when he thought he could no longer outrun the eternal sleep that would claim him at last, he had jolted at the sound of a loud and intense whirring.

There had been a bright white light. He remembered that much at least. But then his memory cut out and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed that wasn't his and shaking from a fitful dream. Or perhaps it had been a nightmare.

His brother had appeared instantly, those wise beyond their year's eyes sending a burst of calm through his nerves. It hadn't taken much brain power to figure out that Tails had used one of his many inventions to save both him and Amy. This one in particular was a mining prototype that homed in on potential underground resources - although it had served the purpose of digging through the rubble of a building to find two hedgehogs just as well.

Amy had recovered much faster than he had, and the next time he awoke, it was to find her laying curled in a chair beside him. She'd lifted her head drowsily, as if it felt too heavy to be her own, and when she saw him stirring she wept and fell into his stiff arms.

Tails had reappeared at the commotion, glancing between the two of them in confusion, before catching them up on the dire state of their world. Sonic barely heard Tails through the thrum of his own blood in his ears, angry at both Eggman and at himself as the events before the rescue came into clarity.

Eggman might have razed his world, but Sonic was about to raze whatever part of the girl in his arms was still left standing.

Now, here he was, sipping tea and selfishly focusing on his own problems instead of the people who had been hurt and displaced by Eggman's attack. He would help them. He would. Right after he fixed his biggest mistake to date.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, the guilt of his own actions sliding down his gullet like oil. He glanced at the time on his communicator and his fingers stilled. It was six o'clock on the dot and Amy Rose was never late, which meant ...

He turned to the door, straining to hear any movement on the other side and sure enough he could hear the soft thud of footsteps. Sure, it could have been just another patron of the tea shop, but he knew better.

This was it.

Sonic clutched the spoon in his hand a little tighter.

The bell above the door tinkled lightly and he stood, the spoon clattering to the table as he turned to see a pink figure closing the door behind her. She greeted the lady at the counter with a small sad smile stretched across her lips before noticing him.

Her eyes lit up, the smile widening a fraction.

Sonic struggled to return it.

"Hey," she said quietly, and he ignored the clenching in his chest. She brushed her lips against his cheeks before sitting, and Sonic let her.

He let her have these last few moments.

It was the least he could do before he shattered her heart in his clumsy fingers.

...xxx...

"No."

Amy glared at him, her green eyes narrow and intense. She sat across from him, slumped against one of the four glass walls that caged them into a box-like prison.

After waking up in an otherwise empty room, the pair had exhausted all options of escape. They were tired and woozy, likely from whatever drug had knocked them out clean, and completely out of options.

"What? I didn't even say anything," Sonic grumbled in response, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard metal floor beneath them. What else was there to do except sit and wait for their captor to show up.

"You were about to, I can see it on your face," she snapped back. "We have to get out of this stupid cage, and that is the only thing we're going to talk about."

Sonic couldn't help but agree, at least with part of her statement.

As it happened, he found there was absolutely nothing else he wanted to talk to her about. He was too annoyed to hold a normal conversation, and she had been very clear that the one thing he was open to talking about was off limits.

The anger from their last encounter outside the base was still simmering under his skin, searching for a way out. The last thing he needed was to start a fight with Amy in an enclosed space. That wouldn't end well for either of them.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence that made the tension between them painfully obvious, even to Sonic's normally oblivious self. In an attempt to distract himself, Sonic decided to focus on anything but her.

It would have been much easier if there were other things in the room he thought with irritation before checking himself. What had the world come to when all he could find to do was criticise Eggman's interior decor?

Finally, Sonic settled for staring blankly at the wall behind Amy. Perhaps it was his unquiet mind, but did it seem like the room was shaking? He narrowed his gaze. It was almost as if the room was on an unstable surface, or even in the air. There were no windows to confirm his theory but before he could ponder it further, Amy's voice cut into his thoughts.

"What do you think happened?"

"What?" he said, shaking himself back to reality. If he remembered correctly, she was the one who decided that they couldn't talk about what happened with them. So why was she bringing it up now?

"Sonic. What do you think happened?" she repeated again.

Sonic glared at the ground beneath his feet in confusion. "Well, I think that I ruined things by-" He was cut off abruptly by a visceral groan and glanced up to see Amy rolling her eyes dramatically.

"Not between us. I meant with Eggman," she said pointedly. "The first time, he only fired his canon twice. Tails said he could have blasted the entire planet to smithereens and yet… he stopped. What do you think happened?"

There was a pause.

"I don't know Amy. I really don't. But I suppose we'll find out soon enough," Sonic sighed. "Where is he anyway?" he said, glancing behind at the door in the wall, the only adornment in the otherwise blank and lifeless room. It looked to be of solid metal and had no window to see through.

He turned back to the girl beside him and they fell instant into that weird silence again, tense and unforgiving. Sonic was starting to go crazy with all the unspent words and energy and anger. He tapped his foot on the ground in a fast-paced rhythm, and when that wasn't distraction enough, he began to tap the back of his head against the glass wall behind him.

"Oh, for god's sake, will you cut that out."

"Can't," Sonic said, refusing to elaborate further. The only way to get himself to calm down would be to clear the air between them, which wasn't likely to happen.

"Look, we don't have anywhere to run-"

"Don't I know it."

"This isn't the best place Sonic," Amy said, less angry and more sulkier than she had been outside of Eggman's base.

This wasn't the best place; he knew that and felt a twinge of annoyance towards her. But nowhere was, so what difference would it make.

"I know, but what else is there to do right now?" he replied, feeling a note of bitterness creep into his tone.

There was a moment's pause and then he heard shuffling. He glanced up to see Amy moving to sit beside him with a strange look on her face. "Fine," she said, turning to stare at the wall he'd been eyeing for the past twenty minutes. "We can talk, but on one condition."

"What's the condition?" he asked. Sonic knew he'd give anything to be able to fix things with Amy, nothing was too great a price. Heck, his running be damned if it meant this girl before him would stop looking at him like he'd shredded her soul every time she laid eyes on him.

"I'm so tired Sonic, of being lied to and of hurting all the time. I'm done hearing excuses and apologies from you, I really am. Just this once, promise you won't lie to me."

"I promise."

She met his gaze. Green on green. The same and yet, so distinctly their own that to call them that would be to say that the dull green of the grass was equal to the polished shine of jade.

"Tell me the truth," she said softly. "Tell me why you said what you did."

An irrational wave of anger washed over Sonic as he took in her words. Every word he'd said to her since the incident hadbeen the truth. It still was, so why was she sat there acting like all he ever did was spew lies to her his entire life.

"Truth?" he said with a low chuckle that lacked all warmth. "What do you think the truth is Amy?"

She shifted away from him a little and Sonic was glad for the space. He knew he should have stopped speaking right there and then whilst he still could, but he didn't.

"Do you think I'm happy that I hurt you? Is that it? Because I'm not. I could never be happy about hurting you, and the fact that you could even think that is ..." He clenched his fists, fighting with his next words. "I hate myself for what I did Amy."

Amy's eyes widened in shock at his admission. He could see the pain flitting through them as plain as the truth on his lips but now that he finally had her full attention, it was like the dam had broken. He couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his mouth as fast as he could run.

"Is that the truth you've been waiting to hear Amy, that I hate myself for ever thinking it was okay to pretend at loving you to make you feel better. To make you feel safer when we should have died? Well, congratulations, you got what you wanted. We can form a damn club now. You and Eggman can fight each other for president but I'll be the honorary member."

"That's not fair," Amy spat back, heat rising in her own voice. "You don't get to make this about you and how you're hurting."

"Maybe not, but I am hurting Amy. I'm hurting and nobody cares that I'm sorry for my lack of judgement in a moment I thought I might not live to see another day, least of all you."

Amy blinked hard, her eyes shining with tears she refused to shed. She opened her mouth to respond but before she could, the door slammed open and Eggman waltzed into the room, an obvious spring in his step.

The two hedgehogs jumped up in unison, pressing closer to one another in a defensive manoeuvre, all their hate and hurt and everything in between put aside in favour of their shared disdain of the man that stood before them.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't two of the most loathsome beings in existence. Having fun in there?"

Sonic worked his jaw, keeping his smart mouth shut for a change. Maybe it was their expressions, or perhaps he had been listening to their argument outside the door, but it was clear from the glee on the old man's face that he knew things were rocky between him and the girl beside him.

"What are you planning Eggman?" Amy asked, also refusing to heed his previous question.

Eggman tutted softly, wagging a finger in their direction. "Now, now. Let's not be so hasty to get to the main event and spoil all my fun. Why don't we talk about you two and why you've been amusing me so for the past five minutes, trouble in paradise?" he said with snort.

He had heard everything.

Sonic risked a side-ward glance at Amy and found her baring her teeth at the man. Good, at least her anger was directed away from him for the time being. Let Eggman bear the brunt force of that particular aggression for a change.

"What are you planning?" Amy repeated shortly.

"I'm more interested in hearing your little lovers spat," Eggman continued, linking his hands beneath his chin.

"Answer her!" Sonic said through gritted teeth. The world was on the line. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to sit around wasting precious time talking to this man about his love life, or lack thereof.

"Oh alright, you spoilsports. I'll give," he said, thin lips twisted into a smirk. "Besides, it can't be that hard to work out after my first thwarted attempt. I'll admit, my power systems chose an inopportune moment to cut out and I had to replace several of my generators over the past week or so, but this time, my canons are fool proof. This time, they won't spare a soul."

"You're going to blow Mobius apart," Sonic finished, swallowing hard only to find his throat bone dry.

"Exactly!" the man said happily. "And at the heart of the action, you two will get a front row seat. Of course, you'll also be the first to die but I'm sure your ghosts will languish at the sight you'll see below you. In fact, I'm counting on it."

"You'll never get away with this," Sonic seethed, his hands crushed into tight fists.

"Oh, I already have Sonic. After I leave here, I'll be well on my way to a completely different planet. One with plentiful resources, and no pests like you about to ruin my fun. But rest assured, I'll look back fondly at the dust and ashes of Mobius that float around the cosmos."

"You're a monster!" Amy screamed, her eyes flashing wildly as her hammer appeared at her side. She smacked it against the cage, but just like they'd tried earlier, it glanced harmlessly off the glass. Eggman stepped back in alarm before composing himself, a blank mask falling across his face as he ignored the seething pink hedgehog in favour of Sonic.

"It was a displeasure having known you hedgehog. I'd stick around and chat, but I really don't care to be blown to bits with you," he said, heading towards the open door. He spared them one smirk before the door shut with a metallic clang, the locking mechanism clicking into place.

"Damn it, we have to get out of here. We have to do something," Sonic growled, banging his fist helplessly against the glass. Amy laid a gentle hand over his to still him.

"What are we supposed to do Sonic? We don't even know where we are," she said, a tone of helplessness crawling into her words.

Sonic worked his jaw, his gaze falling to the metal wall behind her again. "No. We do know," he said suddenly, remembering his earlier thoughts. "Eggman said we'd get a front row seat to the destruction, right?"

"Right…?" she agreed, not quite following.

"And didn't he say we'd see the destruction below us."

Amy nodded, her eyes alight with realisation. "There's only one place we could be."

"We're in the cannon," they said in unison.

[recaffeine]

If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog 💖 (answer only if you wish to! n_n)

I AM HONORED CHI.

OK. So I have 3 facts or stories to give.

1. Alright so Tumblr origin story. Started around 2011ish. So it's been about 10 years. Wow. I started to use Tumblr as a poetry blog, then it started to blend and become my fandom and romantic outlet too. Still is really. Originally named thecoffeeprince, then tommythepanda, and now tahsang.  I have about 3000 posts as of 2020. 5000 followers from my past tumblr days. My highest noted post was about a Snorlax pillowpet that got around 100k notes. Pretty proud of that.

2.  Earlier this month I happened to peruse my archives to see the progression of 2011 me to now. There are themes from 2011 to 2014 of pure black coffee bitter sadness. Then 2015 to 2017 of finding bright hope along with said pure black coffee bitter sadness.  And finally 2018 and onward of sparse moments of said sadness and more about things I love. So I want to say it's been an upward journey overall with minor and major bumps along the way. The constants of my Tumblr throughout the decade though has been anime, romance, Asian culture, and pure nerdiness and there is comfort in seeing parts of me that didn't change and other parts that did.

3. Now final story.

I remember writing about just being feeling depressed and and experiencing the morbid feeling of death after finishing high school. I was at a loss you know? I didn't really expect to make it to the age of 18.  I’m such a loom and doom type of person. I've always been a major thinker. The type to play out dozens of scenarios of things going wrong. The worst kind of overthinking. I was experiencing a turbulence of emotions and younger me just didn't know how to handle it. I wrote about living in books, running away from life and setting the stage of :the world vs. tahsang.  

Looking back at everything once more, I realized it was really wasn’t the world vs. me. It  really just me fighting against myself the entire time. The world isn’t wrong. It just is. All the years of sadness, anger, and desperation was just a battle against myself. 

I had this singular notion that I wanted to be happy. Happiness was my promised land and that was where I dreamed to be at. I imagined hope as the brightest of lights and felt that if I could reach happiness I could reach feeling complete. I would no longer be a broken hallelujah. I wanted the strength to able to withstand life's hardships without any staggering.

Well, it's 2020 now. It's been almost ten years since I've started my tumblr. I’m still staggering. lol. I’m still getting sad from time to time. I’ve stepped out of a 4 year relationship and for the first time in a long time I’m by myself, alone. There is no one to define me but me. In the last few months I've been coming to grips with all these changes and that lead me to ask. Who is tahsang?

 Going back through my Tumblr posts from the beginning, it feels like past tahsang was trying so hard to deflect my sadness. He was just soaking in the rain, trying so hard to paint the world as the reason for my shortcomings. 

But it's been such a journey. I'm going to be 27 in a month. I have better tools when it comes to reflecting on my sadness now. Even in my darkest of moments, I still want to see the good in the world and honestly that’s enough for me. Just the attempt to try to see the good in the universe is enough for me even if some days I still feel the world is cruel and dark. Honestly, I'm still the sad emotional boy I knew in high school. I'm still the fervent ink spiller from my college years. But I’m also that wishful guy trying to achieve  seeing the good in humanity, life and myself when I was in pharmacy school. I have erred so much in these last ten years, but even so, I do not believe it was all for naught.

I’m starting to realize that maybe having hope isn't just wishing for sunshine and blue skies. Maybe having hope is truly a mixture of sadness and happiness. Accepting the grey skies and stormy nights to experience the sunshine and blue skies. Having the strength to carve a brighter future, yet being able to accept the mistakes of the past and future mistakes of what lies ahead. 

It's still a constant battle. On days I feel optimistic, my goals slowly being achieved day by day. I still want to get my mom a house. I still want to be a great pharmacist. I still want to be there for all my friends. I want to be able to love myself. I want to be able to find someone who can love me for me. But others days are filled with the same doubts and negative thoughts from all the way back in 2011. I'm afraid of not being good enough. I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of not amounting to anything. But.. I think that’s okay though. All these feelings are part of me, and I don’t feel the need to run away from them anymore. I’m not afraid to hurt anymore. I will struggle, beautifully against all odds. I wish I could see my 17 year old self and tell him that everything will be okay. I want to tell him that I’m no longer writing about what is wrong with the world and myself, and that I’ve been writing about the things I love and cherish and that I’m on the road towards cherishing myself even.  Maybe.. no definitely, it will give him some comfort on what lies ahead in the future.

All in all, I feel like 2019 me pushed me off the edge of a cliff for the start of 2020. He knew i could handle this great loss in my life. To me, 2019 was the best version of myself. Positive. At peace. Courageous. I trust him. He made me take a big leap of faith for 2020, believing I'd have the strength to rise up and move forward with my life even with this great loss. He knew that even with these changes that I would prosper still.

I’m not sure if I’ve landed just yet. I’m beginning to grasp this newfound hope though, the complete hope that I was looking for all along. I think that’s enough for now. It’s truly empowering and I can’t wait to see what lies ahead in my future because of it. I’m hopeful.

It’s really late and I just felt like typing. I’m not sure if any of this made any sense but ty for listening to my tedtalk.

[cakesunflower]

Quiet Hours [College!Luke AU] Ch. 4

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4

THERE WERE LOTS of things that frustrated Luke Hemmings. Like the coffee pot being empty when he woke up in the morning because his roommates decided to be dickheads and not save any for him. Or when Ashton turned the apartment thermostat to fifty degrees because while Luke liked the cold, he didn’t want the inside of his home to be the same weather as it was outside. But Luke had quickly realized that another thing to add to that list was Ophelia Wright.

The girl herself hadn’t really done anything, per say—Luke was just having a hard time controlling the weird sensations swirling in his stomach at the sight of the resident advisor. Those weird feelings that he recognized all too well only happened to Luke once before, and he had made a stupid promise to himself to be careful of feeling those same things for someone else. To let himself take it easy before delving into something that had the potential of hurting him. He should’ve known better, though, because he can’t really control the way he feels. It was ridiculous to Luke how after only interacting with Ophelia a handful of times, he began to feel an excited jolt every time he ran into her.

Plus, he couldn’t stop thinking of her lips—lips that were so inviting and alluring that it was almost unfair that he couldn’t do anything but stare at them. But Luke was not someone who did anything to a girl without firm consent, so all he could do for now was just stare.

Much like he was doing right now as he sat in the student center with his roommates. They were all having lunch, sitting in one of the center circular tables in the middle of the big room buzzing with activity, and Luke had happened to glance past Calum’s shoulder where he was sitting to his right, catching sight of the very girl clouding his thoughts. Ophelia sat with a group of girls he recognized as her roommates along with two guys sitting across from her he didn’t know. But Luke could care less, for his gaze was stuck on her more than he could help it.

“Dude, you look like a stalker,” Ashton piped up from across from him, causing the Australian to finally tear his gaze away from the unknowing girl who was happily eating from her plastic bowl of food from Panda Express. Ashton quirked his brows, “the way you’re staring at her is kind of concerning.”

A bewildered expression took over Luke’s face as he sat up, earning snickers from Calum and Michael as he demanded, “the fuck?”

“We get that she’s pretty and all, but at least don’t look at her like you wanna rip her clothes off in public,” Michael advised with a smirk, which only caused the other two to begin laughing while Luke glared at all three of his friends.

“Fuck off,” he gruffly retorted, scowling as he took a bite out of his cheese quesadilla.

Calum shook his head after taking a sip from his water bottle. “If you like her, why don’t you just ask her out?”

Luke’s gaze snapped over to his dark haired friend, trying his best not to peer over Calum’s shoulder to where he could clearly see Ophelia, before scoffing. “I don’t like her,” he denied with a roll of his eyes. He was attracted to Ophelia, he knew, but acknowledging, admitting, or accepting that he liked her wasn’t something he was willing to do. Sitting up, he leaned back in his seat as he continued, “besides, you guys know I’m not one for commitment.”

Michael, having heard this a million times before, rolling his green eyes. “Oh, why, because you got your heart broken once and you’ve sworn off relationships forever?” he mocked with a raised brow before letting out an unimpressed scoff. “Get over it, Luke—it happened a year ago. Move on.”

The Australian’s jaw locked at his friend’s words, irritation flushing through his bloodstream because Michael knew the way Luke felt, yet he seemed unapologetic for his words. When Luke looked at his other two friends, he was bothered to see that they weren’t shooting Michael warning looks like he had hoped. Instead, Ashton offered a shrug, looking more sympathetic than Michael as he said, “he’s kind of got a point, Luke.  Trying to get yourself not to fall for someone isn’t the easiest thing. Let yourself feel with your heart instead of your dick.” His last few words were an attempt at a light hearted joke, though there was still some truth behind what Ashton was saying.

Luke’s eyebrows furrowed as he realized all three of his friends felt the same way, not sure whether he felt annoyed or that he should give their words any consideration. A low scoff escaped the back of his throat before he sneered, “yeah, well, when your girlfriend sleeps with your cousin and ends up breaking up with you for him then come to me, yeah?”

Ashton and Michael winced at Luke’s gruff tone despite being used to their friend’s accent that got thicker when he was angry. They knew this was still a sensitive subject for the blonde, but they were positive that if he ended up with someone who wasn’t anything like his ex, then he’d be happy. “You realize you’re punishing yourself by doing that, right?” Calum spoke up, quirking a dark eyebrow as everyone’s gazes flickered to him, even Luke’s frustrated one. “Gwen and Max are still together and you’re a sad, lonely fuck.”

That made his friends laugh once again as Luke’s eyes narrowed, the napkin in his left hand balling as he made a fist. But his lips curled briefly as he countered, “no—I fuck other lonely girls. Nothin’ sad about that, Cal.”

“You would rather live your life sleeping with different girls than being with one that you love?” Michael questioned with a frown, the distaste evident on his face and in his tone. He was the only one out of the four who was in a committed, long term relationship. Michael loved his girlfriend, Crystal, more than anything and the thought of sleeping around than merely sleeping next to her left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Luke shrugged, back against the seat as he ran his left handed fingers through his hair, seeing as his right was a bit greasy from the quesadilla he ate. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, not even four of his best friends, so when he didn’t offer a verbal response, Ashton questioned, “what about, like, in the future though? You don’t want kids or anything?”

Calum snorted, lips curling into a smirk as he jested, “with the rate of girls he’s bringing back, I doubt he’ll have any trouble having kids.”

That emitted laughter from his friends as Luke rolled his eyes, throwing the balled up napkin at his brown eyed friend. Luke’s gaze then flickered to over Calum’s shoulders, trying to ignore the disappointment that settled in his stomach when he realized Ophelia had left. Pursing his lips, the blonde sat up, rolling his eyes at another teasing comment made by Michael and mindlessly using his left thumb to twirl the thick silver ring he wore on his index finger as a form of fruitless distraction. It didn’t help; he was still thinking about his resident advisor.

                                                          *****

The elevator doors slid open to the fourth floor and Luke wandered out, eyes shutting as he let out a sigh, running his hands down his face as he walked down the carpeted hall. It was two in the morning and he had just finished disrupting quiet hours on the second floor after two rounds of uninterrupted sex with a resident he met while doing laundry in the basement. Luke wasn’t going to lie—he was tired and satisfied and wanting to do nothing more than just crash in his bed.

And he was going to do that, except he passed one of the small study rooms—each floor had two of those—and glanced through the window on the door, only to see the familiar face sitting inside. Luke stopped short, peering in to see Ophelia sitting on the chair against the wall, laptop and book on the square shaped table in front of her as she ran her fingers through her dark hair.

Luke tilted his head, taking in the way Ophelia bit her lower lip and narrowed her eyes, typing something on her laptop while leaning forward. Even from where he stood, Luke noticed the way the deep neckline of her tank top provided ample view of what was underneath, before she sat up and wrapped the cardigan she wore around her figure.

Humming to himself, Luke gripped the door handle before entering the room, effectively startling Ophelia as she jumped in her seat, hand against her chest as Luke paused in the doorway. She stared at him with widened eyes as he offered a two fingered salute in greeting, and she breathlessly said, “oh, my God, you scared me.”

A quick breathy chuckle escaped the Australian as the door clicked shut behind him, stepping into the somewhat chilly room. The two windows that were in here that looked out to the darkened street didn’t do much to keep warmth in. The small room that could only occupy ten people had two tables for four, and Luke sat down in the wooden seat to Ophelia’s diagonal right as he said, “sorry about that. What’re you doin’ here at two in the morning?”

Ophelia, who was expectedly trying to get over the fact that she was alone in a room with Luke at two in the morning, tried to appear nonchalant as she rested her fingers on her keyboard. “I’ve got a psych paper due tomorrow so I’m trying to get it done tonight.”

She took in his curly blonde hair, pushed back from the top and tucked behind his ears. His blue eyes, although bright under the harsh lights of the study room, seemed tired and Ophelia was trying so hard not to think of how absolutely cuddly he looked in the black sweatshirt he was wearing. Or the fact that she still wasn’t over how broad his shoulders were. And despite the fact she had a feeling she knew the answer already, Ophelia still found herself asking, “what are you doing up?”

Luke gazed at the brunette, whom he was still taller than despite them both sitting down, and briefly wondered if he should tell her the truth. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of his sex life or drive, always one to make sure he satisfied first then accepted the same treatment if it was given, but for some reason telling the pretty girl next to him about his late night endeavors didn’t feel right.

Of course, Luke wholly ignored that part of him as he rested his arms on the table, linking his ring clad fingers together as he admitted vaguely, “just getting back from the second floor.”

Ophelia didn’t miss the knowing, suggestive tone in Luke’s deep drawl, feeling her throat work at the knowledge of him having just been with some girl downstairs. At least she didn’t have to hear it happen through her wall, though the ugly part of her wished that it didn’t happen, period. Still, she couldn’t help the hardened tone that seemed into her voice as she kept her gaze on her laptop screen, typing the next sentence as she stated, “fun.”

Luke rolled his smiling lower lip into his mouth, biting down on the skin as he easily picked up on the faux disinterested tone Ophelia wasn’t doing too well of a job masking. He wasn’t going to lie—knowing that Ophelia was jealous, no matter how much she denied it or even admitted it, was both endearing and amusing to him. The two of them weren’t even friends, really, their acquaintanceship only going so far as being neighbors, but Luke knew that she definitely felt some type of way about him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be trying so hard to appear unaffected at what—or whom—Luke did late at night.

So he pulled his arms off the table and gripped the edge of his chair, using his hold on it as he pulled the chair forward and closer to where Ophelia sat. She remained in her seat, swallowing inaudibly as she continued typing and trying not to pay attention to how Luke had dragged the chair closer to her. He rested his arms on his thighs and slouched forward a little, gaze fixated on her as the corner of his lips tugged upwards.

She was sure there was a dimple making an appearance under the scruff he was sporting. “Y’know, this is the second time you’ve gotten jealous, sweetheart,” Luke hummed smugly, trying to refrain from smirking any wider when the continuous clicking of keyboards ceased.

Ophelia’s hazel eyes met Luke’s blue, blinking once as she saw how close he had gotten. Not enough to invade her personal space, but close enough for her to smell the familiar pine scent that Luke seemed to carry. She hoped he didn’t notice the way the tendons in her neck stood out as she tensed ever so slightly, but the way his intense gaze was so focused on her, she knew he did. “I’ve got nothing to be jealous about,” Ophelia responded, surprising herself with how calm her voice came out.

The mirth in Luke’s eyes wasn’t letting up any time soon as he let out a quiet, breathless chuckle. Ophelia’s gaze flickered to his lips, pink and full, and her mouth dried at the mere sight of them. “Really?” Luke inquired, furrowing his brows lightly in mock thoughtfulness while also tilting his head ever so slightly. Ophelia gave the smallest of nods. “Does that mean you’re not gonna accept my offer?”

This time her head actually turned towards Luke, staring at him with incredulously widened green eyes that Luke noticed had specks of gold in them, making them even prettier than he originally thought. Ophelia’s breath hitched in her throat at his words, knowing exactly what he was referring to as she thought of their encounter at the dive bar which she often found herself thinking about. What she had assured herself were just playful flirting words were suddenly suffocating her in the best of ways, her breath held in her lungs as she watched the boyish smirk on Luke’s pink lips widen ever so slightly to make the dimple in his cheek more prominent.

For a moment, Ophelia genuinely wondered what was up with Luke’s libido—he literally just had sex, so was he seriously thinking about the next time he was gonna get laid? “As gracious as your offer is, I’m gonna have to pass,” she responded slowly before biting her cheek, because if Ophelia was being honest, she definitely wouldn’t mind taking Luke up on his offer. Her stomach lurched excitedly and shivers ran down her spine with Luke just staring at her—she would be lying if she said she didn’t wonder what it’d feel like if he was actually touching her, tasting her, inside of her.

Her cheeks flamed at those thoughts, mostly because Luke was right next to her, staring at her with slightly raised brows with the smile still on his face. “That’s a pity,” Luke sighed almost playfully. While he wasn’t obviously going to force Ophelia into anything she didn’t want, Luke was still disappointed that he wouldn’t get to know if her pouty lips felt as soft as they looked and if she tasted as good as she smelled. “Was really lookin’ forward to seeing if you were capable of disrupting quiet hours, too.”

The suggestive comment wasn’t lost on Ophelia, and while her face was red from heat, she couldn’t help the short incredulous laugh that escaped her, green eyes widening even more as she stared at the Australian. Luke couldn’t stop admiring how green they were, like glimmering emeralds. “Oh, my God, are you serious?” she burst out, jaw slackened. “Are you incapable of keeping it in your pants for, like, one night?”

If Luke was taken aback by her sudden comment, he didn’t show it as deep laughter rumbled from his throat, head ducking which only caused his curls to fall forward haphazardly. Looking back up at her, he shrugged casually, hands still interlocked as he said, “sex is a natural part of life, sweetheart.”

Ophelia’s gaze flickered back to her laptop screen as she scoffed. “Trust me, I know it is,” she found herself saying, her pre-existing shyness where Luke was concerned gradually dissipitating. At least, for now. “But suggesting that I sleep with you right after you’re coming back from some other girl’s room is gross.”

Luke pressed his lips together at that, taking in the way Ophelia’s button nose wrinkled cutely after she spoke, though the expression she was going for was one of disapproval. He considered her words for a moment, the room silent save for the clicking when Ophelia typed on her laptop, blue eyes taking in the way her hazel ones flickered around the screen as she did so. Luke supposed she was right—it was off-putting to practically come on to a girl after just coming with another one. But in this instance, Luke couldn’t help himself; whenever he saw Ophelia, it was almost as if he was thinking with the head that wasn’t on his shoulders.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he relented, knowing her words held some truth in them. It was almost lecherous of Luke, he had to admit, and made a mental note to dial it down. Putting it to a stop altogether, that would be a bit more difficult but, hey, baby steps were better than not trying at all. He dropped the conversation all together, realizing that Ophelia seemed at least a little bit more relaxed around him, and asked, “are you planning on pulling an all nighter?”

Her green eyes flickered over to him, shaking her head before leaning back in the wooden chair. “No; I’m almost done with this essay then I’m going to sleep.” She surprised him by quirking an eyebrow and asking, “can I assume that you’re gonna be quiet for the rest of the night?”

The smirk returned to Luke’s face, not at all ashamed despite knowing it was his late night sexual delights that Ophelia could hear through the wall they shared. At least, only when Luke brought girls back instead of going to their rooms. He found it amusing that Ophelia was more bothered by it than the three boys he was living with. Luke chalked it up to his jealousy theory, but figured she’d had enough of him saying that to her—for the moment, at least.

“Come on, R.A. Ophelia—you know I’m one to abide by the rules,” Luke joked, the shit-eating grin on his face showing that he knew he was full of it.

Ophelia released a light scoff, a sarcastic nod accompanying her words as she shot him a pointed look. “The only rule you abide by is the one that apparently says you have to annoy me every night,” she shot back, causing Luke to raise and impressed eyebrow and her to swallow inaudibly before looking back at her laptop. Just because the smart words were slipping out of her mouth, doesn’t mean Ophelia didn’t feel her heart thudding and skin warming.

“It’s not my fault I have the most fun when it’s supposed to be quiet hours,” Luke shrugged nonchalantly, not at all looking apologetic, which Ophelia hadn’t expected anyway. The playful glimmer in his light eyes gave it away.

“Would it kill you to follow the rules?”

Luke’s grin widened, dimples and stupidly perfect teeth in view that had Ophelia’s breath hitching in her throat, hoping Luke hadn’t heard it. He had, which is why he leaned forward a bit, enough to get a whiff of the strawberry scented body wash Ophelia wore as his slightly slouched form peered up at her. “Do I really have to be the one to tell you that rules are meant to be broken?” he mused, knowing that line was one of the cheesiest things he could say, but it worked in the situation. In his raspy accent, he finished, “I could just as easily show you, sweetheart.”

Ophelia’s fingers froze on the keyboard as she looked at Luke, who had that damning smirk curling at his lips in the most alluring of ways as she pressed her own lips together. The way he was staring at her, so intently with bright blue eyes that she was sure could see right through her and pretty blonde lashes, had her heart picking up rather quickly as her mind registered his words. Ophelia didn’t even acknowledge the fact that her face was warming due to what Luke said, too busy to calm down the racing thoughts in her mind.

She couldn’t stop herself from sounding breathless as she pointed out, “you’re being gross again.”

He let out a soundless chuckle. “Honest,” he corrected her. Luke realized that sitting here with Ophelia, he was only going to keep making suggestive comments despite telling her he’d try to stop. Her mere presence was tightening the pit of Luke’s stomach, which he admittedly found a bit disconcerting since that only happened when he was in bed with a girl. So he stood up, Ophelia’s eyes following his movements as he pushed the chair back under the table. Looking down at the brunette, he said, “don’t stay up too late, R.A. Ophelia.”

She rolled her lower lip into her mouth as Luke’s eyes zeroed in on the action, almost groaning as she offered a small smile. “Night, Luke.”

Luke reached the door, the metal of his rings clinking with the door handle he grabbed, throwing a small smile towards the junior still in her chair. He found himself wanting to stay, but knew he couldn’t because his desire to do so was much deeper than just sexual in nature, so he swallowed inaudibly before bidding, “G’night, Ophelia.”

tags: @crownedbyluke @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @astroashtonio @softforcal @hotmessmichael @valentinelrh @meetashthere @hereforlukescruff @c-sainthood @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @babygirlcashton @calntynes @calumh-excess @invisiblexcth @inlovehoodx @soulmatecashton @calumsmermaid @kchillout @thewackywriter @akacalciumhood @calumculture @ohhmuke @empathycth @flannelpunkcalum @poppedpins @novacanecalum @walkedhomealone @calistheloml @gettingjillywithit @hearts-to-the-sky @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-stan4lyfe @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @calumthoodsyonce @xhaileyreneex @rosecoloredash @asht0ns-world @cxddlyash @misskarynie @mysteriouslycali @lmao5sosimagines @monsteramongmikey @calteahood @5secondssofssummer @sublimehood @bloodlinecal @biwriting 

[katekarnage7]

After rain + destiel

Whew. Okay. After hours of slaving and pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into this prompt, it’s finally done. And it’s three thousand words long! Yay!

In any case, thank you so much for this lovely prompt, my friend. I’m super happy that it’s finally done and that I can share it with you. You can find it here on AO3 Here we go!

---

Dean trudges through the damp masses of leaves on the ground. Rain falls all around him, pattering softly on the leaves of the forest trees. Every inhale is sharp and freezes him to the bone.

His stomach growls loudly. It’s been days since he’s had anything to eat. He reflects on his decision to leave the compound. Maybe it really wasn’t the best idea. He immediately disregards that thought.

He had to leave. There wasn’t any other choice. The scars that burden his skin are proof enough of that. A bitter taste sullies his mouth at the memory. He hates his scars. They show everyone just how broken he truly is.

His backpack feels like it gets heavier with every step. Memories plague his mind. Every single bit of pain he endured comes back to haunt him. Even though he feels like he’s about to pass out, he keeps moving, those memories spurring him on.

There’s little doubt in his mind that Alastair will be coming after him soon enough. But he will do anything to keep himself from falling into that monster’s grasp. Not again. Not ever again. He can still remember what Alastair had said to him on the first day.

“Don’t be scared, little one. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

Dean proceeded to attempt to escape forty-seven times over five years. He remembers each time like they were yesterday. He would get thrown in solitary or in the punishment room every single time. And every single time, he would try to break out again. It was a vicious cycle.

He still can’t believe that he’s out. Truly out. Flashes of those left behind will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. Kevin, Ash, Benny… He had to leave all of them behind. That bitter taste resurfaces. He’ll get them out someday. Someday soon, hopefully.

He just needs to find some shelter. Eat properly. Then he’ll be strong enough to tear down Alastair’s operation piece by nightmarish piece. Only then will he be satisfied. He shivers as the rain begins to pick up.

The soft patter of rain against the treetops gives way to the rumbling of thunder. It’s a full-on storm now. Gusts of wind hit him full force as he traverses the terrain. The forest floor is slippery and laden with rocks and sudden drops.

Any wrong move could potentially end his life. No pressure, right? The worst part is that he doesn’t even know where he’s going. He had no map, to begin with. He just got out of the compound and ran like a bat out of hell.

A realization hits him. If he doesn’t get out of this forest and back to civilization soon… He might starve to death before he can save his friends. There’s a strike of lightning somewhere off in the distance.

Panic overtakes him.

He begins running through the forest. Rain berates him as he dodges through the trees. Moments later, he slips on a wet rock and topples down into a ditch. The last thing he remembers is the gray sky overhead and the rain softly falling onto his face.

---

He slowly wakes up, keeping his eyes closed. He’s warm and comfortable, something that he never thought possible. There’s a pleasant smell in the air. It makes his stomach growl. His eyes snap open.

The first thing that he registers is the bed he’s laying in. Certainly not his old one at the compound. His bed in the compound couldn’t even be considered a bed. No, this… This is a real bed.

His eyes then land on the door on the far side of the small room. There’s one window off to his left and a dresser next to the door. Other than that, the bedroom is mostly barren of any decorations.

The second thing that he registers is that he definitely isn’t wearing his own clothes. Whatever he’s wearing now is far softer. He looks down to find a gray cotton shirt and wool pajama bottoms.

They’re like nothing he’s ever worn in his life. Not to mention the fact that they’re clean and dry. Totally different from his wet and extremely dirty clothes. He takes a deep breath. That heavenly scent fills his nostrils again.

It smells like soup. Almost tomatoey. Like something his mother would’ve made when he was a kid. His heart pangs at the memory. All in one, his memories rush back. He remembers breaking out of the compound. He remembers the storm. He remembers falling and hitting his head.

A sudden realization overtakes him. Is this what Heaven looks like? A little room in a cabin somewhere? He examines the wooden paneling around him. Definitely a cabin. He never really believed in Heaven as a kid.

Even when his mother said, ‘Angels are watching over you’, he never really believed her. Maybe this is his version of Heaven. Or maybe it’s the starter pack you get when you die. A little cabin in the woods.

Worse ways to wake up, he supposes. 

When he was in the compound, he often wondered what it would be like to die. What would happen after. Sometimes, he prayed for death. Anything would’ve been better than his reality in those days.

He’s pretty damn sure that none of his friends - they were more family than friends to him, really - would’ve agreed. Benny, the big teddy bear he is - was? - could always find something positive. He used to shoulder most of the responsibility and workload. Especially when someone else was in need of help.

Death due to dehydration and starvation was all too common in the compound. Sometimes a person would just drop dead. The worst part was that it was usually kids, fucking kids, who would die.

Their bodies just weren’t equipped to handle all of that exertion without proper nutrition. Even the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed new kids would get worn out soon enough. Then, eventually, you would start to see the signs.

Dark circles under the eyes, sadness burdening every feature, and this overwhelming sense of exhaustion. Those were common in just about everyone at the compound. When those signs started to build up, there were two common outcomes; one, they would drop dead. Or two… Two, they wouldn’t wait to drop dead. They’d just… 

Well, exhaustion would build up. After a few escape attempts, most stopped trying. That’s when resignation usually set in. That’s why, about two months after they’d get some new ‘recruits’, there’d be a breakout of suicides.

People would use just about anything they could get their hands on to end it all.

A clap of lightning from outside breaks his trance. He winces. He hates thunder and lightning. It always frightened him as a child and it still does now. Lightning in Heaven? He thinks. And then he realizes that this is in fact, not Heaven. He brings a hand up to his head. Sure enough, there’s a bandage over what must be a cut.

His head is pounding and his body aches. This definitely isn’t Heaven. Which means… How the hell did he get to this cabin? Why did his new captor bandage him up and put him in fresh clothing? What in the absolute hell is going on?

There’s a soft clatter from outside of his room. He sits straight up. He’s not cuffed to the bed like he feared he might be. He’s free to move around. Immediately, he jumps out of the bed, being as silent as possible.

Whoever put him here is a new enemy. A new thing to fear. He searches around the room for anything to use as a weapon. There’s nothing. Not even a goddamn vase. He hears footsteps outside of the door and freezes.

The door is pulled open and the form of a man steps through. He’s shorter than Dean. Not substantially. Probably by a few inches or so. Still, it’s enough to restore some confidence in him. Even if he is a gangly nineteen-year-old.

The man turns to face him. He’s holding a bowl of soup with some sourdough bread on a plate. “Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says in a deep, rumbling voice. It’s almost as if he ate a whole bowl of gravel before coming in.

Dean decides to stay silent, examining the man carefully. He looks to be about late twenties, early thirties in age. He has messy black hair and the bluest goddamn eyes that Dean thinks he’s ever seen. There’s so much intelligence in the man’s features.

It almost throws him off. Almost.

“How do you feel?” the man asks. Once again, Dean says nothing. The man simply stands there, watching him. It feels like a perverted staring contest. Silence hangs in the air.

The man clears his throat. “That cut was quite deep, you know. I’m worried about an infection. Perhaps I need more antibiotics.”

Dean bites his lip. Confusion and suspicion go to war in his mind. On one hand, if this man were planning on killing him, why the hell would he patch him up? Where’s the logic in that? Or maybe he’s planning on using him just like Alastair did.

Or maybe… Just maybe… This guy isn’t bad. Maybe he’s just a good human being. He immediately throws that idea in the trash bin. Everyone Dean Winchester ever met has had an ulterior motive.

With the exception of those in the compound. But even those folks… They were just trying to minimize the pain and loneliness. God, the loneliness. “Do you have a name? Or something I can call you, perhaps?” the man asks, snapping him back to reality.

“I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Castiel,” the man, Castiel, says. He sits down on the edge of the bed, offering the soup and the plate of bread to Dean. “Please take this. You look quite hungry.”

He stares at Castiel for a long, hard moment. Distrust and suspicion are overtaken by hunger. A proper meal sounds heavenly. And, as much as he wishes he could, he can’t deny it. If he ends up needing to fight his way out of this cabin, being well-fed will be an advantage. 

At least, that’s how he rationalizes it.

He walks over to Castiel and takes the bowl and backs away. He still doesn’t trust this stranger. And he’s not about to sit next to him and pretend that they’re all buddy-buddy now. He’ll accept the food though.

He picks up the spoon and takes an experimental sip. He almost moans at the taste. It’s better than anything he’s had in a long time. Somehow, it tastes exactly how he remembers his mother’s lentil soup.

There’s something so familiar and comforting about it.

He looks up to see Castiel examining him. His head is tilted and he seems to be in deep thought. Belatedly, he realizes that he hasn’t actually said anything to the guy yet. And, presumably, Castiel saved him from a miserable death out in the wilderness. 

That doesn’t mean he can trust him but… There’s something about the guy that he just can’t put his finger on.

He clears his throat. “Dean. You can call me Dean,” he says. His reward comes in the form of a gummy smile from Castiel. God, it’s breathtaking. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile like that. It’s so genuine and happy. It’s almost infectious.

He has to remind himself that Castiel could potentially be dangerous. Some part of him doesn’t want to believe him. He silences that part immediately. He did not come this far to get killed by his own naiveté.

Dean Winchester knows better than to trust strangers. Still, though, there’s something so trustable about Castiel. Maybe it’s those eyes. God. He mentally slaps himself. Get it together, Winchester! 

Silence hangs around them for a few moments. The soft patter of rain outside is the only sound filling the air. Just then, a bolt of lightning strikes. He jumps so hard that he drops the bowl and plate onto the floor. They shatter into a million pieces.

Castiel is on his feet in a matter of seconds. He rushes to Dean’s side. “Are you okay?” he asks, not quite touching him but standing very close with his hands up. Dean nods, confusion overtaking him. He has no idea why the hell this guy is being so gentle with him.

Right now though, he doesn’t care. He can’t help the panic in his chest as a clap of thunder rumbles outside. Part of him wants to bury himself in the blankets of the bed and honestly, he can’t come up with a better idea.

So, like a child, he hurries to the bed and buries himself in the comfort of the blankets. He can feel himself trembling. Every part of him hates this. He hates how fucking weak he is. Weakness was never accepted in the compound.

He should be able to suck it up by now.

Suddenly, a weight pushes down on the bed. “Dean?” Castiel’s soft voice calls out. He puts a hand on Dean’s knee. The urge to kick it away is strong but, for some reason, he doesn’t. It’s comforting. Comfort isn’t something he gets all that often.

“Are you scared of thunder and lightning?” The question comes out so softly. Shame bubbles up inside of him. He’s not scared. He’s not. Fear is for the weak. And Dean Winchester is anything but weak.

“No,” he spits out. Castiel squeezes his knee. The presence of touch from another human being is so… Foreign. He hasn’t felt a comforting touch in a long time. In the compound, you weren’t allowed to touch anyone.

You just got touched. The overseers would make sure of that. If you did something wrong… He shudders at the thought. He saw horrible things in there. Horrible, horrible fucking things. Things that no one should ever have to see.

The compound was a nightmare. One that he hopes he’ll never have to go back to. He hates every scar that mars his skin. That’s a thought that lives in his mind, repeating itself over and over.

Dean hates reminders of the past. That’s what scars are. Plain and simple.

Castiel sighs softly. Almost too softly for him to hear. Almost. He needs to figure out what the hell this guy’s intentions are. Something about him is off-putting. But not really in a bad way. Which makes absolutely no sense to him.

“Come and sit by the fire. It’ll make you feel better, I promise. And then, perhaps, if you feel up to it, you could have something to eat.”

Dean wants to argue. He wants to tell this man that he’s not hungry and that he doesn’t need his help. But, of course, his stomach has to choose that moment to growl like the insatiable beast that it is.

Castiel’s weight disappears from the bed. Dean slowly pulls the blankets down and away from his face. His strange savior is kneeling down and picking up the pieces of shattered ceramic. Everything about the guy is weird, from his too-blue eyes to his clothes that look like they haven’t been washed in five years.

But even Dean will admit that he’s gorgeous. That hair, those eyes… That body. Yeah, no, he’s built like a Greek god. He slowly gets out of bed, his eyes still trained on Castiel whose back is to him.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, he just watches Castiel pick up piece upon piece of ceramic. He does it so tenderly that it’s almost like watching a mama bear pick up its cub. Which is a weird analogy, yes, but Dean stands behind it.

Castiel eventually stands up and turns around. Their eyes meet and wow… Just wow… Castiel’s eyes are the bluest blue that Dean thinks he’s ever seen in his life. Icebergs, the sky, and the ocean all dull in comparison to those eyes.

And there’s a perfect amount of stubble on that strong jawline. It makes him look rugged but still inexplicably gorgeous. And Dean never thought he’d be calling another man gorgeous, but here he is.

Now that he’s not afraid of Castiel - especially since he has at least three inches on him - he can marvel at the other man’s beauty. Perfectly chiseled features. Oh, god. Dean is really, really, just majorly fucked.

Castiel clears his throat. “Would you, um, like to warm up?”

All Dean can do is nod. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now, seeing as the words ‘Kiss me’ could come out more easily than he cares to admit. And, again, there’s something about Castiel which sparks something in Dean other than just sexual attraction. Oh, yeah, he’s really fucked.

Castiel leads him out into the main room. The room is very… Welcoming and warm. There’s a fireplace on the right side of the room. A couch sits in front of the fireplace. There’s a big shag rug in between the two with a coffee table on top of it.

In the left-hand corner, there’s a kitchenette with all the essentials including a microwave. There’s also a dining table off to his left. And all of it is crammed into the small main room of this cabin. It’s so peaceful.

A family could live here. The roaring fire in the fireplace, the blanket that has been thrown over the back of the couch, the picture frames on the mantel… It seems like a family should live here. But they don’t. At least, not to his knowledge.

“Feel free to sit down,” Castiel says with a gesture towards the couch. He nods and crosses over to it. He sits down and immediately sinks into the comfort of the couch. In the compound, there wasn’t comfort like this to be had.

Everything was cold and hard. The comparison is like night and day. Here, everything is warm and soft. Including Castiel himself. Knock it off with that train of thought. He’s certain that the guy who saved his life wouldn’t appreciate those thoughts.

Instead, he decides to focus on the aching pain in his body. He knows that he must look like complete and utter shit. But he hasn’t actually seen himself in a mirror in years. He wonders what he looks like now.

The beauty of the roaring flames in front of him takes his attention. He runs a hand over his face. Fingers dance over coarse stubble. A mirror would be fantastic right about now. Exhaustion pours over him.

He shakes his head. He cannot focus on exhaustion right now. That would be the wrong move. There’s no time for wrong moves. Not when all his friends are still locked up in that compound. He needs to save them. There’s no other option.

That’s his only goal.

Just then, Castiel sits down next to him, a new bowl of soup in his hands. He offers it to Dean with a small smile on his face. Dean takes the bowl and immediately, it warms his hands. He takes a small sip and warmth spreads through him.

“I do have a question for you, Dean,” Castiel says. Dean looks over to see the other man eyeing him carefully.

“Shoot.”

Castiel tilts his head slightly and oh, boy, Dean has to try really hard to not find it completely adorable. “Where did you come from?”

And there it is. The question he was dreading. He sighs, knowing that he has to answer, because if he doesn’t, Castiel might become suspicious and throw him out. Which would absolutely suck.

He clears his throat. “Um, heh, I… There’s a f-facility, north of here, I think.”

Castiel visibly pales. “Alastair’s compound?”

He blinks. “How’d you know?” A thought slips into his head, completely unbidden. What if Castiel is actually one of Alastair’s men? He edges away from Castiel, already forming a plan to run. An escape route at the front of his mind.

Castiel sighs heavily. “I’ve been trying to take down Alastair’s slave operation for years. I… Well, I work for the FBI. They sent me out here to keep an eye on the compound.”

He relaxes a little. An FBI agent, well then. He clears his throat. “My, um, my friends are still in there, Cas. I… I need to save them. I promised.”

Castiel nods, apparently not noticing or not caring about the nickname. “I understand. I promise we’ll take Alastair down, Dean.” Castiel puts a gentle hand on his leg. And for once, Dean doesn’t wince. The contact is actually welcome.

And then… God, Dean has the strangest urge. He looks directly into Cas’s eyes. Their gorgeous blue color is intoxicating. He knows that he shouldn’t be feeling like this. The two of them had just met for God’s sake! But… Wow, he is gorgeous.

Then, suddenly, he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Cas’s, which elicits a small gasp from the other man. For a moment, the world is entirely forgotten. It’s just them. And Dean knows that all of this is ridiculous.

He should not be kissing this man who he’s just met but he can’t stop himself. Cas is just so… Gorgeous. And kind, too. That much is clear to Dean. If that isn’t enough to be attracted to a person, he doesn’t know what is.

In what could be seconds, minutes, hours, or eternities later, Cas pulls away. His eyes are determined as he stares into Dean’s. “We’ll save your friends. That’s my promise.” A bolt of lightning strikes outside.

The soft patter of rain on the roof rings out. Castiel smiles a little. “Just as soon as the storm passes.” A chuckle spills from Dean’s lips. 

Just as soon as the storm passes.

---

All righty, that was the first letter done! Once again, you can find it here on AO3. Thank you so much for reading!

Tag list: @howdoistopthetrain, @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover (let me know if you want to be added/removed. Thank you!) 

[peytonainsworthh]

𝔭𝔢𝔶𝔱𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥 & 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯

ａ ｓｅｌｆ ｐａｒａ

Science says it’s harder to fake a negative emotion than a positive one. It’s a simple task to sensationalize euphoria when it is not warranted nor provoked. Your brain is wired in such a way that forcing a smile long enough can induce a state or catharsis, allowing sadness or envy to slip through the cracks of your mind’s eye. That being considered, it is not as simple to fake fear. The amygdala, situated behind the eyes and over from the ear, acts as the brain's alarm system and cannot be fooled as simply as the brain itself. It’s hard to fake the increase in blood pressure, the unsteadiness of a heart beat, the respiratory distress. You can’t forge cortisol like you can a smile, can’t enter fight of flight like you can utter a mere giggle. 

That’s why when Peyton got the text, there was no use in feeling anything. She couldn’t be afraid, couldn’t tremble at the mere sight like the weaker willed would. With the confidence that she radiated, it was no secret that fear had no place in the life of Peach Hollow’s proper princess. 

PRIVATE NUMBER: Did you think we’d leave you out, Queen Bee? PRIVATE NUMBER: Well, I think there’s a mutiny in order.

Her chocolate eyes tugged at her eyelids, rolling effortlessly. Her time with the peach slinging predator had finally come. She felt nothing as her eye scanned the message, nonchalantly chewing on a forkful of her midnight snack. Her fingers continuously scrolled as her phone sang a chorus of notifications and bad intentions. The next few were enough for her to put her fork down.

PRIVATE NUMBER: I can’t help but notice you’ve been tangled in the sheets with some of Peach Hollow’s finest, PRIVATE NUMBER: and even one in the slums. PRIVATE NUMBER: How about a deal?

These texts were by no means earth shattering. Of course people knew she escorted, after all it took two to tango. She chalked it up to a bitter client chirping at her, perhaps even the man she’d slapped at the Caledonia for getting a bit too touchy. 

If you saw the redhead on the streets, you’d probably expect she had pockets as full as her plum lips from her flawless heat styled hair to her tailored outfits. She was taught from a young age it didn’t matter how she felt, it only mattered how she looked. And if her looks were going to plead her innocence, Ms. Ainsworth would certainly be pulling up to each event in louboutin heels. Though she feared her own truth, she’d be mighty. She’d be fierce. She’d be brave. And that she was.

Peyton wasn’t fearful of people knowing what she did for money. At the end of the day, everyone will do what it take to have their glory. It was Darwinism at its finest, and the redhead would do anything in her power to survive even if it left her legacy tainted. But regardless of that, she was embarrassed of the sin in which she was living. Many nights were spent in the hotel room bathrooms, staring at her pale face grow paler at the realization of what she was doing. And with her kiss, every touch, every gift that realization only became more real. 

PRIVATE NUMBER: You tell the mechanic about the nuts and bolts you’ve been rattling at the Caledonia, or I’ll make sure to tell Mr. Choi myself. PRIVATE NUMBER: Tick tock, little red, the wolf is coming for you. Better run fast.

The breath that got caught in her throat, causing her to cough could not be faked. There was no show to put on anyways. No one was watching.. to her knowledge anyways. The tension in the room made her submissive, though her body language still very much read confident. Her straightened spine spoke on  her inability to back down, her clenched jaw hesitated to unlatch to speak words that reflected her truth, and her perfectly manicured hands would offer no firm handshakes, no truces or no palms swearing on soiled hotel bibles. 

Her face barely emoted as she rose from her chair, her movements considerably zombie like as she made her way into the living room. Her late night hunger had subsided. None of her clients would have known about Leo, she kept her personal and professional lives entirely separate. That was until she referred one of her escorting clients to Leo... and then fell for him. 

Shit. The redhead shook her head as she made her way over to the closet, the cool doorknob against her sweating palm making her want to recoil but she complied nevertheless. The door crept open and hissed out a creak as she made her way in, stepping on her tip-toes to grab a metal box off the top shelf. 

It was a lockbox, a dull green hue that wouldn’t necessarily catch your eye upon first glance inside the closet. The key still hung from the lock considering she’d added to its contents earlier that day. Peyton sat on the hardwood floor criss crossing her legs instead of bothering with a short pursuit to the couch. She opened the box peered inside at the papers.

To a normal person, Peyton was foolish. But in her mind, she was being resilient in her defiance.  

A scattered stack of checks filled the container, all filled out but never cashed. Peyton had been lived in Peach Hollow a calendar year coming up so she figured there was fifty or so checks in the box. Though it was probably more than that. Her father sent her a check every week in an attempt to maintain control over her, even when their distance was coastal. The redhead pursed her lips as she fiddled through the checks. 

One for a thousand, one for five grand, a birthday check for 10k. Sitting amongst the pile in her hands was enough to make a recipient cry with joy, as though they’d won the lottery. But Peyton was a slave to these dollars, cashing one of these checks with confine her to her father’s ways like a boa constrictor cutting off her air supply and Peyton was far too smart to submit to the cold blooded reptile who was her father. 

But, then Leo entered her mind. Cashing these checks could be a constellation prize, she though to herself. Peyton could reveal her wrong doings, cash the checks and they could live in blissfully. 

But that seemed like thin ice to skate upon, especially with the recent rocky waters the two found themselves bearing. The tide would surely take her if she fell through the broken tundra, ultimately leading to her demise. She couldn’t give her father that kind of leverage, nor could she put her whole livelihood in the hand’s of Leo who most likely wouldn’t take this well. 

Peyton slipped the checks back in the box and put them back into the closet, memories rushing back as she stared up at the box. Her father’s affair, the way his fingers looked in his assistant’s hair sprawled across his desk, the way those same fingers looked curled into a fist when threatening Peyton’s life. She slammed the door, closing her eyes tightly as to rid herself of the things she was trying to escape. But she knew better than anyone that if things from the past are not coped with, they are still very much in the present. 

The redhead leaned her back up against the closet door, looking down at her lock screen. She’d recently changed it to a picture of Leo, the same one she’d showed Oscar when talking about him with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. She exhaled through her nose, a smile upturning the corner of her mouth. 

Peyton unlocked her phone, hovering over his name on the call log. What would she even say? What would he even do? Was honesty the best policy? Would it have been easier to see how things played out? Calling the ‘peacher’s’ bluff, the girl opened up their text log. 

Goodnight, Leo. I love you. She backtracked, erasing it as though it’d been a force of habit. Goodnight, Leo. I love you. I don’t know if you’re up but I wish you were here.

Leo didn’t deserve this. But Peyton was an icarus, daughter of a craftsman, trying escape her problems with makeshift wings of feathers and wax. Just to fall in the midst of her glorious redemption, drowning in the very ocean below. Some things can never be escaped and Peyton was beginning to learn that the hard way. 

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Holding Up PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Reader, a needed dose of Charles as well. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: You had pitched the idea to go hunting—alone. Bringing back some of the bigger game up near Roanoke Ridge meant it would be a little more than a day trip, but selling pelts and bringing back food to the camp may have been worth it. Nature always put your mind at rest, anyway. However, as the days continued to pass, the concerns about your whereabouts turned out to be the thing that probably saved your life. WARNINGS: Pretty trigger heavy. Mentions of death, torture, gore, cannibalism, we’re talking about the Murfree Brood here. Some reunion angst as well. NOTE: I've had a rough go of it lately and this has been clunking around in my head a bit. Gender neutral reader again. This is long as hell, I'm sorry. lol

Exhaustion, unfortunately, was a familiar sensation.

You always had a habit of working yourself into it—helped you sleep, at least, when push came to shove. However, you weren't the only one that had been suffering from it. There had been a great change in the gang, considering the chaos that had sent you all out east. Attitudes had changed along with the scenery, and it was getting harder to ignore.  It effected all aspects—general camp mood, specific relationships. You hadn't been in too much of a rush to label your relationship with Arthur, and it didn't seem like he was either—just some moments here and there. Fire side visits, close moments when the camp was filled with singing and jovial conversation, a few kisses here and there. There'd been...something, but that had been before the chaos of Blackwater resulted in the corpses of gang members and you'd been pushed out east with the law on your tail. It had been easy to dismiss some of the distance between the two of you with the changes, and you appreciated the isolation sometimes, but it eventually got to putting some questions in your head. (Maybe things had changed too much? Maybe you were too distant too? Maybe he wasn't sharing the same feelings anymore?)

It had been easy to come to the conclusion to leave camp for a bit—you never did too well with how closed in it was, anyway. As much as the scenery was nice, and much better than the bitter cold of Colter, you needed out. Hunting and tracking was something you were decent at, it seemed like a decent enough reason to get away for a while. Why you decided on such a long distance to travel, and alone no less? You weren't too sure. Still, it was worth exploring a bit up there and getting some of the bigger game would be worth it once you got back to camp. After you had given a bit of a cost estimate on what you wanted to bring back, you'd been allowed to leave camp for some time. Pitching the idea to Dutch was odd—you felt it odd that you wanted to report it to him, but someone knowing you were gone was good.

Really good, as it turned out.

Exhaustion was familiar, but it was nothing like this.

You had never felt an ache in your body like this, your arms extended upwards, the burning of the rope around your wrists almost as forgettable as the feeling of the clothing on your body at this point. That position was the tamer of the ones you had been through, your legs and gut screaming from trying to curl them into your chest when they had cruelly hung you over a small fire, the sensation of the flames licking at your feet not quite leaving. The Murfree Brood were bastards, that's all you could tell yourself at this point—cannibalistic bastards. Your stomach was screaming from lack of food too, and it wasn't from lack of them offering, wide grins on their faces. You'd let your stomach cave in before you ate anything they cooked—the man that had been alive in there with you had disappeared a while ago and you knew better than to ask. There was the beatings, the slicing—then they left you to hang limply by your wrists, legs too weak to even let you rest your feet properly on the ground. You would have been completely on the floor if it wasn't for the rope.

You needed to get out of there—you weren't too sure how much more you could take. You cursed yourself for being foolish enough to underestimate this gang, to run after the one that had taken some obviously misguided shots before running off into the bush. You had ran over the moment of the ground breaking away into a man-made pit over and over again. You ran over the conversation with Dutch—they knew you were up there but...lord knows if they felt it was long enough to send someone out to investigate. The Murfree Brood were keeping you alive for a reason, though you wouldn't doubt if it was just for some sadistic amusement. It was hard to keep the thought of nobody finding you from your mind at this point, the pain, exhaustion, and fear was hard to manage. Every new move they pulled made you shake and almost fall into a panic—you liked to think you were hard to shake, but this?

So, it was without much effort that you found yourself struggling to keep your breathing under control when one had wandered over and reached up to untie your hands. What was it now? The fire routine again? The beating? Were they going to hang you by your ankles this time? You could barely keep yourself upright as one of the men grabbed your arm, not too mindful of the gashes there on your shoulders from where your initial kicks and attempts to fight back had been met with knife edges. The bottoms of your feet screamed, it felt like walking on burning logs as you were dragged up the cave. Were...were you leaving?

This was it. You were going to die. They were going to kill you. They were going to set you up in one of those elaborate displays that set the folk of Annesburg on such edge. Your gang members would come out to find your mangled corpse—all those that knew you, Dutch, Arthur...god, Arthur. As much as you could feel yourself starting to panic, your body language and reactions going ignored as you were practically dragged outside, you could feel such a deep sadness. It was something that had come and go throughout this whole thing—the pain was terrible, horrific, but it was hard to focus on much else sometimes. Still...your last conversation with him hadn't been much to remember you by, tinged with bitterness and frustrated, and you regretted not saying something different in that moment. Hell, you could remember being almost excited to just get away from them all before all of this happened...

Now you'd give anything to say anything else to him—something you felt was worth remembering. A better memory. Really, you felt that you might weep at the sight of even a somewhat familiar face.

You were loaded up onto a horse, the cocky rider not even bothering to tie you down—you were too damn tired and injured to run anywhere on him. Momentarily, you panicked about where the hell you were off to now. You had gotten used to the cave, barely able to see anything outside of the firelight sometimes, sharp objects in the dark, laughter, cruel jabs and comments—it had blended together in your mind, but it wore you down to something you had never felt before. This had to end sometime—it had to. The ride was a blur, trees and branches whipping past. Minutes blurred into seconds, scenery changing before you found yourself in a clearing in the dark. The horse had slowed, hands gripping harshly as you were yanked off the back of the horse. Nothing but meat to them at this point. There should be some fight—just something to prove you were still alive at this point, but you were fairly limp as they yanked you along.

Your fears were turning out right—you were going to be put on display. A gruesome warning, scare tactic. As your muscles protested again at your hands being raised above your head again, you found some barrings. There was conversation—gleeful discussion about what to do with you, figures cast in firelight from a single lantern as you struggled to control your panicked gasps. As you felt yourself being secured to the small structure, you found yourself starting to struggle in general. Painful spikes of pain ripped through you as you twisted your body around, distressed noises escaping that you weren't sure were words. However, the glint of a knife and the sting of the the blade biting into the side of your neck stopped you, chest heaving as you stilled.

“—Please. Please...”

Your voice sounded miles away, from a different person, much as you could feel the words leaving you. Pleading was something you had already tried—stooped to, you had initially thought, but in the end it was all you had left. It went ignored as it usually was—they were talking about your eyes. No compliments, no fire side gazing, something much, much worse. You felt your eyes shut somewhat, staring out into the darkness through small gaps in your eyelids as you felt that blade removed from your neck and pressed just under your eye. It stung, but it wasn't a stab. Still, you let out a short yell despite yourself. It was dark out, you could barely see anything, but it seemed like they were ready to make that a certain reality for your last moments.

Two things happened at once—you could feel the blade press and tear, a pained yell escaping you, and the man next to your tormentor collapsed suddenly into a heap with a short grunt. Instantly, the sharp pain was gone, the pressure against your face lifting as the man in front of you whipped around, pulling a gun from his pants. He reached down to pick up the lantern, your eyes burning from the brightness for a few moments as he lifted it up. However, he didn't have much time to react before his head snapped back, dropping the lantern and casting the area into darkness. You heard a fading groan, the sound of a body hitting the ground, and then it was just your panicked breathing.

What the hell was happening?

You shook uncontrollably, your stomach tight as you let out gasping breaths into the silence of the area. There was nothing but the sound of nature for a few moments before you heard shuffling, and someone calling your name. You blinked—once, twice, before it registered.

“Ch—Charles?”

There was more rustling as your eyes started to adjust to the darkness, the moon casting a dull light but it wasn't much. However, you could see a figure making his way toward you, the voice registering as blissfully familiar and you found yourself letting out breathless laughs—borderline sobs.

“Glad I found you when I did,” he muttered, much closer than you thought he was as you felt him tug against the rope around your wrists, “I saw the lights, but your trail had faded. Soon as I saw the trap they made...well...”

“I'm...I'm glad, too,” you whispered, “More than I can explain.”

Finally, the rope gave way and your body dropped instantly. Steady hands gripped at your underarm to keep you somewhat upright, but your knees hit dirt as you let out a pained whimper as your muscles protested against the movement.

“Can you stand?”

You paused for a few moments, taking in some deeper breaths as you willed your breathing to slow before your head started to spin more than it did already. Finally, you nodded softly, but trying to stand seemed like an impossible feat in the moment.

“They...they burned my feet,” you muttered, “feels like hot coals. I just...I can get up but...”

“I understand,” Charles muttered above you, a part of you happy that you couldn't see his expression in the darkness just yet. Hell, you were scared to even see yourself in a mirror at this point, you didn't doubt that you probably looked like death walking.

“Okay...” you whispered, extending an arm up, despite the pain, to find purchase around Charles' shoulders. He followed your lead, carefully wrapping an arm around your back and under your free arm before he helped you come to a stand.

As you mentioned, your feet burned at having your weight on them, much as you shifted a good bit of it onto Charles. You walked a short bit, Charles mentioning his horse, the animal staring back at you two in the darkness. He helped you into the saddle before getting in behind you, wanting to make sure you didn't slide off the back as he started back out onto the road. You felt like you barely had the energy to keep your head upright, the motion making it bob and droop.

“Why did you travel out so far?” Charles asked, causing you to blink as you tried to focus on his words, “This is dangerous country.”

“Thought...don't know what I thought. I figured...figured I might find some bigger game out here...but I found Murfree instead.”

“It's a long ride back to camp, can you hang on?”

You just nodded your head, letting your eyes droop shut as Charles continued to ride. Slipping in and out of consciousness wasn't anything new at this point, reality becoming choppy and confusing. Which it did. You came to in moments where you were on horseback, moments where you were laying on your back as Charles helped put some water into you, back on the horse, laying back down in a wooden structure. It was well into late afternoon when you came to somewhat fully—an afternoon? You weren't even sure what day it was anymore. However, things were looking somewhat familiar—The Heartlands, Charles still riding along at a steady pace as you lifted your head to watch the trees by.

“I took you to a doctor,” Charles said over your shoulder as he noticed your stirring, “Didn't ask any questions, but he wrapped some of your wounds—especially your feet. ”

You let out a small huff, “Feels like a short nap.”

“We're almost at camp, just hang on a bit longer,” Charles explained, the relief at his words almost causing you to cry.

You took a deep breath, your shoulders aching from sitting upright with your head bobbing as you dozed, but it did put a tiny bit of energy back in you. Still, you felt...well, you felt like you were still stuck between sleep and that strange void of chopped up reality. You wondered if you'd fall asleep again and wake up back in the cave—which put an extremely sharp surge of fear into you, forcing you to keep your eyes open. Focusing on the trees, the trail. You were going to be safe soon. You weren't sure if it was minutes that passed, or moments, but things started to become very familiar. You could see the fallen tree that you associated with the camp entrance, Charles continuing to ride the both of you up until you saw the tents. Charles slowed his horse as he approached the hitching posts, keeping a hold against your lower back as he got off first. However, you found yourself dipping and sliding off toward him. You felt yourself landing almost on top of him, almost falling to the ground as you willed yourself to find your feet again. It still hurt, but marginally less. You could see the bandages around your feet as you stood, Charles still keeping steady at your side before the both of you started to walk toward camp. Voices chattered in around you, hard to grasp, though Dutch's rang clear as he stepped up toward your free side.  

“What happened?” he demanded, Charles stopping to let you collect yourself for a few moments as you felt a gentle hand against your shoulder—Dutch's, someone else's, you weren't too sure.

“Murfree Brood,” Charles replied, “A nasty gang up in Roanoke Ridge—murderous, cannibalistic. We had to go to a doctor in Valentine—that was the only way we'd both make it back.”

“They had a trap, some sort of ground cage...” you muttered, “They tricked me, fell in and...”

“You're safe, now,” Dutch said, your gaze meeting his for a few moments as you nodded gratefully, that hand against your shoulder lifting before Charles slowly started to walk again.

“You need to rest—Arthur's not here right now, you can use his cot.”

Oh, you wanted to sleep so badly. The walk across camp felt like it took ages, but eventually you were eased back onto a cot under a familiar tarp. You could hear more noise around you, voices bleeding together as you felt your eyes roll somewhat, your eyelids dropping before the comforting embrace of sleep pulled you under once again.

Dreams and nightmares alike passed in both excruciating slowness and at such speed that you couldn't tell one from another. You dreamed that you were back in that cave—couldn't see anybody, just hanging there as your body burned. You had a dream about your horse, which likely was long gone by now, and the ride out there. That you had brought back a bounty, but the camp was gone when you got back. Everything seemed to pass quietly, pictures in your mind, before you found your eyes opening. The realization was slow, your gaze taking in the side of the familiar wagon, some of the camp chatter much clearer than you remembered it. However, your mouth and throat felt like sand, swallowing not being of any help. Slowly, you turned your head, realizing that your head was propped up by your jacket. The stiffness in your neck was very uncomfortable, but you managed to shift so you could see the area around you more. Arthur was slumped in a chair almost pressed side-by-side to the cot, his legs extended out in front of him as his head was drooped and leaning against one of his shoulders as he slept. Judging from the coolness of the air around you and the somewhat dimmed light, you could gather that it was either late evening or early morning, possibly the latter.

You were tempted to reach out to touch him, place a hand against his shoulder so you could make sure that the both of you really were there. However, you also didn't want to move. You could remember the pain you had been in, and the numbness of sleep hadn't left you just yet. However, you didn't get to dwell on that thought for two long as someone approached the wagon, Mary-Beth's eyes widening as she held a tin cup in her hands.

“You're awake,” she said in something that was barely above a whisper, a small smile touching her features, “You've been out for days...we were gettin' worried.”  

You couldn't find your voice just yet, deciding to stare up at her before she seemed to realize the situation and approached more. She carefully moved around Arthur, holding the cup out toward you.

“It's just water,” she explained, “You need this more than I do. Do you want some help sitting up?”

You had went to reach for the water, but the pain in your side stopped you. With a small exhale, you nodded your head. Mary-Beth glanced toward Arthur for a moment before she moved in front of him and reached out to gently pull you up into a sitting position. You let out a small grunt at the action, your world swaying lightly as you were placed upright. You took down the cup in big gulps as the water soothed your throat almost instantly. You noticed a inhale from beside you as you finished off the last of the water, Arthur shifting his legs so he could sit upright more, rubbing the sleep from his face as you handed the cup back to Mary-Beth. She glanced between the two of you for a few moments before she offered you another small smile.

“I woke up early, thought I would check up,” she explained, “The rest of the camp should be up soon, too, if you need anything...”

“I'm...” God, your voice sounded rough. “I'm okay, Mary-Beth. Thank you.”

She gave a short nod before disappearing back into the still sleeping camp. Arthur didn't say anything as you sat, slouched slightly, on his cot as you watched after Mary-Beth. Slowly, you glanced back over toward him, his gaze off into camp as if intensely studying the empty air there. There had been a million things you had pictured saying to him once you got back, if you had gotten back. Yet, in the moment, you still couldn't find your voice beyond thanking Mary-Beth. You seemed to study him for a few moments, the tightness in his jaw and brow. Finally, you found yourself reaching out, despite the stiffness, to gently plant a hand against his shoulder. He tensed somewhat once you touched him, turning his head to finally glance toward you. There was guilt there, sure as day.

“I should've been there,” he muttered, looking over your face, “With Charles...”

Softly, you shook your head as you squeezed his shoulder somewhat, shutting your eyes for a few moments before answering.

“No...No, Charles almost found me as a corpse. Rather you see me bandaged up than...than like that. Don't do that to yourself.”

It was true. Much as you had wished to be picked up and taken away from there, and nearly crying in relief when Charles' voice cut through the darkness after he killed those two men—it was a state you never wanted anybody else to see. Charles had no choice. If someone hadn't found you, you'd be dead. Still, it didn't appear that Arthur was too convinced, but didn't press further. Your back really was starting to strain from sitting—it would be a while before you were up and walking, burns on your feet or not. However, in the moment, you just wanted to be close to him. You moved your hand to reach out to grab at his hand, pulling his arm toward the cot as an invitation to sit. After a few moments, he finally shifted to sit himself down on the cot behind you, gently placing an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You leaned into him, letting out a soft exhale as you felt his hand press against the side of your face to hold your head against him. Everything felt secure. This was happening, everything before had happened.

Lord, it really did. All that pain, that torture, and you were just...just back.

“I'm sorry,” you muttered, fighting against the tingling behind your eyes. You felt Arthur shift, as if looking down at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look up at him.

“The hell ya have to be sorry for?” he asked, causing you to shrug softly, almost uselessly, as he continued to hold you close. You could feel your heart racing, the tightness in your throat as you worked up a response.

“I don't know,” you muttered, voice shaking slightly, “Goin' up there in the first place. Furthest from camp, just by myself. Couldn't handle the pressure here, thought I'd...”

Just take off like you do. You bit back the thought, letting out a small sigh. You felt him do the same—didn't have to tell him, but you felt that he knew the meaning behind the pause. Still, you felt him press his fingers into your hair lightly, the action putting some ease in you. It felt like you were about to burst or pass out, whichever came first. However, with the tears threatening, well...

“Should be me apologizin',” Arthur muttered close to your ear, causing you to furrow your brow, “I lost track of everythin' 'round here, didn't find time to see how you were holdin' up—should've went with you, very least.”

“No, I was the idiot who wanted to go alone,” you corrected—if he'd been there, if you'd both got captured. You thought about the man who had disappeared further into the cave and never came back—didn't even hear a scream. “No...things that happened, what I saw...”

It happened. It all happened. It was over—it was over. You were back. Finally, realization sunk in like a stone flung down into a pond, heavy and fast. Down, and down—the memories reaching out for a few moments—before it hit the mark and you let go finally. You took in a sharp breath, vision blurring heavily with tears before they fell down your cheeks, the breath you let back out shaking before the sobs started to take over. Arthur's hold on your shoulders tightened somewhat, some burning there from a few healing wounds, but you needed him. You wrapped an arm around his back, pressing even closer as you cried.

“Yer safe right here,” he muttered into your hair, “Nothin's gettin' at ya here...”

“I thought...” you gasped out, “I thought I was dyin' and I...I just remembered that we'd just said goodnight to each other. That's it. That would've been last thing I said to you and I...”

“That ain't what happened, yer right here,” he replied, “Don't worry 'bout that—could've yelled at me for all I care, but you ain't dead.”

“I know...” you whispered, taking in another breath as the crying seemed to calm for a few moments, “Just remembered how bitter I was that night—wasn't fair. Should've told you I cared—that I knew you were carryin' a lot and...and that I cared.”

You did—much more than he thought he deserved, and you knew he thought that, but it didn't make it any less true. Coming back to camp, it filled you with such relief to see all those faces again, and you knew you had to thank Charles personally—he saved your damn life, but Arthur...well, that's really what you felt sorry about. Still, Arthur didn't really reply, you felt him exhale heavily, turning slightly as you felt him press his face into your neck, holding there for a few moments. You weren't sure you were going to get answer before he spoke up, lifting his head somewhat.

“Scared the hell out 'f me,” he muttered, “Showed up at camp, got some sympathetic stares and then you was just layin' there—thought you was gone.”

“...Me too,” you muttered, reaching a hand up to grab at his own that still rested off your shoulder, “But...it's done. I'm...I'm okay. I'll be okay.”

In time, at least. You knew your physical wounds would heal, but...well, time would tell. Still, you leaned back against him as you shut your eyes again, the position putting a strain on your back, but you didn't care in the moment. You were there with him, something you had thought wouldn't be happening again. Still, you rubbed his arm slightly as he continued to hold you.

“I slept in that chair the whole four days you was in an' out,” Arthur muttered into your neck, “Saw the color come back, yer on the way.”

“Yeah...” you muttered, “Yeah. It's...it's done.”

You felt him press a kiss to the underside of your jaw in response, a small smile settling onto your features at the gesture. You need to rest, and you knew the effects of this were far from over still, but in the moment you wanted nothing more than to suffer the body aches to stay close to him.

[tellthosewithpowersafeintower]

This is Davey, By The Way

Summary: Davey writes Jack a letter from the Refuge. So maybe he's a little in love with him and maybe he wants more than anything to know they're all going to be okay and maybe, maybe he's a little bit gone over Crutchie too and doesn't know what to do- but he'll be fine.

He will.

...And if he isn't, Davey has a few things he would like to know he said to the boys he loves one last time.

Trigger Warnings: The Refuge. Violence, references to blood/injuries, child abuse, very very brief allusions to period-typical homophobia

Notes: Holy heck it's finally here! Hi friends, and... welcome to my newest AU becoming a series. I was originally nervous about whether I should post this for Strike Day, but here we go. A huge shoutout to @all-the-lovely-newsies because I LOVE THEM and they were the first person to listen to me talk about this when I sent them like a couple paragraphs rambling about my ideas

Go take a look at @jackie-think-about-it. They made me art for this fic (an art writing combo pair)! I am so happy right now, it's so beautiful, please go give them love they're just... the sweetest and I love their work so much. Thank you so much!

A quick note: this is a Davey in the Refuge/his Letter From The Refuge AU, and in it his father had his accident at work a few months sooner and thereby Davey knew Jack, Crutchie, and the rest of the boys better by the time the story starts. I've really loved writing this and I look forward to sharing it with you all

(read it on ao3, I like... really prefer the formatting on there asdfghjkl;)

Dear Jack,

The harsh scribble of a pen on paper was as subdued as he could make it. The lanky, dark-haired boy was hunched over, perched on the edge of the top bunk. He was curled up, taking up as little space as he could manage and a mix of sweat and blood stuck his faintly damp hair to his forehead. His eye was beginning to bruise, colors pressing deeper near to the side of his nose, and two large blots of bruises were visible stretching both sides of his jawline. Davey Jacobs inhaled, a shuddery, ragged and stared down at the first words he'd managed.

The room was cold, and dark, and any sense of light seemed blotted out in an almost starless night distanced by solid stone walls, cell bars, and an island walled off from the rest of the city. The shame of New York City. Davey hesitated, tapping his pen to his chin, once, then twice. He sighed and scribbled it out.

Jack,

No. Davey groaned quietly and after rapidly removing his second attempt furiously scrubbed at the paper. His wrists were marked with neat white lines from too-tight cuffs and he wondered idly if they'd look worse in a few hours time. Had it really only been a few hours since he'd stood in the Square, side-by-side with the others? Had it really only been hours since he last heard Crutchie laugh, watched him help Les tear a pape with his crutch, or felt his heart stall in his chest in terror when the bulls showed?

His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms and his vest was strewn awkwardly and torn around the edges. Some of his buttons were torn off and most every sense of the prim, neatly done school clothes and decorum had been entirely abandoned. Davey had no idea where his tie might even be.

He rolled the pen between his fingers, hands trembling faintly before he huffed and pressed the tip and started to write again.

Dear Jack, Greetings from the Refuge.

Better. Davey sighed, ribs seizing painfully in protest. Dirt and soot smudged along his cheeks and face, and when he glanced down and around the tightly packed bunks and hunched, gaunt bodies he heard someone cough. Davey grimaced. He supposed it was a fitting intro.

How are you?

He paused and bit his lip. He pulled his leg up to his chest to brace himself and he hissed sharply. Davey's breathing went ragged and he tried to purse his lips to quiet it, his ribs twinging and vision swimming dangerously. This... Davey was more bruised than he'd ever been before. He ached in more ways than one. A thought struck him and he lurched forwards, pen shaking in his hand as he ignored the sudden spasm of pain in his chest.

Is Les okay? I suppose I wasn't much help yesterday.

Davey ground his teeth and breathed in sharply through his nose. This wasn't- this wasn't working the way he wanted it to. He reached up to scrub furiously at his eyes.

He really hoped Les had gotten out before the worst of it. The other boys had been in the midst of chaos, full out panic and screaming, and Crutchie...

Crutchie.

Maybe if he'd moved sooner they could've-

No. He couldn't go there. Davey dropped his gaze and felt his fingers twitch before he picked up the pen and tried to press on.

Les needed to be okay. He had to be okay because if he wasn't Davey- a harsh choked sound tore its way from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth, breathing in sharply. He went rigid, body going taught at this fierce shushing from the boys below him. He opened and closed his mouth, something twisting in his chest and he wanted to apologize. His mouth was dry and when he opened his mouth no sound came out.

He didn't think the kids here or the guards would talk too kindly to stammered apologies anyway.

(He didn't think they would take too kindly to the way sound and light burned too much too much too much and some days for all his smarts he couldn't make a noise. He didn't think the guards would like the way he blurted things out without realizing it was not supposed to be spoken and send senseless things casually and didn't like lifting his head to met someone's gaze.)

Snyder soaked us real good and went for Crutch.

Davey blinked, eyes flicking wider and he chewed at his lip nervously. Oh! Oh, right.

Oh, uh, Jack? This is David

He faltered and swallowed hard. "No," the word was a murmur but his voice was cracked and rougher than he expected. The tall boy pressed closer to the scrap of parchment and traced out in neat script.

This is Davey, by the way.

Davey breathed his name and found the faintest hints of a smile on his features. Davey. Something about the way it fell from Jack's lips made something flutter inside his chest. He didn't think he'd be anything but harsh inflections of 'David' in days to come. He flinched at the thought and made a noise of pain at the way his ribs shifted unpleasantly. He wouldn't be all that surprised to find if they were badly bruised.

He wanted to hold on to being Davey as long as he could.

All these guards, they're just rude. They say jump, boy, you jump or you're screwed.

Davey winced back. He shouldn't- he shouldn't say that. The words in his head sounded suspiciously like the newsboys' voices swelling in his head. Voices he wanted to cling to.

Jack knew that.

He'd been here before- he'd gotten out.

He didn't need to worry about Davey. He and Crutchie, the boys, they shouldn't- they didn't need to worry about kids like him.

But hands faintly trembling and something swelling in his throat, Davey couldn't bring himself to erase the words glaring up at him.

The food isn't so bad, not so far Since so far they've brought us no food!

That... there was at least one positive, right? He made a noise and deadpanned in a murmur as he wrote:

Ha. Ha.

Davey had never been much good at humor. He'd never really understood it, and he wasn't really sure anyone would find it all that funny. He raised a hand to swipe the hair out of his eyes and felt his lips quirk into a sad, bitter half-smile.

I miss the newsies Sellin papers in the evening, And a partner at your side.

He bit his lip and tried very hard not to cry. Being draped under the arm of Jack Kelly, hearing the echoing cries of "strike" when all there was was bright laughter and friendly pats and being yanked into lingering embraces, all the echoes of vibrant unending life. Maybe he was poor at hawking headlines, but he'd loved it. He'd loved the-

The next words came without thought, scratching themselves out before his brain could catch up. The pen was shakier and moved faster in his hand than he expected.

No strike or blood to pay to just get by. Any way, you know what? The square took a fair bit of thought: Coax the bulls and get goons to the window. They were scared so they took the first shot!

An army of cops and goons- that couldn't be coincidence. It couldn't be coincidence that they'd taken brutal force against kids. They'd been ready to arrest whoever they could get their hands on first, to hit kids and cart them away with cold iron cuffs pinched against too soft skin. It couldn't be a coincidence they were lying in wait to pounce on the kids the moment they took a stand for themselves.

Crutchie had gotten out. Davey could only hope he was okay. The Delancey's had shoved him pretty hard but- but Crutchie was tough as nails and had landed a few good hits of his own and the boys had him. Crutchie had gotten out and, grasping for his crutch, had made it out of the Square with Race's help long before Davey finally let himself scream.

He couldn't go there (and maybe it hurt a little that it was hard to think of Crutchie without seeing horror and tasting fear fear bitter, biting terror and lungs burning but unable to scream).

He didn't want his last memories of Crutchie to be the way he saw him last so he tried to grasp- a witty comment, the way a proud half-smile curled on his features after perfectly Crutchie snark

Crutchie who made Davey's heart do stupid flips and feelings he had no idea how to decipher because what even were feelings and why didn't they make sense- Crutchie who smiled and laughed like pure sunshine and yellow, beautiful, beautiful golden rays and Davey didn't know where to start but Crutchie was nice.

He missed them so much he ached in ways he didn't know people could ache and he didn't like it.

The cops appearance at the Square couldn't be a coincidence, the adults lying in wait to stop and smother any light or spark of life. It was too well-planned for that, Davey knew behind narrowed analytical eyes, and he thought the boys would be smart enough to realize that too.

He took a deep, steadying breath and shoved his other thoughts as far back to his mind as he could muster (he didn't want to remember) before scrawling out his next words.

It was hell for a night.

Davey felt his finger twitch, a compulsive jerk when he realized the curse had just escaped him, inked neatly onto paper. He could imagine his parent's disapproval- but all Davey managed was a tired smile.

It seemed silly and a thousand miles away by now.

That doesn't mean we've lost our fight! Pulitzer's regime's coming down, And then Jack I was thinking

Davey's words crashed to a stop, and he felt as though the atmosphere around him had shifted. He froze. His breath was heavy and he blinked furiously against the burning of his eyes.

We might just go, If you were staying? We could run away an evening To the theater, or away And if Crutchie'd come

The words spilled away, faster and faster, and that book-smart, smart-mouthed boy who'd fumbled into the streets with a slew of words echoed in his eyes. A lifetime of too many thoughts held away aching to be let out one last time.

Maybe Davey had spent too much time with Jack and his dreams of Santa Fe, but when he closed his eyes for a moment he wondered what it would be like. Beyond the cold damp walls and shuddering concrete, Jack and Crutchie's laughter filling the back of the theater. Just the three of them, together, somewhere beautiful and perfect.

His eyes flicked open and he remembered a too similar cry- was it only a day ago?

And if Crutchie'd come we'd seize our day

He let out a shuddery breath. It sounded perfect. It sounded like a date, the ones stolen for boys and pretty girls and maybe Davey wasn't supposed to want a stolen night of kisses with a boy, let alone two, but he didn't care.

He could do it. One night of stolen moments with three friends, and maybe, maybe they wouldn't think the same and all it would be is friendship but he would take anything if it came from them. Anything at all.

When he curled his fists, he wondered if the same need to cling to that dream of just a night of Jack and Crutchie and him was the reason Jack had never given up on Santa Fe.

Santa Fe.

The seeds of a dream, not a plan. But there was something so comforting, achingly perfect about that. If a place was Jack's, and Jack's want for home, somewhere to love and breathe and belong then Davey knew his was Jack and Crutchie. Without a doubt. Maybe he was a little too late for that.

Maybe Jack and Crutchie deserved better than a kid who was street stupid and stuttered eagerly through long explanations about whatever oddity fascinated him the most, oblivious to the fact no one else seemed to care, and shied under attention and burning eyes and fumbled with words when um's and uh's and uncertain odd syllables twisted on his tongue.

Once the strike makes-

The door skidded open and the reaction was like a gunshot. Boys jolted upright, leaping into position. His pen jerked hard, dragging an ugly line but Davey didn't have time to think about that. He desperately shoved the materials out of sight, hands trembling as he flung a mess of whatever cloth was nearest over his lifeline. He swung around, eyes wide, watching the looming figure who'd entered, held his breath and silently prayed.

When he stumbled back to his space in the bunk, Davey was bleeding. Badly. He was still shaking, feeling freshly forming bruises and aches he wasn't sure how to start to describe and he had to shut his eyes tightly to try and still his swaying his vision. With shaky hands, he fumbled in the dark and felt a weight of relief drop as he exhaled when his hands found the crinkling parchment of the letter. He drew it close and let his eyes rove down it and tried to smile.

Leaning into the candlelight, Davey ran a thumb along the dent and harsh scribbled line off the page at the end of his earlier phrase and winced.

Swiping blood to try to keep it from getting in his eyes, he coughed, or sobbed, some short painful noise that was gone as quickly as it came.

Damn this place.

The garbled curse was all he could muster. He didn't know what else to say. Shakily, he flicked a hand and tried to scrub the scarlet scattered drops off onto his pants and Davey somehow manage to keep blood off the paper. He swallowed a choked cry.

I'll be fine

He bit his lip hard and pushed on, hoping he could get himself to believe it.

Good as new

He didn't think he would be okay.

Look there's one thing I need you to do Newsies taught me what it all means to look after each other

I've never had friends, Jack, he wanted to whisper with that faint twinge of awe he felt hours earlier. I've never had no one like Crutch and you.

Eyes setting with determination, he scribbled out his next message.

Please tell all the fellas for me to protect one another The end

What was this, a novel?

When he heard a rattling cough and the bed creaked dangerously, Davey had to force himself to breathe. He didn't think he would be able to come out of here.

The strike had to go on.

Davey wasn't going to be there to see it.

So he set the pen to paper and hoped his smarts might be enough to give the boys one last push.

Your friend Your close friend

Davey swiped away a few shaky tears, breath hitching. And, selfishly, he decided on something he needed for himself. He breathed out and scrawled out with every ounce of care he had left.

My love, Davey