#but he’s usually met with a disinterested or flat stare

[headfullof-ideas]

Wartihog has SOME girls he won’t flirt with for…varying reasons.

[friedbaekhyunandeggso]

found you - ch. 2 (part II)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! booksmart! oc

warnings: 18+ only babes, profanity, pet-names (baby, kitten), stalking/possessive themes, manipulation, dub/non-consented sex, nipple play, size kink (slightly), fingering, begging, oral (f receiving), praising/dirty talk, rough sex, choking (a lil) & jus gojo being unhinged (as usual)

word count/plot: [6.4k] ara catches gojo's attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins...

a/n: i took forever to edit this bc for some reason i thought i already posted it LMAo BUT y'all i'm like 75% thru w the next chapter n i'm lowkey scared to post it LMFAO (yes ik i'm a slow writer but pLS bear w me, next chapter is also hella long & wild). anyway tysm for all ur comments on the last post, esp the long ones! i read all of them & they make me happy :,) pls enjoyy

ch. 1 , chapter 2 [ part 1 | part 2 ] , ch. 3

She jolted when she heard a knock on her bedroom window. She glanced over at the electric clock on her desk. 7:16 pm.

She swallowed, glancing over at her bedroom door to make sure it was locked before her head whipped around at the sound of his voice.

“Hi, baby.”

He stepped out from behind the curtains, that easygoing smile on his face. He wore a navy blue half-zip sweater, layered with a white tee underneath and loose-fitted light gray sweatpants. His platinum hair tousled as usual as he approached her. He looked like a model who'd just gotten off-duty.

She was rooted in her seat when he stepped up to her. His hand resting on the back rail of her chair as he bent low to press a light kiss on her neck. His familiar scent wafted over her as she turned away.

His hand slipped over her stomach to subtly push her back flat against the chair. She held back a slight gasp.

“I missed you at school today.” he muttered.

After their ‘altercation’ earlier, he tried to convince her to come back to school with him. He offered to take her in his car but she refused-using the excuse that she already called the school saying she was sick. He then promised that he’d see her after basketball practice. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

For a second, she wondered if she should hide in the basement again but she couldn’t even if she wanted to because her Dad had come home early. He would question why she was in the basement if she stayed there for longer than necessary.

She glanced over at him, her voice low, “My Dad’s home.”

“I know.” he murmured beside her ear, “You told me over text.”

She was hoping that would deter him. She shifted slightly in her seat as his hand began to caress her stomach, “Why are you so afraid of him?” he asked.

She went still-immediately tensing up in her chair. His eyes were attentive as he watched her. Millie had told him that her parents were strict but that was all he knew.

She lightly pushed away his hand from her stomach, “I have to use the bathroom.” she whispered.

His hand wrapped around her neck, his lips at her temple, “Don’t lie to me.”

She shot out of her chair, stepping several steps away from him to get some distance. “I-I don’t want to talk about it.” she gritted out.

She didn’t look at him, her shoulders stiff as she stood still. She felt her arms shaking at her sides as she mentally prepared herself to feel some sort of pain for her defiance. But instead all she was met with was the sound of a low sigh.

She felt hands cup her face and immediately looked up. His eyes glittered, in the same way that the ocean appeared when sunlight skimmed its surface. Not that she would know–she’d only seen it in videos.

He searched her face, “Fine. But you’ll tell me soon. You’ll tell me everything soon.”

He tilted his head, “Every problem of yours is mine.”

She merely stared at him. She wished she could scream. The type of scream that could let out all the frustration she was feeling–let out all the mental torment because she was so tired of feeling like this. She hated the tiny voice in the back of her mind that wanted to tell him everything-everything down to the miniscule details because she was tired. Tired of being so alone.

But she refused to share her problems with someone who was one of her problems themselves.

Why did life have to be this way?

She snapped out of her thoughts when she felt his lips press into hers lightly.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he said, against her lips.

Her eyes widened as she pulled back.

“We have my car. Let’s go somewhere–anywhere you want.” he offered.

She stared at him—silently watching the excitement grow in his eyes.

His hands at her face squeezed slightly, “C’mon, there’s gotta be something you want. Tell me.”

She shook her head, pushing his hands away from her as she looked aside. “I have homework to do.” she muttered.

“Such a good girl.” he teased, before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She resisted the urge to smack his hand away. He was always finding some excuse to touch her.

“Don’t you have school work to do as well?” she questioned. He was second in rank-right after her-and yet she'd never seen him do any schoolwork.

“I did most of it during my free period. I have some other stuff left but I can do it in the morning.”

“The morning?” she questioned.

He nodded before frowning, “I should’ve just brought my backpack with me. We could’ve studied together.” he pinched her cheek.

She immediately turned her head away and he chuckled. Before she could distance herself any further he grabbed her by the waist.

“I didn’t bring any books so I could pay attention to you, y’know. Now don’t make me sad and tell me where you wanna go.”

She shifted awkwardly in his hold-her hands going to his forearms, “What are you talking about-”

“Ara, I want attention,” he said, flat-out.

She froze, simply staring at him before blurting, “What are you-a baby?”

He grinned, “Yes, your baby.”

He cupped one of her tits, “I got needs, Mama.”

Just as her face twisted up and a chuckle nearly escaped his lips, her Dad’s voice suddenly arose.

“ARA! Come down and do the dishes!”

They both froze.

She pushed herself out of Gojo’s grasp, “Coming!”

Just as she headed towards the door, he grabbed her wrist.

“Listen, you better think of something or else I will.”

She hesitated before pulling her arm away and quickly leaving the room.

She stood outside her room-nervous. She had the excuse she was going to use on the tip of her tongue but she wasn’t sure how he was gonna take it. His reactions always varied.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, her room door opened and someone grabbed her arm–dragging her inside.

“Wha–” she nearly yelled but Gojo clamped his hand around her mouth.

“Shh.” he said as he silently closed the door behind her.

She glared at him, speaking through his hand, “Are you crazy? My Dad could’ve seen you.”

Her Dad had just been making his way up the stairs.

He dropped his hand, “You were taking too long. How many goddamn dishes were they?”

In truth, she had taken a while on purpose.

“A lot.” she mumbled.

He squinted-doubtfully-while watching her cross the room to her desk.

He folded his arms, leaning against the door, “Did you think of something?”

She avoided looking at him, “I seriously have work to do, Satoru..”

He uncrossed his arms, letting them drop to his sides, “I knew you were gonna say that.”

“What the hell..” she muttered, while looking at her open notebook before her. All of the questions she had to work on were already filled in. She flipped the page to see he had answered the rest of the questions as well.

She nearly jumped when she felt his arms slip around her, “Happy birthday.” he teased.

She blinked-in shock. She racked her brain for an excuse. Anything–something—

His arms squeezed around her tighter, pulling her further into his chest. He nuzzled his face into her hair, “My plan.” he murmured, possessively.

Gojo glanced over at her before tugging at her hand in his.

He pulled her into a hug, “You look so damn cute.”

She closed her eyes, merely letting herself get crushed before ducking to pull herself out of his grasp.

“You’re just saying that because I’m in your sweater.”

They had waited until her Dad retreated into his room before leaving through the window. As they waited, Gojo had wanted to pick out her outfit. She refused-instead she decided to wear black cargo pants and a graphic tee she had lying around.

He’d insisted that she wear his half-zip pullover on top because it might be ‘cold’ but in reality he just wanted to fulfill his fantasy of his girl wearing his clothes.

She stopped short, staring at the matte black McLaren P1 parked on the street. She resisted the urge to let her mouth fall open.

She turned around, “I want to go home.”

In truth, she didn’t want to be outside in the first place. She didn’t like the idea of sneaking out, especially with her Dad home but Gojo hadn’t stopped nagging. So instead the argument boiled down to making the trip super quick. He promised she’d be back in her room in a ‘jiffy’.

He grabbed her shoulders, “What happened?”

She couldn’t stand it. Him casually driving a $2 million car. It was downright obnoxious. She hated that she knew such details but it couldn’t be helped. She had a car phase back in middle school.

She glared up at him, “Did you do this on purpose?” she asked, without a second thought.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding genuine-for once.

Her annoyance got the best of her as she spat, “Is this why you wanted to go out this bad? So you can show off.”

He raised a white brow, “Show off? Show off what?”

She eyed him, warily. There’s no way he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. He’s the school’s biggest flexer and he knows it.

She stared at his clueless expression with growing doubt. Does he really not know? Is driving luxury cars that much of a normal occurrence for him? How infuriating.

She looked away from him while responding flatly, “The car.”

He glanced over at the car before looking back at her. His expression blank. He repeated the action with a furrowed brow before finally drawing the connection.

He started to laugh, brightly, “What—No, no. I take the McLaren out sometimes since my Dad’s barely around to use it. It’s not mine.”

She stared at him in dubious shock. He’d said the words so casually it was maddening. Even the airiness of his laugh sounded rich.

She wanted to scoff. As if ownership is the concern. Did he not realize the price of that car could change the entirety of someone’s life? A person could go from homeless to having enough money leftover to leave to their children. She’d be set for life with that kind of money—she’d never have to rely on her Dad again.

“I want to go home.” she murmured. She didn’t think she could step in that car without feeling sick.

His hand came up to her throat and she was forced to look up at him. Her eyes went wide.

His cool, turquoise eyes scanned her face,  “It’s my plan, remember?”

She swallowed, before nodding silently. His hand felt cold on her neck. She wondered if he could feel her pulse.

“Stop worrying.” His hand slid to her jaw, his thumb grazing over her bottom lip, “You’ll be home in no time.”

She stared up at him. Her heartbeat going off at a flimsy rate as she realized there was no getting out of this one. Something about his tone made it clear.

She jolted when his lips suddenly met hers. His lips were delicate—prompting. Light, short kisses that were followed up with another. His hand on her jaw drawing her closer.

The kiss felt like a reminder. A reminder that this was still his way, his rules.

She covered her face in her hands, despite the car windows being tinted already.

She hated the attention.

She knew it was coming-she anticipated it a mile away. There was no way people were going to ignore a car like this at an ice cream parlor.

She already recognized half of the people here from school. It was the local ice cream spot that everyone went to. She was grateful Gojo respected her rule of wanting to keep their ‘relationship’ private because she was certain she’d crumble to dust if she had to step out of the car with that many eyes on her.

And yet, Gojo did it with ease.

She kept her hands over her face when the door of McLaren opened upwards in its obnoxious fashion. She didn’t need to look to know several people were staring at Gojo slip into the car.

She felt something hard poke at the top of her head, “Kitten.”

She raised her head to see him lower a soft serve ice cream cone in front of her. Apparently, that was something she was required to get.

She took it, “Thank you.”

A short laugh left him and she glanced over to see him sitting comfortably in his seat, arm resting on the ledge of the car door. A subtle grin on his lips as he stared at her.

“Is being seen with me that much of a problem?”

She tensed, her grip on the cone tightening as she tried to come up with a safe answer. Her mind drew a complete blank—betraying her.

Her heart beat skyrocketed when she suddenly felt Gojo’s large hand on her thigh. He squeezed.

A soft sigh left his lips and she couldn’t resist glancing his way. She tried to keep the fear off of her face only to freeze when she was met with a rather fond expression on his countenance.

His thumb caressed her thigh, “You’re shyness just makes me want to mess you up more, y’know.”

She was rooted in spot when he leaned over to place a light kiss on the corner of her lip.

He leaned back in his seat, “Go on,” he urged, faint amusement laced in his tone as he gestured towards her cone, “Eat.”

She complied, licking up the side of the soft serve. It was delicious. She couldn’t remember the last time she had it.

“How is it.” he asked, his voice oddly tight.

She licked her lips, before glancing over at him. For once his eyes were dark, nearly black. A thinly amused smile rested on his lips. She couldn’t understand his expression. She stared between his eyes, her heartbeat racing when she realized he looked.. almost.. hungry.

“It’s.. good.” she murmured.

His hand on her thigh squeezed again, making her jolt subtly.

Suddenly his face was in her neck, a breathy sound leaving his lips as his hands slipped underneath her shirt. One hand slid around her back, pulling her close to him by slipping around the curve of her waist. His other hand crept up her stomach before cupping her tits over her bra—squeezing tight.

“I can’t take it,” he nipped at her neck, “You’re gonna look so pretty giving me head.”

Her eyes widened—belatedly clocking why Gojo insisted she get the soft-serve ice cream.

She writhed underneath his hands at her tits, “Ungh—“ she shoved him away with her free hand, “You’re such a pervert.”

A dry laugh escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, running his hands over his face. Her breath stopped short when she saw the outline of something protruding in his sweatpants as he shifted in his seat.

He lowered his hands, his eyes glittering as he faced her. His head still against the headrest, “Only for you.”

“That… doesn’t make it any better.”

A smirk lit his face before his hand suddenly wrapped around her neck. She froze.

“It’s your fault. If you didn’t make my dick hard the second we met, maybe I wouldn’t be like this.”

His fingers began to caress her neck, his eyes sharp-yet endearing somehow. She felt like a flighty dove being petted by its owner-while the owner decided to kill it or not.

“You’re everything I’m not. No one knows a damn thing about you. You barely talk—in fact, you go out of your way to avoid people,” he laughed slightly, “The one friend you got, you made on the bus.”

“You're not involved in sports or clubs—not even a internship or volunteering. You’re somehow on every teacher's good side,” he smirked a bit, “That’s impossible for me.” She didn’t doubt it, Mrs. Finch was living proof.

“You don’t party, drink or smoke,” he shook his head, “You can’t imagine my surprise when your name was called first during ranking.”

His blue eyes shimmered in the dark, “A girl I didn’t even know exists. A quiet ace. Too reserved for her own good.” The words felt almost mocking.

His fingers tightened around her neck, “I was so mad I never noticed you before.”

He chuckled slightly, “Suguru didn’t get it. He didn’t get why I had to know you,“ The corner of his lip tugged upwards, “Why I wanted to peel back every layer of you and figure you out.”

“But I.. I had to understand how someone like you exists. There’s no way someone that smart wouldn’t show it off. There’s no way you’re first in rank with no extracurriculars either, but—you're just that good aren’t you?”

His face was close to hers now, “Have you ever gotten anything below a 95 in your life?”

She wasn’t breathing. It was true. She hadn’t—she wanted to say she was naturally gifted at school. And maybe she was to some extent, but without fail-she always tried on her assignments. No matter how hopeless, depressed and alone she felt. Completing her assignments and getting good grades was the only validation she got. The only validation that felt just.

She happened to get close to teachers because of it. Teachers always respected her intellect, despite her introvertedness.

“It would’ve been easier if I was mad at you,” he mused, a faint smile on his lips, “Suguru thought I was—he thought I felt one upped by you. And I guess I did.. for a bit.”

He chuckled, “Ego is such a fickle thing.. You don’t know how much you bruised mine when you didn’t even speak to me when I first approached you.”

His smile widened, “No one’s ever treated me like that. Even people who don’t like me still spare me a word, at least.”

His hand around her throat drew her closer, “You looked at me like I was nothing.”

A dark smile spread across his lips, “And now I’m gonna become your everything.”

Just as he lowered his lips for a kiss, she wrenched out of his grasp. Her back partly against her seat and the car door as she breathed raggedly. She felt drops of ice-cream slip past her fingers and make puddles on the floor.

She closed her eyes, trembling so bad that she didn’t even want to look at him.

“Ara,” his voice felt distant to her ears, “Araa, did I scare you?”

She flinched when she felt his knuckles graze her cheek, immediately facing the other way before freezing when she realized she wasn’t supposed to act like this. She was supposed to act like she was afraid of falling in love with him.

But how could she? How could she act when he’d completely ruined her just for the sake of his ego. She felt sick—absolutely sick. She wanted to be anywhere else but in the car with him. Home or miles and miles away. Anywhere but here.

“Ara,” his voice was soft, closer, “I’m sorry, kitten, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She flinched once more when she felt his hand run down the crown of her head to her nape, smoothing down her hair.

“I just meant that you’re mine.” his tone was low, assuring. “You were always mine. The rankings just helped me find you.”

His fingers tightened around her nape slightly, “I take care of what’s mine.”

Her exhale came out staggered as she tried not to cry. Her trembling body straightened slightly as she opened her eyes to face him. She knew her eyes were watery.

His eyes were cool, a calm ocean-blue as he assessed her.

“I know.” she murmured, through wobbly lips. Carefully slipping her mask on in silence.

She thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, “Yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as he drew her closer to him—letting him kiss her. The kiss wasn’t kind. She knew he was tasting her-tasting the ice cream on her lips-her mouth-as he kissed her. His hand on her nape held her firmly as he tilted his head to kiss her more.

The kiss felt like a claim; a claim that seeped further into her skin the longer he held her lips captive. She had a sickening feeling that she was signing her life away.

She knew what was going to happen when they got home. And it was confirmed when he stopped by the convenience store on the way back.

She didn’t need to look in the bag to know he’d gotten condoms. He got her a lollipop, one for himself as well—as if they needed more sweets after all the ice cream they ate.

The second they made it through the window, his eyes were on her—the hunger in them palpable.

She swallowed, stepping backwards slowly, “You're staying the night?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer. 

It took him two strides to stand in front of her, he grasped her chin, “Of course, baby.”

His crystalline eyes scanned her face before he bent over to give her a kiss. Just as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, she drew her face back.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom.” she didn’t know why she was whispering but it couldn’t be helped.

He stared at her for a moment before releasing her chin. “ ‘Kay, kitten.”

She quickly entered the bathroom attached to her room and locked the door. The second she was alone, she teared up. She wished she could stay in the bathroom forever. What would he do if she did? Would he break in the bathroom door? Would the sound of that awaken her Father?

She shivered, hugging herself tight as she hunched over the sink. She felt like she was going to throw up.

Her hands went to the countertop’s edge, her fingers tightening around its sides as she forced herself to breathe. She couldn’t afford to break down just yet. Gojo was waiting in the room for her and who knows what he would do if she took too long.

She closed her eyes, wanting to scream. She knew what she didn’t want to do but she knew what she had to do.

“It’s just an act,” she whispered to herself, her voice cracking, “Just an act.”

Her body gradually went from trembling to stiller than stone as she convinced herself-convinced herself that she could do this. Despite every nerve ending in her body telling her to run as far away as possible.

She didn’t dare look in the mirror before her; she knew one look into her own eyes would make her lose all resolve. Instead, she straightened and stepped out of the bathroom.

She glanced around her dark room. The moonlight streaming through her open curtains being the only source of light within the darkness. Her eyes landed on Gojo.

He was laying down on her bed, shirtless, lollipop in his mouth. Bright blue eyes already on hers.

A light smile graced his features as he pulled out the empty lollipop stick from his mouth and tossed it somewhere on the floor. He sat up, his cool eyes looking her up and down before patting the space on the bed in front of him.

She hesitated before walking stiffly towards him. Her resolve slowly slipping away with each step. Every signal in her body told her to walk the opposite direction.

When she was two steps away from the spot of the bed he’d gestured towards, he reached out to her. His hands slipped around her waist—pulling her in between his legs on the edge of the bed.

“Are you trying to tease me by walking slow?” he nearly whined.

He ran his hands along her sides before tugging his sweater off of her. His eyes never left hers as he tugged off her shirt next. She did her best to refrain from trembling.

His eyes widened in appreciation at her lacey white padded bra.

He bit his lower lip before bending over to pull down her pants. She jolted when his hands went to the back of her knees and calves, maneuvering her legs to step out of her pants.

He leaned back then, his eyes looking up and down her body before letting out a low groan. His hands on her hips squeezing needily.

“Fuck, so pretty.”

His index fingers hooked into her panties on either side of her hips���bunching up her panties before tugging upwards. She gasped, nearly falling forward as her panties rubbed against her clit.

Her hands went to his thighs to keep from falling and he smirked.

“These are mine.” he murmured into her ear before bending over to pull her panties down. She shivered when she felt his temple graze her hip as he maneuvered her legs again to get her to step out of her panties. He lightly bit her hip before sitting up straight.

He slipped her panties into his sweatpant pockets, a shameless grin on his face. She flushed.

His hands slipped around her ass, drawing her closer between his legs until she felt the tip of his cock against her navel through his sweats. She gasped when his large hands squeezed her ass cheeks while nipping at her neck.

His lips and teeth were insistent along her neck and shoulder—she knew there would be marks. The hickeys from their first time still hadn’t completely healed.

Suddenly his hands were at her tits, squeezing heartily while he marked the skin between her collarbones. She winced.

He withdrew slightly, squeezing her tits once more, “Fuck, baby, this bra is so cute. Makes you look so pretty. Gonna buy you one in every color.”

He squeezed her tits hard and she trembled slightly.

“G-Satoru-please.” she whispered.

“Please what, kitten.” he murmured before reaching around her to easily unclip her bra.

“Y-you hold me so tight.”

She felt his cock twitch against her belly. He cupped her bare tits, his thumbs running over her areolas before squeezing her tits in the entirety of his palms.

He groaned, “Cause these tits are mine, baby.”

Suddenly his arm slipped around her ass and she was flipped onto the bed, her back to the sheets. He lay atop her, his mouth on her tits.

His tongue lapped up her areola, the tip of his tongue flicking at its center to make her nipples harden. Once her nipple hardened against his tongue, she felt his hard cock twitch against her lower belly. His hips bucking into her as he fondled her unattended tit in his palm.

He sucked her nipples, hard—repeatedly swirling his tongue around it at first before sucking her tits like he could actually get some breast milk. He pulled away slightly, staring at her perky, puffy nipples with a satisfied gleam in his eyes before lowering his head to leave a dark hickeys on the side of her breasts. His clothed cock grinding against her spread legs all the while.

She whimpered as he began to give the same attention to her other tit--now palming the one that was covered in love bites.

His tongue flicked her nipple in his mouth before groaning. He withdrew slightly to look up at her and mutter-a string of saliva attached to his lip, “Could suck these tits forever.”

She couldn’t deny the feeling him playing with her tits elicited. It made something in her grow hot-hot enough to make her squirm. But due to being completely surrounded by Gojo’s huge body she couldn’t move as much as she would’ve liked.

She grit her teeth, unable to hold back a low moan as he moved the flat of his tongue over her hard nipple-flicking at it with the tip of his tongue. Her back arched, putting more of her tit in his mouth before she slipped her fingers through his white hair and pulled him back. She couldn’t take it.

His blue eyes were immediately on her, searching her face closely. She trembled slightly before deciding to distract him by pulling his face up to kiss her. He eagerly complied.

His lips crashed into hers, tongue viciously sweeping her mouth. He was hungry.

The pace of his grinding picked up a thousandfold, almost as if he were trying to fuck her through his sweats. His cock was so stiff, she couldn’t help but whimper in his mouth as he kissed her.

He drew his head back slightly to bite at her bottom lip. She felt his large hand slide down her shoulder, past her collarbones, over her tits, her stomach before coming to a stop at her entrance. His fingertips touched her pussy lips.

He broke the kiss to watch her expression as he slipped his fingers into her—only to end up groaning himself.

His head dropped as he began to pump his middle and ring finger in and out of her slowly, “So fuckin’ wet.”

She whimpered as his fingers continued to pump into her—the feeling making her twist underneath him.

As she began to writhe, his face somehow came before hers, “Does it feel good, baby.”

Her eyes widened, her face immediately heating up. She would die before admitting anything he did felt good—even if it unfortunately did. It felt so much better to be touched by someone else than herself.

Why’d it have to be him making me feel like this?

Suddenly the pace of his fingers picked up drastically and she cried out. Her insides instinctively tightening around his fingers.

"S-satoru! Unghh-ah!-oh my-nnnghh!" she mewled.

“There you go,” he muttered as she began to moan and whine at each rough fingerfuck. He dipped his fingers knuckle deep within her, his pace insistent.

He perused her writhing figure beneath him, his firm form keeping her in place. Her tits swung upwards with each forceful shove of his fingers. He flushed, his cerulean blue eyes locked in on her face as a subtle smirk bloomed along his lips.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” his voice husky, “You look so fuckin’ good.”

Her walls clamped around his fingers and his smirk widened. He dropped a light kiss on her lips, “Want you to cum, kitten.”

His fingers managed to move faster within her. She yelped, her back arching as she pushed at his shoulders. He didn’t budge.

“Please-no-nnghh–ah!-uh-”

“Wanna see the pretty face you make when you cum all over my fingers.” he spoke into her temple.

“N-no!” she gasped out when she felt it—horror consuming her when her body seemed to respond to his words, his pace. Her insides grew hot, hot in that way that felt torturously good.

His hand clamped her over lips when she screamed in betrayal. Her body writhed uncontrollably as waves after waves of pleasure rolled over her, making her shake around his ruthless fingers.

“Fuck, so hot.” he gritted out-his eyes never leaving her face. He kept up his pace until her shakiness subsided.

“Such a good girl.. gave me what I want so fast,” His smirk reappeared, “You like my fingers that much?”

She frowned-her voice hoarse as she responded instinctively, “N-no.”

Suddenly his thumb pressed against her puffy clit, making her jump. He began to rub her clit at a perfect pressure.

“Ah!-Goj-nnghh-no! Fuck-” she moaned, unable to stop herself.

“Liar.” he grinned.

She grit her teeth, hating the control he had on her body with every part of her being. She attempted to squeeze her thighs together-to end his ministrations but it was useless. His firm waist planted between her legs left her with no control. She couldn’t ignore his hard length poking at her inner thigh, it was as if it were demanding her attention.

Suddenly he leaned back-lifting his fingers to his lips to taste her juices. The sight was filthy and intoxicating.

“Mm-Fuck, taste so good, kitten.” he muttered, before lowering himself. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and immediately placed his mouth over her clit.

She jerked forward, gasping-but his hold on her thighs kept her legs wide open.

“Gojo!” she cried out through gritted teeth. He sucked along her clit and entrance with such diligence—as if he were starving.

“Nngh—P-please-haah-” she wanted to beg him to stop but it seemed to have the opposite effect. His hands tightened around her thighs as he dug his face deeper between her legs.

The feeling was so unexpected she couldn’t help but whine in desperation. Moans slipped out of her as his tongue expertly licked her cunt. It was overwhelming.

He lapped up her clit, making her jolt. The flat of his tongue rubbed against her tense nub-making her all too sensitive. She couldn’t take it.

“S-Satoru, stop! St-unghhh-ah-nngh! Please-please.”

He sucked her clit deliriously-as if he couldn’t get enough. His tongue powering past her rowdy hips and her futile attempts to shove his head away. His arms around her thighs forced her hips down and apart. His tongue swirled endlessly around her puffy clit-the tip of his tongue pressing and sucking right where she needed it most.

Her mewls went silent as she spasmed, cumming harder than ever. She felt like she was floating. Her body bucked as she bit her lower lip-hard-to hide the obnoxious moans on the cusp of her lips. Her body felt like it had been caught on fire-in the best way possible.

When he removed his lips from her cunt, she stared up at the ceiling-refusing to let herself wallow in the self-hatred threatening to consume her. Why am I enjoying this?

She winced when she felt his fingers slip into her cunt again. She was so wet and gummy inside that the action made a subtle lewd sound. He groaned, pumping his fingers into her lazily, “Fuck-so wet-so ready for me.”

He slipped his fingers out before climbing atop her to press a passionate kiss to her lips. He kissed her so hard she was pressed deeper into the bed. His tongue tangling with hers, kissing her roughly as if trying to consume her.

He broke the kiss, “You taste yourself, hm? Did you taste how sweet your pretty cunt is?”

He spread her legs apart, “Gonna use this sweet lil cunt as many times I want.”

She shivered as she watched him look her up and down with such obvious hunger. Her legs instinctively drew closer but he shoved them apart.

Her eyes widened in horror to see that he was already naked. Condom already on his cock.

Before she could even react, his hand slid around her neck. His grip tight around her throat as he thrust his full length into her.

She couldn't even scream, her back naturally arching as her cunt was forced to adjust to him. It didn't matter how wet she was, his cock always pried her apart. Her breath was stuck in her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut, teeth grit together in pain. The action had been so rough, she couldn’t handle it.

Suddenly his hand on her throat slid to her jaw, forcing her to face him above her.

“Look at me, kitten. Look at what I do to you.”

She wanted to sob-a weak sound leaving her lips as his hand around her jaw tightened.

“Ara..” he murmured into her temple so breathlessly-so needily-as if she were his most desired prayer. As if he'd die without her.

She whimpered, her cunt inadvertently squeezing around him. His breath caught and she knew she was doomed.

His fingers clasped around her throat while his other hand gripped the softest part of her hip, before fucking her like a ragdoll.

She didn’t know how the bed didn’t fall apart, she felt like her insides were. She was so loud-her throat was sore from how loud she was. His hand over her mouth was the only thing saving her dignity.

She felt like she could feel every veiny ridge of his cock, burning into her insides with each rough fuck. He made sure her cunt took all of him in-no matter how tight the fit was. It felt impossible to get used to.

“Ara.. oh, Ara..” he breathed huskily into her neck, “F-fuck,” his hand tightened over her mouth as he continued to fuck the daylight out of her.

The sounds of their lewd sex filled the air. She couldn’t breathe. Tears slipped down the sides of her face. Her throat scratchy.

“Feel so good, baby, fuck,” he babbled, “You get me so hard-haah-Wanna hear all those cute lil sounds you’re makin’—fuck-so perfect, perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

His cock pistoned into her relentlessly. She wasn’t sure she had a single coherent thought left in her brain.

And suddenly, his breath hitched and she swore his cock grew stiffer. His hips stuttered before slamming into her completely, forcing her hips to rise as he buried his cock deep.

Panic swarmed into her at the thought of him having no condom but she remembered, she’d seen it on his cock before he entered her. She shivered when she felt something warmer than her insides pour into her, though it felt much more subdued compared to when he’d dumped loads of his cum in her before.

She shivered when his cock continued to twitch. His hands gripped her hips tight as he continued to push her body up to lodge his cock deeper, as if wanting her to feel every single part of him.

She let out a low, staggered cry at the sensation of feeling so full. Her back arched, her tits pressing into his chest as his cock rocked into her.

He groaned desperately, his face pressing into the side of hers. She was sure his grip on her hips was bound to leave marks.

Finally, his cock stopped twitching and she heard him sigh.

He cupped one of her tits, caressing her, “You make me feel so good, kitten.”

She shivered when she felt him lightly kiss her jaw, then nip at her throat. She knew there were bound to be marks left later.

She shifted slightly underneath him, he was still inside of her. He was still hard.

Her voice came out quiet and scratchy-almost fearful, “I-I’m tired, Satoru.”

His lips over her collarbone paused their ministrations. She felt her pulse skyrocket at his silence.

Suddenly his face appeared before hers, the tips of his platinum hair touching her forehead as his blue eyes scanned her face.

“Don’t be selfish now, Ara,” his voice was gravelly yet soft as he lowered himself to kiss her. The kiss was gentle, probing-she felt his cock twitch.

“We’re just getting started.”

previous chapter | next chapter

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch Part 4- Crosshair

A wild Crosshair appears! The last thing I had pre-written. Now the hard part will begin. This is longer than the rest of them combined. I might have had too much fun with it. Be warned, I learned star wars swears just for this.

______

Crosshair you bloody idiot you should’ve known better. This was the only coherent thought Crosshair had been able to form for the past, say, ten minutes of frantic dashing through winding alleys and jumping fences. The rest of his thoughts were generally along the lines of “oh kriff,” “oh, God,” and - “DUCK!!”

He didn’t. A heartbeat later, he found laid out flat on his back, gasping and choking on nothing. Blinking bleary eyes, he strained to see what he’d run into. An enormous figure was looming over him, eyes and huge grin dimly visible. The giant reached down one huge hand caught Crosshair by the collar, hauling him up until his toes just barely brushed the ground. He paid no mind at all to Crosshair’s struggles.

“Got ‘im!” the man growled, looking past Crosshair’s shoulder as someone came up behind them.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me” a vaguely familiar voice stated. Crosshair willed his usually sharp eyes to focus on the smaller man who came around to stand beside the giant. “And I’d quite like it back.”

The newcomer was shorter than Cross but was strongly built. Maybe a year or two older than him. His long hair hung around a face bearing an expression of mild disinterest, as if all this were a minor inconvenience to an otherwise pleasant evening. Cross recognized him from the dockside bar, where he could always count on finding an easy mark or two. He’d thought this man was one such easy mark, with his guileless smile and a coat that was clearly made for someone much bigger than him. He’d been drinking and laughing and thoroughly distracted, and Cross had no trouble at all nicking his pocket watch, his coin purse, and some rolled up paper that had caught his fancy. It truly had been amateur of him to think it was that easy.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Crosshair rasped when he’d regained enough breath to speak. He was met with no answer, so he rolled his eyes and tried “oh, whatever could you be talking about? I’m innocent and honest and-” he was cut off when the giant gave him a rough shake.

“Fine! Kark off! Lemme go or tell me what you want.” He pried ineffectually at the hand grasping his collar. He wished he’d thought to bring his knives.

The shorter man smiled and fixed him with an incredibly calculating look. Crosshair deduced that he was not nearly as inebriated as he’d made himself appear in the bar. No drunkard would stare that intently. The man explained, his manner entirely casual and unconcerned, “well, since you ask, I would quite like my watch back. Wrecker?”

The huge man’s other hand came up and started rummaging through the many pockets of Crosshair’s coat. He kicked and fought, snapping his teeth and hissing, but it made no difference.

“Here, boss,” Wrecker retrieved the pocket watch and handed it over, “this has got your name on it too,” the stolen coin purse was removed from another pocket. Cross noted the embroidery on the bag indicating it as the property of one Hunter Fett. Kark. He’d stolen from a Fett??

“Excellent.”

“You got anythin’ else?” Wrecker growled.

Crosshair rolled his eyes and snarked, “I’ve got all sorts of things. I collect the belongings of legendary idiots and sell them the mermaids. I’m quite popular among-” he was cut off by Wrecker’s hand over his mouth and another shake. Oh, of all the horrible timing, this final shake was enough to dislodge the small scroll where he’d hidden it beneath the bracer around his wrist. It tumbled to the ground with a very quiet fwap. He didn’t let his expression change, didn’t look at it at all. Hunter’s eyes fell to it anyway. Well, Kriff.

Cross had been looking forward to reading that… whatever it would’ve turned out to be. He bit Wrecker’s hand in retaliation. The big man yelped and jerked his hand back but didn’t let go of his collar.

Hunter knelt to retrieve the paper, tucking it in his pocket before meeting Crosshair’s glare with thoughtful amusement. “I think we’re done here,” he said. “Let the man go, Wrecker.”

Wrecker shook him once again, seemingly just because he could, before dropping him to the ground. Stumbling slightly to keep his feet under him, Cross glared daggers at the two of them before turning and dashing into the night.

____WRECKER POV______

Wrecker watched the weird little thief disappear into the gloom, footsteps making hardly a sound as he retreated. Beside him, Hunter sighed.

“Nice guy,” he said. Wrecker assumed he wasn’t serious. “Damn good pickpocket. Didn’t even notice he got the map. Probably could get into some places we couldn’t.”

Wrecker snorted and shook his smarting hand. “Charming personality.”

“Well, we keep Tech around-”

“Boss, no,” Wrecker started. He saw the look in Hunter’s eye. He did not want to deal with the consequences of Hunter’s so called ‘intuition.’

“But Wrecker-”

“The kid’s a crook, Hunter!”

“And we’re pirates. Your point?” Hunter smiled at Wreckers indignation.

Wrecker stammered a bit. He, personally, saw what the Bad Batch did as perfectly acceptable. It wasn’t their fault they kept angering powerful people with too much money and too little humanity. Tech often remarked that Wrecker had been cursed with an indomitable moral compass. Wrecker wasn’t sure he knew what that was, but he knew the wiry little snake who’d made off with Hunters stuff probably didn’t have one.

“He karking bit me!” Wrecker tried again. Hunter’s expression didn’t change.

Wrecker was at a loss. And yet, he knew it was better to trust Hunter’s judgement. If it didn’t work out, well, Wrecker would be there to knock some heads for him.

“Fine,” Wrecker relented, “if you really think we need ‘im, we’d better go find his hidey-hole.”

_______

Cross dropped through the trapdoor just as the sun was beginning to appear over the horizon and heaved a sigh of relief. A bloody irritating night’s work to be sure, he mused as he crashed onto the beaten and tattered armchair that was the only furniture in the room, apart from a makeshift table he’d made himself. Not a productive day at all. Barely any haul to speak of, and he’d spent half the night running in circles to dissuade anyone -the bloody bastards who’d ruined his night’s work- tracking him back to his hideout.

Tired and fuming, he figured he might as well get some anger out. He stood and retrieved his throwing knives from the wooden chest that held most of his belongings. He slotted the knives into his pockets and flung one towards the far wall. It was snatched out of the air by an unfortunately familiar hand.

Wrecker stepped out of the shadows and tossed Crosshair’s knife back towards him. Crosshair caught it and spun it in his grip, retrieving another as well. He cast a glance towards his box, wishing he’d thought to grab his gun.

Wrecker kept advancing. Crosshair tried to hold his ground, but he didn’t fancy his chances against the giant, even with his arsenal of blades. If he could just get his rifle…

But he couldn’t. Instead, he found himself pushed backwards until he fell back into the old armchair. Wrecker pinned him there with a massive arm against his chest. “No biting.” Wrecker rumbled, pointing a stern finger in his face.

He noticed with a small degree of pride the red mark still visible on Wrecker’s hand. Experimentally, Crosshair stabbed the giant’s arm. He didn’t even flinch. Well, so much for that idea.

Cross already knew who’d be coming next, and sure enough Hunter stepped out of the shadows and smiled at him. “Let’s try this again,” Hunter said, “I’m Hunter Fett, this is Wrecker-” as if Crosshair hadn’t been able to piece that together yet- “And we are part of the Bad Batch.” Oof, what a name. Crosshair restrained an eyeroll.

“You are called Crosshair,” Hunter continued, “and are one of the most notorious thieves in Ord Mantell.” Here, he held up a wanted poster with a truly terrible rendition of Crosshair drawn on it. Cross noted the reward money with a hint of satisfaction.

“And yet,” Hunter put the poster away and glanced pointedly around the room, “you have precious little to show for it.”

“Wow. Rude.” Crosshair huffed, “I live here, you bastard.”

“You could be very useful to us,” Hunter said, a hint of ambition creeping into his voice, “we’ve got a job to do. It’ll pay well if we pull it off. Only problem is that it could use some… finesse,” -the word was carefully chosen- “And while I love my crew dearly, subtly is not exactly our strong suit.”

Hunter and Crosshair both looked at Wrecker, who merely shrugged and nodded.

Crosshair wasn’t feeling particularly charitably towards the pair of them, but they had a point. Wrecker would make an awful thief. But Crosshair was nothing if not defiant, so he snarled, “what if I don’t want to join your crew?”

“Then we will leave you be. And we won’t even compromise your… hidey hole.”

With that he backed away and climbed deftly towards the trapdoor in the ceiling, Wrecker finally lifting his grip on Crosshair to follow him. Hunter stuck his head in once more before vanishing, looking Crosshair dead in the eyes with a sincerity that stung his soul. “Ship’s docked in town. The Havoc Marauder. We’re leaving around noon. If you want it, we’ll have a place for you.” With that, they were gone, leaving Cross alone in his definitely compromised hideout with a lot on his mind.

He'd gotten a job offer from a kriffing Fett. A baby Fett, by the look of him, but still. He paced a bit, before striding to his locked chest and lifting the lid. He transferred the contents into his bag- a few items of clothing, some coins, toothpicks, and- of course- his many blades, pistols, and his prized rifle. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t look like he’d be back here for a while, so this was it. Kark, Fett had been right. His life’s work didn’t amount to kriff-all, did it? Building up a wall of pride had blinded him to the fact that, no matter what he stole- and he stole a lot- he’d never accumulate any value from it.

Finally, maybe just to assure himself he’d gained something from this way of life, he pried up a floorboard and pulled out a much more secret box. This one contained everything he stole that he couldn’t or wouldn’t sell. There really wasn’t a lot. Some shiny baubles he’d like the look of, jewelry belonging to the rich and powerful of Ord Mantell, and a stack of parchment. Cross made a habit of collecting paper he found on his outings, had taught himself to read with stolen letters, journals, and maps. It made him feel less isolated. He wasn’t one for talk- unless he aimed to infuriate an attacker- but the papers served as some company in his deep dark hiding places where only he would ever step.

He emptied as much of this as he could into his bag and stood with a sharp exhale. He glanced for one final time around his room, taking in the battered chair, his table, the walls pushed to collapse by repeated gunshots and knife throws, before scaling the wall and hopping out through the trapdoor. With any luck, something would still be here when -if-when- he came back. Unless those two idiots tailing him had let themselves be followed by every criminal in all of Ord Mantell. He suspected they had.

Running across rooftops, he made his way towards the docks- and an uncertain future.

________

BONUS: Where’s Tech? is he safe? Is he alright?

Tech was waiting on the ship for Hunter and Wrecker to return from their night of ‘gathering intel.’ He knew this to mean that they were most likely in the nearest establishment that served alcohol, picking up jobs and drinking heavily. Tech was content to let them have their fun, provided that had remembered to retrieve the lead they were expecting from a contact in Ord Mantell, and Tech would be there to haul them out of trouble when it inevitably came to that. Such was his lot in life.

He was surprised, therefore, to see them return somewhat early. Hunter handed him a tiny roll of parchment- a pitifully small lead considering the complexity of the job it entailed- and put forth a curious request.

“Tech, we need to know about the criminal population of Ord Mantell,” He said, “We’re looking for someone. You still got records on this place, right?” Of course, Tech thought, they only listen to me when they need something. Still, he nodded and strode belowdecks to retrieve the required intel, Hunter following and rattling off descriptors. Find one individual lowlife in Ord Mantell? Sure, finding a needle in a haystack was Tech’s job, after all.

“Give me five minutes.”

__LATER

Tech descended the steep steps that led below deck with a preoccupied air. He’d needed to leave the ship to drag Hunter and Wrecker back aboard in time to leave and was in a suboptimal mood. The fools had gone out again and found trouble, as usual. But no one was bleeding out or turning blue, so Tech figured he had time to sort through his data for the upcoming journey. He hesitated in the doorway at the sound of soft breathing.

Sprawled across a previously unclaimed hammock lay a figure; he lay on his stomach, arms dangling, with a knife clutched in one hand and a pistol in the other. As soon as Tech touched the floor of the deck the man shot up- flailing a bit to be free of the hammock- and turned both weapons to face the door.            `

The man was notably wiry, all sharp edges and no extra mass to speak of. He had steely grey hair despite his apparently quite young age. His gaze was uncannily sharp and undoubtably hostile and as he glared, Tech noted a slight shine to his eyes that put him in mind of a tooka cat at night. A vertical scar slashed through one gleaming eye.

The details together led Tech to the obvious conclusion. “You are Crosshair,” Tech said levelly. “True name unknown. Skilled thief and occasional killer, wanted for various petty crimes and a few larger ones pulled off reportedly ‘just for fun.’ The captain was very interested to know about you. Why?”

Before Crosshair could make any attempt at responding, Hunter’s voice broke in from above deck. “Gave him a job offer, Tech. Didn’t know if he’d show, but you know as well as I do we could use a thief for this gig.”

Tech considered the logic of that and, finding it sound, simply nodded. “Of course,” he said, “Welcome aboard the Havoc Marauder, Crosshair. I do hope you survive the experience.” With that, he walked past the bemused thief and into the room. He had books waiting for him, after all.

THE END - FOR NOW

[maybelinefox]

2003 Lighthouse AU Chapter 3: Trust

Chapter under cut!

It's about a week before I declare Mikey infection-free, though I warn him and his brothers to keep an eye out for recurring symptoms. It's not like I have any real medical equipment to test for any lingering infection, so I must use my best judgement. But I don't want to be giving him the antibiotics if it's not necessary. We will have to keep cleaning the initial wound until it's healed to ensure it doesn't get re-infected, however, so treatment isn't really over yet.

With the announcement of Mikey's clean bill of health comes the lifting of Donny's grounding, and not even an hour after Leo tells him he can leave the cave is he at my door.

It only takes another week or so for Mikey to follow.

The two of them coming to the lighthouse to hang out becomes such a regular thing I have to limit them to a specific time of day so I can be sure I can get my actual job done before having to focus on keeping Mikey from breaking everything.

By the time my first month has come and gone, Leo has begun trailing along with his brothers. He doesn't come every time they do, and when he does, he doesn't interact much. Mostly he just keeps vigil near the door, watching what they do and ready to leave whenever they are. He seems to have taken a minor interest in the TV, watching it with Mikey while Donny and I talk about the lighthouse.

I've shown Donny all the mechanics of the thing and explained the manuals. He's gained an interest in learning to read, and I assume it's primarily to be able to read the manuals. So, I've started teaching him.

We develop a sort of routine. I get up shortly after sunrise and do the majority of my chores before the boys come over. Occasionally, I'll make them some food. They come over about midday and we talk for a bit, maybe play a board or card game, and then end up separating so Mikey and Leo can watch TV while I teach Donny to read. If I made them something to eat, I'll make them something to take back to Raph when they leave, which they usually do shortly after sunset.

This continues for about a month before one morning, when I'm just finishing up cleaning the windows in the tower. I look down to grab the spray bottle off the ground to set it back in its cabinet in the office when I notice something moving in the trees. I can't tell what it is, but I just figure it's one of the turtles heading over a bit early, so I shrug it off and head downstairs.

Deciding I'll make the boys pizza today, I pull one out of the freezer and turn around to preheat the oven, only to be met with a face glaring at me through the window.

"Woah!" I yelp and jump back, hitting the counter behind me.

"So I do scare you," Raph says matter-of-factly. The turtle is casually leaning in the open window, one arm flat against the sill and the other supporting his head. The second he saw me fall backwards, his glaring white-eyed stare took on more of a disinterested frown. Though I do believe I saw a slight tug upwards at the corners of his mouth in response to the scene in front of him.

I pull myself away from the counter to stand up straight.

"You startled me, is all. I wasn't expecting you to be standing there."

I step back towards the oven to continue my task of preheating it.

"All you do is clean things," Raph states in annoyance. "Why can't they be here for that?"

I sigh as I pull the oven mitts off their hook. Anything he can find to get angry at, he'll find it.

"I like my alone time. And I'd like to ensure I can focus on my job. I find it hard to focus when other people are around."

He watches me as I pull a baking pan out of a drawer and begin prepping the pizza to go in the oven.

"You show too easily," he states suddenly.

I turn to look behind my shoulder to see him.

"What do you mean?"

He points to his still white eyes.

"You show."

I furrow my brow in confusion.

"I show my eyes too easily?"

He nods with a little sarcastic flare, like that was obvious.

I sigh heavily.

"I can't cover my eyes like you can."

This time, it's his brow that furrows.

"You can't?"

I shake my head, going back to pulling the pizza out of the box.

"You have a white eyelid under your green one," I explain. "Some reptiles and other animals have that, but most mammals, like humans, don't. We just have the one set of eyelids."

He stares, surprised.

"Why?"

 I shrug.

"Well, I guess we don't need them. Animals that have them use them to protect their eyes from the elements, even when their eyes are open. But most mammals don't live in environments where they need that."

He stares for a moment, still confused, and I turn back to face him, leaning against the counter behind me to wait for the oven. Once I’m fully facing him, he lifts his head from his hand and looks me dead-on.

"Everybody needs that."

I tilt my head, confused again.

"Why?"

"So no one can see."

The oven beeps.

"See what?" I ask as I twist at the hip to put on the mitts.

"Your soul."

I turn back to look at him. He's staring at me like that's something I should have known already.

"Why would an inner eyelid protect your soul?" I ask as I put the pizza in the oven.

He huffs in annoyance. 

"Why do you not know things?"

I straighten back up as I close the oven door before reaching to the control panel to set the timer. Looking him as dead in the eyes as I can with his lack of pupils, I answer.

"Perhaps you and I have lived very different lives, and therefore know and don't know very different things. So we find it hard to see eye-to-eye because we don't understand how the other thinks."

Raph blinks at me, not sure how to reply.

"But," I start, taking the mitts off. "I would like to try to understand you, if you'd be willing to take the time to understand me."

Raph stares for a moment, contemplating, before pulling off of the windowsill and walking around to the door. Meeting him there, I open it right on time for him to step in without an invitation.

"Sure, come on in," I say sarcastically as I close the door.

"I will, thanks," he returns without missing a beat.

He looks around the place before ultimately deciding to lean on the kitchen counter. I pull a barstool around to the adjacent counter edge and sit facing him.

"Father said 'the eyes are the windows to the soul,'" Raph starts. "He said you could tell who a person is by watching their eyes."

"So you don't show your eyes because you don't want strangers seeing too much of you before you can trust them?"

He nods.

"Have to protect the soul," he states.

"I see...." Well that certainly clears things up. And also proves even more than I already knew that he doesn't trust me.

"How do you humans protect your soul?" He asks me.

In Donny's reading lessons, I've also been teaching him proper grammar. It has seemed from the little I've heard from Leo that he's been teaching his brothers grammatically correct speech patterns as well. Guess Raph's been listening in. Which is going to make this a much more interesting conversation. He wasn't much of a talker before, but now it seems that's a different story.

I shrug. "Gotta be creative on that front. Depends on who you ask."

He leans forward, resting his head on his hand as he lazily stares at me.

"Ayla, I'm trying to 'understand' here."

I chuckle.

"Ok, ok, it's just that it's not exactly a straightforward answer."

I lean back, trying to figure out how to describe it. And what I'm even trying to describe.

"It's different for everyone. Some people are perfectly happy to walk around showing themselves off to everyone they meet. We call those people 'open books', because it's so easy to 'read' them.” I emphasize using my fingers as quotations.  “Basically, they don't hide anything about themselves, and you know exactly who they are within the first few minutes of talking to them."

He's listening, but he seems like he's not sure what exactly he's listening to.

"And then there's people like me, who are very much not open books. I don't like talking about myself to other people. I don't go around showing off everything about myself to every person I meet. I don't reveal my entire life story to a stranger just because they asked if I have any pets. I prefer to wait until I've gotten to know someone before I go telling them things about myself or letting them see more of me."

"So, your inner eyelid is...talking?" He asks, still confused.

I shrug. "Kinda. It also has to do with how you act. Sometimes, very sweet and kind people will act all tough and mean in order to prevent people from trying to take advantage of them or catching them off-guard. It's another form of protecting both themselves and their soul."

"Seems kinda exhausting to do that all the time," he grumbles.

"Are you exhausted, then?" I ask.

He opens his mouth then closes it in a mixture of shock and confusion. Pulling his head off his hand, he leans back again.

"Why would I be?"

"Because you do that all the time when I'm around."

"No," he tries to deny. "This is who I am."

"If you're showing me who you are, why are your eyelids still closed?"

He doesn't respond to that. Just looks down at his hands fidgeting on the counter.

"Come on, Raph," I lean forward, placing my hand near his, but not touching. "I know you don't trust me, and I completely understand why, which is why I haven't tried to push anything. But I've seen the way you are around your brothers. Your tough act is put on to protect them. Your reserved nature is put on to let them have fun while you keep watch. Your distrust of me is to make sure that they don't get hurt because I got too close. Don't think I haven't noticed you watching the lighthouse from a distance while they're here. Everything you do is because you care so deeply about them you put them before yourself."

He stares at my hand as I talk, not moving towards it but not moving away either.

"And you're so gentle with them too. When Mikey was sick, you thumped his head several times to tell him he was doing something dumb, but you never put enough force behind it to actually hurt. When Donny built that model of the lighthouse and asked you to help him move it to your home, you held it like it would break if you breathed on it too hard. And you and Leo butt heads a lot, but you always allow yourself to see his side of things even if you don't agree with it just so you don't have to fight him on it anymore."

Raph sighs, bringing a hand to his face.

"You don't spend enough time around me to know all that."

"You can see deeper into a person's soul by really looking into their eyes, yes. But you can see just as much, if not more, by simply watching them, and seeing how they interact with others. I watch you as much as you watch me, Raph."

I lean back, leaving my hand sitting close to his.

"So, what have you learned about me by watching me with them?"

He doesn't say anything for a minute, hand still on his face, before he shakes his head, sighing deeply. Sounding almost defeated. 

He steps around me towards the barstool next to me and sits down, leaning forward with his arms on the counter. He watches his hands as they fidget with each other.

"You're serious about whatever this job is," he starts. "I don't know why. It's just a bunch of cleaning, but you seem to care about it. You care about the guys too. Have since day one. You took fixing Mikey up very seriously too, and you actually did it. Donny loves you, you know? I'm...happy...he's found someone he can talk machines with. He's always loved them, but he's never been able to get too close. Hasn't seen very many, either. Not a lot of those around here. And you're very...nice...about explaining stuff. You don't get upset if we ask questions. It becomes obvious very quickly if it's something you know a lot about and it's probably normal for you, but you never act like we should know it too. You just...explain."

Slowly, as he talks, his hands inch across the table, until one of them barely touches the tips of my fingers. He doesn't move any further, though. Which tells me he's still testing me, trying to see if I'll force any interaction.

I don't.

"You take time out of your day to make us food and spend time with them even though you don't have to. You make me food, even though I never come in and I’m always rude to you. You haven't tried to hurt us, and you don't act like you want to. I've been waiting this whole time for you to try to trick us into walking into a hunter's trap or something, but you let us do what we want without trying to get us to do anything we don't. I don't think a hunter, even a tricky one, would act like that for this long. You've already got their trust. It wouldn't be difficult."

He lets out a heavy, thoughtful sigh.

"You treat us like we're other humans. Every other human we've met doesn't even talk to us. They just try to hurt us. Or capture us. Like when they took Father."

He stares at his hands and mine, still barely touching, for a good minute before he speaks again. Very quietly this time.

"I guess I just...thought it was too good to be true."

I nod, understanding.

"Well, when you've been taught one thing all your life it's hard to believe otherwise, even when presented with facts," I shrug. "And you can never really tell with some of those 'facts', which just makes it harder."

"But you keep doing nice things for no reason. I sometimes feel like you're trying to lure us in with false promises."

I shake my head.

"I haven't promised anything. I just like you guys."

He stares at me, then looks back down at our hands.

"I've...I've been trying...to like you too..."

"Trying to like me or trying to allow yourself to like me?"

"What's the difference?"

"You've liked me since the first time I brought you guys food," I state as fact. He sighs in defeated confirmation.

"But you haven't allowed yourself to like me out of fear that feeling was misplaced. Trying to like me means you didn't before and are trying to find reasons to push your hate away to force yourself to like me."

He thinks for a moment.

"Unless I really am misreading you," I admit.

He shakes his head no.

"I've been trying to allow myself to like you," he corrects himself.

I move my hand slightly closer.

"And that's entirely your decision. I'm not gonna tell you how to think. I just hope you understand before you make that decision that not all humans are the same. Some of us are just trying to live our lives and aren't looking for trouble or things to destroy. And at the end of the day, we're all just people. We all have very different lives and see the world in very different ways, but that doesn't change the fact that we're all just people, existing together at the same time. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but always just to survive. Just for the sake of existence."

He watches my hand as I speak, then continues staring at it after I'm done talking.

The oven goes off not long after we fall silent, and Raph jerks in surprise. I get up to turn it off and remove the pizza, setting it on a separate pan on the counter so it can cool off a bit before the others get here. I slice it to help it cool faster before sitting back down.

Just a moment after I sit, I feel a cold hand covering mine.

I look up to see Raph calmly looking directly into my eyes with his very big, very kind, brown ones. They're cold on the edges, but the closer I look, the warmer they feel.

"I think I've been surviving too long," he says quietly. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say he sounds like he's about to cry with the weight of that statement.

I cover his hand with my free one.

"Whenever you get that feeling, you're welcome to come here to escape it."

And for the first time since I've known him, a genuine smile graces Raph's normally scowling face.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock at the door.

"I smell it!" Mikey shouts excitedly. "There's pizza in there!"

I sigh, Raph and I both rolling our eyes as I stand up.

"Sure is," I answer, making my way towards the door. "Just took it out of the oven."

"And it's gonna be all mine if you don't get your lazy shells in here," Raph threatens as soon as the door is open.

"Raph?" Donny holds a look of pure shock on his features as he locks eyes on his brother.

"I was wondering where you were," Leo states.

"Did ya miss me?" Raph asks as he quickly grabs a slice before Mikey can get to the pizza.

"I was gonna go looking for you after dropping them off," Leo answers, stepping into the house behind Donny. "Glad I don't have to. Would have kept me away from the pizza."

"Love you too, bro," Raph states behind an eye roll.

"Your eyes are open," Donny points out, reaching for his own slice of pizza.

Raph shrugs.

"Got tired of keeping them closed all the time."

I smile. Guess he was telling the truth when he said this is who he is. Though, there is an extra layer of sarcasm that wasn't there before.

*****

It takes a bit, but I finally get a rough estimate of their ages. They're all roughly the same age as far as they know, and after explaining what a year is to Donny and helping him figure out the timeline by way of calendars, we conclude they're teenagers. They're definitely older than 12 or 13, but they're also definitely not in their twenties yet. So, with that close as possible guesstimation out of the way, I finally know how to treat them. I’m also glad I wasn’t treating them like little kids, even though I kinda thought they were.

It's also made rather obvious to me that they have been without their father, (their only parent), since they were too young to be alone. Based on the attempted timeline Donny and I put together, they were probably about ten or a little younger when he was taken.

And they've been surviving out here without him ever since.

There's no tribe, or hidden unknown species that only exists on this island. It's just the four of them. They have no idea where they came from. The first thing any of them can remember is playing together in and around that cave with their father watching them, or listening to him tell them stories around the lanterns.

"He used to tell stories all the time of his master," Leo explained one evening, just over a month after Raph finally accepts me, on a night when the boys all stayed for dinner.

"His master?"

"Yeah. He called him 'Master Yoshi', and he spoke like he was some great, wise man Father looked up to."

"Do you know anything else about him?" I ask, fully intending on finding this guy if he's still alive.

Raph shakes his head. "Other than he died before Father found us and he was always 'training', or something. Just a few stories of things he did.”

Well, him dead isn't helpful.

“He trained us a little too,” Donny adds. “And he said it was the way his Master trained, but I don’t remember much about that anymore."

"Did the angry man ever say anything to you about what happened to him?"

At Leo's question, all eyes turn to me, and all sounds of chewing stop.

I let out a disappointed sigh as I shake my head.

"He was telling me about you guys and mentioned that one of you was captured a few years ago. That's all he ever said. Not sure he would know anyway, since he's not the one that orchestrated the whole thing."

"Orca'd what?" Mikey asks.

"Orchestrated means he planned and controlled the whole thing. But he didn't do that. He called the other people in to do that, and he said they were the ones that caught your dad. He may not know what they did with him, just that they took him."

All eyes look down as the boys feel the same disappointment wash over them.

Then the phone springs to life, and everyone jumps in surprise.

"What's that?" Mikey asks, concerned.

"It's not stopping like the oven did," Raph states.

They all seem a little freaked, but aren't actively panicking due to me calmly getting up to deal with it. I feel their eyes watching me warily as I head towards the phone.

"It's just the phone," I explain. "Someone who's not on the island wants to talk to me, and the phone is how they do that."

"Oh, that's so cool...." Donny drops his head onto his hand to watch as I pick up the phone off the wall.

"Hello?" I greet, gesturing to the boys to be quiet.

"Well, hello there, little lady," a slightly familiar voice comes across from the other end.

"Phil?" I ask, suddenly very grateful the boys don't actually know his name. If they did, they'd probably be throwing a fit or trying to leave now that I've said it out loud.

"Sure is," he laughs. "Hey, look, I understand if this is short notice, and you can say no if you want."

Uh oh.

I glance to the turtles, and the worry must show on my face, as Leo and Raph stand, looking ready to fight something. I hold my hand up to tell them to calm down and wait a moment as I listen to Phil continue.

"But I thought I might take you up on that offer to come visit when I'm missing the place, if that's alright?"

Dammit, I did offer that didn't I?

"Well, when were you thinking?" I ask, ready to shove the boys under the floorboards if he turned out to be at the pier already.

"Well, see, I'm calling from my boat."

Shit.

I rush to the back window to see if I can see him out in the water. Sure enough, there's a boat-shaped dot in the distance a few miles out, having only just left the mainland a few minutes prior.

"Ah, I see," I rush back towards the table. "Well, I do have a couple other things to do, so let me hurry and get those done so I can welcome you when you get here."

At that, Mikey and Donny stand, Mikey grabbing up the rest of the food and stealing a couple plates to carry it as Donny and Raph begin clearing the table. Leo stalks around the rooms, trying to find any proof they'd been here.

"Oh, that's fine, I'll let ya go then. Thank ya kindly, Miss Ayla."

"Sure, Phil. See ya in a bit."

I plop the phone back on the hook.

"Who was that?" Mikey asks as he throws the food in a bag Donny is holding out to him. Don instantly grabs the plates from Mikey with an eye roll and takes them to the sink to wash them.

"Uh, I'll tell you later, you guys need to get out of here before he's close enough to see you leaving."

"Nothing up there," Raph jumps down from the bedroom, ignoring the stairs. "Reorganized the books so they don't know you're teaching someone how to read."

He hands Donny his notebook he's been practicing letters in, to which Donny responds with an appreciative chirp as he accepts the book from his brother.

I suddenly notice how practiced this all seems. It's only happened twice before when the supply guy pops in, but it's usually not this rushed since I know at least a day in advance he's coming.

"Let's go then," Leo opens the door to usher everyone out.

"When will he be gone?" Mikey asks, backing towards the door and shoving a muffin into his mouth.

I shrug. "No idea. I'd recommend staying away till morning. Or, at the very least, check to see if there's a second boat at the pier before leaving the trees."

Raph nods as he follows Donny out the door.

"Sure thing."

Leo nods to me as well before closing the door behind them.

I spray a bit of air freshener around the inside of the building and open all the windows, hoping the ocean breeze will get rid of whatever smell they may have left behind. I've gotten used to it, of course, but I'm fairly certain I remember there being a smell to them.

By the time Phil pulls up to the pier, all trace of the turtles has been expelled from the building, along with a gentle, cool breeze making the inside of the feel lighthouse nice and calmingly comfortable.

"Afternoon, Phil!" I call from the rock after exiting the house. He waves up to me from his boat.

"Afternoon, Ayla!" He calls back.

Smiling, I take his outstretched hand as we meet at the bottom of the rock.

"How's mainland life treating ya, Phil?"

"Oh, very well, actually," he states. "I found me a nice little house near the beach."

I laugh, turning back towards the lighthouse. "You really couldn't leave this life behind, could ya?"

Shaking his head, he falls into step beside me.

"Nope. Just couldn't bear the thought of not waking up to the sound of the waves right out the window."

As we enter the lighthouse, I feel eyes on me. Doing my best not to look out to the trees and possibly give the boys away, I close the door behind us and turn back to Phil with a smile as his eyes fondly roam around the room.

Phil and I spend a couple hours chatting about lighthouse and sea life, and he spends a good bit just enjoying the feeling of being in the lighthouse again. I do notice after a while that he keeps glancing towards the stairs. He makes a few remarks or requests that are seemingly pointed towards taking me out of the room and leaving him alone in the living room.

So I don't leave him alone, and keep finding excuses to stay in the room with him.

Eventually it becomes too awkward and suspicious for him to continue trying to get me out of the room, so he doesn't. Instead, he decides to use a different tactic, and asks to go up into the light. I agree, and we head upstairs. After a few minutes up there, he remarks he'd like a glass of water and begins heading down to get one.

"Oh no, I'll get one for you," I exclaim, cutting him off by moving to the stairs before him. "You've been gone from this for a while. I'll let you savor it for a minute."

He can't seem to find the words to argue that in the time it takes me to head down the stairs into the bedroom.

I take a little time getting the water, glancing out the window towards the trees. I don't see them, but I feel them watching. I figure by now they know exactly who's in here.

I wonder if Raph will let me explain before he closes his eyes to me again.

The rest of the visit begins to drop off as we have less and less to speak of. I wonder many times if I should ask him about the turtle's father, but I don't want to say anything that may make him suspicious, so I'm waiting for him to say something I could use to lead into it.

He beats me to it, however.

Glancing over towards the front door as we're sitting over spaghetti he insisted on making due to his recipe being the best to ever exist, Phil notices the gun he left.

Zipped up.

"You use that yet?" he asks, gesturing with his head towards the rifle.

I take a small glance towards it before shaking my head.

"Haven't needed to."

He tilts his head.

"Really? They ain't shown themselves yet?"

I shrug.

"Ain't seen nothin abnormal."

"Huh," he sees surprised. I hadn’t thought the turtles would spend that much time showing themselves to this guy that wanted them dead.

He then shrugs, going back to his spaghetti.

"Well, it's only been a couple months. They'll turn up. I'd suggest you be ready when they do." He nods towards the gun.

I take my chance.

"On that note, I've been wondering something."

"Hmm?" 

"You said people came by to try and catch whatever these things you saw are. Did you call them whenever you saw them or did they come by regularly?"

"Oh, every couple months or so," he answers, raising a forkful of food. "They've got other places to be, apparently."

"And they caught one?"

"Sure did," he takes the bite, looking up to think as he chews. "This one was different, from what they told me. They were looking for those big green things I'd been seeing, and they saw them a couple times, but the one they caught was not that."

"Really?" I ask with a slight chuckle. "There's more monsters out there?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be laughing," he gives me a warning look. "That means more danger. I been worried about ya. Little lady like you shouldn't be out here in a place like this by yourself with all those things out there."

"I can shoot."

"Not if the gun is zipped in a bag."

I look back over to it as he continues.

"Nah this thing was different. Smaller than the people that caught it. Said it looked more like a rat. Fury thing with a tail and long nose."

"A rat? Now how do you expect me to not laugh at that?"

"Rats are dangerous on their own believe you me. A big one? Pure death I can only assume."

I try not to roll my eyes.

He can only assume.

All you can do is assume when you don’t actually know.

"Well, what'd they do with this dangerous giant rat?" I ask in a sarcastic tone as I take another bite.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Don't think they killed it. They seemed pretty intent on making sure whatever they caught was taken alive. But whatever happened after it left the island, I have no clue."

Damn.

Well, it's something, at least. He wasn't dead when he left the island, and they wanted to keep him alive for something.

That could either be a good thing, or a really bad thing.

We finish up the visit with him being unable to find a reason to stay, and I find myself waving to him from the rock again as he starts up his boat and leaves once more.

Finally.

I've taken a single step back into the lighthouse when I hear feet slapping the rock behind me, and I ready myself for the barrage I knew was coming. I'd just hoped it wouldn't be immediately after, though I guess I should have known better.

"That was him!" Donny yells as Raph slams the door back open behind me. I begin pulling off my jacket.

"Yep."

"That was the angry man!" Mikey jumps in front of me to see my face.

"Sure was," I confirm as I reach around him to hang my coat up.

"You said he was gone," Leo states. "Why was he here?"

"More importantly," Raph puts himself directly in front of me as I turn around, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "Why were you smiling and laughing with him?"

I sigh.

"You guys wanna sit down?"

"No, we want to know why you're all buddy-buddy with that guy."

I can see the white threatening to re-cover Raph's eyes.

"I'm not ‘buddy-buddy’ with him. He called to ask if he could come see the lighthouse, and I only agreed so I could see if I could pick his brain about what happened to your dad."

All eyes widen in shock, and no one says anything for a few moments as a collective gasp runs through the boys.

"So?" I start, heading towards the couch. "Do you guys wanna sit down?"

Masterpost First | Prev | Next

[last-knight-who-was]

Makoto's Thoughts

Makoto is pleased to see Mukuro back after her two week disappearance. He's even happier to see Junko return to normal.

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

Makoto paused as he stepped into the classroom, eyes immediately landing on Mukuro. After the previous two weeks of absence, it was almost shocking to see her back. He wouldn't lie, he'd started getting worried during the second week; it was the longest she'd ever been away on "business" and he had started wondering if something had gone wrong.

That feeling had only worsened as he'd watched Junko's attitude grow progressively darker in her sister's absence. The first week had been mostly fine, her usual barbs had been a little less playful, a little more vindictive, but the entire class had grown used to this shift in attitude with Mukuro's absence. It was the second week when things had gotten worrying. Junko had shown up for class Monday morning mopey and disinterested, any attempt at engaging her in conversation had resulted in snapped insults and vicious threats that had only grown worse with each day. All of Class 78 had grown tense as the week wore on and Junko's disposition had gone to dangerous places. He and Kyoko had both grown concerned when she'd began wearing long sleeves on Wednesday. They'd made sure to keep a closer eye on her after that.

Makoto wasn't too proud to admit that his shoulders sagged in relief as soon as his eyes landed on the twins. Slowly moving towards his desk, he allowed a small smile to tug at his lips as he observed them from the corner of his eye.

Junko had sat herself sideways atop the soldier's desk, legs crossed, one hand placed flat on the desktop behind her for balance. Mukuro's head rested on Junko's thigh, face pressed into her stomach with one arm curled loosely around her sister's waist, dozing off. Ever so softly, the fashionista ran the fingers of her free hand soothingly through dark hair, blue eyes soft and content as she stared down at her twin.

It was the calmest he'd seen Junko in weeks, clearly happy to have Mukuro back where she belonged rather than in some other country on whatever dangerous mission she'd been given. As much as Junko may toss around her teasing insults and demands, it was clear to everyone that she adored her older sister.

As soon as Makoto settled into his desk beside them, Junko's focus snapped to him, eyes narrowing as they focused on his smile. "What are you grinning at, Naegi-kun?"

Shaking his head, he let out a soft laugh. "Nothing, just glad to see you so relaxed again," he replied, glancing down at Mukuro before meeting the fashionista's eyes once more. "You're... calmer when she's with you. Content."

For just the briefest moment, there was a sort of shyness behind her eyes, a soft blush heating her cheeks as she looked away. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and sent him an annoyed glare. "It's just easier to make sure she's not being a disappointing embarrassment when she's with me and not out fucking around in some nowhere shithole." She snapped, though there wasn't much bite behind it. It was the type of thing she'd usually spit out when she felt vulnerable. He couldn't help noticing how her fingers had continued their gentle movement through Mukuro's hair, making sure the soldier stayed comfortably asleep. She was always extra tired when she returned from her missions.

Smile growing, Makoto nodded agreeably. "Sure, sure Enoshima-san. Whatever you say," he teased gently. As much as he had been starstruck the first time he'd met her, he'd since gotten over the sort of nervousness she'd evoked in him. She was no longer Enoshima Junko, famous model. She was just Junko, his friend who was scarily smart and showed her affection with teasing insults and sarcastic comments. And he couldn't help teasing her back from time to time.

Putting on an exaggerated pout, Junko looked down at her twin. "Muku-nee, Naegi-kun is teasing me. Stab him for me," she whined, tugging gently at those raven locks.

Slowly, Mukuro tilted her head enough to remove her face from Junko's stomach, grey eyes opening tiredly to meet her little sister's gaze. For a moment they simply stared at one another, seemingly communicating with nothing but their eyes before the soldier shifted her gaze to Makoto. He gave her a gentle smile, shrugging slightly.

Snorting softly in amusement, Mukuro rolled her eyes at Junko before burying her face once more in her sister's stomach to doze back off. Junko frowned down at her, flicking her ear lightly. "You're so utterly useless, neechan," she griped.

Mukuro muttered something that Makoto couldn't hear, nuzzling her face into Junko's stomach apologetically. The fashionista's expression softened, her hand returning once more to rubbing gently through her sister's hair.

Meeting Makoto's gaze, she poked her tongue out briefly. "This proves nothing," she sneered, earning another quiet laugh.

"Of course not," he agreed.

[inkovert]

I love writing Cami/Spencer scenes/dialogue a little too much. I can't stop re-reading this scene. I need to so I can write the next one

I needed a distraction. It occurred to me that Spencer was probably lingering around here somewhere, this seemed to be his usual hiding place. Rising from my seat, I went to search through the aisles. 

I found him standing in the historical fiction section, poring over a thick book. 

I approached slowly, hands raised. “I come in peace.” 

His eyes flicked up to me, then back down to the page. “What do you want?” Tone flat and disinterested as always.

“Hello to you, too. I’m doing fantastic, thank you for asking.” 

He looked up briefly once again. “What do you want?” 

Shrugging, I shoved my hands into my front pockets. “Nothing. I was just bored, I needed a distraction and I knew you’d be here.” 

He squinted at me. “Not a single part of that sentence followed a logical progression of thought.” 

I scoffed. “Would it kill you to be a decent human being for like, I don’t know, five minutes?”

“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.” 

Turning away, I kicked at the base of the bookshelf in frustration. Feeling my mind drifting back to my dilemma, I found myself telling him the truth. “I’m hiding, if you must know. Someone asked me a question I don’t have an answer for and I can’t face them until I do.” 

He shut his book and slid it back onto the shelf. ”I love all this extraneous information I didn’t ask for.”  

I rolled my eyes. “You’re right. My breath is wasted on you.” 

“You promise?” 

I scowled. 

Fingers hovering over book spines, he inspected each one and then slid out a thin book with a red cover.

“I swear you always have a different book in your hand,” I observed. “Why do you love reading so much?” 

His gaze snapped over to me sharply. “That’s a pretty stupid question. Especially coming from you.”

I immediately went on the defensive. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Why was every word that left my mouth immediately met with hostility?  

Thumbing through the book in his hand, he said, “You draw, right?” I was surprised he remembered that. He’d only ever seen me draw that one time. "Why?” 

I was caught off guard by him throwing the question back at me. I thought for a second. “I enjoy creating, dreaming up things. Then taking an idea from my imagination and making it tangible. ” 

“That was a cute little rehearsed response.” His blue eyes pinned me to the spot. “Now what’s the actual reason?” 

I clenched my jaw at his demanding tone. Digging deeper, I pulled out a more truthful, vulnerable reply. “Drawing helps me escape. To somewhere where I feel safe and in control. Everything is my own making and mine alone. It helps me block out or deal with all the BS and unfairness around me.” 

His gaze lingered on me, then slowly fell away, focusing on nothing in particular. “Out here, I’m just average, a kid,” he spoke the word kid with such disdain,”whose life is meaningless, inconsequential.” Closing the book in his hand, he returned it to the shelf, the spine still at his fingertips. “In here, life means something. It has purpose. In here,” he said quietly, almost in a daze, “I can be extraordinary.” 

Lips parted, I watched him closely, baffled and in awe. For a moment, he seemed to forget I was even standing there, and I swear, but couldn’t be sure, that in that small frame of time, I caught the tiniest sliver of vulnerability within him. But once he caught me staring, his face hardened, hand dropping to his side.

“Good luck playing hide and seek.” He turned and left.

[levicanpunchme]

Levi X Y/N

Genre: Romance/angst (kinda)

Prompt: You usually sit alone admiring the midnight view but one miraculous night, your sleep deprived Captain, Levi, finds himself drawn to you.

Warning: None. Pure fluff

Midnight

Rich navy blanketed the sky, accompanied by a layer of glimmering stars filling its emptiness. Darkness of the night spread throughout; however, it wasn’t gloomy. The darkness was serene, like an ally to a lonely soul. Once in a while, the dots flickered, reminding you of their hopeful presence. Beneath the majestic sky, streamed a riveting river, gleaming under the silver moonlight. You could hear the soft singing of the wind as it coursed through the waves and rustled against the oak trees.

Reclined against one tall tree, you stared at the midnight’s beauty. After intensive training, the sight seemed to soak up your exhaustion. The surrounding blue and green trees canopied against the river made your head calmer and lightweight, as if you were floating in thin air, towards a fated destination.

You were admiring the scenic view when suddenly you heard shuffling from somewhere around. You paused, your ears perking up- a skill you had acquired from picking up onto oncoming titans. You clearly heard distant rustling of leaves as if someone was crudely stepping upon them, determinedly marching their way through the grove. You turned to inspect the area, irritated upon the unexpected intrusion. You didn’t want anyone to find you right now.

You caught sight of a shadow appearing from behind the trees to your east. It drew closer as the sound of brittle leaves crushed against some boots became clearer. Then, your eyes fell upon the intruder.

His moonlit gaze narrowed as they met yours. His slender frame eased itself out of the ample trees, exposing himself as he stepped onto the rugged land. If you had been annoyed at the intruder for interrupting your time, you had now forgotten all about it, your mouth parting in fascination as you watched the familiar man standing before you.

Captain Levi.

Your clenched fists relaxed.

He surveyed you for a moment and then walked directly towards you, his gaze trained on you. Was it his intention to pay you a visit? You jerked up, suddenly too aware of your lethargic pose, collecting your knees more respectfully to face the stern captain.

He stopped a step away, his head lowered.

“Captain, what is the matter?” You eagerly questioned, assuming he had work related issues to be looking for you in the middle of the night.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he swiftly moved to sit beside you. You caught sight of his abdominal muscles clench, prominent against his white buttoned shirt, as he sat down against the tree. His back pressed against the wooden trunk as he shifted to a more comfortable position, one leg bending up and the other laying flat against the ground-which also showed off his leg muscles through black pants.

You quickly averted your gaze, ashamed for noticing such peculiar details about this man. You didn’t want to admit it, but somewhere deep inside your chest, you knew he made you flustered.

“Captain Levi?” You mumbled, questioning his motives.

From spending years training beside him, you knew Levi Ackerman was a man with purpose. Every action of his carried meaning-which was also why his leadership skills were unrivalled. The squad blindly followed his plan because in hindsight, everything he did proved effective.

“I’m bored.”

What?

Your brain relapsed, attempting to reevaluate his words. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously to understand the meaning behind them. Dumbfounded, you could only ask again.

“What?” You voiced out and you realised you sounded more stupid than in your head.

He turned to look at you, his crescent shaped eyes blank, filled with disinterest. “I am bored,” he reemphasised, louder than before, maybe to further embarrass you.

“Okay…” you surrendered.

You wanted to ask more. What did he mean by ‘I’m bored’? Why was he here to tell you about his boredom? How did he even find you? You had so many questions, but your panicked nerves overpowered the impending curiosity.

Unintentionally, you began drawing small circles against your wrist with the pad of your thumb as you tried to look away from the captain. The blue skies and streams were supposed to be your focus of attention but for some reason, you couldn’t go back to admiring them. It was like his presence obstructed your train of thought, making you feel like a feeble girl with a foolish mind instead of a viciously-trained titan killer. He had that effect of standing out, blurring out the whole world.

“Why’re you nervous?” He rasped, his gaze growing softer as he stared into your pair of eyes.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, unsure what gave it away. You weren’t exactly like an open book, easy to read; instead, many claimed you were a difficult person, reserved and disconsolate.

As if he read your mind, he spoke up. “Those circles you keep drawing give it away.” Your breathing deterred as his hand suddenly grabbed your clenched wrist. Wide eyed, your skin reddened upon his touch as if it scalded your flesh.

You wriggled your hand free, dropping it to your lap. “How- do you know that?” You mumbled, surveying the warmth in his eyes.

His peach lips were pressed in a thin line, as if he was thinking about his response carefully. It seemed to take him a moment before he answered. “As a Captain, I have to pay attention.”

Right.

You didn’t want to admit it but you couldn’t ignore the pang of disappointment course through your veins upon hearing his reason. You were hoping that maybe- he remembered such an insignificant habit just because it was yours. How stupid of you to assume that?

It was just good captaincy.

“Why do you sit around here every night?”

Catching you off guard yet again, your lips parted in surprise. He kept on pushing you to an edge and you were afraid of breaking down your walls to show him your true feelings. If he kept on saying things, you would most likely combust.

“Captain, I wasn’t aware you paid such close attention to everyone around you,” you huffed, but immediately regretted it as the words had come out harsher than you had expected. You didn’t want him to know the impact he had over you.

“I mean- how do you know about this place?” You quickly asked, glossing over the anger in your tone from a moment ago.

He turned to look at you, his teeth grazing his lips. “I don’t have much to do at night so I tend to walk around.” His eyes were like steel, cold and inexpressive like he was hiding his real self.

“What, do you not sleep?” You laughed, unsure of what he meant. Your laugher died down soon enough as you watched his firm gaze unchanging.

He was silently agreeing.

Your mouth ran dry. How had you not noticed it before? Now that you briefly mentioned it, you realised the grogginess of his tone. His eyes were wet, stinging as if he had rubbed them several times and blue lines of exhaustion carved down his pale skin.

How long had this been going on?

How did he function flawlessly throughout the training sessions? He had never let himself slip.

Your chest felt congested, throat tightening with concern for the captain. Clearly, he hadn’t slept a wink in a while and you had no fucking clue.

“Since when have you not slept?” Your voice was laced with fury. You maintained eye contact, staring into the depths, searching for his worn out soul.

As if breaking a trance, he looked away at the river.

“You know there used to be double the amount of trees, older than both of us, around the river.”

You stared back, dumbfounded.

River? Trees? What was he saying?

“Some were cut down for timber, some for infrastructure and some to enhance the land’s beauty- bullshit reasons like that,” he rasped, eyeing the landscape with darkness embedded in his irises.

Blatant frustration kept building inside your chest as you watched him ignore the elephant in the room. Why was he talking about the goddamn trees? “That’s not the answer to my question,” you spat acrimoniously, glaring at him.

Your words went unheard. “Now we complain about deforestation and its long-term effects. We self destruct and then seek resolutions. Aren’t humans one of a kind?” He continued like a broken record, chuckling bitterly.

“If you don’t think I’m worthy of hearing your troubles, why exactly are you here?” You harshly cut to the chase, suddenly bold enough to put him on the spot.

His head jerked to look at you, eyes wide, exposing the redness in his sclerae. Your hands itched to reach out and forcefully shut his lids, so he could finally get some rest but you didn’t have the guts. His thin lips then curved into a lazy smile which made your heart stutter, forming a knot inside your chest. “Do you want to hear about them?” His husky voice made the knot tighten, clasping your heart.

You nodded. “I don’t have much to do either,” you quickly added.

He looked down at his fingers and you heard muffled counting. Curiously, you watched him count his fingers and mutter something incoherent, his brows furrowed as if he was concentrating deeply. Then he finally reached a conclusion, looking up with a satisfied glint in his tired eyes.

“3.4 weeks.”

“What?” You staggered.

“I haven’t slept properly in 3.4 weeks and counting.”

Your blood ran cold.

As if your body malfunctioned, coherent thoughts flew out of your mind, that moment. Your mouth parted, attempting to speak but your brain couldn’t form any sound words. You heard the pounding of your heart so clear, as if someone had tore it out of your chest and held it right next to your eardrums.

Disbelief and horror kept your heart thudding against your rib cage, wanting to break free. You were at a loss for words.

“You- you haven’t- 3 weeks?” Even when you eventually spoke, your words were still stupidly incoherent.

He chuckled. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I’ve heard it’s humanly impossible,” he rasped as if he was cracking the funniest joke. Your head felt like it was going to explode while he currently found it humorous.

“I mean- to be fair, I do think I sleep for a few minutes sometimes but…” his voice faltered, pupils darkened like the midnight sky as if he was reliving an agonising memory.

“But- what?” You breathed, desperate to know his inner turmoils.

“I hear them,” he started, his voice monotonous, awakening goosebumps over your skin. “I hear the buffering of their ODM gears as it runs out of gas and their horrified chuckles as a titan approaches their helpless body; the cracking of their bones as they aren’t quick enough when the buildings collapse; their wails for mercy as a beast ingests them, leaving not even remains of the person behind.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you watched the man slowly dismantle, emptying his heart off its agonising pain. As he spoke, his eyes were on you yet he seemed faraway. Pain mirrored in his irises, his emotions unstable as if he had been inside a bubbling pot of water, which heatedly rose to surface every now and then yet never fully erupted.

Your mind connected the dots. Three weeks ago, the Survey Corps had returned from the recent mission outside the walls. The number of casualties had skyrocketed since many ODM gears had malfunctioned during vital parts of the mission.

“Captain Levi,” you stuttered, heart in your throat.

He finally came back. Relief washed over your body as you watched his eyes regain color and the agonised expression dilute into a blank one.

You decided to expose your secret, so that maybe he might trust you more. “I come here every night because it relieves me to know that this sky is endlessly filled,” you told him, eyes skimming over your surroundings. “There’s clouds, stars and the moon, black, white and blue. It’s never lonely,” you muttered, fumbling with your fingers, staring at the broad sky.

The sky was your company.

“I don’t have anyone but when I come here, I feel like I have someone by my side,” you stated, your eyes gleaming as you surveyed the night.

“Look, isn’t it so lovely?” Your eyes traced the faraway glinting lights, wishing you were lucky enough to be the one shining the brightest.

You heard him inhale deeply, his breath shaky.

The following moment passed by in serene silence. None of you moved a muscle. Peaceful crashing of waves against the walls of the river prolonged in the air, making your heart rest at ease.

“It is,” you heard him whisper and you turned to face him.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

His chiselled features held you spellbound. You saw the reflection of the crescent moon, gleaming in his eyes, complementing his already silver orbs. For the first time, you noticed the perfect angular cut of his cheekbones, his jaw clenched as if he was putting all his attention into the task given like the determined captain everyone knew him as, who never finished something half heartedly.

This was a man who threw away his whole life, serving humanity, who lived life consumed with anguish and irreversible regrets. Levi Ackerman, the one who spent his nights wandering like a lifeless corpse, haunted by his reality. Where does one run when your demons are within your own soul?

“I wish I could take away your nightmares.” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke up.

This instantly brought Levi’s gaze towards you. A foreign emotion ignited inside his moonlike eyes and you heard him gulp. Without a warning, he scurried close and dropped his head on your lap, laying down like you were his pillow. Your body clenched, surprised at the contact. His brown hair brushed against your knees, making your body tingle. His eyes didn’t leave yours, above him. The sudden proximity felt rapturously intimate.

You were sharing a moment with the captain. Your mouth ran dry as you looked anywhere but into his eyes, knowing you were a weak-minded fool for him.

“Touch me,” he plead.

Electricity rushed through your veins. Your head felt numb like you were drunk on him. You didn’t know what exactly he meant by ‘touch me’ but you didn’t want to burst the bubble. Instead of remaining still, you moved to run your fingers through his brown hair. As soon as your fingers grazed his scalp, his eyes screwed shut, a breathy sigh escaping his lips. His impulsive reaction to your touch was so intimidatingly sinful, causing heat to spread through your entire frame.

“Your eyes remind me of the sky, so- full of color and life.” He was watching you again. His husky voice made your toes curl, your heart palpitating as you watched his lips part.

His gentle tone made you feel whole, like you were everything when you were beside him.

Short strands fell out from spaces between your fingers as you massaged your way through them. The more gentle your touch, the more he would twitch with pleasure.

“You know, there used to be more red oak trees before these green ones…” his voice deepened, becoming lower, almost inaudible. His eyes were turning hazy, growing smaller.

“I lied,” he murmured. His eyes were now shut.

“About what?” You breathed.

“-the captain bull crap.”

Your heartbeat escalated.

“I notice you. Only you-”

He interrupted himself with light snores wracking his frame. His eyes were completely shut, soft mumbles dissolving into nothingness as he finally fell into heavy slumber. Your heart was already drumming against your ribs, hearing him confess the truth and you wished he had said something more. However, Levi finally falling asleep made your heart warmer, happiness embedding in your chest.

That night, Levi slept like a baby, embracing your torso, drooling over your pants for fifteen hours straight on your stiff legs-which you didn’t dare move until he had slept all his tiredness away.

-

it would be cool to know what y’all thought of this.

ty for reading! <333

[vbee-miya]

[The Katsu Special]

✥︎ josuke bros x gn! reader || m.list

type: short story

synopsis: ah yes the morioh trio {josuke, okuyasu, and koichi} are all back at it again roaming around their neighborhood city. however, they want to convince a certain someone to join them.

w/c: 1k (1020)

a/n: yes hello i'm back and yes more jjba content <3. as far as warnings food is mentioned.

You’re laying flat on the ground skimming through one of your school textbooks. The fan blowing hot air from the opened window towards your direction; causing pages to turn only for you to block them when you had stretched your arms out.

It was nice to stretch them like that after a few minutes of having them as pillars to hold you up. Your arms stretched outwards on top of the open textbook, you laid your head on one of your arms just staying like that until you could feel yourself almost floating away.

Closing your eyes you could hear nothing, but the humming sound of the floor fan. You stayed like this until you drifted to a nice slumber.

A boy with a finely shaped pompadour hairstyle walked around the neighborhood talking to a boy much smaller than him.

“You sure about this Koichi?”

“I’m pretty sure Josuke, besides where else would they be?”

The two continued walking the houses around Morioh until your humble home was to be seen. Just around the corner of the street lied a two-story house. White low-leveled wooden fencing surrounded the front of the home leaving the driveway with no fencing of any sort.

A more overview of the house; it had three widows, the window nearest the garage had the kitchen window, and then the house entrance to the right of it. However, towards the middle of the fenced area was the open window of your bedroom.

The two boys stepped over the fence basically trespassing the property and went towards the window. There Koichi pointed out that you were lying there knocked out and should call you instead of waking you up like so. However, Josuke was steps ahead of another plan. Already having climbed over the window he gestured Koichi to come in to which he refused. Just standing there worried what you might do or how you’d react to the situation.

I mean it’s not like this was the first time Josuke has done this, it’s just that the last incident didn’t go too well. To be fair it’s not like it’s nighttime anyways.

Squatting down he poked your sleeping figure with a rolled-up homework paper that was scattered around your room haphazardly. He kept doing this until you budged flaring your wrist as if you were swatting a fly away.

“Oi! Wake up.” He poked the rolled-up paper again but this time moving to the side where your head was facing.

You still didn’t budge until you heard a textbook banging shut. You could’ve sworn you had only heard Josuke’s voice, but when you tried to make out who was in front of you, you saw Okuyasu instead. Laughing to himself as he held one of your textbooks loosely in his arm.

Pushing yourself up you looked around the room and only Okuyasu and Josuke were staring down at you. Clearly, they were waiting for you to wake up.

“Okay now that you’re awake, I planned for us to stop by St.Gentlemans. Heard there’s a new katsu sandwich.”

Coming back to your senses you yawned in clear disinterest and fatigue, “all this for a chicken sandwich? Count me out.” You left your haphazard mess and the boys in your room. Heading to the kitchen you grabbed yourself a drink of water.

Then suddenly the sound of the doorbell echoed around the hallways. The two boys following behind you still trying to convince you to join them. Opening the door you were met faced to face with Koichi, you usually weren’t the type to shut doors in front of his face, but you did. Of course, assuming that he too was also part of the objective on getting that chicken sandwich special.

You were tired and clearly deprived of sleep.

“Listen your eye bags are showing and I heard there’s a new ingredient they tried with the fried katsu chicken. [name] YOU HAVE TO JOIN!”

“Yeah what he said, you’ll regret if you don’t [name].” The Elvis-haired boy said, trying to look cool propping himself on the wall.

“And if I say no?”

The door opens slightly, “Um, I didn’t want to be mean. But could I enter? It’s getting cold out here.”

The three of you just stared at the silver-haired boy who was just standing there eyes soft looking for an answer to his question. Afraid that you’d yell him no.

“Gasp [name]! Look at him.” Josuke lowered his posture tilting the boy’s body towards your direction. He placed one hand on his shoulder and the other almost cuffing his chin. Okuyasu caught on the act and joined in. Directing and pointing his arms at Koichi.

“Come on, you can’t do this on Koichi’s birthday.”

“My bir-?” The muffled voice from the boy was covered by Josuke.

“Really [name] on his birthday?” Josuke gave you a puppy dog look which he knew you hated because it never suited him.

At this point, they were just fussing around your mind and you eventually gave in. The four of you walked to St.Gentlemans and fortunately enough the last batch was just being sold out to and the four of you were able to get a hold of one of the special fried katsu chicken sandwiches. Which tasted a bit different than what you had last time. The three guys had left the building thinking you were right behind them. You were quick to notice their disappearance and headed for the entrance where you had accidentally bumped into a blonde man fitting an odd purple suit. You’ve never seen him before, then again you barely knew anyone in Morioh.

“Hey [name]! What happened?” The shaved head asked in a clear response to why you didn’t exit as the same time as them.

To which you responded with a shrugged shoulder feeling a shot of cold eyes piercing your back. You turned and there was no one.

Josuke went over to you wrapping a hand around your shoulder. “Well come on, eat up. We’re almost done with ours.” The boy said gesturing his half-eaten sandwich to your non-eaten one.

[eisukevint]

Always You

Eisuke Ichinomiya

This one’s for you @leoamber66 - i should be ashamed of myself for taking this long but here we are! your graduation and your birthday gift. and a massive thank you to @cupidocherie for major help bec idek where i would be without her😭😭 anyways enjoyyy, i love you <3

»»»»

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean when you tripped and almost fell in front of everyone on your first day in elementary school?”

“No! oh my god, I told you to forget that!”

“Pftt, how can anyone ever forget that? I’m sure soryu and luke remember too”

“I hope they don’t haha, but really, we’ve come so far” Yuki commented, reminiscing about one certain day.

Eisuke’s POV

“So children, today a new student will be joining us. This is Yuki Freya. I hope all of you will be nice to her and welcome her warmly!” The teacher, Miss Hale as she introduced herself, addressed the class.

“Yuki, you’re going to sit with Eisuke. Please raise your hand so she can know where you are, Eisuke!” Miss Hale announced.

The clumsy girl, Yuki, made her way over to me earning several stares from both girls and boys present in the classroom.

“Hi, i’m Yuki!” She enthusiastically said extending her hand towards me.

I shook her hand, “Eisuke”

“Nice to meet you!” She said and then turned towards the teacher as she started her lesson, not giving me a chance to reply.

At least her smile is cute.

»»»»

Yuki didn’t follow me around like the other girls in my class did. Instead, she became friends with Luke and Soryu who happened to be my best friends. They seemed to like her a lot. Now that was rare.

It was P.E. and the teacher partnered me with Yuki despite the other girls begging him to partner them up with me. I didn’t complain considering she wasn’t annoying like the others.

“Are you ready?” She asked me tying up her left leg with my right one, preparing for the three legged race. Why is this even a thing? Couldn’t we just race like normal people?

“Of course I am” Eisuke Ichinomiya is always ready.

It didn’t take long for me to come off my high horse when Yuki couldn’t keep up with my fast pace and fell down, twisting her ankle.

Yuki groaned in pain and tried to get up but failed. The P.E. teacher came forth and asked me to carry her on my back to the infirmary as a punishment which was just across the field.

“But it’s not my fault that she fell!” I retorted back despite knowing it was partly my fault she fell since I was moving too fast for her.

“She was your partner Ichinomiya, it’s your responsibility.”

“Fine” I said when I realised there was no getting out if it. With that, i asked her to get on my back and carried her to the infirmary.

As the nurse tended to her injury, she turned towards me with that same cute smile “Thank you, Eisuke”

I instantly felt a stab of guilt.

“Hmph, I didn’t do it for you” I didn’t notice the blush that crept on my cheeks but I did notice the way my heart flipped. Just as she was about to say something, Soryu and Luke came looking for her.

“Are you alright?” Luke asked to which she replied with a grin and swinging her leg back and forth.

“Never better!”

Seriously how can someone be so cute.

»»»»

high school

The murderous intent was evident in my eyes as I gazed at Yuki laughing at something the principal’s cockroach son said.

In the beginning, Frank tried to befriend me but I felt something was off and eventually it became very clear to me that he only wanted me to be a handy tool in his pocket ready for emergencies, so I shook him off pretty quickly. Somehow, Frank’s always lingering around me. He’s always loved to single me out whenever I express disinterest in something, in hopes that others would join in. Instead, the girls that fawn over me often tell him to shut up and then they’re confronted by his fangirls and in the end, it’s just a massive cat fight.

He’s nothing but trouble. As the principal’s son, he’s quite popular, almost as popular as me, and he can pretty much get away with anything. Luckily for him, he’s very sly. Hiding behind his minions, he’s never once flat out done anything. Good with underhanded remarks, letting other people take all of the blame, coercing them into doing what he wants. His little groupies pay no heed to any of this, all because he’s handsome. But there’s a large group of people who don’t like him, but nobody has ever said anything straight to his face, thanks to his feared status.

There were rumours earlier this year that on Valentine’s Day, Frank asked Yuki out but she told him that she wanted to focus on school. I’m surprised Frank didn’t get angry at her and punch a wall or something. That sounds like something he would usually do. While I’m proud of Yuki for turning him down, part of me hopes that what she said was just a lie she made up so she could just get away from him. But now, Frank and Yuki are partners on this project, I’m convinced this teacher is trying to set those two up. Soryu, who was partnered with this over-zealous girl looked as if he would smash either his own head or the girl’s if she didn’t stop with her chattering. I’ve been paired up with Luke, unfortunately I’ve been neglecting our work because keeping an eye on Yuki has become too much of a priority. I hate how he gets too close to her, the way he continues to flirt with her and the smug look that’s plastered on his face when he realises that I’m watching. All Luke can do is sigh and shake his head at me.

“I’d gladly switch with Yuki if I didn’t have to put up with him, Eisuke...”

“Hey watch out, you’ll hurt yourself!” Yuki yells, pushing him away before she yelps in pain, drawing her hand back.

For a split second, it’s like I can only see red. I march right up to their desk, in close proximity to the two only to see a red mark across Yuki’s hand. It looks painful. If Frank hadn’t been so careless then Yuki wouldn’t have gotten hurt. What were you thinking!? Why do you need to care so much about everyone else!?

“Oops, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“No, I’ll take her.”, I sternly tell Frank. Yuki insists it’s not too big of a deal and that she’s fine.

“Hmph, alright. I’ll make it up to you another way then, Yuki.”

“You don’t need to. Stay away from my girl.” I felt Yuki tense up beside me the moment those words left my mouth. Thinking nothing of it, I took her dainty uninjured hand in my right one and pulled her along with me towards the infirmary. Yuki, being the obedient and polite girl she was followed without a hint of refusal.

Upon our arrival to the medical department of the school, the nurse immediately treated Yuki’s injury. As I gazed at the familiar scene before my eyes, a certain memory played in my head.

“What’s with you and infirmaries?” Were the words that came out of my mouth the very second the school nurse disappeared, probably went back to her office.

She whipped her head towards me, a tiny smile adorning her graceful features. Adorable giggles escaped from her mouth indicating that Yuki too was reminiscing about that particular day.

“You’re too amiable for your own good.” I chuckled, moving to sit into the chair where the nurse was not long ago and grabbing her hand with the nasty burn on it.

“How dare he ruin your precious soft skin like this” Placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, I held onto it as I stared deep into her gorgeous blue eyes.

“Is it true you rejected him?” She stared back, cocking her head a little bit to her left at the question, confusion etched on her face.

“On Valentine’s Day, I heard he confessed to you but you turned him down, saying you wanted to focus on your studies. Is that true?” Her face lit up upon remembrance but an almost gloomy expression took over right after.

“Ah...yes, now that you mention it” I squeezed her hand a little tighter but not tight to enough to hurt her as I waited for her to continue.

“That’s only half true though..”

What?

“I also told him I like someone else.”

Oh.

I immediately loosened my grip on her hand.

So that’s why. Heh, what were you even thinking Ichinomiya?

Yuki glanced over to me, fidgeting in her seat with nervousness.

“Won’t you ask who it is?” This time, she grabbed my hand and lightly tug on it preventing me from standing up, causing her to hiss in pain.

“Does it even matter?” I sighed, patting her hand lightly with that flicker of hope in my heart slowly diminishing. As I was about to get on my feet a second time, she said those words which haltered my every movement, completely catching me off guard. Words i’ve wanted to hear for the longest time now from a certain girl I adored more than anything.

“It’s you, Eisuke.”

Good Lord.

“It’s always been you.”

Will I survive if my heart continues to beat this fast every time i’m around her? I’ll have to ask Luke later.

“Eisuke?” Yuki peered at my astounded face snapping me out of my daze. When I look back at her, I thought I could resist just pulling her into my arms and claiming her as mine but boy, was I wrong. I immediately grabbed her chin and captured her silky lips in a somewhat soft and gentle kiss. Laying every emotion bare into our first kiss, Yuki loosely wrapped her arms around my shoulders as she kissed me back with equal passion. We parted and just sat there basking in the pleasure of being in each other’s arms until I decided to break the comfortable silence since a significant amount of time had passed and we needed to go back to the lab.

“You’re mine and I won’t allow you to leave me.” She hummed in response and with a little peck on her lips, I pulled her up with me and exited the infirmary.

Our fingers intertwined perfectly as we walked back to the class feeling oddly at peace - mind, body and soul.

»»»»

“And Soryu teased us so much when we went back to class! But no one was surprised, I mean we were kind of inseparable...” Yuki said bashfully, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The diamond of her engagement ring caught the light of the setting sun.

“It’s because they knew you were mine.” Professing my undying love for her, I place a fierce kiss on her lips imagining a bright future with my one and only,

“Always have been and always will be.”

•••

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: would you be so kind Ship: obikin Second: Ten years ago, Obi-Wan Kenobi met Anakin Skywalker, a charming young mage from Naboo, but as fate willed, they could not be together. A decade and thousands dead later, Alderaan’s High Court Sorcerer meets a Forger and his excited apprentice. AN: I forgot to post this on tumblr apparently, but here’s the first chapter of my second long WIP I am working on!

Then

The ship was crammed, filled to the brim with people clinging to one another, staring either at the home they’d lost or the home they hoped to be sailing to. Hundreds of ships had left Dromund Kaas already, carrying refugees across the ocean to safer harbors. The tension was high and sharp enough to cut as they sailed away from the doomed country and only relaxed when the pressure of the country’s shields finally left their shoulders.

“An awful sight, isn’t it?”

Anakin startled, instinctually pulled his coat around himself. Were he in a better shape, he would have lashed out immediately, winds, bindings, blood—

But the power flowing through his veins was too constricted, caged like a wild beast. Instead, Anakin just turned to look at the person who’d addressed him. An old woman with snow-white markings and long lekku stared at the dying country just as he had moments before, grief and resignation painting a sorrowful picture. “I never thought I’d leave this place. Did you?”

Wordlessly, Anakin shook his head. No, he certainly hadn’t thought he’d ever leave this place again. He’d been ready to be buried under the ashes of marble altars, not see this new dawn.

“I was born here, married too. All my children were born within the boundaries of this country and perhaps that is the reason they all left,” the woman continued. “I am glad that they weren’t here. If I think about what could have happened to them were they anywhere near the capital… I apologize; I hope you don’t mind my rambling. You looked like you needed company. Are you traveling to Naboo?”

He opened his mouth to reply, to give an affirmation, but stopped. He hadn’t quite thought where he’d go, except as far away from this place as he could. Naboo was certainly an option; Padmé would be glad to see him, he was sure. She’d take him in without asking a single question and defend him against the storms that were sure to come.

But Padmé was his friend and Anakin couldn’t allow her to shoulder his burden.

“No,” Anakin heard himself saying. “I’m not traveling to Naboo.”

“They are quite defenseless right now, yes, you are right. The fact that it’s the first stop of this ship is tempting enough for most to disregard what troubles might find them there.” The woman nodded in understanding. “I’ll be going to Alderaan myself. My eldest lives there, and in a country as strong as that, a tragedy like this can’t strike.”

She turned to look at the remains of Dromund Kaas again. The coastline used to be covered by beautiful large trees; his Master used to tell him how vital they were for its defense.

Now there was nothing but ash and darkness. Even here on the outskirts, where it had taken the longest for the remains of the catastrophe to reach, nobody was safe from it. Dromund Kaas had been in a pitiful state after the last war, which had made it an easy place to hideaway in. Alderaan might be stronger, the blooming center of magical education, but Anakin doubted they’d be able to defend against an attack like this. Nothing could save them from an attack such as this.

But Alderaan’s distance to this cesspit of disease was enough to provide a different kind of security.

Thousands of refugees would search for safety there, and Queen Breha was as cunning as she was kind. No one would be turned away and Anakin could slip in just right with them.

“I’m going to Alderaan as well,” Anakin replied.

The woman looked him over, then she beamed as if she were a young child and not already among the older members of her species.

Her smile was the first Anakin had seen in weeks. “Looks like we’ll be traveling companions then! You must tell me your name, young friend. I’m Raya Tano.”

She held out her hand and Anakin awkwardly shook it with his own left.

“My name is—”

Now

“Anakin Skywalker! Your automaton is ruining my kitchen!”

Sighing, Anakin let the spell sink back into the metal and settle into it. So much for working on his commissions today. A quick glance around the workshop told him that it was not one of his automatons running wild. Artoo was currently charging up and Threepio was keeping himself busy cleaning up. All the other small automatons Anakin crafted when he was bored were either asleep and charging or hurrying around the workshop, washing up the floors and putting away the tools Anakin had been using.

Anakin tugged off his gloves and threw them to a tiny and eager little automaton before picking up his softer everyday gloves. The leather was still quite resistant and had more runes stitched into it than most people dared to weave into one cloth, but they were nowhere near as excellently crafted as his work gloves. The dragonhide gloves were worth a fortune and so they never left his workshop unless Anakin had to. Anakin watched the little automaton put the gloves in their usual compartment until he could hear the click reassuring that the lock was in place. At first, that had only been a measure against thieves as he hadn’t had much to his name, but by now, it was a habit.

And it discouraged Ahsoka from stealing them for her own projects.

Anakin walked out of his workshop and crossed the courtyard to the small cottage he called his home, finding a kitchen in disarray, Raya standing on a chair with a small red automaton attempting to clean the floors.

“Look what a mess it’s making!” Raya said accusingly. “Instead of polishing my floors, it’s dirtying them!”

“I can see that,” Anakin hummed. He waited until the small automaton had reached his feet, then he bent down and pressed his hand flat on its small back, stopping it. Ahsoka’s handiwork was getting better; this little guy had kept moving for a while despite her absence. Anakin had no idea what the formal apprenticeship for forgers entailed, when they ought to hit what milestone, but he was willing to bet that Ahsoka was years ahead of her peers. Her spells were strong, her rune work fantastic, and very few actual weaknesses were left to explore in her automatons.

But Anakin was still a Master and Ahsoka only an Apprentice. Her work was not yet good enough to keep out foreign interference. Without much thought, he deactivated the automaton completely.

“This was your granddaughter’s handiwork,” Anakin commented. “She’s improving in leaps and bounds.”

Raya huffed and stepped from her chair. “I’m glad to hear that, but weren’t you meant to teach her control?”

“I am,” Anakin said, the argument an old and fond one. They returned to it frequently, mostly to annoy the young Apprentice. “And were she still as much of a mess as three years ago, she hardly would be able to craft such a fine automaton. Can’t do anything about her manners.”

Especially since she’d become a teenager. Anakin didn’t remember being as much of a pain as Ahsoka could be.

“And here I was thinking Masters were supposed to teach their Apprentices a medium of decorum.”

Anakin snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what she has you for, doesn’t she?”

Raya’s expression softened. “That she does.”

Anakin sometimes wondered how Raya managed to stay so kind and calm when the world had taken so much from her. Her husband, country, her children— and yet she still stood straight, caring for the fellow traveler she’d never allowed to leave and the granddaughter that had been dumped on her with just a warning for Ahsoka’s generally explosive tendencies.

“Where is Ahsoka anyway?” Anakin asked, looking around the kitchen as if she would jump out in the open any moment. “I sent her on an errand earlier this morning, but she hasn’t returned yet.”

Unfortunately, Raya couldn’t tell him either. “I have no idea where that girl is running around—”

“Anakin!”

Speak of the dark and it shall appear. The door was thrown open and Ahsoka rushed inside, tracking even more dirt all over the floor, causing Raya to throw up her arms in defeat in a way Anakin knew meant Ahsoka would be left with all her favorite chores for the next week.

“Welcome back, Ahsoka,” Anakin said. “You’re late.”

“Yes, yes,” Ahsoka replied and rolled her eyes, obviously disinterested in what he had to say. “I got all you asked for and ordered the new metals, but look at this!”

Ahsoka raised her hand, revealing a ripped-off poster. It was tasteful in design, fine cursive writing on light blues, gold ornaments in the corners and, of course, the royal crest right in the middle of it.

Her Majesty the Queen of the Kingdom of Alderaan, Breha Organa, invites all Alderaani Practitioners of the Mythic Arts to attend the festivities in the capital of Aldera—

“Absolutely not,” Anakin said before he could even read the rest of the text. “We’re not going to Aldera to some festival.”

“Why not?” Ahsoka shot back. “It’s no summit, but it would at least be something.”

Her bitterness did not go unnoticed. Ahsoka had begged for months to attend this year’s summit. Every five, all magic practitioners gathered on Tython to exchange notes on their craft and pretend they were not also discussing the politics of their respective countries, forging alliances and the like. Anakin hadn’t been to the last summit, it having been just after Dromund Kaas, and the one before were tainted by the memories that followed, no matter how sweet the time had been. Ahsoka, of course, had begged to attend this year’s one, but it would only be foolish and reckless. He couldn’t just walk into the biggest gathering of mages in the whole continent and expect to get out of it without anyone realizing who he was, asking questions, concluding what he’d done.

Anakin had too much to hide, too much to lose, and he wasn’t going to risk his little Apprentice for it.

Not that Ahsoka knew any of that and wasn’t in the least satisfied with Anakin’s reply and immediately made her displeasure known.

“What would you even want to see there?” Anakin asked, trying to downplay how entertaining such an event was. “It’ll just be all the posh court sorcerers showing off with their fancy focusing crystals. It’s utterly boring and uncreative.”

“Like you wouldn’t use a focusing crystal if you had one,” Ahsoka muttered, arms crossed. “It’s just— there’s nobody else around here who can do magic. And all you ever do is work on machines.”

“Which requires a lot of concentration as it’s not just the manipulation of one aspect, but—”

“—but many, yes, yes, I know the speech,” Ahsoka said and dutifully listed all elements that went into their craft. There was a reason why not many forgers existed. Most mages lacked the talent, patience, and education to learn this craft, or were just plain afraid that they’d permanently damage their ability to use magic at all.

And with the speed technology was evolving and magic weaponized to terrifying new heights, not too many people still had use for forgers. Where two-hundred-years ago, you wouldn’t have gone out to hunt a dragon with a simple sword, but only with one crafted by a Master forger, nowadays you didn’t necessarily need one. Battle magic was on the rise again, especially with more and more countries growing uneasy, peace treaties falling apart. Combined with the threats from the northern continents, it was no wonder people cared less and less about expensive forgers when they could mass-produce and enchant simpler items.

“I just hoped you’d allow at least this,” Ahsoka finished. Her shoulders dropped. “Should have known better. I’ll go finish my readings.”

Ahsoka turned around, her shoulders still hanging, her head low.

Damn it.

Anakin knew that she was doing it on purpose. His Apprentice was cunning and had learned how to play into his every weakness. Slowly she marched into the direction of the door, dragging her feet behind her for effect and dramatics.

Raya raised a brow at him. She usually stayed out of Ahsoka’s tutelage, knowing next to nothing about magic herself, but even with his past being little more than a mystery to her, she could read him better than anyone else.

“Urgh, fine,” Anakin heard himself say. “Fine, we can go to the festival.”

Ahsoka turned around quicker than light and jumped up. “Yes!”

“But that means you’re not going to bring up the summit again!”

“Yes! Of course!” A moment later, Anakin had an armful of an apprentice. “Thank you so much, Master, you’re the best!”

Once she let go of him, she went to hug Raya and hug even her dirty automaton to her chest, still radiating happiness. “I need to go pack my bags immediately!”

“The festival is not for another week—”

Ahsoka obviously didn’t care. So caught up in her joy, she rushed upstairs, heading to her room to start packing. It shouldn’t surprise Anakin that she was so motivated. Ahsoka was a person who thrived on interaction, being surrounded by other people. While the people of their village were friendly, none of them were mages or even just sensitive to magic. It was one of the reasons Anakin had decided to stay without too much fight. But growing up so far removed from other mages had made Ahsoka twice as curious to meet others.

The thought made his stomach churn. He’d have to give Ahsoka formal lessons about their trade now, just if somebody asked questions that were too pointed. She’d also need a bit of the know-how on how you usually interacted with other mages and which pretentious bastards to call sorcerers before they threw a hissy fit. All these capital folks were much too sensitive about terminology after all. Anakin had never bothered to tell her the differences before, but Ahsoka would kill him if she accidentally embarrassed herself because he hadn’t seen it fit to instruct her properly. Forget teaching Ahsoka how to improve her automaton, the next week would be full of etiquette lessons. Skies, there’d be people trying to steal their spellwork too. Had he even mentioned that kind of theft before? Anakin honestly couldn’t recall.

“Already regretting it?” Raya asked, her voice just a touch amused.

“Just a bit,” Anakin replied.

“It’ll be good for her,” Raya said, convinced and confident enough for the both of them. “And good for you as well. I’ve known you for years now and you’ve never even brought a friend over. I’m not going to be young forever, you know. I do expect to be introduced to your future spouse at some point.”

“And this is my cue to go packing as well,” Anakin announced and followed Ahsoka up the stairs with Raya’s laughter following him.

He had no intention of being with anyone, ever, unless he could find glamours that held up even when majorly distracted. On his way up the stairs, Anakin caught a look of himself in the window, saw black vines curling around his neck, inviting someone to take a closer look.

It was better this way.

[taetaespeaches]

“Is that drawer still available?”

namjoon x reader (or oc) genre: fluff; angst word count: 3.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This is what takes place after Joon and Daisy have their fight (sort of fight?) in “The strings are attached already.” We start with Joon’s perspective of things before moving back into Daisy’s mind. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)) 

Oh, also, this features a bit of Yoongi, coming in clutch with some subtle-ish advice. 

p.s. this also fulfills a prompt request by @bulletproof-eternally​ (hi love) from ages ago: “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers. Like Romeo and Juliet, but without the ending.” 

THE beat sounding from Yoongi’s monitor was hardly even registering in Namjoon’s mind with you filling every corner of it, taking over each one of his thoughts.

Staring at the screen mindlessly, he didn’t recognize Yoongi’s voice calling for his attention until at least the fifth time the older man spoke, “Namjoon.” Eyes snapping to his work partner, Yoongi shrugged. “What do you think?”

Running his hand over his face, Namjoon sighed. “Play it again.” Without asking the questions that were present in his mind, Yoongi simply restarted the instrumental.

As the beat played on, Yoongi interjected thoughts such as, “this is where you could do your verse,” and “I’m thinking a pre-chorus by Jin and Tae here.” But at receiving no response, Yoongi paused the music and turned to Namjoon. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“Huh?” Namjoon asked in surprise. “Nothing, I just- I’m gonna get a coffee.” Yoongi huffed, sitting back in his chair as he stared at the monitor, the unfinished beat with an impending deadline putting him on edge. “Do you want-” Namjoon started to offer as he began to stand up, but slamming his knee of Yoongi’s desk sent him right back in the chair. “Fuck!”

Yoongi looked at his younger member in concern, not sure what to do for the man. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Namjoon said dismissively and shortly.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Yoongi retorted disbelievingly. Placing a hand to the younger man’s shoulder to keep him seated, Yoongi stood and walked toward the exit. “I’ll get the coffee,” he said just before slipping through the door.

Namjoon needed to get his head on straight. Replace the relationship problems from his nonexistent relationship with concerns of work. That’s what he needed to do.

But when Yoongi returned with the coffee, and Namjoon proceeded to spill the hot liquid over his own hand, he realized removing you from his thoughts would be an impossible task. He was distracted by you and the look on your face as you tried to hold back tears. Even if they were of your own doing, they hurt him to see.

“Ok, what the hell is wrong with you today?” Yoongi asked, beyond annoyed by his friend’s lack of focus.

“Nothing, I just need to reel my thoughts in,” Namjoon told him, trying to avoid a conversation about you with his band member who hardly knew you were a concern to be had.

“Maybe it would help to talk about it,” Yoongi suggested, feigning disinterest as he took a sip of his coffee. When Namjoon scoffed, Yoongi simply shrugged. “We’re not getting any work done anyway so,” the man said, cutting himself off as he awaited Namjoon’s next words.

“What are you meant to do when you’re seeing someone and want to make things more exclusive and official but they’re resisting?” Namjoon asked, embarrassment spreading across his cheeks in a light pink tint.

However, Namjoon didn’t realize how close the question would hit Yoongi, the older man clearing his throat as he sat up, setting his coffee down. “Uh, why do you ask?” The two guys sat in silence for a moment, Namjoon giving Yoongi a look as if to say, you know why. “So I met the reason last week,” Yoongi realized, Namjoon nodding. “It’s safe to assume you two aren’t just friends then?” Yoongi asked dumbly, Namjoon letting out a single laugh.

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon breathed out. “Haven’t been since the first night.”

“Right,” Yoongi nodded awkwardly, acting as though he didn’t already know you and Namjoon were fucking around. “So you want to be more and she doesn’t?”

“Yup,” Namjoon nodded, staring in front of him at the beat displayed on the screen. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“What?” Yoongi asked, eyebrows pulled together in question at the ridiculous statement. “What are you on about?”

“I just think- Maybe she’s too good for me,” Namjoon said, rather pathetically in Yoongi’s opinion. However, the look on his face showed the older man that Namjoon was in serious doubt about his own worth.

“That’s ridiculous, you’re great,” Yoongi told the man bluntly, Namjoon looking toward his friend but avoiding his gaze. “Look, I don’t know her all that well yet, but it was obvious to every single person in the dorm last week that she likes you as much as you like her.”

“Well, I mean, that’s how it feels sometimes but then why won’t she be with me?” Namjoon asked in frustration. “She’s so confusing.”

“She is with you,” Yoongi pointed out to Namjoon with a sense of understanding. “It’s just the label that’s scaring her.”

“Scaring her?” Namjoon asked, not having totally thought of that possible conclusion himself. He knew you were holding yourself back, but he assumed it had to do him and his worthiness.

“She’s probably scared of committing for whatever reason,” Yoongi shrugged. “And it’s probably not related to you. If it is it’s probably because she doesn’t feel deserving or something, I don’t know.”

Pulling his eyebrows together in curiosity, Namjoon met his older member’s eyes. “How do you know this?”

“Experience,” Yoongi said simply before grabbing the mouse and clicking something on the screen.

Nodding slowly, Namjoon realized just how much his friend had been keeping from him. “How long have you been seeing whoever is on the other end of that phone you’re always on?” He asked with an edge of playfulness in his tone.

Trying to hold back the curve of his lips, Yoongi smiled as he continued facing the screen. “It’s new.” Namjoon smirked, happy for his member having found someone, even if he was holding out on introducing her. “But I almost fucked it up. Because she’s too good. And I thought I was undeserving.” Yoongi didn’t elaborate anymore on the subject, but Namjoon understood what he was saying.

“Well, shit,” Namjoon breathed out in realization that there was probably an entire thought process going on in his potential lover’s head that he knew nothing about. “I should probably talk to her, huh?”

Nodding, Yoongi took a glance at his younger friend. “Just ask her about it. I can almost guarantee it has nothing to do with you not being good enough,” he gave the tiniest of reassuring smiles. “It’s probably the opposite.”

Sighing deeply, Namjoon thought of you and the internal conflict that must be going on inside your head at the moment. That is until Yoongi interrupted his thoughts, pulling Namjoon’s attention back to the work that needed to be done.

“Or maybe it is you and you should just forget about this whole thing and focus on this fucking song that’s due today,” he teased in a joking tone, Namjoon letting out a light chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he apologized bashfully. “Restart the track, I’m here now.”

When Namjoon left his apartment that morning, you were still there, failing to hold back tears as rain threatened to fall outside. He left you with a decision: stay and be with him, or leave, possibly for good. When he returned that afternoon, the rain was pouring, drenching his hair and clothes as the weight of your decision sat heavy in his mind.

The trek from the doors of the apartment building to the elevator had his heart racing more than usual, the fear of what he’d find, or not find, within his home suffocating the man. How would he accept the conclusion to this thing with you if you weren’t there?

Over the course of your fling, he’d come to know your heart as a hearth. The center of his home. He’d felt its warmth, the comfort and security you provided. But he also knew the bitter cold that chilled him to the bone when you locked him out. He wasn’t sure anyone else’s warmth would be able to thaw his numb existence if you walked out of his life.

Yet, reaching his apartment door, he still had hope. Because no matter how many times you’d tried to keep him at a distance, you always pulled him even closer than before. He trusted you. You’d given him a million reasons to expect disappointment, and he still believed in you.

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, all he could hear was the drum of his heart pounding against his chest. Scanning the living space, his heart dropped just slightly at no trace of you. But the hope remained. You could still be in the bedroom. Or the bathroom. He felt you in there still. It didn’t feel like an abandoned home.

Calling out your name, he strode toward the bedroom, peeking inside the open door to see… emptiness. The room was filled with his belongings, as full of meaning and personality as ever, but it felt so barren. With the bathroom door down the hall open as well, his heart stopped for a moment. You were gone.

Entering the bedroom, he scanned the space, the chill of the outdoors already filling the typically warm area. Or perhaps it was the absence of you. The top drawer of his dresser, the one he offered to you, was left ajar, drawing him closer to check its contents.

If there could just be one piece of you in there, just a single item, he’d have that hope to hold onto for just a bit longer. He approached the furniture much slower than he did the bedroom, his confidence significantly faltering the longer he stood in the apartment without you there.

With his index finger, he tugged the drawer open just a bit more as he peered over the edge to look inside. A sharp exhale left him as tears instantly pricked his eyes, a lump of emotion forming in his throat. It was empty.

Placing his palm flat against the outside of the drawer, he prepared to slam it shut when the dirty clothes hamper to the side of the dresser caught his eyes. Appearing purposefully placed, sitting on top of his clothing, was your lost shirt. As if you mindlessly placed it there, unknowingly designating the domestic space as a shared one.

Slowly, he reached for the garment, lifting it out of the hamper just as the echo of the front door opening filled the otherwise silent apartment. His legs were moving him toward the bedroom door before his mind could even comprehend the situation.

He was standing in the door frame before his head and heart caught up with him. There you were, the drenched t-shirt he offered you that morning hanging off your frame, your hand clenched over the strap of a tote bag, your eyes wide as you stared at him in surprise, your chest heaving as if you ran all the way there. The sight of you simultaneously knocking the air from his lungs and filling them with life.

Lifting the tote you carried, gesturing to the contents, you sighed. “Is that drawer still available?”

Heart racing, you watched as Namjoon marched toward you, your eyes filling with tears because it was him. And he was yours. Fuck, you were terrified, but he was worth it. When his arms clasped around your waist, pulling you tightly against his frame, your arms easily wrapped around the back of his neck as you exhaled in relief.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled against his face as you pressed repeated kisses to his cheek. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he complained lightheartedly, pulling away just enough to bring his lips to yours, pecking you softly in a quick succession.

“You’re home early,” you explained between kisses. “I meant to be here when you got back.” The man’s lips curved into a grin, his stunning dimples greeting you.

You did mean to be there. You meant to have that fucking drawer filled with your belongings. You meant to be sitting in his room when he returned, smiling at him, telling him you wanted him and you were sorry that the decision wasn’t this simple from the start but it was simple now and you were choosing him.

To be honest, the conversation with Jungkook a week ago had been weighing on your mind. He’s happy with you, Jungkook had told you. Namjoon was happy with you. And you were happy with him. It was that simple.  

Resting his forehead against your own, his rapid breathing began evening out, your fingers running comfortingly along his neck. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark,” you apologized sincerely, a tear sliding down your face. “For giving you so many mixed signals.”

“No, no,” he quickly negated, dropping the shirt to your feet as his hands came to hold your face, his thumb wiping away the tear. “I’m sorry for putting pressure on you,” he counter-apologized, you shaking your head sadly.

“Joon, don’t do that. Don’t you dare apologize,” you cried. “You’ve been so amazing, you just- you are amazing. Like so amazing that you terrify me,” you admitted, Namjoon pulling away from you so his eyes could scan your features, his thumb catching another tear as it escaped your bottom lash line.

“I terrify you? Babe, how is that possible? You scare the living hell out of me,” he chuckled, you letting out a light laugh with him as you glanced downward.

“I gained feelings for you so easily, and-” you looked up to meet his intense gaze. “You’re so incredible, and this kind of thing,” you gestured between you both, “doesn’t always work out,” you explained, Namjoon’s stare softening in slow realization. “You’re so much to lose.”

“Babe,” he whispered empathetically, your words paralleling the talk he had with Yoongi. You weren’t holding back because Namjoon wasn’t good enough, but rather because you felt he was so good. And the thought of losing something so good was too much to bear.

“I didn’t plan on feeling this way toward you, and when it happened so quickly, I just got scared,” you sobbed, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as tears fell onto your cheeks. “If I lost you, I don’t know if I’d recover,” you told him, followed by a sniffle.

When tears formed in Namjoon’s own eyes, your heart swelled in affection and you wanted to protect him. “I just have had this persistent belief stuck in my brain that it’s better to not have something so great at all than to have it and lose it,” you explained shaking your head. “But that’s so stupid, because you’re the best and I want you, I’ve wanted you. I’m still scared but I fucking want you, Joon.”

The man didn’t say anything, instead choosing to kiss you hard, the action full of passion and understanding, his lips working perfectly against your own. Before, you wondered if you and Namjoon had met in another lifetime. In that moment, however, it felt as though you’d been waiting for this in every lifetime, or possibly fighting it, never fully getting it. Getting him. But in this moment, this lifetime, you finally got it right.

Pulling away from the kiss, Namjoon’s hands held your face as his eyes scanned your features. Letting out a breath, he wrapped his arms around your head in a hug, your face finding solace against his neck, his skin still wet but characteristically warm as always. “When I got home and you weren’t here, I could see my whole life continuing on without you and everything was,” he sighed, “cold.”

“Joonie,” you whispered, your face scrunching up in emotion.

“You make me happy,” he assured you. And there were those words again that made this whole thing so simple. “Being vulnerable around you- I’m scared too,” he admitted. “And maybe the fear of losing all of this will always be there, because we are a lot to lose. But we’re so much more to gain.”

The words sunk in slow but penetrated deep within you, his sentiment being the first time you ever thought about fear and love going hand in hand. Of course it was scary. Life is unpredictable. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live while you can, especially when something so wonderful presents itself. And with that thought in mind, you had no doubt that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

“Do you still want me to be your girlfriend?” You asked through a small smile, Namjoon loosening the hug to look at you, his lips curving up, his dimples appearing as perfect divots. “Because if so, I would really like for you to be my boyfriend.”

“Then it looks like you’re my girlfriend now,” he grinned happily, kissing your forehead gently.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

“What? You’re my girlfriend?” His eyebrows raised with the teasing question.

“Yeah,” you giggled, kissing the man’s lips tenderly. “Again.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he repeated before deepening the kiss.

Losing yourselves in the kiss, his lips on yours, your fingers threaded into his hair as you desperately tugged on the locks, Namjoon smirking against your mouth just as you lightly bit his plump bottom lip. His hands moved to hold your hips, pulling you closer to him, causing you to step forward, effectively slipping on the clothing that the man had previously dropped at your feet, your forehead hitting Namjoon’s cheekbone with a light force.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You asked, inspecting his face, Namjoon chuckling in amusement as he squeezed your hips in his grasp.

“Are you ok?” He countered, you giggling as you nodded.

“Come here, babe,” you cooed, angling his face so you could leave a few sweet kisses to his cheek. “Is that-?” You asked, looking to the floor, spotting the source of the near fall.

Bending to pick up the shirt, you let out a small gasp in surprise. “Guess where it was,” Namjoon playfully started, you pulling your eyebrows together in question. “The clothes hamper.”

“No way,” you giggled, realizing you must have put it in there with unknowing purpose. “Well, I prefer this shirt anyway,” you teased, looking down to the t-shirt Namjoon had given you to wear.

“It looks a little wet,” he said suggestively, looking down at your frame in a way that made you want to strip everything off that very second.

Shrugging, you cocked your head at him, your fingers toying with the damp strands at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should take it off me then,” you suggested with a smirk, Namjoon immediately tugging on the material. “Yours is a little wet too, babe,” you pointed out playfully as you ran your hand down his chest.

“Well,” he looked down at his own shirt for a moment. “Would you look at that.” Laughing at his remark, you kissed him softly before smiling against his mouth.

“Hey, before we go any further with this whole taking these off,” you tugged on the fabric over his pectoral, “can we talk about something real quick?” You asked, knowing you were completely killing the mood but needing to be on the same page.

“What’s up? You ok?” He asked, a nervousness seeping into his tone and features, though he tried to appear calm.

“No, yeah, everything is fine, it’s just,” you tilted your head to the side in thought. “Can we keep this whole boyfriend girlfriend thing between us for now?” You asked, hoping the question didn’t come across in any way other than how you meant it. “I just want to take our time getting used to the label and the new terms and be able to adjust to everything that comes with this before we invite other people in.”

“Other people as in,” he started, “my members?”

“I just want to be really certain and comfortable and properly established before they know,” you said guiltily, the man smiling in amusement to your nerves.

“That’s fine, babe, I get it,” he nodded, kissing your cheek comfortingly. “Properly established,” he teased you, causing you to groan as you poked his chest in slight embarrassment.

“Stop teasing me,” you giggled. “The guys just mean a lot to you and honestly they already mean a lot to me so I just want to know exactly what we are and feel good about where we’re at before us includes all of us,” you explained unnecessarily, though it felt very necessary to you. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course it makes sense,” he assured you with a fond smile. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

Grinning at him, you nodded, jokingly confirming that you did indeed know that. Namjoon laughed before kissing your lips quickly, you slightly chasing him, causing the man to flash you a smirk. “This could be fun,” he commented, you raising your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah?” You asked, Namjoon nodding, causing you to hum in agreement. “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers,” you said seductively, dragging your finger along his collarbone. “Like Romeo and Juliet, but without the ending,” you added, Namjoon chuckling at you as he pulled you closer once again, nuzzling his face against your neck. “We’re not really forbidden either but you get the vibe,” you continued, Namjoon’s breathy laugh tickling your skin.

“I get the vibe,” he confirmed humorously, you giggling as he kissed the spot on your neck a few times, you biting your bottom lip in response. “Although, Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy,” he pointed out, you groaning in annoyance at him.

“I said without the ending, you said you get the vibe, Dimples,” you complained, Namjoon laughing further.

“Sorry, sorry, I get the vibe,” he playfully told you, trailing kisses along your jaw.

“I don’t think you do get the vibe,” you teased, though a small moan cut you off.

“I get the vibe, babe,” he assured just before attaching his lips to yours once again, you immediately deepening the action as you started pushing him backward toward his bedroom.

With him so close, your door wide open to his presence, a warmth spread across your body at the feeling and the realization that he was yours and you were his, and in the kind of way that you both could feel secure in being each other’s. You were still scared, but you were happy.

You never planned on meeting Namjoon, and you definitely weren’t planning to fall for the man. But standing in his apartment, in his embrace, you found yourself feeling as though you were home. As unexpectedly as Namjoon entered your life, he never felt foreign. In fact, he’d felt familiar since the first night you spent with him. Just now, you were finally allowing yourself to make yourself at home, take your coat and shoes off, well, and the rest of your clothes, and even leave them in his dirty clothes hamper. Because you were finally home.

And you’d finally fill that fucking drawer.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Loki Odinson’s Guide on How to Woo a Noble

Epilogue

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: You and Loki are both of age to court and he must make it official before he loses his confidence. Warnings: just a fluffy end to a fluffy miniseries  A/N: Ask and ye shall receive @blue-and-yellow-jjk-pjm and @frostedgiantfavs (sorry it wasn’t letting me tag ur main for some reason 😑) Sorry, it’s another short one, but I’m hoping that when I have more time I can go back to longer stories. All the same, I hope you enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02​

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

It was a lovely day in his mother’s gardens as Loki walked the familiar cobblestone paths with you. Unlike your usual strolls, you were not joined by Lupus this time. Loki knew he would have enough things to worry about without his fluffy friend covering him in slobber. You’d stopped to examine some new flower Frigga had planted, and while Loki would have usually gladly joined you, he was feeling too antsy to focus right now. Nearly two weeks had elapsed since your birthday, and he knew that if this were going to continue in an appropriate manner, he’d have to make his intentions clear. Logically, he shouldn’t be so nervous. After all, you had shared a kiss after the solstice ball that led to some more stolen moments of hand holding, and you wore the bracelet he gave you every day. All of which were scandalous in their own rights, of course. Not to mention the newest bauble he’d gifted to you on your birthday, a necklace with a pendant in the shape of a shooting star to remind you of the night you’d met. The aforementioned present was currently dangling from your neck, much to Loki’s excitement. He’d noticed that you tended to tuck it away in public settings, understandably so. That’s why it was so important he declare the courtship official.

“Everything alright, Loki?” you asked, begging to walk again. “You seem nervous.”

He gulped, fearing that the fact you hadn’t figured out his plan meant you were not interested. Maybe he was reading into everything too much and you just wanted to be friends. What if he asked, and you felt like you had no choice? What if you said no, and he made everything awkward? Maybe he should just forget it in the hopes that you could remain friends forever. Then again, he wasn’t sure he could live seeing you share your affections with another. Or maybe you’re just being overdramatic, the voice in his head whispered.

“Loki? Did you hear me? Are you feeling ill?” you spoke again when he said nothing.

“Oh, yes. I mean, yes, I heard you. Not that I’m ill. What I mean is that, well, I guess that what I mean is I am fine,” he lamely finished, clearing his throat. He never really did get past being tongue tied around you.

“I see,” you said, stifling a laugh at his rambling. “That is very good to hear.”

This was not going the way Loki planned at all. In his mind, he was as suave and articulate as ever, but on the outside, he felt like a bumbling fool. He was about ready to give up and try another day, when he passed a very familiar looking tree. Then inspiration struck.

“You know,” he began, “for all the times you have found me in a tree, I do not believe you have ever joined me.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” you admitted, nervously shifting your weight.

“Fancy a climb then?”

“Maybe it’s better if I didn’t, Loki. I’m not as graceful as you. I’ll probably land flat on my face.”

“You forget that when I first met you, I fell out of a tree. This very same one, actually,” he said, hoping that it’s sentimental effect would get you to agree.

“I still don’t know,” you replied, though now with less apprehension in your voice.

“Besides, you are one of the most graceful creatures to ever walk on this planet. Or any other, for that matter.” You looked away bashfully, flattered by his compliment. He knew you just needed one last push to concede. “And anyway, I will be there to help you. I will never let you get hurt. Ever,” he added for good measure.

“Ok, fine,” you relented. “Only since you promised.”

He took your hand in his, something that still made butterflies in his stomach, and led you over to the tree. As he helped you find the first foothold in the gnarled bark, he held you steady, intending to make good on his promise. After instructing you from the ground a bit, Loki began his own ascent, still calling directions up to you. Eventually you reached a sturdy bough and sat down, Loki close behind you. You peered over the edge, letting out a nervous, breathy laugh.

“See, that was not so bad, now was it?”

“Absolutely terrifying,” you admitted, “but also a lot of fun.”

He was content to just sit with you in the branches talking about this and that, avoiding the subject he really had to bring up. Though there were plenty of opportunities for Loki to turn the conversation back in the direction he wanted, he was beginning to lose his nerve again. He tried to remember his talk last night with Thor, who had been uncharacteristically helpful. Loki had been lamenting over the fact that you would probably turn him down if he asked to court you. And, knowing you, you’d do it in the nicest way possible, which may hurt even more than if you blew up at him, since it would be one last painful reminder of how amazing you are.

“Well, you walk with them all the time on the palace grounds, do you not?” Thor had said. “It is the perfect place to officially start a courtship.”

“Yes, we do love it, that is true. But what if they say no and I have ruined our haven?” Loki worried aloud.

“Brother, when will you stop doubting yourself? If only you were as confident in this as you are in everything else. Then this would not be an issue.”

Of course, Thor had yet to realize that all of Loki’s swagger was a carefully manufactured image. Still, he was glad it worked well enough to fool even those close to him. He looked over to where his brother was flopped on the couch in the sitting room, casually tossing and catching one of the pillows that resided there.

“This is different,” he finally said, gingerly sitting down next to his brother, hoping to avoid being hit with the pillow.

“Listen, Loki. Are you or are you not a Prince of Asgard?”

“Well-”

“And are you or are you not already courting them in every way but name?”

“I suppose but-”

“And did they or did they not accompany you to the solstice ball? The point I’m trying to make here is you can do this, brother.”

Loki came out of his reverie as you said his name. He responded with a quirked eyebrow and rapt attention. He had a feeling that you were going to ask to get down now, and he so hated that he’d squandered his chance to make his move.

“I wanted to say, what I mean is...”

“Yes?”

“Loki Odinson,” you began again after clearing your throat, “I want to court you.”

He was shocked and didn’t quite know how to respond. As the prince, he should have been asking you, though there was nothing technically wrong with you asking him. Even so, never in his wildest dreams did he imagine things going down this way.

“Or I want you to court me or us to court each other or whatever the proper wording is,” you mumbled, staring at your hands, misinterpreting his surprise as disinterest.

“I would like that very much. In fact,” he reassured you with a small chuckle, “I was about to ask you the very same thing.”

You launched yourself into his arms in over-enthusiastic hug that had you both tumbling off the branch you were perched on. Somehow, Loki managed to get his body under you to soften the impact of your landing. Of course, that turned you into a flustered mess and had you scrambling off him within seconds of hitting the ground. Even through your embarrassment, though, you were both laughing.

“Well,” Loki said with a smile, dusting himself off and helping you up, “I suppose it makes sense that this is how we begin our official courtship.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a grin of your own. “It really does.”

Having regained your footing, you gave him another hug, without falling this time, of course. He held you, too, and felt warmth spread throughout this body, emanating from his full heart. As the night drew in, earlier than normal because of the time of the year, Loki wrapped you in his cloak to keep away the chill, something that never really bothered him. You proudly clasped his hand as you walked, your bright smile practically lighting the darkening gardens. Approaching the Great Hall in high spirits, you both made ready to announce the good news to the rest of Asgard.

And they lived happily ever after.

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

 “See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Mate in Three

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 2653

Summary:

It's not a matter of if Beth can seduce Benny, it's a matter of when.

The first thing Beth decides is that it doesn’t matter whether Benny knows she’s doing it on purpose. Not for a moment does she believe herself to be wilier than him, therefore her attempts to seduce him cannot go unnoticed. She’s already revealed her intentions—at the bar in Ohio—and he’s made his own position clear. Both halves of it. He wouldn’t have needed to put an unambiguous ban on sex if it weren’t at least partly for his own benefit, as a reminder to keep their relationship professional, trainer and trainee. She still smiles to herself over how he reacted when she swept the hair from his eyes. All he’s done is silently place a handicap on her play: she’ll have to accomplish it all without touching him.

The drive to New York is for revision, repetition, exercises, and, amusingly, bonding. Benny’s still Benny behind the wheel, but this is something more straightforward than playing Benny Watts for fans and the press. He’s at ease. He even unstraps the knife from his belt ahead of them setting off.

“For comfort,” he claims, explaining that he doesn’t want the sheath digging into his leg the entire trip.

“Does this mean you don’t believe you need to protect yourself from me?” Beth jokingly inquires.

He holds her teasing stare a second too long and clears his throat as he redirects his attention to the road ahead of them.

It takes her a couple of days to find her feet after arriving at Benny’s apartment. She’s never been to New York and the noises outside are as jarring as the grim interior. Her host trailing the end of that open robe around feels like the equivalent of the smug smirks some of Beth’s earliest opponents wore when they mistakenly supposed they’d made a brilliant move against her. She wiped those smiles off easily enough; proving that Benny’s no match for her shouldn’t be any tougher.

Once she adapts to the lack of natural light inside the space and having to blow up her bed every evening, Beth is ready to commence. Benny’s already training her, started the first morning, but now she shifts to playing a simultaneous. This is the game beneath the game. Sure that she can win, what she’s most curious to discover is how many moves it’ll take. Though the apartment is unelaborate and their lives within the unadorned rooms routine, she finds opportunities. Poverty, followed by the monk-like existence at Methuen—every space communal, precious few meaningful possessions scattered between nearly two dozen girls—has made her wickedly resourceful.

Taking responsibility for feeding them is straightforward. It makes sense for her to buy the groceries as a way of repaying him for letting her stay, plus her numerous pointed looks upon opening a cupboard or the refrigerator to expose the slim pickings have Benny half-convinced before Beth even asks to take over food shopping duties. The only things he’s really attached to (besides coffee) are his morning eggs. She notices. She plots before falling asleep, unfurling scenarios in her mind as she stares at the ceiling and folds her hands over the placket of her satiny pink pajamas. Then, she starts eating his eggs.

“Why do you buy all this other stuff if that’s what you want to eat?” Benny questions, standing next to her at the stove, using a greasy fork to gesture towards the egg she’s frying.

Beth shrugs, surveying as he goes back to scraping at the bacon where it’s sticking to his pan. Even now, his upper body is bare under the robe and she’s suppressing the urge to warn him about the pain of hot splatter. She transfers her weight onto the foot farthest from him and watches the bacon sizzle.

“Maybe I just like eggs,” she says.

And, truly, she doesn’t mind them. However, Beth, who has preferred her eggs scrambled since childhood (a common breakfast at the orphanage and the most tolerable meal they offered), unfailingly prepares every egg at Benny’s over easy.

They take their positions across the table and the board from each other, plates on their laps, coffee always just shy of being knocked to the ground by their propped elbows. She lets him ramble. He seems to enjoy beginning every session with a little chess history—and, of course, the Benny Watts perspective on it. Finally, he moves his first piece with a decisive tap, but Beth concentrates on her egg. She splits it with the side of her fork and quickly moves the bite to her mouth.

Confused by her failure to respond to his opening move, Benny looks up. Beth feels immense satisfaction in witnessing the impatient gaze he shoots at her eyes melt as it drops to the yellow yolk dribbling from the corner of her lips. She wipes at it with feigned embarrassment, as though she hadn’t been pressing the egg against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until she felt the gush.

He blinks and shifts in his seat.

“You going to play or what?”

“Yes.”

Benny wins the first match by too much because she was distracted, but Beth’s loss is bearable to her. She gained ground in the other game. Although he recovered promptly, what she now thinks of as the Egg Variation did get his attention.

When devising the second move of her endgame, she thinks of Harry. His love for her was as plain as the nose on his face, but she suspects that this next tactic will work just as well on someone far less blatant about their feelings. Watching a woman dance must be where concealed lust and transparent devotion meet. Just as she stripped Benny of his queen at the Ohio tournament, she aims to strip him of the persistent disinterest in her that hangs from him like one of his necklaces.

He has a small radio. She’s only ever seen him listen to it in the morning, either sitting on the steps across the room from where she sleeps (presumably trying not to wake her with the noise) or at the table while she’s frying up her provocative prop/breakfast. One night, Beth waits for Benny to turn in, then grabs the radio. She has it on low at first, swaying her head side to side. But when she starts inflating her mattress, the thump of the pump depressing drowns out the music. Well, there’s only one thing for her to do about that.

Eyes on the closed bedroom door, Beth twists the dial to increase the volume. She swiftly sets the radio on the floor and places her foot on the pump, heart fleetly beating. Benny doesn’t come out, so she finishes her task, anticipation mounting. She adjusts the volume again.

Because they left right from Ohio, she traveled with a limited wardrobe. Taking pleasure in both strategizing and dressing herself well, Beth made sure to have the correct clothes clean on the correct day—including today. Especially today. That’s why, when the music sufficiently interferes with his attempt to get to sleep, Benny storms out only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Beth dancing, the navy skirt she wore the day before she trounced him twirling around her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him staring. She’s grinning. “We sit all day and I… needed to move.”

“Right now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He taps a finger against his arm and she notices he’s removed his bracelet and ring. It’s oddly intimate to view him without jewellery.

“Well, you don’t give me any other time.”

“That’s because I’m training you to be a chess champion, not a ballerina.”

Benny tilts to rest his shoulder against the wall. He’s still watching her and she’s still dancing, wiggling her shoulders and hips in place, though no longer hopping around. Just meeting his gaze has her out of breath. Do something, she dares him with her eyes.

“Relax, Benny,” she impishly commands. “I promise this won’t make me worse at chess.”

“Will it make you better?”

Beth shuns his challenging tone, swinging around to put her back to him and dancing more vigorously. She almost thinks she hears the smack of his bare feet crossing the floor to join her, but when she turns, Benny’s about to step back into his bedroom. He stops himself though, hand braced flat on the wall. She quits dancing as, slowly, he looks sideways at her. His eyes race over her faster than she can be sure of what he’s taking in. Her skirt and her plan, or just her noisy presence, keeping him awake? As he turns his head and disappears for the night, she spots the way he smiles to himself. She wants to drag him back out here. Instead, with a sigh, she shuts off the radio.

She can feel it—she can always feel a victory. Her self-assurance in this talent has never been rattled. When Benny beat her in Vegas, it didn’t surprise her. No, she watched it coming from half a dozen moves off, which was enough to lend his win the same terrifying inevitability as the oncoming truck that met Beth’s mother’s car on a bridge and killed her on impact. Beth was as incapable of escaping defeat at the US Open as she was of grabbing the wheel from the backseat and steering her mother to safety. The sense of an approaching victory is free of what-ifs and regrets. It simply is.

Following the employment of the Egg Variation and the midnight dance, she’s certain the seduction requires a single move more. And she’s US Champion Beth Harmon. She has just the thing.

The abominable dearth of privacy where the shower is concerned makes it an obvious choice. Too obvious? In her mind, no more obvious than engaging Benny in a trading of queens in Ohio after being defeated by him in that same manner in Las Vegas. His ego made him believe he was invincible, blind to the fact that Beth would never make the same mistake twice. Equally keen to avoid a blunder here, she gives the backdrop of the strike that will be her last a good test run. And tries not to enjoy it too much. (Outwardly.)

Usually, she collects her clothes for the day—or pajamas, when she showers at night—and places them next to the shower. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid the rogue spray that makes it past the curtain. Hidden by that same curtain, Beth towels off, then sticks an arm out to snatch up her clothing and dress in everything but shoes before stepping out. During her test run, Beth forgets to bring her clothes. She dries herself like normal, then, when she hears the door to Benny’s bedroom snap open, presents herself with his threadbare towel twisted around her, the end tucked in beneath her arm. She blinks at him as though startled and laughs with modest embarrassment.

“Forgot my—”

“Oh,” he says and steps back, practically trips back, slamming the door.

Beth waltzes across the room, head held high to breathe the air of imminent conquest. She almost begins to hum. What must he be thinking as he keeps himself caged in his room? Is he frozen or pacing? Running his fingers through his hair or his palm over his mouth? Has he flung himself to the far back of his bedroom, as far from her as he can get, or does he wait just inside the door, battling every second against the compulsion to wrench it wide?

“Just you wait,” she singsongs under her breath, smiling as she wrings water from her hair and pops on a headband.

After the trial comes the play for all the marbles (as her mother would’ve said). Beth doesn’t wait, doesn’t grace Benny with any time to cool down and get a handle on his refusal to acknowledge her as a potential sexual partner. The very next time she showers, she forgets the towel.

“Benny?” she shouts.

She’s knows he’s preoccupied; he was reading a book—on chess, what else—when he retreated to his bedroom for her privacy. His belated answering shout confirms that she’s only won a piece of his attention. Beth bites her lips together to discourage herself from smiling.

“…Yeah?”

“Could you come out here? I need your help.”

Controlling her expression, Beth pokes her head around the edge of the shower curtain.

“Well,” she hears him say loudly as his door opens, “that’s the first time you’ve said—”

His eyes scan the room for her and, locating her, he sighs. She gives him a delicate wave, just a fluttering of her fingers.

“Hi, Benny.”

“Yeah,” he responds heavily. “Hi.”

“I forgot my towel.”

“I bet you did.”

“And? Are you going to get it for me? I’m getting cold.”

She sees him slide his lower jaw to the side in frustration and contemplation, but, raising his eyebrows in a quick flick, he nods. The towel isn’t hard to find; she left it perfectly visible on purpose so he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. He walks towards her, shifting his gaze from her face to the floor and back. She understands the look—it’s that of a person trying to find a way out. They’ve alternated wearing it when sitting across from each other at a chessboard. He stops in front of the shower and extends the towel towards her, wearing a different expression: a man accepting that he’s been outmaneuvered.

“Thanks.”

Her arm shoots out as she takes it from him and snaps the curtain shut again. The reaction is clearly not what he was expecting because she hears him chuckle to himself.

“You’re cruel, Beth.”

She frowns, drying herself with unprecedented speed. She can see his silhouette through the curtain.

“How so?”

“You finally get me right where you want me and then you decide to toy with me.”

The sound of his feet scuffing across the floor reaches her as he walks away. Draped in the towel, she jerks the curtain open and chases him in stuttering steps. He turns and she freezes. Instinct makes her cross her arms behind her back, a habit from childhood that Mrs. Deardorff once told her to break as it made her appear secretive. Which she was.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to stretch it a moment longer. I don’t know what made me do it.”

“I do,” Benny tells her, squaring himself to face her fully. He grins. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? But I already—”

“Sure, you took the title from me, but you never got me back for discovering the flaw in your game against Beltik.”

Beth opens her mouth to argue only to close it again in a smile.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am, you know. Some of the time.”

He doesn’t disguise how his gaze rides a water droplet running down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and into the towel after following the swell of her breast. She lets him look, then extends her hand, businesslike.

“Do you resign?”

Benny smiles and grips her hand.

“You play ruthlessly.”

“I play to win,” she corrects.

His fingers tighten around her hand and he tugs her in. Their first kiss has the force of a merciless endgame assault—true to form for them both. The noise that escapes her as the pressure of his mouth on hers tips her head back farther calls out to him. He clutches her against him and she feels the imprint of his hand distinctly through the towel. Unable to push him, she pulls instead, guiding him around until she advances on his bedroom backwards, fingers hooked in the neck of his black t-shirt.

In lieu of a king, Beth topples Benny—straight into his bed.

[tcookies777]

Here is a sneak peek at a side story I've written for The Anatomy of Love (a KakaSaku modern college au - AO3 hyperlink included)! You don't need to have read the fic to read this side story since this is a flashback to Kakashi's past when he was a teen, but it does help to understand since it's in the context of the fic itself!

The Anatomy of Love: Side Story - The Angel from Hell

About 14 years ago….

Summer in Sound country was utter shit.

Fire country had its droughts for sure during this season, and more often than not the trees would catch fire just from the mere glare of the sun on a dried leaf. But at least the trees also offered plenty of protection from the heat so long as the Firewatch was making sure those trees weren’t burning first.

Sound country, on the other hand, had nothing but empty golden plains that seemed to stretch on for eternity. If it didn’t look like a sort of heaven, Kakashi would’ve thought he was in hell what with the sun burning through his clothes and the scorched patches of earth peppered throughout the fields—a telltale sign of the bombs that had rained down on the area not too long ago.

A summer thunderstorm last week had given them a brief reprieve from the intense heat wave, but it had still left them uncomfortably soaked in their own clothes. A week later, the sun was back with a fiery vengeance, and they were back to soaking through their tactical gear in their own stink and sweat again, but this time with the muck of the marshlands clinging to their boots.

It had taken almost the whole day to sludge through the marshes and find shelter at a farmhouse that seemed to have been completely abandoned days ago. They’d cleared the house and finished in disappointment upon finding that all of the livestock were either gone or already getting feasted on by the maggots. Most of the food in the pantry had also long been raided save for a single jar of strawberry jam and a cracked egg left to spoil on a shelf. It wasn’t that everyone was starving—although they were certainly hungry after a day out trudging through a war zone—but a jar of sweet strawberry jelly was practically bliss compared to their MRE rations. Even Kakashi himself was getting wearier and wearier over every pound of rice he had to eat with the bland curry packed in his ration meal.

So the moment Anzu had spotted the bright red jar, there had immediately been a scuffle over who got to eat it. Being the fifth in command (and with the first four already dead), Kakashi had asserted the order that each person would get their fair share of strawberry jelly: one scoop and only after they’d finished their MREs for tonight. Everyone except Obito had glanced warily at each other, reluctant to follow the command of a 17-year-old boy despite him outranking them all. But, not wanting to throw a tantrum over strawberry fucking jelly of all things, they’d each grunted in answer.

And now that last bit of the jelly was getting scraped out of its jar by Obito after Kakashi had passed his share over to him. Sweets weren’t his thing anyway even if he would kill for something homemade rather than a meal full of preservatives.

The leftover spicy powder clung to the base of Kakashi’s back teeth no matter how many times he swigged down some water from his canteen. It was like chewing on sediment, and judging by the faces of everyone else, he was willing to bet none of them were intent on eating curry anytime soon after the end of this tour. He didn’t blame them.

“Piece of shit!” Tsutomu suddenly snarled, unsheathing his kukri to swipe at the fly that had been assaulting his face for the last half hour. The fat insect buzzed around him before disappearing into the man’s beard that was still coated with the blood from when a Sound soldier had tried to bash his face in back at the marshes. With a growl, Tsutomu swatted at his beard, prompting two flies to crawl out and give him double the work.

Sitting closest to him, Yori ducked when his blade nearly chopped her ear off. “Watch it!” she barked at him, flicking her chocolate brown braid aside to pick up some of the cards she’d dropped. She was the only woman among the twelve of them here, and she was also the only one besides Kakashi who had the guts to speak up against Tsutomu whenever his bitching got too loud or too obnoxious. Usually both.

The rest of the unit was in the middle of a very intense game of Spoons, using a beat up pair of playing cards someone had the smarts to bring. Considering it was his first tour though, Kakashi initially could not fathom who would want to play a card game in the middle of a war zone, and especially deep in the trenches of enemy territory. But he’d soon discovered that a card game was the best way to pass the time when there wasn’t much else to do but scout, kill, and sit on their asses to do it all over again. As it was now, they were on their thirty-fourth round of Spoons, and he just needed an Ace of Hearts to complete the set in his hand.

Passing another card to Obito, Kakashi wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow. Tucked beneath his shirt, the hot metal of his dog tags rubbed uncomfortably against his slick chest. Summer nights in Sound country were almost as bad as during the day. The good thing about it was that the humidity dropped, leaving the air so dry that his tongue felt like paper every time he opened his mouth. The bad thing was that, with the place so arid, they couldn’t risk lighting a fire lest they burn down their only shelter for the night (or attract the wrong kind of attention). So they’d turned on their flashlights, thankful that the equipment had somehow survived the trip through the marshes but not so happy that they couldn’t even light a cigarette.

Even without a fire, the summer heat had become far more unbearable than the mosquitoes that assaulted them every hour of the day. By midnight, everyone had resorted to stripping their tops off and leaving only their tactical vests on, filling the small space with their stinky sweat. It went against protocol, but nobody—not even Obito—listened to him when he offhandedly commented that they were sooner to die from a mosquito bite than a bullet wound if they dawdled around half-naked like that. Even Yori had given up, leaving Kakashi as the only one fully clothed in his combat fatigues.

“Bet you we could cook an egg on the ground with this heat,” Obito rasped out, pressing the cool, flat edge of his kukri against his cheek. Not the smartest move unless he wanted to risk stabbing his eye out, but he was far too desperate to care at this point. “Fuck, man, what I wouldn’t give for a sunnyside egg.”

“There’s one on the pantry shelf downstairs if the flies haven’t got to it yet,” Kakashi replied dismissively, passing a Queen of Hearts card to him and then picking up—ah-ha!

Holding his fourth and final Ace, Kakashi surreptitiously slid a hand out to grab one of the eight bullets that sat on the stool they were all sitting around. It took twenty seconds for anyone to notice that there were now only seven bullets remaining, and then chaos ensued as the rest of the unit members wrestled for the last bullets.

Once the dust had cleared and the knocked-over flashlights were propped back up, they each opened their hands to show who had a bullet and who didn’t. Tsutomu didn’t, and he did not look pleased about it.

“All right, who won it this time?” Midori sighed even as everyone looked expectantly to Kakashi who’d already flipped his deck around to show them his complete set of Aces.

“Fuck this!” Tsutomu threw his cards down and jabbed his kukri in Kakashi’s direction. “He’s always winning!”

“And you’re always too slow,” Yori said with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t hear me bitchin’ about it.”

“Maybe because I would’ve made you shut the fuck up!”

Before the two could begin snapping at each other's throats again, Midori was already nudging his glasses up as he said aloud, “He’s a Hatake. They don’t call him the prodigal White Fang for nothing, so of course he'd win. He's one of those freakin' geniuses who excel at everything.”

One of the Aces in Kakashi’s hand folded slightly under his grip, but he said nothing as Obito glanced his way.

“Sounds like a freak to me,” someone mumbled.

With Anzu collecting all the playing cards to reshuffle, everyone had time to listen in on the conversation now.

“Ah, yeah, your old man was one of the hotshots in the military, right?” Genki sneered at him. His face looked like a weasel’s what with his long, sharp nose, narrow jaw, and beady eyes that twinkled as if he was constantly thinking of an insulting joke for anyone who caught his attention. But he was also the kind of weasel that shrunk back when a predator stared him down, and he did just that when Kakashi calmly turned his sights onto him. “B-Bet he has plenty of medals to show for it.”

Kakashi quickly looked away in disinterest. Fuck if he cared about his father’s medals. They were probably collecting dust and cobwebs somewhere in the back of a closet.

“Heard his Pops always carried a lil’ sword around in battle,” Tsutomu nodded to the hilt jutting out from behind Kakashi’s lower back. “Just like that one.”

“Who the fuck brings a sword to a gunfight?” Genki sniggered but just as soon stopped when he saw nobody else was laughing.

“It’s a tantō, you nitwit,” Obito said, slamming down the empty jar of jam with more force than necessary. Genki jolted in his seat from the harsh sound. “And it’s really no different from the standard-issued kukris we all carry.”

Tsutomu frowned at the knife in his hand that was almost double the length of Kakashi’s shortsword. He met Kakashi’s gaze over the curved blade, tawny eyes squinting at him for a second as if they were having a dick-measuring contest. Pleased with the extra inches he had over the younger man, Tsutomu lowered the knife to give Kakashi a smug grin. His shit-eating grin instantly flipped into a scowl, however, when the two flies from earlier suddenly appeared to attack his lips.

His breath must be that rancid, Kakashi thought with faint bemusement. While he could stand the pompous ass and his snide remarks, he couldn’t stand to watch Yori have to consistently dodge Tsutomu’s knife as he returned to stabbing at the flies with a vengeance.

Kakashi nodded towards the staircase that led to the bedrooms upstairs. “Tsutomu, Genki, switch off with Haya and Jun. It’s your turn to be on lookout.”

They clicked their tongues in unison but obeyed without question, grabbing their flashlights to head upstairs and keep watch for the next hour. As soon as they left the cramped room, the stink seemed to follow after them (although that wasn’t much of a surprise). Haya and Jun came in, propping their sniper rifles against a cabinet that held nothing but smashed plates within. As they searched for a decent seat where they could put their feet up and relax as well as they could in a warzone, Kakashi pulled out a map from his pack and spread it out on the floor. With the beckon of his hand, he urged everyone to pay attention.

“Amegakure is fifty miles from here,” he explained, tapping a finger on the northeast quadrant of the map. “The package is reported to be held within an underground bunker disguised on the topside as a water tower. At 0600, we’ll be leaving to cut through the Dead Marshes to reach Ame by 1800.”

“Why is it called the Dead Marshes again?” Anzu asked before slapping a fly off his sweaty face.

“Because a hundred of our men died there just last month. Cut down in an ambush after the enemy got ahold of our intel. Everyone’s been calling it the Dead Marshes since then.”

“So why the fuck are we going there?” Yori demanded. “I'm betting those corpses are still floating around for all the fishies to nibble on.”

“Then that just means we have even more cover,” Kakashi said.

Jun snorted and leaned over to snatch the map off the ground. Like most of the other survivors here, Jun liked to question Kakashi’s leadership at every chance. In fact, he was the kind of guy whom teachers would rip their hair out over had he chosen to stay in high school rather than head straight into the military academy. Running a hand through his greasy blonde hair, he snorted at the map before tossing it back to Kakashi. “There’s a river that we can follow for a few miles. It’ll lead us straight to Amegakure much faster than the marshes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because it's too tiresome to explain to a numbskull like you. “Because I said so.”

“A fucking kid said so.”

“At least I have a high school diploma.”

“And a Bachelor's and a Master’s,” Midori coughed out. When Jun glared at him, he took off his glasses and pretended to get busy cleaning them.

With a sneer, Jun pointed his flashlight directly into Kakashi's face. “I don’t care if you're a Hatake. I don't care if you're some genius with a dozen degrees. And I definitely don’t give a flying fuck if our superiors kiss your ass and call you the White Flash—”

‘Fang’, Kakashi almost corrected him, but even he found the nickname distasteful.

“—I'm not going to put my life in the hands of some kid who cares more about the mission than his own comrades,” Jun spat out.

“Look,” Obito sat forward, prying the map from Kakashi’s grip and smoothing it back down on the floor. “The obvious choice is the river, right?”

Jun nodded and then stepped on the foot of Haya who’d been too busy staring at Yori’s cleavage. “Y-Yeah, duh!” Haya nodded vigorously until the heel digging onto his toes relented.

Obito spread open his palms in gesture. “Then you would think they’d have an ambush set up for us there too since it’s the ‘obvious choice’. The river will be guarded, but Sound won’t expect more Fire soldiers to try the marshes after the first group failed.”

“Ah, so reverse psychology?” Yori still didn’t look so convinced, but she was already eyeing the marshes on the map again with renewed interest. She frowned and then looked to Kakashi. “You said you want to use the dead bodies for cover?”

“The marshes are our best bet if we want to get to the package on time. And without getting butchered,” Kakashi added firmly. “We’re the only ones left of our unit, so we need to play it safe but right. But I also wouldn’t expect Sound to turn a blind eye, so we need to move with stealth.”

Yori rolled her eyes. “Tsutomu is the opposite of stealth, but I guess we could always use his bitch ass for cover if needed. I just fucking hate the marshes,” she said with a sigh, sagging in her rickety chair, still exhausted from slugging through the marshes all day. “But Hatake’s idea makes more sense.”

“The fuck it does not!” Jun snapped at her. “I say we take the river—”

“And I say we’re taking the marshes,” Kakashi said, his voice low but harsh enough to make the fresh graduate stiffen. When Jun fell silent, Kakashi swept his gaze around all the others sitting and staring at him. He took turns challenging each and every one of them silently for a moment, daring them to question his orders anymore. “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care if you don’t like swimming with the fishes and corpses. I don’t care if any of you live or die. I care about completing the mission—and that is securing the package. That is our duty as a soldier and if you disagree then you are free to take off your vests and dog tags, put down your guns, and walk out that door and all the way back home.”

Everyone shut up at that, and for the first time in six months, Kakashi was finally afforded the peace of silence without someone bitching about the insects, the commercial taste of their rations, or a stone that had found its way inside their boot. Satisfied with the room’s consensus, Kakashi leaned back in his chair, unsheathing his tantō to wipe off today’s coat of blood and mud that stained the edges.

It was Yori who broke the begrudging silence first when she suddenly withdrew her pistol from its holster. “You keep staring at my tits, Haya, and I'll blow you a new eye. Right in the center of your fucking forehead.”

“Chill, darlin'!” Haya raised his hands placatingly. “I was just checking out your tags.” As if to prove his point, he leaned closer to her, training his eyes on the cleavage that could be seen just above the collar of her vest. Still under the pretense of reading her tags, he hummed and stroked his chin. “Impressive.”

Yori cocked her gun in warning.

“Hey, I got a place where you can blow me,” Jun snickered at her, prompting Haya to do the same.

“That’s it—”

“Enough,” Kakashi leaned across to grab Yori’s hand that was reaching for the kukri at her hip. Something then slipped out of his front pocket, fluttering down until it landed atop of the map to reveal little Rin shyly hugging onto a scrawny boy with silver hair and a dead gaze.

Jun swooped down in the blink of an eye, snatching up the photo with his blood-stained fingers. He whistled low, angling the photo for Haya to see. “Damn, Hatake! You like your girls really young, huh? But I didn't take you as a guy who likes four-year-old pussy! Or is she three?”

Over the men’s cackles, Kakashi resisted the urge to skewer the Private 1st Class with the tip of his tantō. Especially not when he had just finished wiping the blade clean of today’s muck. “The only pussy here is the one in front of me,” he replied coolly.

Midori choked on the water he’d been sipping from his canteen, letting it splash all over the glasses he’d just finished cleaning.

While Jun was still sputtering from the retort, Obito stole the photo away from him. He peeked at it for just a split second before handing the picture back to Kakashi who immediately tucked it back into the safety of his pocket. He wiped his sword down one last time and then sheathed it loudly enough for both Jun and Haya to flinch.

A grim silence fell over the group as everyone else seemed to recall all the beloved people they themselves carried in their pockets. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers. They were all waiting for their soldiers to return home—even if it meant in body bags or as dog tags.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Obito quietly asked as Anzu started to deal cards for the others to play a round of Thirteen with.

It was a sincere question, but it was still a personal one that had Kakashi scrubbing a hand over his jaw. His hand came away tinged with the thin film of blood that had yet to finish congealing on his mask. He could smell the sharp notes of copper with every intake of breath, so he made a mental note to retreat to the bathroom later and wash off the grime. It was pointless, he knew that. By tomorrow noon, his mask would be dyed in splotches of red again, but tonight he wanted to sleep without inhaling the stench of a dead man.

Sensing Obito still waiting for an answer, Kakashi wiped his hand on his trousers and then sighed.

“She's a girl. And she's my friend….” And he had kissed Rin before, but that was more out of curiosity than desire. Besides, he didn't count it as an actual kiss since he'd just been seven years old at the time. “She's… special to me,” was all Kakashi gave in answer. “What about you? You got anyone back home?”

This time, it was Obito’s turn to shift in discomfort. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Nah, I was... disowned by my family. I was always the black sheep, but one day, I fucked up and...” He paused to scratch his cheek for a moment. “And it cost my twin brother’s life. I mean, he’s not dead,” he added quickly. “But he got fucked up pretty badly from the accident to the point that... he’s like a shadow of himself. So I got kicked out of the family after that, got put in a group home, then joined the academy as soon as I could. I haven’t talked to my family or my twin brother ever since, so if I die... guess that’s it for me.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the end for you. I mean, you’re free to haunt me if you’d like.”

Obito's mouth quirked into a grin. “You don’t mind me pulling all that poltergeist shit on you?”

Kakashi snorted. “With your butterfingers, you’d be dropping shit rather than throwing it.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Obito shoved at his shoulder with a laugh.

His laughter was cut short, however, when the heavy tread of boots stampeding down the staircase followed by the most unholy screeching interrupted everyone. Genki and Tsutomu appeared at the threshold, faces flushed with angry scratched lines marking their cheeks as if a cat had gotten the jump on them. But it wasn’t a cat that was making that screeching noise; it was a girl. Slung between them with her wrists bound in ripped sheets, she thrashed around wildly in search of an opportunity to—not escape but to bite at the men holding her captive.

White teeth flashed between long tresses of ebony hair as she tried to snap her jaws at Tsutomu’s thick neck. The man responded with a harsh slap that sent her face whipping towards Genki who was forced to reel back to avoid her bites.

“Lookie what I caught!” Tsutomu announced, grinning proudly as he grabbed the girl by the base of her head and yanked it back. She winced but made no sound that she was in pain. Even though her whole face was streaked with filth, it was obvious that she couldn’t be any older than fifteen years old. Only two years younger than Kakashi himself, but already looking as if she’d lived through an entire war. “Caught this lil’ bitch skulking around in one of the bedrooms. Probably was finding a spot to hide in so that she could slit our throats while we slept.”

There was no way she could’ve taken on twelve armed soldiers even with the element of surprise, but Kakashi didn’t doubt that she would’ve tried it anyway.

“I would’ve shat on your corpses too afterward!” she sneered at Tsutomu, earning a second slap to the cheek and making Genki flinch when specks of blood from her mouth landed all over his face.

“How the hell did we miss her?” Jun asked, stopping Tsutomu from slapping the girl again. “I thought we cleared this house from top to bottom.”

Apparently, you guys were sloppy about it, Kakashi was half-tempted to say. Instead, he stood up and yanked the girl out of Genki and Tsutomu's clutches by her bound hands. She struggled against him but just as soon froze when she felt the sharp tip of his tantō dig into the small of her back. Don’t move, Kakashi told her with a mere prod of his sword.

“Hey! Finders keepers,” Tsutomu growled, displeased that his catch was being taken away from him. His grubby hands reached for the girl, but Kakashi pulled her away from him and towards the staircase.

“We’re guests of this house,” Kakashi said aloud despite knowing that there wasn’t much of this house or its occupants left anymore. “This girl will be locked up in the master bedroom where no one is to touch her. Is that understood?”

Tsutomu took a heavy step forward to protest but stopped when the young Hatake turned his steely gaze onto him.

“Is that understood?” Kakashi spoke low, the lethal edge in his voice cutting through the tension like the blade in his hand. When Tsutomu bowed his head in answer, Kakashi glanced over at Obito who was looking at him strangely. “Relay to Tsutomu and Genki the plan for tomorrow.”

With a sharp nudge of the sword against the girl’s back, Kakashi prompted her to continue up the stairs. She remained silent on the way to the bedroom, but she didn’t stop trying to squirm out of the sheets roped tightly around her wrists. Kakashi took the moment to observe her calloused hands, deducing that she was a surviving member of this household. Probably the daughter of the farmer who’d lived here.

He didn’t ask where her parents were or why she was still here. Even though there hadn’t been any bloodstains found while clearing the house, he guessed that the rest of the girl’s family was already dead in a ditch somewhere.

“If you’re going to kill me then just do it already,” she finally said the moment she stumbled into the bedroom.

Kakashi closed the door first, watching her flinch at the sound of the latch clicking in place. “Turn around.”

She hesitated for a moment before obeying with a slow, reluctant pivot. Under the sharp beam of his flashlight, Kakashi could see the tear tracks that left a clean streak through the cake of dirt and dried blood on her cheeks. He raised his sword and she bunched her shoulders up despite the defiant tilt of her chin. The tantō flashed under the moonlight for a split second as he swung it down upon the girl.

She squeezed her eyes shut but then opened them when she found herself still alive... and with her hands free now.

Kakashi jut his chin towards the bed. Its sheets were still made as if nobody had ever slept in them at all. “Lay down there.”

She stiffened at this order, her body locking up more notably than the last time she’d hesitated. She took one step forward, and Kakashi caught the way her whole frame seemed to tremble before she hurriedly crossed the room and laid down on the bed, stiff as a board. The springs of the mattress creaked harshly, and her eyes widened as if the sound was a threat itself.

Grabbing a chair by the vanity mirror, Kakashi dragged it to the side of the bed before plopping down. His sudden close proximity to her had her sitting up rigidly, slim hands squeezing into fists on her lap. He would've preferred for her to remain lying down, but it seemed she was more comfortable sitting up, so he let her.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he took the moment to study the girl. She had a split lip, a small cut above her brow, the red mark of a building bruise on her cheek (no doubt courtesy of Tsutomu and Genki), and dark bags of exhaustion weighed heavy beneath her eyes—eyes so black that they seemed to pierce right into Kakashi’s soul the longer he held her sharp gaze.

He looked away to reach for something in his pocket, pausing only when he sensed the girl stiffen again. Slowly, he withdrew the white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the girl. “Wipe your face.”

She scowled at the implication but snatched the cloth from him. Glimpsing the little sunflower design Rin had sewn into the corner of the cloth, the girl stared at it first before remembering to wipe the dirt off her face.

“My name is Hatake Kakashi,” he said as she cleaned herself. “What’s yours?”

When she refused to answer, he reached into another pocket, slowly again like last time. He watched as her wary eyes flicked down from his to the orange thing in his hand.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, peeling the fruit for her. “It’s a mandarin orange.”

A rare delicacy among their rations, but he was never one for sweets anyway.

The girl watched him peel the skin of the orange off like a hawk would with its prey. As soon as he offered her a slice, she seized the small piece from his fingers and stuffed it into her mouth. Her lashes fluttered slightly as she took that first bite of tangy sweetness.

“Good?”

She froze at the question as if she was a thief who’d been caught stealing the mandarin he’d offered her. Without warning, she spat the mashed bits of orange to his face, her frown deepening when she saw Kakashi didn’t even flinch from the attack.

“You’re a bastard!” she said as he casually brushed off the pieces of orange clinging to his mask. In an effort to add insult to the non-existent injury, she flung the now dirty handkerchief back at him. Kakashi merely plucked it off his chest, folded it two times into a small square, and then tucked it into one of his pockets before placing the rest of the orange in front of her.

He stood up and she shrunk back from him after clutching the orange to her chest.

“We’ll be gone in the morning,” Kakashi said as he scanned the room for any dangerous objects she might try to use in retaliation. “You can rest easy tonight. I’ll make sure no one touches you.”

Although he was kind of late for that.

“But if you try anything, we will have to use force.”

The warning was vague, but it left her shivering and glaring at him with enough spite to make any man give pause. He gave her one final look of caution before leaving the room to make his way to the bathroom. The farmhouse was old, and every floorboard creaked under his boots, but he preferred it that way. It kept him on edge—kept him alert for any signs of danger that may be lurking around the corner.

Even upon entering the bathroom, he swept aside the shower curtain just to make sure no other stray kid was waiting in the tub to ambush him with a butterknife or whatever these civilians resorted to.

Seeing the coast was clear, he stripped off his tactical vest and then the black sleeveless shirt underneath. The water ran lukewarm as he turned the knob of the faucet, and he splashed a handful down his chest for a brief respite from the blistering heat. Taking his shirt, he detached his mask and held it beneath the stream. Black, brown, and red tainted the pool of water along with loose sediment of dried mud. He grabbed the soap bar from the corner and scrubbed his mask inside and out, letting the bubbles froth.

After rinsing his mask, he wrung out the excess water before hanging the cloth on the edge of the sink to let it finish dripping.

A shout could be heard from downstairs—either Tsutomu or Jun since those two loved to butt heads with everyone—but Kakashi didn’t care so long as heads weren’t rolling. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he shrugged on his shirt and vest but paused upon hearing a sharp creak just outside his door.

Creak...

There it was again, but further this time.

Kakashi heaved a sigh and then yanked his mask back on, unsurprised to find it already dry. Tugging the door open, he stepped out of the hallway and was met with the hulking figure of Tsutomu. His burly back was hunched over as if the guy was in the middle of sneaking... towards the girl’s room.

The rest of this side story chapter will be published soon on AO3 and Fanfiction.Net! Thank you for reading!

[misskikuwrites]

Downpour

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst

-

Bede stepped out of the station and surveyed the open, unfamiliar landscape before him. A beach of soft, white sand met crystal clear water of shimmering azure, an endless sea sweeping to the depths of the horizon. Pokemon he had never encountered before lounged on their pink bellies, sleepy eyes drooping shut. He retrieved his Pokedex. Barely a minute off the train, and the Isle of Armour had already proved its worth, and Bede realised that perhaps Ms Opal had been onto something when she suggested that he train here. To reach new heights of pink, or something along those lines.

As pink as Galarian Slowpoke were, Psychic Pokemon weren't cut out for the Fairy Gym, and so Bede decided to let sleeping Slowpokes lie. He sent out his Hatterene, and trained his sights down the beach.

"Well then, my dear Hatterene, shall we find out what all the fuss is about?" he said to her, a resolute smile dawning across his face.

Hatterene chimed in agreement, her dark eyes narrowing as she mimicked her Trainer's grin.

"We'll have to make the most of this opportunity. Ms Opal must have sent us here for a reason, and I won't rest until I find out what exactly the Isle of Armour has to offer."

Bede turned from the blinding white sand and marched along the dirt path, Hatterene drifting by his side.

"The strongest Trainers from around Galar have gathered here to train," he continued, "which means there must be something here that cannot be attained anywhere else."

More Pokemon he didn't recognise darted into the grass. Long floppy ears peeked above the bushes, the chocolate coloured pelt tipped with fluffy clumps of lighter fleece. A brief scan of the Pokemon with his Pokedex revealed it to be a Normal Type, called a Buneary. It tilted its head at him, pink nose twitching as it sniffed the air, and both ears shot upright.

"Hmm, you are rather cute, aren't you? I'm sure Gloria would most certainly fawn over a Pokemon like you."

Bede hid his growing smile behind his hand, a faint laugh escaping him at the image conjured by his mind; Gloria gasping in delight and unable to contain her excitement, her eyes sparkling and twinkling in glee as she practically vibrated with untapped energy, ready to pounce on Buneary at any moment.

A trill of amusement snapped Bede out of his delusion, and he stole the soft smile off his face. Roughly clearing his throat, he took off down the path again.

"Enough distractions," he said, voice coming out tighter and strained. "We're here to train."

He continued down the path, trying to push away the possibility that Gloria was here. Somewhere on the vast Isle of Armour, she could very much be training here as well, and that realisation sent his gaze wandering as if to seek her out, as if an encounter with her could happen at any moment. As he headed past the Dojo, his mind was constantly on alert, distracted and muddled by anyone and anything with a passing resemblance to her.

A flash of dark brown hair in the corner of his eyes made his pulse skip until he looked and saw the face of a stranger instead. Upon seeing that it was someone else, he sighed heavily, frustrated that his attention was so easily stolen. The flutter in his chest, anxious with anticipation, reminded him of how on edge he had been for weeks after finally accepting his feelings towards Gloria. His mind constantly on alert, bracing itself for her to show up at any moment. It was pathetic that after months of dealing with the way he felt towards her, coming to terms with the fact that he was in love with her and figuring out ways to keep himself in check, nothing had changed at all.

Bede couldn't stop himself from jolting as the Dojo doors swung open, heart catching at the slightest chance that it was her, and plummeting when it wasn't. He marched on, away from the building and the Trainers in bright yellow uniforms outside, and decided that he needed - and deserved - to train in peace and quiet.

"Hey, Bede!"

One step short of the wetlands, Bede turned and gave Hop a disinterested stare.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Hop grinned at him, Dubwool at his side. "I had a feeling I'd run into you sooner or later."

"And here I was hoping otherwise," Bede sighed.

It took but a glance for him to determine that Hop was by himself, and that continuing their conversation would be a waste of precious time.

"Look, I didn't come here to mess around. If you'll excuse me, I have training to attend to."

"What, you're not here to see Gloria?"

Having turned on his heels to stalk away, Bede froze with a foot in the air. At the mention of her name, his heart had flopped and heat began to rise across his face. He knew instantly that Hop was taunting him. Dangling information about Gloria like bait on a string, waiting for a bite. Bede refused to react, to give Hop the satisfaction of a response. He marched purposely away.

"Betcha haven't seen what she looks like in the Dojo's uniform," Hop continued, "or that new Pokemon of hers. Glo said she's only introduced him to her closest friends, so I guess if you haven't seen it…"

"I've met Kubfu."

Folding his arms, Bede met Hop's grin with a flat look of his own. Forget propriety, he wasn't about to walk away after that insinuation - at least not before tearing down the smug look on Hop's face. Injured pride swelled in his chest, burning with irritation, and he trooped right back to Hop.

Amusement widened Hop's grin. "Really? Bet you didn't get to touch him though."

"And why would I?"

"Well, Kubfu's super shy. He'd only let you touch him if he trusted you, so if you didn't even manage that much…"

"I had no need to touch Kubfu in order to know whether he trusted me," Bede huffed. "The fact that he no longer cowered behind Gloria said enough."

Besides, his conversation with Gloria had switched quickly from Kubfu to the gift she wanted to give him, the bracelet of woven twigs that hung around his wrist, and he hadn't been able to think about anything else. Even now, he still wore the Galarian cuff she had made for him, amateurish as it was.

"Ah, you've been here before, haven't you?" Hop said. "Must've run into Gloria then; guess that's why you didn't react to my comment about the uniform. You've already seen her in it."

Bede frowned. "No, I haven't. This is the first time I've stepped foot on the Isle of Armour."

He ignored Hop's pointed remark about the Dojo's uniform once again, despite his mind already wandering.

"Then how come you've got a Galarian cuff around your wrist?" Hop pointed at it, an eyebrow raised. "The twigs they're made from are native to the Isle of Armour, you can't get them anywhere else. They're usually made into cuffs to evolve Galarian Slowpoke but… dude, why's it so wonky?"

Hop leant forward to get a better look at the misshapen bracelet, his mouth curling into a crude grimace.

"I'll have you know, this was a handmade gift from Gloria." Bede took a sharp step back, holding the bracelet protectively where it hung beneath his watch. "I would appreciate it if you kept your ill-mannered comments to yourself."

"Wait, Gloria made that for you?" Hop balked. He straightened in surprise, eyes wide. "Gloria did? As in, Champion Gloria? My best friend, the girl you're head-over-heels for, that Gloria?"

Bede's cheeks burned as he glared at Hop. "What other Gloria is there?" he hissed, unamused by having his feelings outed like that.

"Dude, no wonder it looks like that-" Hop cut himself off as Bede's glare darkened, "-uh, I mean, no wonder it looks so… unique. She's never been good at any form of crafts or, heck, anything to do with her hands! It took her years to learn how to tie her shoelaces!"

Heavy thumping in Bede's chest scattered his thoughts, and he looked down at the bracelet around his wrist once again. The bracelet that Gloria, supposedly uncoordinated with her hands, had made for him herself.

"Is there a point to your questions, or am I free to resume my training?" Bede huffed. He absently adjusted the bracelet, his loose golden watch, where they hung. "I have yet to find a place secluded enough so Hatterene and I can work in private."

"What, do I need a reason to mess with a mate?" Hop beamed a cheeky grin. "If you're looking for a place that's quiet and out of the way, then the Forest of Focus might work for you. It's nearby, too - if you head through the Soothing Wetlands, it's on your left."

Bede appraised Hop for a moment, taking in his advice, the comment that they were friends. "I suppose it won't do me any harm to take a look. Thank you."

"No prob!" He sauntered back a step. "But man, she seriously made that for you?"

Hop's insistence over the bracelet made Bede frown. "What about it?"

"Nah, it's nothing!"

The twinkle in Hop's eyes said there was more to it than that, but time was slipping away, and Bede didn't like the look of the grey clouds forming on the horizon. He didn't have the energy, time, nor patience to press Hop any further.

"If that's all, then I'll be on my way."

"Later!" Hop gave him a wave, a flash of a smile, and turned on his heels.

Bede didn't bother to comment that he didn't plan on running into Hop later - or anyone else, for that matter. He was here to train, not socialise, and headed for the Wetlands, for the Forest of Focus, for relative silence.

-

As it turned out, Hop was right. The Forest of Focus was devoid of people, the path overgrown, and the air was filled with the sounds of undisturbed Pokemon. Rustling of bushes, of branches and shrubs, the chattering of Pokemon in the trees and the trickling of a nearby stream was a melody strung by nature itself. Peaceful and serene, there were no strangers in sight. A place where he could truly focus.

"Alright, Hatterene. Let's get to work-"

A dull thump made him pause, and he glanced down towards the noise by his feet. His heart dropped, air leaving his lungs in a sharp, broken gasp, and he snatched his golden watch from the dirt where it had fallen. His fingers trembled as he fastened it around his wrist. Pressed it right to his skin, held it there as the panicked beating of his heart drowned out everything else. The clasp, loose and worn, clicked into place.

Bede took a breath. Then another, and another, deeper and slower than the ones before. He had to be more careful, couldn't let that happen again. Needle-sharp pain sank into his chest with a pang of disgust, loathing that even now, after all this time, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of that watch. After everything that had happened, he couldn't.

He couldn't.

A heavy weight fell over him. The cold metal against his wrist sat as a reminder of his failings, his weakness, his past. It made him work harder. Train harder, to push himself and Hatterene further in the isolated forest. For hours, they trained in the humid air, until sweat and heat soaked into their bones. They trained until the wind picked up, until the forest came alive with creaking and cracking branches and Pokemon began to scatter from the trees. The sky above turned dark and grey, a hint of the storm to come spitting through the canopy as droplets of rain. Bede wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, slick with sweat, and decided enough was enough. The ache in his lungs had become a burn that rose up his throat. Hatterene sagged, drifting slowly over to him, eager for respite.

"That should be enough for today," he said to her with a nod, a faint, exhausted smile that she shared. "You did well, and deserve a break." He returned her to her Great Ball, noting the change in weather. "And I should be getting back before this storm hits."

With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, and turned to head back the way he'd come. He touched the Galarian cuff in his wrist, his fingers absently tracing the uneven pattern, before he slid his hand up to his watch.

Everything stopped.

Nothing. He felt nothing. No weight, no cold metal, no watch. It was gone. Bede stared down at the empty space on his wrist, his eyes blowing wide. Unable to breathe, to think. Fingers winding around his wrist, grasping the air, his sleeve, his skin.

It was gone.

Heart in his throat, Bede whirled on his feet and swept his gaze over the ground. The dirt, the thick grass, the leaf litter and detritus, his footprints in the soft mud.

No.

It had to be here, he knew it had to be here. He dropped to his knees, brushing leaves and twigs away with hurried swipes of his hands. Scrambling forward across the dirt on his hands and knees, tossing everything out of his path.

It has to be here!

Wind broke through the trees, whistling and rustling. Deafened by the pounding of his heart between his ears, by the panic seizing around his throat like a vice, and he couldn't feel the rain as it fell over him. He felt nothing; not the cold wind, the biting rain, the rocks beneath his hands and knees, the thorns on branches he swept aside. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the rain off his face, unknowingly leaving a streak of mud in its place.

He staggered back the way he came. Kicked and shoved aside leaves and branches, twigs and logs. His hand fumbled for his wrist. Empty. Gone. It was gone. How could it be gone? How did he not notice?

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see through the rain, his vision blurring, eyes prickling with heat and panic, and he turned around again. Faster this time. Breaking into a sprint, rushing back to where they'd first began to train hours earlier. The dirt, disturbed by their efforts, was now slick with water. The path turned to mud. He hit the ground on his knees, digging through the muck desperately, rocks and branches scraping his fingers raw, burning his knuckles.

No.

He continued. Through the mud, the downpour, the pain.

No, no, no.  

Again and again, searching up and down the path, into the overgrown grass and bushes, tossing stones and logs out his way.

No, no, no, no, no.  

Back and forth. On his knees, on his feet. Wiping away raindrops, the water, the tears on his face, down his cheeks, smearing mud in its place. Gasping with heavy sobs. Breaths of white hot panic, blazing in his throat.

It can't be-

Thunder crashed in the distance. A flash of light, a flash of realisation.

No.

It went dark. Everything went dark. The forest, the sky, his vision. He fell to his knees and felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

-

Gloria rushed into the Dojo, the wind slamming the door shut behind her.

"Whoa!" She breathed a nervous laugh as thunder crashed in the distance. "That's one heck of a storm!"

She stepped into the Dojo as the rain began to fall in earnest, the wind roaring outside. The warmth and shelter of the sturdy building was a welcome relief, and she was ever grateful that she'd made a run for it at the first sign of rain.

"That's not even the worst of it," Hop said. "It's forecast to get worse from here!"

"Oh, gosh. I'm glad I got back in time, then!" Gloria tidied up her uniform, fixed her wind-swept hair back into its neat bun, and settled down beside Hop. "Have they shut down the trains, yet?"

"Yeah, last one left for Wedgehurst half an hour ago. They're not going to be running until the storm's well and truly gone."

That was understandable, and as Gloria glanced around the Dojo, she found it was full of all sorts of different people, not just the students. League staff, Pokemon rangers, odd Trainers who had been caught out by the storm were taking shelter here too. The air thrummed with the noise of dozens of conversations taking place at once, the floor packed with people. Gloria could hardly hear herself think.

"It sounds like we've got the whole island in here," she joked, trying to settle her nerves.

The buzz of noise was reaching an uncomfortable level, swamping her body with a jumble of sounds from all directions. She heard someone laugh behind her, a young girl squeal to her far right. In the kitchen, chairs scraped against the floor.

The storm outside was looking more and more tempting as the seconds ticked by.

"Hmm, not the whole island," Hop commented. "I don't see Bede anywhere."

Gloria perked up. "Bede? Is he here?" She glanced around the room, spying yellow uniforms, League Staff, Trainers she didn't recognise.

"I ran into him this afternoon. He was looking for a quiet place to train, so I mentioned the Forest of Focus to him."

Gloria hummed in thought. Heavy disquiet settled in her gut as the storm raged outside. Thunder shook the building. Lights flickered. Her heart pounded harder in her chest, and she couldn't stop feeling as though something wasn't quite right.

"Do you think he caught the train back?" she asked, pulling out her phone. They still had service, and she fought the urge to ring Bede then and there. Nerves spun in her stomach, and she didn't want to overreact for no reason; there was no need to panic.

"There's no way he'd let himself get caught in this weather, he's too proud to let anyone see him looking like a soggy Wooloo!" Hop laughed, but his reassurance did nothing to calm the anxious thrum in her chest.

"Yeah, you're right."

She tightened her grip on her phone, held it close in her lap. Her eyes swept over the crowd and back again, trying to spy anything recognisable. Platinum blond hair, a magenta jacket, or the colours of the Fairy Gym. A lump sat in her throat that she couldn't swallow down. Something wasn't right.

Where is Bede?

"I'm going to call him," Gloria said.

The pull on her gut, of her instincts, was too great to ignore. Too fierce, too strong, and she unlocked her phone and called him despite the incredulous look on Hop's face.

"Seriously? He's probably in Ballonlea right now, drinking tea or whatever with Ms Opal." He waved off her concerns. "Arceus, I could go for a hot drink right now."

She focused on the ringtone by her ear, her whole body tensing as the seconds ticked by.

"I know, but…" Gloria pursed her lips when she reached Bede's answering bank, his calm voice telling her to leave a message, and she hung up. Not a second passed before she called again.

Hop raised an eyebrow at her. "For all you know, he could be having a shower or something."

Trepidation sloshed in her belly, and she couldn't bring herself to respond to Hop's unhelpful jibe. Her call went unanswered a second time. She stared down at her phone, at Bede's name, at the picture she'd chosen for his contact. It was from their trip through the Wild Area, a cropped portion of a picture she'd taken not-so-sneakily one morning. A peaceful moment in time captured in the early morning, Bede illuminated by soft light as he cooked breakfast, unaware of the phone trained on him. The serene smile on his face stirred another bout of unease inside her.

"Do you really think he'd let himself get caught out in this storm?" Hop scoffed. "This is Bede we're talking about. Didn't you say he was always checking the weather when you two scouted the Wild Area together?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't know!" Gloria huffed. "Something doesn't feel right. He always answers his phone."

"Maybe he's got it on silent?"

"Bede doesn't put his phone on silent!"

She called him again, staring off to the side as her phone rang by her ear so she didn't have to see Hop's bemused expression.

"You call him often, do you?"

Gloria sent Hop a look.

"Hey, you're the one who said he always answers his phone. You must call him pretty often to be so sure of that."

For the third time, her call went unanswered. She went to call again when Hop snatched her phone out of her hands.

"Hey!" Gloria yelped, lunging to try and grab her phone back.

"You're just gonna keep bombarding him with calls!"

"So what?! That's none of your business!"

Hop jumped to his feet, holding her phone high above his head. "You've gotta give him a break! If he's not answering, he's not answering! There's no point in spamming him with calls!"

Gloria got to her feet and stared Hop down. "Give. Me. Back. My. Phone."

"No can do! Not unless you tell me why you're so insistent on calling him like this."

She huffed. "I already told you; something doesn't feel right!"

"You've gotta be more specific than that."

Hop waved her phone above his head, taunting her. She glared at it, at him, and debated tackling him to the ground in order to steal it back. It was tempting.

"I don't know how to explain it, okay?! I just- something doesn't feel right."

Her heart ached.

"I need to know that Bede's okay," Gloria said, and folded her arms across her chest. "I can't help but feel like… something's happened. I know it's probably nothing, and I'm probably wrong, but…"

She couldn't brush it aside. Something hardened inside her, and she turned towards the heavy wooden doors.

"Hold on, you're not seriously thinking of going out there, are you?"

She didn't look back. "You said he was in the Forest of Focus, right?"

"Glo, come on. He's probably fine!"

"I know," she said softly, pressing her lips tightly together, "and I'm probably an idiot. But I need to know. I'd rather be a soggy, wet idiot than do nothing at all."

"This isn't even the peak of the storm!"

"That's why I have to go now. Bede's not answering and you've stolen my phone, so…"

"Wait, wait, here's your phone!" Hop thrust it back to her, and she pocketed it.

"I'm still going."

He sighed. "I know, but now I can call you if he turns up here. Or if he happens to call you back, you'll know."

"Thanks, Hop."

"Yeah, yeah. Just know that if he's cozy and warm in Ballonlea and you get drenched for nothing, I'm going to throttle him next time I see him, okay?"

That made Gloria laugh. "I'll make sure to warn him."

Above all, above the nervous churning of her gut and the anxiety pulsing in her veins, she wished that Hop was right. She took a breath and made for the doors, shoving them open against the roaring wind. Gloria slid between them before they slammed shut with a crash as loud as thunder behind her. She stepped out into a torrent of wind and rain, of blistering, breathless cold. Gusts of wind threatened to knock her off her feet. Blinding rain fell sideways and drenched her as though she'd been hit with a wave from the ocean instead.

Not once did she consider turning back.

Gloria launched down the stairs, slick with water, and broke into a sprint towards the wetlands. A blazing heat burned inside her. It ached in her lungs, up her throat, and drove her onwards. Forward. Fighting through the storm, through the wetlands, the overflowing bog and thick mud, pushing hard enough to stumble and land on her feet before she had the chance to fall.

One thing - and one thing only - kept her going, and she ignored everything else.

Bede.

She wanted to be wrong.

The canopy above muffled the storm as she burst into the Forest of Focus. It became an orchestra of wind ripping through trees, branches rustling and snapping, a million drops of rain pattering on a million leaves.

For once, she wished her instincts were wrong.

It was dark. Bursts of lightning cut through the canopy, followed seconds later by booming thunder. Trees became humanoid shadows in the depths of the forest. Rushing water warned of an overfilled river nearby, a black void opening up into the ground where it ran. Gloria turned from it, forcing down a panicked thought of the consequences if she fell in. She, or someone else before her.

Pain thumped in place of her heart. She no longer felt the cold; the cloak of thick water covering every inch of her body had sapped the heat from her bones and made her numb. She didn't feel the mud flicking up against her legs as she ran through the forest. Her foot twisted. An awkward step on slick grass, and her stomach lurched as she staggered and fell to her knees. She didn't pause for a moment, not even to wince, and leapt to her feet. Onwards again. Following the path from memory, looking left and right and back again, searching the trees, around rocks, over the bridge. Peering into dark bushes, through the shrubs and thicket.

Light flashed. It lasted a split second, enough to illuminate the path ahead of Gloria and the figure slumped in the grass.

Bede.

Something tore inside her chest. She was at his side before she'd realised she'd moved. Before she could take a breath, her lips formed his name. A gasp, a sob, a cry of desperation as she touched his shoulder, upon seeing the hollow expanse behind his eyes. Wide and unseeing. She took his hand, his fingers cold. Too cold. His face, pale and streaked with mud and water, was marked with the trails of tears coursing down his cheeks.

Gloria fell into him. Against him. Her arms wrapped around his back, pulling him into her arms, pulling his head to her chest, as she broke. She shattered and crumbled at the sight of him, and couldn't do anything else but embrace him.

She hated being right.

Bede-

Her heart ached.

He was cold. Soaked to the bone, shivering against her. He shifted slightly, giving the faintest movement in her arms, and she held him tighter.

"I'm here," she said. A broken whisper against the top of his head. His platinum blond curls cold and damp with water, darkened by mud. "It's okay."

Forcing the torrent of emotions down, Gloria pulled away. Enough that she could look into his face, into his eyes, and urge him to move.

"Come on, let's get you out of this storm."

She regretted meeting his eyes when nothing registered on his face when he looked at her. There was nothing. Nothing at all behind his eyes. She glanced away and helped him to his feet, looping an arm around his back when he staggered.

What happened to you?

Her jaw clenched hard with unanswered questions, to stop herself from voicing the agony that lanced through her chest. Questions could wait. The blistering rain and biting wind would only strengthen, and the chill of Bede's skin, his faint, shallow breaths, filled her with a greater sense of urgency. They had to get out of the storm. Without thinking about it, she led Bede down the path, through the forest, and away from the Dojo. Deeper into the island. Away from prying eyes, from noise, from people, to the shelter of a cave nearby.

Out of the wind and rain, in a secluded, quiet nook, Gloria directed Bede to sit. He collapsed to the ground as though his legs had given way. Slumping forward, his damp fringe fell over his eyes. The tips of his hair were speckled with mud.

A tight lump lodged in Gloria's throat. She turned away from him for a moment, shucking off her bag, and dug out a towel. She had to gather enough strength to look back at him. Words she couldn't say built in her chest, in her lungs and throat, and stuck on her tongue. Heat washed over her eyes. Despite finding him, despite leading him to shelter, she felt useless. Unable to do anything with her friend suffering right in front of her.

It hurt.

She couldn't bear to see Bede like that any longer. She stepped over to him and sank to her knees at his side, twisting the towel in her hands, and he didn't react. Didn't glance up at her, didn't move at all. If it wasn't for the slightest rising and falling of his chest, he could have been made of stone.

Gloria blinked back her tears. Slowly, she lifted the corner of the towel to Bede's cheek, wiping away the thin streak his own tears had left through the mud on his face.

He turned his face away.

It broke something inside her. The towel slipped from her hands, and she reached up to cup his cheeks instead. With nothing else she could do, she wrapped her useless arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug once again.

"I'm sorry-" she hiccuped as she spoke. Broke off into a sob. "I'm sorry. I don't- I don't know what happened, but- but I'm here. It's okay."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips trembled as she fought back a sob.

Whatever it was, whatever had happened-

"-I'm sorry." It was all she could say. "You don't have to say anything, or tell me what happened, but… but I'm here. I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."

She couldn't promise that, she shouldn't, but she did. She hugged him close as he sank into her, his head dropping to her shoulder, Bede finally accepting her embrace. He did nothing to return it, remaining still in her hold, but it was enough. Enough for Gloria to know this was what he needed. It was all she could give, all she could do to stop herself from crumbling any further when his shallow, shuddering breaths reached her ears. The trembling of his body gave his tears away.

She said nothing, and held him until silence fell over the cave once more.

-

Gloria had come out of nowhere. Like a bolt of lightning, she had appeared before Bede in the darkness, as though summoned by the flash of light itself.

Why?

She pulled him into her arms and nothing made sense.

Why are you here?

He followed her directions, her urging, and stood. Walked with her to a cave, out of the freezing wind that threatened to draw all the heat from his body. Her arm around his back was firm. Solid. It was real.

It didn't make sense. Why had she been there, in the forest, in the storm, when the world had turned to chaos around him?

Bede's legs gave way. Strength sapped from his bones, his body heavy and numb, and he collapsed to the ground with no will to fight. All he saw was the empty space on his wrist.

Again, it hurt. It stung. Guilt driving a stake into his heart, throbbing with shame. With regret and disgust.

Why-

Why does it still hurt?

The touch of a towel against his cheek scattered his thoughts. She was here. Still here, still real. Still looking at him with heartbreaking concern that only made him turn away from her with regret.

How could he bear to face her like this?

He didn't have to. Gloria pulled him into her embrace, wrapped her arms around him, and his remaining walls crumbled. Everything inside him snapped all at once and he collapsed against her. His head fell to her shoulder, dampening her already wet shirt with his tears, as his heart gave way to her touch. He felt everything. He felt all his pain and guilt and regret, and gave it all to her. With quiet sobs, he let himself cry in her arms. The words she whispered to him soothed the turmoil raging inside his chest, and he succumbed to her.

He gave in.

"It's gone."

His voice, loud in the silence, cracked. Heat swam behind his eyes, further tears clouding his vision, and he squeezed them shut as he took a shuddery breath.

It's gone.

He didn't want to believe it.

Gloria pulled back slightly, settling her hands on his shoulders, and regarded him for a moment before asking, "what's gone?"

Bede couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, afraid of what she'd see, knowing that he was unable to hide it from her when she looked at him like that.

She always saw right through him.

Instead, he lifted up his right hand, staring down at it and away from her. Gloria followed his gaze. A moment later, she gently took his wrist, her fingers lingering over the spot where his watch used to sit.

"Oh, Bede…"

The anguish in her voice was too much.

"It's gone," Bede repeated in a fragile whisper.

Her hand shifted to hold his, and he squeezed her hand tight in return. Tears threatened to spill again, his face scrunching up to hold them back, to fight the agony blazing in his chest, and he forced his lips firmly together to prevent them trembling. The hand still on Bede's shoulder slid to his arm, soothingly brushing up and down in an attempt to comfort him. Her gaze remained on his wrist. For that, he was thankful.

"How…?" Gloria tried again. "What happened?"

He took a breath, his lungs heavy and rigid, and it felt like it took all his energy just to inhale. His words came out as a sigh.

"I don't know."

He didn't.

"I… lost it."

Somehow.

It was difficult to speak. Exhausting. His tongue weighed down like a stone in his mouth.

"It fell off and I…" He clenched his jaw, disgust towards himself and towards his pain rising like bile up his throat. "I'm finally free of that wretched thing so why does it hurt so much…? Why can't I-? Why-?"

A sob escaped through his teeth. The chain around his wrist was gone and yet its grip around his soul felt tighter than before. The freedom he'd sought had been ripped away and left a gaping hole in its wake. It hurt. The weight of his regrets, his past, remained.

Why, after all this time, could he not unshackle himself from it? The hold that watch had on him endured, a deep scar seared into his flesh.

"Why can't I release myself from this burden?" It came out as a gasp. Following the burning tears in his eyes, the heaving of his lungs for air. Heat washed down his cheeks as he cried. "Why am I still chained to him-?! I should rid myself of it and be done with it but- but- I can't…!"  

His fingers trembled, curled into a fist, as Bede crumbled into Gloria. Shuddering breaths and broken sobs wracked his body. Pain and guilt and everything all at once tore through his heart, and Gloria held on to him through it all. She wrapped her arms around him and shouldered him as he wept.

And he broke down like never before in the comfort of her embrace. The wails that met his ears sounded too close and too far away, foreign and yet familiar, and he knew it was coming from him. He couldn't stop it, like he couldn't stop the pain. He couldn't hold anything back. There was nothing he could do but let it all out; the cries that left his throat raw, the heavy gasps that shook his body, the tears falling from his eyes. Held up by Gloria, he let it happen. Let the floodgates open, his walls collapse, and he held her in return. As tightly as he could, he held her, and it kept him from shattering completely, from letting the darkness take hold.

Bede gave in to her- to her comfort, her concern, her embrace, and they rode out the storm in his heart, sheltered from the turmoil raging outside in the depths of a cave. When his tears had dried, his breathing calmed, when he had no more agony left to voice, he remained in her arms in silence. The shame he felt was not towards how he lingered in her hug, but due to the fact that all it had taken for him to break was a simple, golden watch. A trinket, an object from his past. A chain he couldn't bring himself to remove.

He was shameful. Piteous. Pathetic. Knew he didn't have to say as much for her to know the truth of how deplorable he had become.

It made him laugh. A dry, hollow breath of laughter.

"It's merely a watch," Bede said softly, as quiet as a whisper. Disbelief in his voice. "He didn't deign to gift it to me himself- no, it came wrapped in a box, with assurances from Oleana herself that it was from him. "

Pain flashed behind his eyes.

"For all I know, she could have been behind it, gifted it without his knowledge."

It hurt.

"Why would he have remembered my birthday when he couldn't even recall my name?"

Memories he had buried deep resurfaced. Innumerable, unanswered calls. Awards received without an audience, without recognition. Disinterest in the eyes of the one looked up to the most.

Disappointment.

Movement across his back swept those images away. Gloria, her arms still firmly around him, comfortingly ran her hands across his back. Her touch was tender. Gentle and soothing, and he let his eyes flutter shut from her ministrations. He didn't know how such a simple gesture could be so calming, if she knew how much it would quell the pain in his heart, or if he felt this way because it was her.

Bede sighed. "I should be grateful. Happy, even, to finally be liberated from it-" from him "-yet why? Why does it- why do I feel this way?"

"Maybe... you weren't ready."

He hadn't expected her to answer him, and her voice cut through the silence. It gave him pause.

"I think, and I might be wrong," she continued, "but... maybe it hurts because you didn't have control over it. You didn't actively choose to get rid of it, you had that choice made for you, and… sometimes, that lack of control can hurt the most."

Bede let her words sink in.

"It's okay if you weren't ready. No one gets to decide when you're ready to move on - if you choose to do at all - except you. And Rose, he had such control over your life for so long, a year or two apart from him isn't going to be enough to get over everything he did to you."

Gloria let out a quiet breath, resting her head against the top of his shoulder.

"You've come so far already and, and I know it still hurts. It's still so raw. I'm not able to do much but… but when the storm passes, I'll help you look for it."

Everything stilled inside of him. "You… you will?"

She didn't tell him to leave it. To move on, now that he had a perfect opportunity to rid himself of it for good.

"Why?" He pulled back, pulled out of her arms, and finally met her eyes. He saw then that she had been crying as he had.

She smiled. "Because it means a lot to you. And… and I want you to be able to choose to move on when you're ready." Her expression wobbled as she spoke, as her lips quavered slightly. "How could I not want to help you, Bede? I almost want to drop everything and go out looking for it right now." Admitting that, she laughed. "And- And just because you're attached to that watch doesn't mean you haven't already come so far. You know, it's just a watch. Whether you keep it or not says nothing about you as a person or your past or anything at all. I… I want you to know that."

Bede wanted to embrace her again. His heart ached as he took in everything she said, filling his chest with warmth.

How could he not be so utterly in love with her when she was like this?

Arceus, she… she was everything he needed and more, and he lost himself in her gaze for a moment, unable to pull away, to look away, to see or care about anything else but her. Adoration for her surged in his lungs, rising up his throat with words that formed silently on his tongue, seconds from spilling out.

Everything he wanted to tell her.

Gloria flustered, quickly glancing away. "I- we should, um, try and dry off a bit," she squeaked, jumping to her feet.

The towel that had fallen into her lap dropped to the ground. She went to grab it as he did, their fingers overlapping on the cloth, and she jolted as though the touch of his skin had burned her. Even in the darkness of the cave, Bede could make out the blush on her cheeks. It made his heart skip with a heavy thump.

Gloria snatched the towel, her sudden embarrassment startling him. Nothing he had done, or said, should have elicited such a reaction from her, and his lungs fluttered breathlessly as his mind scrambled to work out why she was acting this way.

"You've, um, got a bit of mud on your cheeks," she said quickly, shoving the towel into his hands.

She wasn't looking at him, and Bede couldn't take his eyes off her. He absently rubbed the towel against his cheek as he studied her, using the cloth to hide the slow trickle of heat that built across his face. Seeing her flustered like this had completely distracted him from his lost watch, a new set of emotions pooled through his veins and washed over the pain. It was as though upon losing it, he had gained even more in return.

The key to his unbroken chains was right in front of him. It had been all along.

-

Something was wrong with Gloria. Her heart galloped at an impossibly fast pace in her chest, thumping like a drum against her ribcage, and she could feel her cheeks begin to flush. All it had taken to set her off like this was a simple look from Bede. In that moment, his eyes raw and red from crying, mud streaked across his face, his damp hair hanging over his brow, something had ignited inside of her. Despite the pain, the cold, the discomfort, he had smiled at her. His expression had eased, light returning to his violet eyes, and it had done something inexplicable to her.

Her heart raced. Blood surged through her veins, her mind dizzy and incoherent. Now wasn't the time for- for whatever this was, and she chided herself for finding Bede adorable in such a vulnerable moment. Guilt pierced her chest, and she tried to shake the giddy feeling in her lungs away. It wasn't right to fawn over how ridiculously gorgeous he managed to be even when he was drenched and covered in mud, when he had been crying on her shoulder minutes earlier. She needed to screw her head on straight and focus.

Gloria peeked at Bede, remaining stiff at his side, and the strings of her heart tugged at the sight of his platinum blond curls damp and plastered to his brow and cheeks. His hair seemed even longer than usual, the weight of the water pulling out some of the curl. Droplets spilled from the tips of his hair and slowly cascaded down his cheeks.

She snatched the towel off him and threw it over his head. Covering his face, his hair, and muffling his yelp of protest, Gloria forcefully ruffled the towel as her heart punched upwards into her throat.

"Y-You should dry your hair as well!" she squeaked.

"Hey!"

She didn't know what she was doing anymore, rubbing the towel over his head because she couldn't bear to look at him for a moment longer. Bede caught her wrists, tugging her hands away from the cloth, and she stumbled to her knees from the motion. The towel fell from Bede's head, revealing his irritated glare. Having fallen to her knees, she was suddenly close to him again- close enough to make out the heat swimming across his face, the embarrassment in his eyes. Her breath caught. His hands, firmly around her wrists, felt like lighting.

"I'm perfectly capable of drying my own hair," Bede huffed.

Gloria opened and shut her mouth wordlessly. She couldn't speak. Not when he was this close to her, not when he was holding her wrists like that, not when the blush on his cheeks melted his glare into something heated and dark. It sent a shiver down her spine and all she could do was nod fervently until he let her go.

She turned away from him, air filling her lungs with a silent gasp, and she fumbled for her bag.

"S-Sorry," Gloria mumbled. She wasn't thinking straight at all. Her heart thumped in her ears, drowning out anything coherent. "It's- It's really cold in here, huh?"

She rubbed her arms up and down, giving an exaggerated shudder, as the cool air in the cave began to gnaw at her skin. Her damp clothes didn't help.

"Do you have a change of clothes on you?" she asked, glancing back at him.

Bede was drying his hair with the towel, and looked over at her from beneath it.

"I hadn't planned to stay here long enough to warrant a change of clothes," he said. "If it hadn't been for me losing my watch, I would have returned to Ballonlea by now."

"Right. Of course." She snapped her gaze back to her bag. Somehow, he'd managed to send her heart rate skyrocketing again. She heard Bede shiver, and almost shivered in return from that faint sound alone.

"I-I have a blanket!" Gloria yanked a picnic blanket from her bag, bundling it in her arms, and gestured with it to him.

"I'm not sure how much a blanket will help, but I appreciate it. It will be better than nothing, I suppose." He took it from her and began to unfurl it.

"You should at least, um, take off some of your clothes…" she trailed off, her cheeks heating as she spoke. "Y'know, since  th-they're wet and it's cold and- and you can use the blanket to, um…"

She wasn't making any sense.

"F-Forget it!" she squeaked, unable to think past the fact that she'd just told Bede to undress when he didn't have a change of clothes to get into, which meant he would be-

"I'm gonna change!" Gloria said loudly. Her voice cracked, and she pulled out her change of clothes. "So- So don't look this way, alright?"

She sent Bede a pointed look over her shoulder, her face ablaze with embarrassed heat, and he blinked at her, his eyes widening.

"You don't have to tell me not to!" he huffed. "Of course I wouldn't…" Bede cleared his throat. "Although, you are right. I should probably remove at least some layers…"

He said that last part quietly, and Gloria snapped her head around so she wasn't looking at him any longer. He was going to take up her suggestion, and that realisation sent a crackle of lightning through her blood. She clutched the dry clothes in her arms to her chest, and tried to shove those thoughts away.

He was her friend, for Arceus' sake! He was getting out of his damp clothing because it was cold and the storm wasn't going to pass any time soon, and the blanket would keep him warm and- and she had to stop thinking about it. Sure, Bede was definitely attractive. He was extraordinarily gorgeous in a way that left her breathless, and she found her gaze lingering on him more often than she'd like to admit, but he was her friend and she shouldn't be gawking over him.

And she definitely shouldn't be flustering over the prospect of him with less clothing on.

Gloria heard something shuffle behind her, the sound of wet clothing being removed, and she jolted. Her mind snapped back to reality. With her heart in her throat, she quickly began to change, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder to make sure Bede wasn't looking this way.

Of course he wouldn't. There was no need to check, no need to even think about looking behind her, when Bede was most certainly undressing as well. That would be all kinds of wrong.

Gloria took a shaky breath as she pulled on her cozy woolen jumper, and shoved her damp clothes to the side by her bag. Her legs were no more bare now than they'd been in the Dojo's uniform, but she wished she had packed something warmer, or longer, than her pink dress. She undid her hair, shaking out her messy bun to dry it as best she could. As she sighed, silence filled the cave once more.

"Are you, um…" She didn't know what to say, hadn't thought this through. "...decent?"

Arceus. Her cheeks burned with a furious blush, and she squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. She wasn't even facing him, for goodness sake!

Bede cleared his throat. "I am," he said, making Gloria jump.

"Right!"

She whirled on her feet a little too fast, with a bit too much panic, and relief knocked the air from her lungs when she realised Bede had only taken off his outermost layers. His t-shirt and shorts were folded neatly beside him, keeping his long-sleeved top and, presumably, his leggings on. He had the blanket covering the legs and the lower part of his chest, and appeared enviously warm. Gloria's heart stammered in her chest as she sat next to him, with a comfortable distance between them. She faced forward, not letting herself look at him, still feeling awkward- as though he could read the inner turmoil that had been churning in her mind.

It was difficult being friends with someone so undeniably attractive at times.

"Feeling a bit warmer now?" Gloria asked, needing something to fill the silence. She absently rubbed her calves up and down as the cool air seeped into her.

"I am, yes. The blanket certainly helps."

She nodded stiffly. With Bede so close, it felt like her whole body was on alert. Stiff and tense, hyperreactive to the slightest sound, the slightest movement in the corner of her eyes. The situation was so strange, she couldn't bring herself to calm down. Cold wind swept through the cave, the temperature biting, and in a swift movement, the blanket was thrown over her legs.

Bede shifted closer, right up against Gloria's side, wordlessly sharing the blanket she'd given him. Warmth enveloped her. Flooding her veins, her chest, her lungs, and she gaped at him in silence as he looked away.

"That's better, isn't it?" he said quickly.

"You- You don't have to…"

She flustered and stared into her lap. Their shoulders were pressed together, and although they'd hugged before on many occasions, and sat like this before too, it felt different. Worlds apart from their casual hugs, from the time he'd sat beside her like this to comfort her.

"Need I remind you, it's your blanket? It wouldn't be right for me to have it all to myself when you're shivering like that."

Gloria nodded. She'd stopped shivering. "Thanks…"

"Like I said, you're the one sharing it with me," Bede huffed. "If anything, I should be thanking you."

That made her laugh. A short breath of laughter that dissolved the tension in the air. It allowed her to relax, to see how absurd the whole situation was, to realise that she was making a big deal out of nothing. This was Bede. Her friend. There was nothing for her to get worked up about.

With a smile, Gloria leant her head against Bede's shoulder. A comforting gesture that warmed her heart.

"I'm… just glad you're okay," she whispered to him. Her eyes drew closed. She settled against him, relishing in his presence, how calm and peaceful she felt beside him.

She felt safe, and knew everything was going to be alright.

-

When Gloria leant her head against his shoulder, Bede's mind screeched to a halt. Every fibre in his body tensed all at once. He couldn't breathe for a moment, his brain short circuiting in disbelief, as she snuggled into him. The practicality of sharing a blanket for warmth was suddenly lost, thrown out the window, the cave, into the storm, and he glanced at the girl curled into his side in shock.

"I'm… just glad you're okay," she whispered with the sweetest smile on her face, and her eyelids fluttered shut.

He couldn't say anything in return. His heart wedged in his throat, in his mouth, and no words would form. She looked so serene, so peaceful, and he didn't dare move, not wanting to risk disturbing her.

Somehow, she had become something of a panacea to him. Her mere presence at his side was enough to ease the pain, appearing out of nowhere whenever he needed her the most.

In the midst of the storm, she had found him.

"Why were you there?" he found himself asking.

"Why was I where?"

"In the Forest of Focus, where you found me."

"Oh, that." She laughed sheepishly. "Hop said that's where you were going to train."

"But why were you there in the first place? You should have been taking shelter."

"I actually had been taking shelter," she admitted, "in the Dojo."

"So you just decided to go wandering around the Forest of Focus in the middle of a storm?"

Gloria snorted. "No, I'm not that reckless!"

"Then… why?"

Why had she been there?

"I… was looking for you," she said quietly. Sheepishly.

"And you say you're not reckless…" Bede huffed, despite the firm squeeze of his heart. "What on earth would cause you to look for me in the middle of a storm?"

He hadn't given anyone, let alone her, any indication that something was wrong.

Gloria pursed her lips. The bashful look in her eyes, along with the hint of a blush on her cheeks, sent Bede's heart fluttering.

"Well… it's a bit silly," Gloria began. She chewed on her bottom lip as she mulled over her words. "But I… I had a bad feeling about it. When Hop mentioned that he'd seen you earlier, and you weren't there in the Dojo, I just… something felt wrong."

"That's it? You went looking for me based on a feeling?"

"There's more to it than that!" Gloria pouted. "You didn't answer your phone, either."

He hadn't heard his phone ring over the storm, and doubted that he would have answered in that moment anyway.

"I still don't see how that alone would make you venture out into weather like this."

Her expression fell and, for a moment, Bede wondered if he'd somehow pushed that point too far. As though he'd stepped on her toes, hit a sore spot.

"I guess it was a bit ridiculous," she agreed with a sigh. "But I couldn't just sit and do nothing. Not when everything inside me was screaming that something was wrong. Not when… when I've felt like that before."

She went quiet.

"What do you mean?" Bede asked. There was more to this, more to what she was - and wasn't - saying, and he desperately wanted to know. He needed to know, to understand.

"I haven't told anyone about it before," she said slowly. "It's one of the reasons why I'm always going with my gut, trusting my feelings, that sort of thing. Sometimes, most of the time, I'm wrong, but… once, before this, I was right."

Her eyes closed. She took a breath, a slow, deep breath, before continuing.

"It was the day my father died. The day of his accident. He was… hit by a car on the way home from work."

Bede's heart dropped into his stomach. She'd never spoken about this before.

"He was always really punctual, always made an effort to be home before seven at night. But that day… I remember looking up at the clock right as it hit seven and- and I knew. I knew then that something had happened."

She sighed.

"I mean, I obviously didn't know what had happened but… at that moment, I felt like something was wrong. I knew something was wrong. And- And maybe that was just me being an anxious child or finding something in those memories that wasn't there in the first place-"

Gloria caught herself and paused. Again, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I just… whenever I get a feeling like that, I can't stop myself. I have to do something. And today, when Hop mentioned that he'd seen you, and the storm was raging, I-I felt like something wasn't right."

Bede found her hand under the blanket and gave it a squeeze. A firm, comforting squeeze, as his heart ached for her.

He didn't know what to say.

"I didn't want to be right," she continued, "I wanted you to be okay. To be wrong, like I have been hundreds of times before this. But I needed to know for myself. I'd rather have wasted my time and got drenched than do nothing at all, if there's the slightest chance that I was right."

"I'm… sorry." It was the only thing that came to him. "I had no idea."

She gave him a faint, appreciative smile. "Of course you didn't. I haven't told anyone about that."

"Well, yes, but I meant that about… your father. And what happened. I'm sorry."

He fumbled over his words, his mouth dry.

"I didn't mean to make this all about me," she said lightly. "But thanks. It's been almost ten years and yet when I get a feeling like I did that day, it's like I'm going through it all again. At least this time, I could actually help someone. I'm glad."

"So am I," he found himself replying.

She squeezed his hand, and Bede's heart skipped. He didn't know if he should keep holding her hand like this or let it go, and the thought that perhaps she didn't mind sent a wave of heat through his veins. He decided to test the waters, to try something a bit more daring, and against all logical reasoning, he threaded his fingers between hers, interlacing them together. She returned his grip, and the air died in his lungs.

Arceus, it was too much. His heart surged, filling with heat and emotion, and he couldn't believe what was happening. That Gloria had found him in the Forest of Focus to begin with, that she was nestled at his side under a blanket they shared, holding hands with her head rested on his shoulder. To be like this with her was more than he could handle, to have her accept him and all his faults, his failings, to offer to go look for his watch with him after the storm passed.

He wondered how on earth he had managed to find someone like her in the first place.

"Oh, I should probably let Hop know I found you," Gloria said, stifling a yawn. "That way, you don't get 'throttled' the next time you see him."

"Excuse me?"

She snorted, pulling out her phone and typing a quick message with her free hand. "Yeah, Hop said that if I went out into the storm and got drenched for nothing, then he'd throttle you the next time he saw you."

"I'd like to see him try," Bede huffed, amused at the thought of Hop trying to fistfight him.

"Hopefully now you won't have to." Gloria pocketed her phone and relaxed again, settling her head further on his shoulder.

It would be easy for him to rest his cheek against the top of her head, and he fought the temptation to do so- holding her hand, their fingers interlaced, was already overwhelming, his chest thrumming and fluttering with heat, and he didn't want to risk pushing his luck any further. This was more than enough for his heart as it was.

Gloria yawned, lackadaisically covering her mouth with her free hand.

"Sorry," she said, catching the end of her yawn and slurring her words, "I had an early start. Went looking for Max Mushrooms all morning."

Bede swallowed the bubble of amusement that swelled in his chest at her sleepy yawn, and bit back a smile. He didn't know how she managed to be so cute all the damn time, constantly tugging on his heart with the most ordinary behaviour. A simple yawn sent his heart fluttering once again.

"Well, since I doubt the storm is going to pass anytime soon, now might be an opportune time to rest," Bede said, as casually as he could.

"Mm… but shouldn't I-" she yawned "-keep you company?"

Her eyes had already fallen shut.

"You don't have to be awake to keep me company," he said softly. Unable to hold back the tender smile on his face. "You've already done more than enough for me."

Gloria grumbled something in thought, in a weak protest, pouting her lips.

"Go ahead and rest. You deserve as much." He reached over and pulled the blanket higher over her so it rested just beneath her chin. As though he was tucking her into bed, urging her to sleep.

She sighed heavily, and sank into the warmth of the blanket. Her body relaxed. The pout of her lips eased. Her breathing slowed as she fell into the depths of sleep, and Bede finally gave in. He lowered his cheek to the crown on her head and smiled. An unbidden, unabashed smile pulled on his lips. His heart, having melted in her presence, swelled with adoration for her.

"Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

The space on his wrist no longer felt so empty.

-

To not fall asleep beside Gloria was an onerous task. Her warmth was comforting in a way that caused him to let down his guard, to relax, to forget the world around them. He found himself dosing on and off, woken by a sudden clap of thunder or the cry of Pokemon deeper in the cave, and chided himself each time for it. Sleep was too inviting next to her. Bede huffed. It wasn't like him to ignore the dangers of sleeping around wild Pokemon, completely throwing aside years of protective instincts he'd drilled into himself, just because of her. Had her naivety rubbed off onto him, or was it because somehow, she made him feel safe?

His worries faded when he glanced at her. Sleeping soundly with the faintest smile gracing her lips, the expression on her face calmed him. Talking with her, crying in her arms, being in her embrace, bit by bit she had chipped away at the cage around his heart and released him from that pain. He knew, with her beside him, that he could forsake the chain that had kept him shackled for so long. He could finally leave it behind.

Her acceptance was what he had needed all along. The Galatian Cuff around his wrist, although not a replacement for his watch, filled the space it had left behind. Just like how Gloria, how Ms Opal and the Trainers of his Gym, how all the people he now considered friends, had filled the gap in his heart left by the wounds of his past.

As the tempest inside Bede began to ease, so too did the raging weather outside. The storm passed. Golden light streamed into the cave as the setting sun breached the dark clouds and bathed the Isle of Armour in warmth once again. He didn't know how much time had passed since Gloria had found him, since they had taken up shelter in the cave, and he couldn't bring himself to wake her just yet. She continued to doze happily on his shoulder, evidently more exhausted than she had let on. As always, it seemed as though she had pushed herself as hard and as far as she could manage, even though no one was expecting her to do so.

That much, they had in common.

Bright light flashed over Bede's eyes, and he recoiled, squinting, and glared at the source towards the entrance to the cave.

"Oh, Arceus this is gold!" Laughter spilled from the person aiming the blinding flashlight from their phone at Bede and Gloria. "I have to get a picture of this."

Bede immediately recognised that cocky laugh, his heart catching in his throat as a shutter sounded. Again and again.

"Delete those right this instant!" Bede snapped.

Heat surged across his cheeks, embarrassment filling his lungs, and he stiffened in shock. With dread at having been caught snuggling under a blanket with Gloria.

Hop snorted. "No way! I'm sending these to Gloria." He flashed a grin at Bede. "And Marnie, and Sonia, and her mum-"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I?" Hop sauntered over, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Marnie is not gonna believe this unless I have evidence and, hey, I have a competition to win."

Bede bristled with mortification. "What competition?!"

"Nope, can't tell ya. That'd ruin the whole thing!" Hop kept his phone trained on them. His grin widened. "But wow. Wow. This is what you two have been doing the whole time? And here Gloria keeps insisting that you're only friends."

"We- We've done nothing of the sort! Whatever you're insinuating, you must have your head screwed on backwards!"

"Right. Says the guy currently snuggling with Gloria. And aren't those her clothes next to her bag?" Hop let out a low whistle, his eyes wide. "Maybe I should give you two some privacy…"

Heat surged through Bede's entire body. With the blanket covering Gloria up to her chin and the clothes she was wearing earlier bundled up by her bag, he realised what exactly Hop was getting at.

"Sh-She got changed!" Bede barked quickly. "We got drenched in the storm, so she changed! You- You've got this all wrong. We haven't- we didn't- whatever you're suggesting, you couldn't be further from the truth!"

He tugged the blanket down enough so Hop could see with his own eyes that they were both fully clothed. At the sudden lapse in temperature, Gloria grumbled and shifted closer to her only source of warmth, to Bede. Hop watched on, amused.

"Sure, sure. I believe you." Hop's grin said otherwise. "This is definitely something purely platonic that I'm witnessing right now."

"What are you even doing here?" Bede huffed. He pulled the blanket back up to Gloria's chin, scowling as his cheeks blazed with a dark blush he couldn't force down.

"Glo told me where you guys were, and since the storm passed, I decided to come check up on my mates out of the goodness of my heart."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Ouch, that's harsh."

Hop's cheeky grin remained firmly in place, evidently amused at Bede's growing discomfort.

"How Glo can do something like this and act like she doesn't have feelings for you is beyond me." Hop gestured at them snuggled beneath the blanket. "You should've seen how distraught she was when you wouldn't answer your phone. I doubt she would've acted like that towards anyone else."

Bede's heart flopped. "She was distraught because-"

Gloria's words came back to him, how she'd never opened up about the feeling she'd had the day her father died to anyone before. He realised then why Hop was reading so much more into the situation.

"Because…?" Hop raised an eyebrow, waiting for Bede to finish his sentence.

"It's not what you're thinking," Bede sighed. "Trust me, you couldn't be more wrong. Gloria, she… she can't help but act when she feels as though someone is in need of help. I'm sure you know that well enough."

Hop looked at Gloria and his grin began to fade. Amusement fell from his eyes.

"Yeah, you're right. And Arceus, she'd hate it if she heard what I was insinuating…" He made a sour expression at himself. "I just… want her to be happy, y'know? If she's got feelings for you, I want her to realise that but… ugh!"

Hop ruffled his hair in exasperation, before sighing heavily.

"I guess it's still too early for that, huh?"

"You don't need to tell me that."

Hop quirked a smile. "Good thing she sleeps like a log. If she heard any of this… the Meowth would be out of the bag for sure!"

"Which is why now would be an opportune time for you to can it."

Bede sent a wary glance at Gloria, finding that her peaceful expression hadn't changed one bit. She was still fast asleep. As much as he didn't want to wake her up, now was as good a time as any. He shifted his shoulder gently in an effort to rouse her.

"Gloria? The storm's passed," Bede said to her. "You should get up now."

"Good luck with that." Hop grinned again, phone ready in hand to take more unwanted photos.

Bede decided to ignore that. He'd already fallen for Hop's taunts twice in one day, and wasn't going to give him any more fuel. Gloria's brow scrunched as Bede nudged her with his shoulder again, and she grumbled something incoherent in her throat. Her eyes slowly fluttered open. She blinked a few times in a daze, Bede's heart swelling at the adorable, sleepy haze in her eyes, and she lifted her head off his shoulder.

Their eyes met. A moment passed before recognition filled Gloria's eyes, before she realised how close they were.

"Oh! Sorry!" Gloria squeaked, recoiling off Bede's shoulder.

The blanket fell as she startled, and it pooled over their laps and revealed that they were still holding hands. Their fingers were still entwined. A shutter clicked. Gloria snapped her head towards the sound.

"Hop?!" She snatched her hand from Bede's. Heat rushed up her cheeks, and Bede glanced away as an identical blush burned across his face. "What- What are you doing here?! Did you just take a picture?!"

Her embarrassment infected Bede, and he felt suddenly sheepish, as though they had been caught doing something indecent rather than simply holding hands. As though that was somehow worse than sharing a blanket, than her sleeping on his shoulder. He could feel amusement radiating off Hop and focused on folding up the blanket instead as Gloria flustered.

"Delete it!" she cried, leaping to her feet in indignation.

"Too late, already sent it to Marnie," Hop teased.

Marnie again. Bede bit back a frustrated huff. He couldn't voice anything in protest, silenced under the weight of mortification at being discovered holding Gloria's hand after assuring Hop that nothing was going on between them. He knew what it had looked like, and that made it impossible to deny what had happened, or what Hop thought had happened. The furious blush on Bede's face pooled to the very tips of his ears and flushed down his neck. An entirely unhelpful physiological reaction.

"Why did you send it to Marnie?!" Gloria squawked. She stamped her foot, folding her arms firmly across her chest as she stared Hop down.

"How else is she gonna believe me?" Hop flashed a grin at her. "Who knew you two were at that stage already-"

"Gimme that!"

She launched herself at Hop and swiped his phone before he could blink. Bede watched on, impressed.

"How many did you take…?!" Gloria swiped through the photos on Hop's phone, her eyes widening.

"Don't worry, I already sent them to you."

"I don't want them!"

She thrust his phone back at him with a huff. The embarrassment on her face shattered into hurt, and her expression darkened. She turned from Hop, her eyes meeting Bede's for a split second, before she marched over to her bag.

"Forget it," she said through her teeth, stuffing her wet clothes into her bag.

Bede sent a pointed look at Hop, who grimaced apologetically. They both knew he'd gone too far.

"Glo, look, I'll delete them." He tapped away at his phone. "And I didn't send them to Marnie, or anyone. I promise."

Bede stared at Hop in disbelief. He hadn't sent them to anyone at all?

Gloria sent an unimpressed look over her shoulder at Hop. A hard, callous stare that made Bede glad it wasn't directed at him. The hurt in her eyes was obvious, and it made her whole body tense as though she was trying to protect herself from further harm.

"You know how much I hate the paparazzi, taking pictures of me all the time when I'm just minding my own business, always insinuating stuff about me, and then you go and do the exact same thing…"

She pursed her lips. Bede knew it was to stop them from trembling. She always did that when she was about to cry, and it pierced his heart.

"Glo…"

"I should be safe with my friends. To be able to relax without- without you acting like them."

Gloria turned away from Hop. Her bottom lip trembled for a second before she bit down on it. Bede went to stand, moved to step closer to her in order to offer her some comfort, when she picked up her bag and stood.

"I came here to support Bede," she said, turning sharply to face Hop. "You have no idea what he went through, what happened, at all. So don't act like them, don't twist what you saw for your own amusement when you don't even know what happened."

"I... I'm sorry." Hop slumped. "You're right, and… man, I really acted like an ass. Sorry." He gave her a regretful smile, turning the screen of his phone towards her. "I deleted them all. Guess I should've known better, huh? You and the paparazzi are like water on an oil fire."

Gloria's expression eased slightly, the corner of her lips turning up at Hop's analogy. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Can you forgive an ass like me?" Hop lifted his arms, gesturing for a hug.

She looked at him for a moment before shaking her head with a smile, and accepted his hug.

"As long as you don't do that again," she warned.

Hop laughed. "I think I learnt my lesson."

Bede sighed to himself in relief. He was grateful that he didn't have to intervene in any way. Gloria had a glare that was sharp enough to kill, and the last thing he wanted was to give her a reason to level it at him.

He took note to avoid resembling the paparazzi in any way, shape, or form.

"Oh, the storm's over!" Gloria realised way too late. "We should get going, then."

"I was thinking the same." Bede nodded, gathering this folded up Gym Leader shirt and shorts, and handed the blanket back to Gloria. She met his eyes when she took the blanket off him, holding his gaze for a moment.

"Did you still want to…?" she asked quietly, looking deeply into his eyes as if searching for something.

He didn't know how to reply, suddenly put on the spot by the depth in her eyes, the concern on her face, and the question she didn't finish lingering in the air.

Did he still want to… what?

All he could think about was Hop's insinuation from earlier, and his mouth went dry.

Gloria tilted her head as she waited for his answer, the motion adorable in a way that didn't help his ability to speak at all. She leant closer, and Bede's breath hitched in his throat.

"Your watch," she whispered, "did you still want to look for it?"

Oh.

Oh.

Bede swallowed, and glanced away from her face, from the warmth of her eyes, in order to form words on his tongue. Did she not realise how close she was standing to him, or did she not care about personal space?

"No," he said.

The finality of his answer eased something in his chest, and he found himself relaxing. Tension he hadn't realised he'd held finally faded.

"No…?" she echoed. Her eyes widened. "Are you sure…?"

Ahead of them, towards the entrance to the cave, Hop stood with his back to them. Out of earshot.

Bede managed a smile, turning to walk towards the cave's entrance. He looked back at her, a steady warmth filling his lungs, and he knew this was what he wanted. He could finally set himself free.

"I'm sure," he answered. "It's time for me to let it go. I suppose all I needed was a push in the right direction for me to realise that."

She returned his smile and fell into step beside him. "If that's what you want… then I'll support you."

With her next to him, Bede found he could stand a little straighter, a little taller. Each step became easier as they made their way towards the Forest of Focus. Whenever he felt a prickle of doubt, all he had to do was glance at her, to remember her support, her encouragement, her acceptance, and he could move forward. He held his head high as they walked through the forest, not once feeling the urge to search for his watch.

He could finally leave it behind-

Something crunched beneath his foot. Automatically, Bede glanced down at whatever he'd trodden on, and spied a glimmer of gold beneath a mound of mud. A golden buckle covered almost completely in mud, yet still recognisable and familiar. His watch.

"Bede?"

From up ahead, Gloria called to him. Her voice stole his gaze away from his watch, and he could suddenly breathe again. Hadn't realised that he'd been holding his breath, that his heart had been pounding in his ears.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, looking as though she was about to head back over to him.

Bede smiled at her, and took a step, and then another and another, until he was at her side once more.

"Everything is more than alright," he said, and lightly touched her hand. He gave it a quick, gentle squeeze, before continuing on after Hop.

Gloria skipped to catch up with him, her cheeks slightly flushed. She caught his hand as they walked, returning the squeeze he had given her, before releasing his hand. When he glanced at her, she glanced back at him, smiles building on their faces.

Everything was more than alright.

It was perfect.