#cheered me up immeasurably

[owleics-fr]

Love the sheer amount of snappers being shared today

[cozage]

Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law, and Ace with fem S/O with healing water powers. The catch is that whenever she uses those powers, she feels pain from the wounds she’s healing. And this isn’t a Devil Fruit ability. It’s sorta like water bending from Avatar.

A/N: I really debated on how to lay this one out, but I chose to have them find out about her power. If anyone wants a head canon follow up on how they act now that they know, send me an ask :) I maybe made this a bit too long, but those soft moments with each of these boys are my WEAKNESS. (Law may seem a little OOC but I truly believe that man gets tunnel vision when he sees you in pain)

Characters: F! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace

Cw: blood, pain, injuries, angst, all those fun things. Sanji’s contains slight spoilers for WCI

Total word count: 6.3k

The Pain of Healing

Zoro

Word count: 1.2k

“It’s only five more minutes until my Haki returns.” Luffy says between pants, trying to catch his breath. 

“Then I have five minutes to help you. Sit down.” 

Luffy collapsed onto the ground at your command, and you examined his body as he slept. It didn’t look good. His body was riddled with scrapes, scratches, bruises, and he was bleeding out from his side. Several minor injuries could be more painful than large ones, but Luffy had a mix of both. The best thing to do would be to focus on the large ones first, and if you have energy left, fix the small stuff as well. 

You guided water out of your flask and started with the hole in his side. You were used to the pain that came with healing by now, but it still made you flinch every time you started. You had to grind your teeth together to keep from crying out, not wanting to wake Luffy. He needed rest, and you didn’t want him to see the repercussions of your decision to help heal him anyway. 

After five minutes, you’ve taken all of the major injuries away from his body, and you managed to take a few small ones away from him as well. You wipe the tears from your eyes before you shake him awake. 

“It’s time, Luffy. Wake up.” You put on the biggest fake smile you can muster before his eyes flick open. 

“Aw man, that was the best nap in my entire life! I feel amazing!” You stay seated as he stands up, your body too riddled with pain to move. 

“Go get them, Captain!” It hurts to even speak, but Luffy’s already up stretching, too hyped up to notice your exhaustion.

“Thanks for whatever you did to make me feel so great! Leave the rest to me!” Luffy calls back, bounding off to finish the fight. 

Once he’s out of sight, you fold your head into your hands and weep. The pain was immeasurable, and every time you helped Luffy recover, you don’t understand how he’s still alive. You sit there for a long time, crying until there are no tears left. And then you hear cheers from the village nearby, signifying Luffy has won and your work paid off. Knowing that you helped him win makes you feel a little better, and you need to see everyone again. 

You stand up, ready to go meet the rest of the crew, but your body seems to disagree with your movement. Your legs shake, and when you go to take a step, you can feel your body collapsing, falling to the ground. You brace for the impact of your worn body against the solid ground, too tired to do anything else.

It doesn’t come, though. Someone catches you as you stumble forward. Strong arms wrap around your back and your legs, scooping you up and pressing you into his bare chest. Zoro. 

“Easy.” His expression is stone as he stares at you, but you can see worry underneath. “You gonna tell me what the hell you just did to Luffy?” 

You avert your eyes from his gaze, running the tip of your finger along the scar on his chest. “I healed him.”

You can feel his body tense with your words. “That didn’t look like healing to me. And since when do you have a Devil fruit power anyway?”

You bite your lip nervously. Nobody had caught you healing someone before. It wasn’t something you flaunted, or even something you told people about. “It’s not a devil fruit power.”

“Woman, if you don’t tell me-” he breaks off mid sentence, and you look around for any sign of danger. But there’s nobody around besides the two of you. You risk a glance up at him, and you see his face is pained as he stares down at you with a form of understanding. “You took his pain from him, didn’t you?”

Your mouth falls open from shock. You’re not sure how Zoro was able to guess something so accurate after seeing your power one time. You nod, confirming his suspicions. “He’s got an incredibly high threshold for pain tolerance.” 

“How are you still alive?” Zoro shakes you a little when he asks the question, which causes you to groan in pain. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be more gentle. Do you want to sit? Stand?”

The thought of being upright makes you dizzy. “Can you just keep holding me for now?”

He nods, and returns to questioning you about your mysterious power instead. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yeah.” It hurt to talk honestly, but you didn’t want to tell Zoro that. 

“How often have you been doing this?”

“Only like three or four times for Luffy, I think.” You're certain it’s been more than that, but you can’t tell Zoro that right now. 

“Three or four times?? For Luffy?” You can feel him trying to figure out the meaning behind your cryptic words. 

“There’s been a few other people I’ve done it for too.”

“Have you done it for me?” He's scowling at you, like he already knows the answer you’re going to give and he's waiting to scold you for it. 

“Maybe once or twice,” you lie, and you feel your cheeks burning. He squints at you, and you know you’ve been caught in the lie. But he says nothing, he just readjusts you in his arms to hold you closer. 

He had been walking for a few minutes, and you had almost fallen asleep. He had managed to keep you mostly still while he walked through the destroyed city, and you were too tired to care if he was lost or not. “It’s a neat power,” he finally comments. “You gonna tell me more about it? Or do I need to keep asking questions?”

“Can I tell you later?” You mumble into his chest. Between the safety of Zoro’s arms, the warmth of the sun on your face, and the exhaustion that’s set in from all that pain, it's hard for you to stay conscious. 

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and you struggle to stay awake while you wait for an answer. He was never one for mindless chit chat, but you could tell that something was on his mind, so you decide to indulge him.

“It’s not a devil fruit. I was born with it,” You start, and you feel a heavy weight lift off your shoulders with those few words.  You’re so relieved that you can finally tell someone about your secret now. “I was never supposed to let anyone see it being used. If the World Government knew…” You trail off, thinking of how the Navy would turn you into a weapon. You shutter at the thought, and continue on in your explanation. 

“The power isn’t perfect, though. I feel the pain of whoever or whatever I heal. It’s not permanent, but if it’s too much for my body to handle at the moment, I might die. I’m really not sure, I’ve never tried to heal a fatal wound before.”

Zoro is looking off into the distance with a faraway look in his eye. “Just like Kuma.”

“Who?”

“Back on Thriller Bark we met a Marine named Kuma,” Zoro begins to explain, and you focus all your energy into listening to him. “He took all of Luffy’s pain and told me if we wanted to save Luffy, I had to take his pain upon myself. It was just after his big battle with the warlord Moria, and the pain…” he trailed off, and you knew he was reliving the moment in his mind. 

“Does he know about your sacrifice?” 

Your question brings him back to reality, and he looks down at you. He chuckles at your question, and bends over to kiss your forehead. “Does he know about yours?”

Sanji

Some light spoilers for WCI arc

Word Count: 1.2k

You didn’t realize that your ability was keeping Sanji up at night. 

Anytime he had a cut, or a burn, or any other kind of injury, you waited for him to doze off before you pulled out some water and healed his hands. The injuries were never serious, and after a few times, you barely noticed the pain. 

You didn’t mind, and you knew how much your boyfriend valued his hands. It was your silent act of love to him, something you wanted to give him but could never tell him about. One morning after you healed a bad burn, you found him sitting up in bed, staring at his hands. 

“Is something wrong, Sanji dear?”

The cook was examining his hands thoroughly, flipping them over again and again. “I could’ve sworn I had a burn here yesterday.”

Your cheeks tinted at the thought of being found out. “Oh, well maybe you just have superhuman healing powers!” You laugh it off, trying your best to act natural. 

“Yeah, maybe…” You could tell something was bothering him, but he didn't say anything further. 

You caught him staring at his hands throughout the day, as if he was waiting for a bomb to explode. At dinner you noticed a particularly bad cut on the topside of his hand - a cut he must’ve gotten while chopping vegetables - and you made a note to heal it that night. 

He stayed awake later than usual that night, and he seemed more wound up with anxiety than normal. You peppered his face with a few kisses, trying to get him to relax some. 

“Sanji, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He sighed, pulling you into his chest and laying down to finally get some sleep. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He fell asleep quickly with you pressed into him. His slow, even breaths signified he was finally unconscious, and you pulled out some water to cover his wound. It stung you a bit as his flesh stitched back together, and you let out a low hiss in pain, and you froze as Sanji stirred slightly in his sleep. This wound was deeper than his normal cuts and burns; he must’ve been really distracted when he hurt himself. He wasn’t usually so careless around knives, but you knew whatever was bothering him would be revealed when he was ready to talk to you about it.  

With his wound healed and Sanji’s breath returning to normal, you curled back into place against him, and fell deep into sleep.

You woke to a string of curses falling out of Sanji’s mouth, his body tight and tense against yours. 

“Hm? Sanji?” You rub the sleep from your eyes and open them to find him staring at his hands again. “Sanji, what’s wrong?”

“That’s impossible,” he mumbled, speaking mostly to himself. He looks panicked, staring down at the place where his cut was yesterday. “That’s not humanly possible.”

You feign innocence as you have in the past, but you can’t ignore the nervous look in his eyes. “What is it, Ji?”

“I had a cut here yesterday. It was deep.” His breathing quickened, and you could see that he was scared for some reason. “It couldn’t have healed overnight. It’s not…It can’t be…”

“I’m sure it’s just-”

“You don’t understand.” He cuts you off mid-sentence, something he’s never done before, and it takes you aback. He gets out of bed abruptly, his eyes never leaving his hand.

“Sanji?”

“I need to go. I need to get out of here.” He’s pacing the room now, his stress overflowing into the space between you. 

“Go where? Sanji, calm down. Talk to me-”

“I can’t be here! I can’t endanger you! Or anyone else, for that matter!” His face is contorted with such pain you’ve never seen before. You don’t know what’s going on with your boyfriend, but his reaction to such a small cut is starting to scare you.

You jump out of bed and stride over to him. When you reach him, you clasp his face between your hands, forcing his eyes away from his hands and up to your eyes. His eyes are wide with pure fear, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. You can feel his body shaking as you hold him. 

“Sanji.” You push down your own fear and speak to him in a soothing tone, trying to bring him back to you. “Talk to me.”

“I’m a monster, Y/N.” Tears fill his eyes, threatening to spill out as he speaks. “If my body is regenerating like this…I’m a threat to you all.”

“You’re not,” You whisper. “You’re not a monster, Sanji.” You stand on your tiptoes to try and kiss the space between his eyes, but he pulls away from you.

“You don’t know.” He backs away from you, fear returning to his eyes again. “I am a monster. And now that I’m-”

It’s your turn to cut him off now. “I healed you, Sanji.”

His brows furled in confusion, but his eyes looked less panicked now. “Wha..?”

“I have this power,” you explain. You walk back to the bedside table, gathering some water from a cup and suspending it in the air. “I can heal people with water. I’ve been healing your small injuries for a while now. I wanted to make your life easier, I swear. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I just…I wanted to help.”

You see him relax the more you explain your powers, which was not the reaction you were expecting. He watches you move the water through the air, and tears finally flow from his eyes. 

“Y/N-chan,” he sobs, running over to you, embracing you in a hug. He’s holding you tight, smothering you into his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you hide it?”

Your face burns against him, embarrassed that you had kept it from him for so long. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, and I knew you wouldn’t want me hurting myself for you, but-”

“Hang on.” He pulls back from you, peering down at your face with a frown of concern. “You’re being hurt?”

“Just when I heal people,” you rush to explain, seeing his frown deepen. “I just feel the pain of the injuries I’m healing, it’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he corrects, staring at you disapprovingly. “Promise me you won’t do it anymore.”

“Sanji-”

“Promise, Y/N.”

“No! Let me do this for you!” You’re pouting now, but you know Sanji won’t cave on this matter. You know he can’t let you hurt yourself at his expense. 

“I appreciate that you want to help,” he says sternly. You can hear the love in his voice as he speaks, and you know you’ll have to agree to his request.  “But there are other ways for you to help me without hurting yourself. Please-”

“Fine. Promise.” You give him a fake pout, but when he pulls you back into his chest and holds you tightly, you melt into him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ji? You seemed scared earlier.”

“I’m fine, really.” He rests his chin on the top of your head, drawing in a long breath before he says more. “I just thought my past was coming back to haunt me again, that’s all.”

You all stand there for a long while, just enjoying eachothers closeness. You only break apart when you hear Luffy screaming for breakfast, and you give him one last kiss on each of his hands before you let him go. 

Luffy

Word Count: 1.1k

“Stay still, idiot.” You held Luffy down, looking at his wound in his foot. 

“I can’t! It hurrrtttssss!” 

“That’s what you get for wearing sandals in the jungle!” You could tell from the way the stick speared through his foot, Luffy wouldn’t be able to walk easily, and you still had another half mile before you made it back to the ship. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to heal people while they were conscious, but this was Luffy. He was the love of your life, and the Strawhats were your only family. If you couldn’t trust them, you deserved to be locked up anyway. 

You sighed, pulling water out of your flask in soft, flowing movements. Luffy was still writhing in pain on the ground, overdramatic in his reaction to his current impalement. It was possible that you might be able to heal him without him even realizing it. 

You surrounded his foot with an orb of water, and imagined the wound being stitched together, just like your mother had taught you. You saw his rubbery skin begin to mend together, and braced yourself for what came next. 

Your grip on Luffy’s ankle tightened when the pain came. It was sharp and fast, and it took the breath out of your lungs. You squeezed your eyes shut, but kept your focus on the wound and the pain that came with it. 

“Wooooahhhh!” You could hear Luffy’s sigh of amazement, and you knew he had caught you healing his wound. “That’s so cool! The hole is just closing up!!”

You didn’t speak, afraid that your voice would betray you. The last thing you wanted Luffy to know was that you were in pain because of the healing process. You could hear him freaking out about how cool it was that his injury was healing before his own eyes, but you did your best to ignore him and focus on the healing process. You kept your eyes closed the entire time, using the level of pain to guide how much longer you had to fix his injury. Finally, the pain dulled, and then disappeared. You dropped his foot and opened your eyes again, trying to ignore the lingering effects that your body was dealing with. 

Luffy was examining his foot closely, looking at it from all angles to see if there was any damage. He stood up, putting all of his weight back on his foot, and jumped up and down a few times. 

“It’s like brand new!” He shouted with glee. He came over to you and wrapped you in a hug. “You’re the best, Y/N!”

--

Over the next few weeks, Luffy offered up your services to others throughout the ship. You knew that Luffy was incapable of keeping secrets, and you had never explicitly asked him to keep that information to himself. You never minded healing your family though, and the injuries were always minor. Luffy sent Ussop to you when he got a burn on his hand, and Franky when he got a bad cut on his face. Chopper sent Zoro when he had a sprained wrist. It wasn’t until Nami came to you with a nasty cut on her shoulder that the secret of your healing was revealed. 

You smiled when she asked, and pulled water out to start the healing process. You coated the wound in a bubble of water, and clenched your jaw to prepare for the worst. 

You were aware of Nami’s eyes watching you. Everyone else watched their own wound magically heal, but her eyes remained on your face, watching for any signs of discomfort on your end. You had a feeling that she was suspicious of your powers already. She had been the most interested member of the crew from the start, asking about the stipulations and origins of your power from the moment she had found out about it. 

You kept your eyes on the gash, trying your best to mentally steel yourself for the pain that would come. You knew it wouldn’t be easy to hide the pain, but you were determined to make it look natural. When the feeling of pain ripped through your shoulder to match her wound, you gritted your teeth and kept your smile, but you could feel your muscles involuntarily twitch. 

If Nami noticed, she said nothing. When you finished, you looked back up at her and let out a shaky breath, smiling. She eyed you suspiciously, but thanked you politely and left you alone. Once the door swung shut, you collapsed back onto the couch you were on, desperately needing a nap after that performance. 

--

Luffy was awoken by a smack on the head. 

“What?” He asked groggily. “Are we at the next island?”

“Are you some kind of sadist,” the tangerine-haired girl scolded, shaking her finger at him. “Or are you just a moron?”

“What are you talking about, Nami?”

Nami rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, staring daggers down at Luffy. “Y/N’s power.”

Luffy rubbed his head, wondering if you could fix headaches. “What about it?”

“She feels pain when she heals people, you idiot. She probably feels whatever pain she’s healing.”

Luffy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that she just healed my shoulder. And she was in some serious pain while she was doing it. She hides it well, but I could tell she was hurting.”

Luffy bit his lip, trying to think back to when you had healed him in the forest. But he had been so amazed at watching his own wound heal, he hadn’t noticed your reaction while you were doing it. 

“She seemed kind of tired after mine, but that’s it. I felt great though, so I carried her back to the ship!”

“So you are just a moron!” Nami punched him again. “No more free healing! Stop taking advantage of her!”

--

You woke up from your nap to rubber arms wrapped around you and Luffy’s round eyes staring at you intensely.

“Good morning,” you groan, trying to pull away from him to stretch. 

He let you go enough to stretch out, but kept a tight grip on you. “Does it hurt?”

You freeze mid-stretch, silently cursing Nami for her hyper awareness. “It just makes me tired.”

“You’re lying.” He knows you so well. You move your fingers up to his hair, twirling his locks around your index finger.

“Yeah,” you sigh the word out. You’re painfully aware of his gaze, transfixed on your face.

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Luffy, it’s not that bad.” Your eyes move back to his finally, and you can see the hurt and confusion that is held within them. “And I like doing what I can to help my family.”

He nods, accepting that answer, and snuggles up into your chest, holding you tightly against him. You let him lay there for a while, twirling his soft strands of hair around in your fingers. There are few quiet moments between you and Luffy, and you cherish every moment you can get like this.

“Nami said no more free healings, by the way.”

You laugh and give his forehead a quick kiss. “Guess I’ll have to charge you double.”

Law

Word Count: 1.2k

“Fuck.”

Law’s breath was ragged as you pressed into his stomach wound. Blood coated your hands as you tried to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t seem to be working very well. 

“I just need to...” Law coughed, and you could see red staining his lips. A small blue orb began to form in his palm, but it flickered out quickly. He was too weak to use his devil fruit powers.

“Fuck.” You repeated. There was only one thing you could do now. It meant exposing your secret and showing your captain your biggest weakness, but you’d do anything to save him. 

You pulled away from his wound, and let your hands guide water from your flask, maneuvering it through the air. “Don’t freak out,” you say, and you cover the wound in water. You let it sit for a moment, and then begin imagining the wound healing. 

It started as a dull, throbbing pain in your stomach. You began to think you were getting used to the pain, but then it began to grow, turning sharp and stabbing. You flinched at the sudden change in pain, but held your focus. 

Law watched you work for a few moments with wide eyes, unsure what was happening or what he could do. You wanted to scream from the pain that was growing rapidly, but you held your tongue, hoping he didn’t notice your facial expressions contorting into pain. Tears filled your eyes, and you finally felt Law move into action, his hand gripping around your wrists. 

“Stop,” he demanded, trying to push your arms away from his wound. You ignore his demand, keeping your arms locked against him, continuing the healing process at your expense. 

“Stop! Y/N-ya, Stop it!” His voice rose in pitch, and you could tell he sensed your pain. His efforts to push you away are getting stronger, proof that his energy is returning to him. You feel relieved in the fact that he is healing, even if it is exhausting you in the process. 

He finally succeeds in pushing you off him, and you fall backwards to the ground and lay there, dazed and stunned from your work. He quickly straddles you and pins your arms to the ground to ensure you’ve fully stopped whatever you had started doing to him. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Law stares down at you, angry and scared of what you’ve done. 

You know his rage is out of fear, and you give him a small smile, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You okay now?”

He stares at you, baffled at your question. He has energy now, and his wound in his stomach is almost completely healed. He knows it’s due to you, but he doesn’t know how you’ve managed to heal him so quickly. Fear. Betrayal. Anger. So many emotions run through him all at once. He has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to start. 

He tightens his grip around your wrists, keeping you pinned down. “Explain.”

“It’s a power I was born with,” you say, closing your heavy eyes. “I can heal other people’s injuries through water.”

Law watches you carefully, certain that you’re hiding something. He squeezes your wrists tighter until you finally open your eyes again, looking anywhere but at him. 

You can’t make eye contact with him or you know you’ll tell him everything. You can’t afford for him to know your secret, it was bad enough that he knew this much. 

“You were in pain.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

You squirm from underneath him, trying to get free, but his grip doesn’t let up. He’s determined to get to the bottom of what you just did. He needs to protect you. He needs to keep you safe from all harm, even if that means protecting you from yourself. 

“Let go.” You say, still trying to get free. His grip is starting to become painful, and you try to pull your arms away from him again. “You’re hurting me, Law. Let go.”

His eyes stare down at you, unmoving from his current position. The more you squirm, the tighter his grip gets, and you know he won’t let go until he has an answer. “Y/n-ya, why were you in pain?”

“It’s a side effect!” You cry out in frustration, finally giving in. You suspect he knew the moment he saw it. “I feel the person’s pain as I heal them.”

In his shock, Law’s hands loosen their grip, and you finally pull free from him. You try to turn away from him, but he’s still sitting on your stomach, and you don’t have enough energy to push him off. You rub at your wrists, trying to get the sting from his grip out of your body.

Law is frozen, staring down at you with wide eyes. He grits his teeth, watching you massage your wrists. “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for your hands again, more gentle this time. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

You let him grab one of your hands, and he begins massaging your wrists gently, whispering apologies to you. You close your eyes and try to forget that you’ve broken your number one rule about your power: telling other people. You focus on his wrist massage for a while, his own way to apologize for his outburst.

“Y/n-ya?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you save me?”

You sigh, opening your eyes again. This time, you meet his gold eyes, radiant against the sunlight. “You never want anyone to save you, Captain.”

“It’s my job as a ca-”

“I saved you because I love you, you idiot.”

You can see Law’s eyes twitch in surprise; his hands freeze against your wrist. 

“You don’t get to decide what sacrifices I make for you,” you continue. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do to save you. That’s my decision. You’ve made many sacrifices for me, some extremely painful ones. Remember the incident at Low Sand Creek?”

Law doesn’t respond, but he slowly starts to massage your wrists again, which you take as a sign to keep talking. 

“I don’t get to criticize your decisions on sacrifice. And you don’t get to criticize mine either. I love you, and I know you love me. Do I want you to risk your life for me? No. But that’s just something I have to live with. And so do you. Okay?”

Your captain says nothing, and you can tell he’s sulking over your lecture. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have to do this with him. Law was one of the smartest people you knew, but relationships weren’t really his strong suit. It resulted in you having to do a lot of explaining and voicing your needs.

“Law, do you understand?” You insist, needing to stand your ground. He had a tendency of not responding when he didn’t agree with something.  

He huffs out an irritated breath. “Okay.”

You scrunch your face at him, shooting him a semi-fake glare. 

“I understand, okay?!”

You twisted your hand to intertwine with his, and grabbed his other hand with your free one so that both of his hands were now holding each of yours. You locked eyes with him, and you could see there was something else there, something that was bothering him. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if he were working up the courage to admit whatever he was feeling. His eyes moved away from your gaze and focused on one of his hands instead, still intertwined with yours. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice comes out slightly choked, and you realize that you had forgotten to explain the most important part to him. 

Your cheeks redden, embarrassed at your oversight. His eyes snapped back to yours, and now it was your turn to avoid eye contact.  

“It’s… I was told to never tell anyone about it. Or let someone else see it.”

You can feel him staring at you, his eyes willing you to look at him, but you refuse. He waits patiently, and you know he’s asking you a silent question: Don’t you trust me?

“I trust you, I just…” Neither you or Law had really talked about your past much. You preferred to live for the now, for the future. The past was just too painful to think about. “People died protecting that secret. I didn’t want to add more names to that list.”

Law gave a dark chuckle at your response. “And after all that preaching about not deciding who gets to make sacrifices.”

Now it’s your turn to sulk. “That is not-“

He cuts you off, pulling you up to meet him, and his lips collide with yours. 

He pulls back briefly, basking in your beauty. “No more secrets. Promise?”

“Promise.” 

Ace

Word Count: 1.5k

Ace wasn’t used to being hit, and when someone made contact with him, it hurt. He grimaced as he limped from battle, blood dripping down his leg from the giant puncture wound in his thigh. You had your arm around him, helping him run, but his injury was slowing you both down, and the enemy was closing in quickly.

“Sit,” you commanded. “Let me help.”

“I just need to get back to Marco, he can help.” His breathing was labored, and you knew he was expending too much energy just speaking to you. 

“I can heal too.” You helped him sit down, and you could feel his eyes staring at you, trying to understand your cryptic words. You chose to ignore him for now, and examined the wound. It was deep, but manageable. You braced yourself, and summoned some water out of your flask, covered his wound, and focused on stitching it back together. 

Pain ripped through you, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself focused. It wasn’t the worst pain you had felt, but the wound was deeper than you had initially thought, and you could feel your muscles tearing apart, just like Ace’s had when he was cut. You knew that it was just a phantom pain, no actual bodily harm was being done to you, but it was still pain nonetheless. 

You could feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, but you refused to stop until the job was done. You watched his muscle stitch back together, and when it was finally completely healed, you sat back and closed your eyes, exhausted and riddled with aches. 

When you opened your eyes again, you could see Ace in front of you, you could feel him shaking you violently. He was screaming something, but you couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying over the loud ringing in your ears. Slowly, your hearing returned, and you realized he was screaming your name. 

“Ace.” Your words were slow. You were still trying to come out of the fog of pain that always came with healing. “Stop shaking me.”

He finally stopped, but his hands were still tightly gripping your shoulders. He was staring at you in terror, fear spread across his face. 

“What were you doing?” His voice was loud and piercing, causing you to flinch. “How did you…What do…Where did…” He struggled to find the right words, and you stared at him with still-glazed eyes while he tried to form a sentence. You were struggling to refocus after the pain, and were thankful that Ace was tongue-tied for the moment. 

Ace took a breath, finally able to form a sentence. “I didn’t know you had a devil fruit power.”

“I don’t.” Normally you let people believe whatever they wanted in order to guard your secret, but this was Ace. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone. “It’s just an ability I was born with. I can heal people with water.”

Ace’s facial expressions had always been easy to read. Even in your dazed state, you watched as his concern turned to shock and then to confusion. You waited for the inevitable question to come, and it did. “If you’ve had this power, why haven’t you used it more often?” 

“I…” you hesitate. You didn’t want to tell him the weakness of your ability. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because you did. You knew that if Ace discovered the trade off of your powers, he would never want you to suffer for him or anyone else. 

You had told Marco about your power when you joined the crew, and the doctor had forbid you using your ability except in dire circumstances. Marco trusted you to make judgment calls on what you could handle, but you didn’t think Ace would feel the same way. 

You could hear the enemy's battle cries getting closer, and you take the opportunity to avoid the question. “Let’s go. We need to get back to the ship.”

Ace stands, and you follow to do the same. You take a bit longer to get to your feet, still light-headed from the trade off of healing Ace. His attention has shifted to the enemy pursuing you now, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice your sluggish movements. 

Ace’s fist becomes engulfed with flames, and he stands between the enemy and you. “Go back to the ship, I’ll hold them off.” 

“Idiot! That’s what got us here in the first place!” 

“Yeah,” He smirked back at you like the devilish fiend you knew he was. “But this time I won’t lose.”

You can feel your knees start to go weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from exhaustion or from the man in front of you. You hate to leave him, but you know you’ll only be a liability in this fight. With Ace’s energy replenished and the ability to fight in an open space, he’d finish off the enemy easily now. 

“You better not die.” Your words hang in the air, and you take off towards the Moby Dick. 

As soon as you got aboard the ship, you went straight to your room. You didn’t bother giving a report. Ace would do that when he returned. Sleep was what you needed now. 

—

You woke with arms wrapped around you tightly, and the warm body of Portgas D. Ace pressed against your back. You weren’t sure how long you had slept, but there was no longer any light coming in through the porthole in your room. You shifted, trying to get out of Ace’s grasp without waking up, but his strong arms tightened against you when you moved, keeping you close to him. 

For a long while you laid in the silence, unsure if Ace was asleep or awake. He wasn’t snoring like he normally did when he was asleep and he refused to let you move away from his grasp, but his breaths were even and he didn’t speak to you. You didn’t mind the quiet, your body was still exhausted from the fighting and the pain of healing today, and Ace’s warmth was almost therapeutic against your tired body.

“Your healing…” Ace's voice finally breaks the silence, making you tense from surprise. His voice was low and quiet in your ear. “It hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and you know that he’s figured it out. Whether he solved it on his own or if Marco told him, it didn’t matter now. You’ve always been a bad liar, and you could never bring yourself to lie to Ace anyway.

He squeezed you tighter, pulling you closer to him. There was another long pause, and you let him hold you while he processed everything. 

“How bad is it?” His voice is level, but you can hear it beginning to grow thick with tears. 

“It depends on what I heal. I just feel the pain of the injury.”

His forehead presses into the crook of your neck, and his breath becomes shallow and ragged. You can feel his emotions coursing through him, and all you want to do is comfort him. You squirm, trying to flip over so you see his face while you talk, but his iron tight grip refuses to let you move. 

“Ace,” you speak gently, your hands pulling at his arms, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn over onto your other side. You’re laying face to face with him now, but his eyes are squeezed shut. His freckled cheeks are wet with tears, and your heart constricts seeing his sadness. 

You press your forehead against his, and use your free hand to brush some of his hair away from his face. You continue softly sweeping your fingers through his hair, soothing him as you speak. “It’s not so bad, Ace. But that's why I don’t use it very often.”

His eyes are still closed, but you feel his hands ball into fists against your back, gathering the fabric of your shirt in them.

“Why did you use it to save me then?” His voice comes out more of a demand than a question. It’s harsh, and you know he’s angry. Maybe at you, maybe at himself, probably both. His question makes you freeze, your fingers still entangled in his strands of hair. 

You feel a slight prick of irritation at his question. You pull your head back and tilt his face up to look you in the eyes, but they’re still tightly shut. “Look at me,” you demand, your tone matching his from a moment ago. You feel him stiffen slightly at the intensity of your words, but his dark eyes open to meet your own. 

Your hands find his cheeks, cupping his face, and you press your forehead back into his. Your eyes never leave his, and you can feel his grip against your back finally start to soften as he focuses on you instead of what you’ve done. 

“I did it.” You pause for a moment, still staring at him. God, he was so stupid. You swipe your thumb across his freckles, wiping the tears from his sad, sweet eyes. “Because you deserve to be saved.”

[pedrithink]

you and i ✩ jude bellingham

request: maybe you could do Jude and his girlfriend through different stages of their relationship

ynusername

Liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, and 56.762 others

ynusername congratulations, jude!! you deserve every bit of this 😁👏🏻

View all 567 comments

judebellingham thank you!!! 😁😁

user1 i love to see the early stages of their relationship 😭

user2 y/n was always by his side :(

user3 were they dating at this time?

user4 @user3 yes!!! this was in his debut for birmingham

user5 i remembered the interview jude gave last year and said that by this time he was already completely in love with her

user6 why was she congratulating him?

user7 @user6 because he had made his debut in the first team

ynusername

Liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, and 76.889 others

ynusername i expected nothing less from you. congratulations on your victory, more moments like this will come :) always proud of you, golden boy.

View all 802 comments

judebellingham couldn’t have done without your immeasurable support. can’t wait to see you again…

ynusername @judebellingham i will always be cheering for you, miss you a lot.

user7 this was back when they had broken up because of distance and yet she was still supporting him :(

user8 i love the way they showed that they still love each other even with the distance

user9 for y/n the most important thing was that jude was happy even if he was far away from her 😭😭

user10 @user9 i just remember jude saying that at this time he always cried when he came home because everything he did referred to her 😭

ynusername

Liked by judebellingham, gioareyna, and 102.234 others

ynusername it was a great night with you, captain 🫡🫶🏻

View all 1.022 comments

judebellingham i missed you a lot.

ynusername @judebellingham always with you, you know that :)

gioareyna it was amazing to meet you, y/n. jude talks a lot about you 🫣🙄

ynusername @gioareyna don’t get jealoussss!!! he loves you more than he loves me 🫨

user11 the way he looks at her, GODDDD!!!

user12 i dont know if i want to date someone who looks at me the way jude looks at y/n or the way gio looks at jude

user13 imagine loving someone so much (me talking to y/n and jude)

ynusername

Liked by judebellingham, trentarnold66, and 133.455 others

ynusername i can't and don't want to imagine a life without you. i have loved you since we were 14 and i hope we can stay together until the end of eternity. happy birthday, golden boy. ⭐️🫶🏻

View all 2.172 others

judebellingham i am so happy by your side. thank you for everything, my love. thank you for not giving up on me and our love. i love you!

ynusername @judebellingham our thing is a forever thing, jude victor william bellingham!!!!!!!! we cannot ever give up.

user14 y/n calling jude ‘golden boy’ to this day, i will cry!!!

user15 their love is so pure :(

user16 i love to see how their love has only been growing

user17 may they be very happy together

ynusername

Liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, and 223.456 others

ynusername visiting home 🫨💗 always love to be here.

View all 1.224 others

judebellingham my pretty partner in crime 🫡💗

jobebellingham i missed you!!!

ynusername @jobebellingham missed you a lot!! 💗💗🥲

trentarnold66 you need to come visit me RN!!!!!!!! you don’t have excuses.

ynusername @trentarnold66 I WILL TRY

judebellingham @trentarnold66 what about me????? 😢

trentarnold66 @judebellingham yeah, you can come too if you want 🤷🏻‍♀️

user18 PRETTY COUPLE DOING PRETTY THINGS THAT PRETTY PEOPLE DO 😭

ynusername

Liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, and 334.081

ynusername hi madrid 🤍🫶🏻

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judebellingham madrid is more beautiful with you

ynusername @judebellingham simp

user19 y/n is moving with jude to madrid????? finally!!!!

user20 @user19 for sure, they are almost married already LOL

gioareyna i will miss you guys 🥹

trentarnold66 ❤️

[endless-ineffabilities]

and what of your love?

Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader (nsfw / 18+)

part two of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: 'don't you love me?' , part three: the flames that divide , part four: the aftermath

themes: angst (obvi), smut, mention of violence/death, language, dragonrider!reader (her house is not stated)

word count: 4.6k ▪︎ masterlist

Aemond Targaryen is to be married, but his heart is not in it. In fact, he feels as if he hasn't had a heart ever since you left.

The message sits on your desk, the words all too vivid and clear, as if mocking you.

"You are cordially requested to bear witness to the union of Prince Aemond Targaryen and his future consort, Lady Alys Rivers..."

You had rushed through the words, in utter disbelief, your heart breaking all the while. Towards the end, it also stated, “His Royal Highness, King Aegon II, wishes to extend a truce, only to the Lady y/n, for the entire duration of the royal festivities, at the behest of Prince Aemond."

Oh please.

It has been over a year since you last saw him in your field, and ever since that night, you've tried your hardest to erase him from your heart. When he played a hand in the death of Lucerys, you were sure that would be the nail in the coffin of whatever love you may have had for him. Sweet, brave Luke who grew to become a brother to you. He was too young. The pain was crippling, the rage it unravelled was immeasurable.

You tell yourself, every day, every hour, that Aemond is lost. The man you once loved, the Prince who relentlessly pursued you, the lover who promised you the world - was no more.

But even you can't fool yourself.

Every time word reaches you of his latest crime, you don't feel hate. You want to only be angry, you should be. But you just can't.

He will always be your Aemond. You may condemn his actions, but you could never cut yourself free of him. He will always have a part of you, which is why you haven't taken any other lover.

But, apparently, he has.

The Lady Alys Rivers was rumoured to be beautiful, and enchanting. The perfect match for the equally alluring young prince.

Oh, seven hells. This must be a joke. Surely, he doesn't think I would actually deign to attend this union.

When you gave word to Daemon and Rhaenyra, they were sure that Aemond is merely toying with you. They knew all too well about your past affair, and seemed assured that this invitation was just a way for Aemond to get under your skin. To get you to lower your defenses.

There was no way you would cross over into enemy territory, given the heightened scale of the ongoing war.

Besides, why the fuck would you want to?

If he truly has forgotten me, if he has truly fallen for another, then I must move on. He no longer is my Aemond. He is hers.

Resolute, you take the parchment, the confirmation of what you have lost, and throw it into the hearth.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The revelry is in full swing, and the lords and ladies of the court are jovially partaking in the week-long festivities, customary before a grand wedding of a prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Albeit now there is an atmosphere of gloom. A sense of unease due to the war is felt by most, and tonight, ale and dancing and fucking are the thoughtless remedies.

The groom, Prince Aemond, sits stoically at the High Table. His inebriated King brother sits to his left, and his bride, Lady Alys, to his right.

She keeps one hand on him, as she does every time, as if she fears that he might run away.

He has half a mind to do just that, plotting as he sips his wine. You had not showed up. You had not even given any notice of having received the invitation.

Does she know I am to be married? Does she not care?

Aemond downs his cup of wine in one long swig, to which his brother cheers, and pats him on the back.

His soon-to-be wife, glances at him chastisingly, and says, "Slowly, my love, the feast has only just begun."

My love. Aemond whips his head to her in a flash, "I told you not to call me that. Call me whatever you wish, just not that."

Lady Alys flinches at his tone, "Careful with how you address me, Aemond. I am your wife."

Aemond takes another swig after his cup has been filled, "Not yet."

"It makes no difference. I will be, soon," his consort smiles, clearly satisfied with herself, "Dance with me, husband?"

"Hmm," he tries to remain polite, although it's taking much resolve, "you go ahead. I'll remain here for now."

She plants a heavy kiss on his cheek, giggling, and joins the dance, getting lost in the crowd.

Aemond muses about his consort, how provocative and sly she is. The reason why he chose her, after the incessant nagging from his mother Alicent that he should be married, is because she's just about the least likely prospect.

Alicent immediately wanted to marry him off to some other highborn lady, someone more proper. Not the bastard daughter of House Strong, but he disagreed. He had no personal desire to be married, anyway, and is merely performing his duty. Marrying for love was clearly out of the cards, since you...

You. Aemond takes another gulp of wine.

He chose Alys on a whim, but also because she was the most amusing out of his options. She is beautiful, brazen with her words, and didn't care much for pomp and nobility. And, well, she was the one who is the most similar to you. Although, she can never hold a candle to your hold on Aemond's heart.

Aemond didn't love her, no, but he is able to tolerate her at least. He once thought that, perhaps, if you had never been in the picture, maybe Alys might have been able to steal his heart instead.

But you are. And you had.

He wonders if you still feel longing, if you also possess that incessant emptiness in your chest. If you still... love...

Fuck. I need her. He takes another drink.

"Brother," Aegon claps him on the shoulder loudly, jeering, "I've never seen you swig ale that quickly. Don't worry about losing your bachelorhood. You're the fucking Prince! You can have any bedmate you want, and your wife can't say a single thing."

There is it again. Wife. Aemond begins to think it vile. A pang of pity also befalls him for his dear sister Helaena, that she should be saddled with an imbecile of a spouse such as Aegon.

Fortunately, in a twisted way, it may even be beneficial for Helaena that her husband sleeps around, so that she may constantly not be on the receiving end of his nightly drunken stupors.

He wonders, dread and jealousy enveloping him, if you had taken anyone to wed. If he is anything like Aegon is as a husband, then war be damned. He would take Vhagar, reach wherever you and that mongrel may be, and end him.

In truth, even if your chosen consort would be the kindest lord in all of the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond would still crush him. He would burn him to the ground.

Doesn’t she care the same? Why isn’t she here now, putting a halt to this farce of a marriage?

Perhaps, she doesn’t trust me. Of course, why would she? Given what I’ve done…

“I know why your face is so sour,” his drunken brother addresses him again, “It’s because of Lady y/n’s absence, is it not? Well, she may still be present at the actual wedding ceremony.”

“You reek of ale, brother. Drinking like a fucking Braavosi sea horse, as always.” Aemond snaps back, getting tense at the subject of you being brought up.

“Why must you be so into that bitch, Aemond?,” Aegon continues his tirade, “You have a lusty wife now, and you can have a thousand whores besides.”

In an instant, Aemond slams his fist on the table and gets off his seat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Aegon, the King, shirks away from his brother, knowing it was unwise to get on his nerve. Despite jesting with him so often, he may have forgotten that he shouldn’t have mentioned you in that way.

The Kingsguard draw close, prepared to defend their king. Ser Criston Cole rushes over to Aemond, “Stand down, my prince. Not here.”

Aemond glares at his brother, and if looks could kill…

Until he mumbles that sinister, “Hmm.” He composes himself, and raises a hand up to the guards, and to the crowd, “Carry on.”

The feast reluctantly restarts at first, but moments after, the whole exchange was forgotten.

But Aemond can no longer just sit there. If you weren’t going to come to the feast, or to the wedding, then there may be another way to get you to him.

He stands, ignoring the questioning looks coming his way, and he stalks out of the great hall.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

It has been a long evening, mostly spent in the Black Council, analysing the current trajectory of the war. Everyone was in agreement that the Greens have not made any significant measures due to the ongoing wedding festivities of one Prince Aemond.

Half of the council wanted to strike then, while they were occupied with all that pompous nonsense, while the other half favoured a temporary truce, at least until the nuptials have been finalized, for the sake of upholding and respecting Westerosi tradition.

Daemon, being Daemon, had only this to say, “Oh, who cares if my one-eyed nephew will be wed? All our eggs will be there, drowned in booze, in one basket. We should ride and just burn everything down.”

But that was the problem. Everyone would indeed be there. Even the lords and ladies, the maesters, the children, who were simply forced to side with the Greens, out of fear for their lives. Rhaenyra didn’t want any more unnecessary bloodshed, to which you agree.

You return to your chambers, exhausted, mostly due to the sore subject of Aemond’s wedding having been mentioned often. You were grateful to Rhaenyra, who was quick to change the matter of discussion, when she noticed you were growing uncomfortable.

Walking over to your table, you notice a plain black box, one that was not there when you left. You trace your fingers over it, feeling the smooth wooden exterior, and carefully lift the lid.

Your heart stops.

Gillyflower.

A cluster of fresh gillyflower lay inside, in a bright burst of red and violet. The flower that grew so wildly in that field. Yours and Aemond’s.

This used to be your tradition. If either of you wished to meet the other there, all you had to do was surreptitiously send some gillyflower. Like your own shared secret message.

Normally, there would be have been a bit of parchment, with sweet words imprinted.

My love.

My flower.

Come to me.

Each day without you is one I cannot bear.

Now, there was none. But you are sure, this can only be from Aemond.

Should I…? What if it’s a trap?

You mind races, heart beating wildly. You want nothing more than to take the risk, but what of your allegiance? Would you be betraying them? You should be concerned for your safety, but you also knew, he would never hurt you.

You need answers. You need revenge. You need Ae…

Oh, seven hells. Grabbing your sword, and putting on your cloak, you make your way out the door.

“Going somewhere?”, Daemon stands, leaning against the wall, as if expecting you to come out at any moment.

“Daemon,” you say, surprised. The cloak and the sheathed sword surely gave you away.

“It’s my nephew, isn’t it?”

“What-“

“I intercepted the messenger who brought over that box. I wondered about the contents, but then, who else could it be from?”

“Hmm,” you whisper, knowing it futile to hide anything from Daemon, “he wishes to meet me. I know not what for.”

“And you’re going.” He replies, as if stating a fact.

You nod, thinking of the right thing to say next. About how you will never betray Rhaenyra, how you only need to see him even if you’re not sure why, how you will be able to fend for yourself.

But your worries are quelled when Daemon says, “You better hurry then.”

“Daemon,” you say, not expecting him to just let this slide so easily.

“Listen, y/n, I trust you. I trust that you know what you’re doing,” he moves closer to you, “As for my nephew, he may be a bloody monster, and I may never forgive him, but I’m sure he thinks himself lucky to have someone like you to love him truly.”

You stare at him in admiration. There was a reason why Daemon drew so many people to him. He was cunning and highly dangerous, yes. But he was also intelligent and fair.

“I myself think the same way in that I have Rhaenyra to love me, as wretched as I am,” he smiles, and nudges your shoulder, “Go.”

You start to walk away, but you turn back once more, “Thank you, Daemon.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The field is more or less the same, although the growth of gillyflower has become more relentless, pockets of red and violet and white spread all throughout.

You dismount from your dragon, close to Vhagar, and the great and terrifying beast only grunts in recognition. You were one of the only two people whom she was comfortable around, after your many trysts spent riding with Aemond.

“Hello again, you beauty,” you call out to her, “Where is your master, hmm?”

The field itself was empty, but there was a new fixture in the distance, close to the hills. A small, stone cabin, with faint candlelight burning inside.

Steeling yourself, you make your way over, knowing that nothing can truly prepare you for what’s to come.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“My love.”

You hear him the moment you walk inside, and you have to stop yourself from running straight into his arms. You raise your head, and finally meet his gaze.

Aemond looks rougher, more rugged. As if the war has taken its toll. All the fighting must have strained him, as his figure is still lean and lithe but more muscular.

“Aemond,” you finally say, taking a quick glance around the room. It’s a humble space, with a large bed pushed up against the wall, candles haphazardly placed around the room. You see a bunch of gillyflower on a round table, weapons hung neatly above the fireplace, as well as…

Aemond follows your eyeline, and takes the framed image from the wall.

“Do you wish to see it?” he says, but he’s already handing it to you.

Taking it in your hands, you study the image containing a likeness of you. Every detail of your face, to your neck, down to your shoulders, portrayed by an artist’s skilled hand.

You try to comprehend what the fuck exactly it is you’re looking at, and you also can’t seem to grasp how cordial Aemond is acting about everything.

As if he hadn’t played a hand in the demise of some people you truly cared for.

You slowly hand the painting back to him, the words stuck in your throat.

He hangs it back up, “Beautiful, isn’t it, my love? I had it made not too long ago. As for this place, well, I needed somewhere where I can still have you. One way or another.”

“What are you talking about?” you manage to say.

“I haven’t been able to see you in far too long, my love. Too. Long.”

“There’s a clear reason for that, Aemond,” you say firmly, growing uneasy at the unhinged look in his eye, unblinking, devouring the sight of you.

He reaches for your hands, and you instinctively flinch backwards.

“Don’t, Aemond.”

“Why not, hmm?” he circles you, pacing ever so slowly, stopping just behind you, “You came here on your own volition, pet. You wanted to come, to see me.”

“I came to talk.”

“Hmm,” he makes the low noise that he always does, and it makes you want to just capture that sound from his lips with your own. He lowers the hood of your cloak, and you just stand there, letting the situation unfold.

Aemond’s fingers brush purposefully against the back of your neck as he takes your cloak off, and leaves in it a pile by your feet.

He steps closer, and you feel his breath against your neck. Using one hand, he pulls you to his chest. You don’t want to turn around and face him, afraid you might lose control, but you also can’t find it in you to move away.

“You built this place,” you state, your voice flat.

“This is our secret place, y/n,” he whispers close to your ear, “Every corner is a tribute to you. There is your picture, your favourite flowers, the sheets are of your favourite colour, the volumes on the mantel are the stories you like the most. Through this, I have some way of being with you.”

“Aemond,” you force yourself to pull away from him, “my love.”

“You finally said it,” he smiles.

“What?” you lean against a wall.

“My love,” he says, and moves to sit on a chair opposite you, “you’ve called me by name since you arrived, until then. Even though I don’t mind the way my name rolls off of your sweet tongue.”

“Stop,” you remind yourself that you came here for answers, “why did you call me here? Aren’t you about to wed?”

“Only for the sake of my duty, to further the Targaryen line.”

“Really? Why Alys Rivers then? Why not some highborn, legitimate lady?” your voice grows cold, and Aemond smirks at your jealousy.

“Because I simply don’t care. It pisses mother off, and you as well, it seems.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re free to wed whomever you wish, Aemond.”

“No,” he says, “I am not. Otherwise, I would have wed you a long time ago.”

“Well, your actions have forever buried that possibility,” you say too quickly, ire reflected in your words.

He flinches at your words, his lips pursing, “I only do what I have to do.”

“You didn’t have to kill Luke!” you lunge forward, your hand flying to the hilt of your sword by your waist.

Aemond notices your movement, but does nothing, “Hmm, Luke was merely a casualty in this war.”

“He was your family, Aemond. He was just a child. Why?”

He says nothing, and looks at you up and down, assessing your growing distress.

“Do you even regret it?” you ask.

A long pause passes, until he says, “I only regret that it has caused you pain.”

“Wrong answer, Aemond.” You unsheathe your sword, holding it out straight it front of you, “Fight me.”

This is the only right thing you can think of doing. The other things that have crossed your mind were completely unsavoury, unthinkable acts to do with the murderer who caused the death of your friend. You shouldn’t reach for him, you shouldn’t kiss him, you shouldn’t admire him, you shouldn’t run your fingers down his scar with reverence. Never again.

So, perhaps, you should bring him to justice.

“My love,” his tone is amused, and you grow even more frustrated.

“Get your sword.”

He stands, a sly curve on his prominent bowed lips.

My brave girl, he thinks.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”

For fuck’s sake, Aemond. No. “Your sword, Aemond.”

He backs away slowly to where his sword hangs above the fireplace, takes it, and diligently twirls it in one hand.

Your nerve starts to fail. Aemond was surely a better swordsman; he has been furiously training all his life. But, well, so have you.

Long ago, you and him even trained together. You may stand a chance.

“Your move, pet,” he says, tauntingly.

You cross the distance between the two of you, and deal the first parry, your blades connecting loudly in the air. An electric pause occurs, and Aemond smirks at you.

You dodge to the side, and lunge at him again. He easily deflects the blow.

You circle each other, and it’s unclear as to who is the predator and who is the prey.

Aemond deals a wide overhead arch, and you’re quick to block it halfway. This brings his face dangerously close to yours, and he whispers, nearly against your lips, “Surrender, my love.”

“Never,” you lunge backwards again, and Aemond twirls his sword smoothly, once, twice, and another final time.

Then, he spins in a circle, his sword a mere blur in the air, before delivering his final stroke, pushing you against the wall, the edge of his blade an inch away from your neck.

But, you were able to anticipate this, at the last second, as your sword slipped from your grasp.

“I win, pet. You’re mine.”

“Think again.” you whisper, and when he looks down, he finally notices the sharp edge of your knife poking at his ribs.

He looks at you in awe, “Well, I suppose we both have each other then, my love.”

He lunges forward, and claims your lips in a searing kiss. Wild, and passionate, as if to make up for lost time. Your respective blades remain where they are, and he muses, “Hmm, you know, we could just kill each other here. A glorious lovers’ death.”

“Aemond,” you say, out of breath from the kiss, and let your knife clatter to the floor.

He does the same with his sword, and pushes you against the wall once more, using his whole body to keep you in place.

“Tell me what you came for, my love. The truth.”

“I…” you say, deciding to let everything go, “I came for you.”

That is all he needed. And, for you, it feels freeing to allow yourself to just want Aemond. To love him. Despite what’s he has done, and how wrong this may be.

Your Aemond.

You run your fingers down the side of his face, and he shuts his eye in ecstasy. Your fingers stop at his eyepatch, asking permission, and he nods once, immediately.

His sapphire eye never fails to take your breath away. If anything, it only made him look otherworldly. Ethereal.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, and his heart swells.

He takes your face in his hand, admiration raw in his expression. Then he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your lips battle each other, as he strides over to the bed. He gently lowers you, and your arms naturally reach for his neck, bringing him down with you.

He chuckles deeply, flattered by your eagerness, “Patience, my love.”

“I have been patient,” you respond, as he nips at your neck, “but now I just want to take.”

“Hmm,” he muses, “I’ve missed your fire.”

“I’ve missed my dragon.”

“And,” he says, softly, pausing to kiss you, “a dragon…” another kiss, “is nothing…”, and another, “without its fire.”

“Oh, Aemond.”

He presses his forehead to yours, “I am lost without you.”

He makes swift work of untying your dress, only pausing to leave kisses down your body, until you’re left in a sheer white shift. You sit up, helping him remove his tunic, admiring every ripple of muscle, every new scar, every stretch of his glowing skin. His hair had come loose, the signature Targaryen silver like an aura surrounding him.

When he’s undressed, he takes the final piece of clothing off of you, the white shift that leaves nothing to the imagination, and throws that to the floor with the rest.

You begin a sort of dance, one that you both know so well, repeated over many sleepless nights filled with passion.

He always starts with you, lowering himself down to your heat. You almost come undone every time you see him, lips close to your entrance, before he makes the first taste. His eye gleams up at you, and then he begins.

Tongue swirling at your entrance, while his thumb masterfully plays with your folds. He keeps at it for a long moment, before he takes a second to look you right in the eye while he brings his fingers to his lips.

“Mmm,” he breathes, then he lowers his lips to your wet cunt once more.

“Aemond,” your fist bunch up at the sheets, your back arches, your toes curl.

He makes you tremble, your breath hitching at intervals.

He feels you getting close, so he licks one last strip upward, “Not yet, my love.”

“Yes, my prince.”

“Hmm, say that again,” he gets up, positioning his knees on either side of your thighs.

“My Prince Aemond,” you say, “Mine.”

“Yours,” he purrs.

He takes your lips again, an action you will never grow tired of, his fingers gripping your hair. He kisses down your cheek, your jaw, then your neck. He sucks at the flesh, marking his territory, making you press your pelvis onto his, feeling the length of his hardened shaft.

“Hmm,” he shivers, “fuck.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to position himself, and he does.

His pushes his tip to your cunt. Torturously, but only just.

“Oh, for gods’ sake,” you moan, “come inside me, Aemond.”

He laughs, “As you wish, my love.”

He stretches you wide, pushing inch by inch, and you have to grow accustomed to his size once more.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan.

“Does it hurt badly, my love?” he is quick to ask, watching your face intently.

“It’s okay,” you grip the back of his neck, “keep going.”

With one deep grunt, he fills you completely, thrusting deep.

He moans, music to your ears, and whispers your name. He rolls his hips backward, then forward again, the motion more rough this time, moving your entire body upward.

“Aemond,” you whisper, “my Aemond.”

“My love,” he looks at you in wonder, sprawled beneath him, “it’s only been you. It will only ever be you.”

You pull his face down to yours, kissing him passionately. His hips resume movement. Slow, deep thrusts at first.

Then he turns wild. He ruts into you, quicker, more frantic, the smacking sounds of flesh and sweat, and unhinged animalistic moans echoing throughout the room.

He does a surprising move, his fingers first drifting around your neck, then applying pressure, and he looks like a vengeful, hot-blooded god above you. His face hovers just inches above yours, and his grip on your neck unexpectedly excites you, the danger of Aemond only serving to make things more erotic, and reckless. Your dark prince.

You dig your nails into his wrist, returning the pressure.

“You should have married me,” he breathes, “why didn’t you run away with me?”

“Aemond,” everything throbs, the fire in your abdomen reaching its climax, from his frenzied thrusts, to his hand on your neck, to his crazed expression.

“You’re mine. They can’t have you. No one else can.” His words are punctuated with hard thrust, after hard thrust.

Almost simultaneously, gloriously, you both come apart. Aemond spasms inside you, filling you with his seed. Your hips continue to jerk against him, as you writhe uncontrollably, riding down your high.

He places one more soft kiss upon your lips, then collapses beside you.

You close your eyes in satisfaction, letting the feeling wash over you.

You feel his fingertips on your neck, and you open your eyes, finding him lying on his side, studying you.

“Was that okay?" he asks, referring to his grip on your neck.

“Mhmm,” you reassure him, turning to your side as well.

He hums in return, before smirking, “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

You laugh at his forwardness, and he looks at you lovingly.

He leans forward to kiss you, “My heart has returned.”

You feel a pang of guilt at how you left him, all that time ago, even if it may have been the right thing to do. It will never be simple between you and Aemond.

“I missed you,” you say wholeheartedly.

“And what of your love?” he says, taking your hand.

“My Aemond,” you press your forehead to his, “It will never be gone.”

taglist: @dazecrea @ladystardvsts @afro-hispwriter @dudfahsn @poohkie90 @literishdegree99 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @lilostif16 @deeeeexx @nephitis @ladymoon666 @minicikasworld @livimulati @the-orions-belt @blueskies4everxo @stillinracooncity @julieeba @lawlerek @missusnora @wickedbutlovely @camspnt @umavvitch @claudie-080102 @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @puredicks @crazylokonugget @lj127 @amethystwonders11 @icarusignite @mandyki @darylandbethfanforever9 @highexpectationsgurl @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

I've decided to save most of the sadness & regret for the next part, and yes, there will be a part 3. Our boy Aemond is still to be married after all. And he is still a "bloody monster" with majestic hair.

I hope I've tagged all those who asked - I'll keep yous tagged for any upcoming Aemond fic as well.

Taglist open - just comment.

PS. Alys Rivers is apparently Aemond's lover in the books, and I fear the feral jealous monster I will become if they decide to show that old hag in the upcoming seasons of HOTD. Sorry, not sorry.

[chlorinecake]

PART 1: GHOST FACE YANDERE imagine

Ｂｌｏｏｄ Ｏｎ Ｉｃｅ | 얼음에 피 - a park sunghoon ff

⚡︎ cw: mentions of suicide, violence, bullying, character deaths, swearing, underage drinking, unprotected sex, bad ending lol, ft. ive’s WONYOUNG and le sserafim’s KAZUHA

⚡︎ summary: sunghoon seeks revenge against the girls that bullied his little sister in high school, leading up to her tragic suicide

⚡︎ wc: 8.3k ~ read part 2 here!!

three years ago

For Sunghoon Park, death was hardly a foreign concept. He committed his first murder around the age of eighteen, the victim being a fellow athlete from his ice skating team, Cha Jun-Hwan. The dynamic pair maintained a solid friendship since the day they met, up until Sunghoon’s sixteen-year-old half-sister, Wonyoung, blossomed into a beautiful young lady. She stopped wearing glasses and got her braces removed, but most importantly, she was confident in her own skin. “You’re more beautiful than any princess I’ve ever seen, Wonyo. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise,” Sunghoon would encourage her every day in front of her vanity mirror. “Thank you, Sunghoon-ah! You always know how to cheer me up” she’d smile, patting his head as she left for school.

Eventually, Wonyoung started dating Jun-Hwan behind Sunghoon’s back. Their secret relationship went on for about 3 months before Sunghoon caught them during a half-naked-make-out session in Wonyoung’s bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed as if frozen, wearing black gym shorts and a pink bralette. Jun-Hwan was topless as well, with Wonyoung’s love bites decorating his bare chest. A mix of rage and disgust burned being Sunghoon's eyes. Grabbing a large pillow to cover her exposed figure, Jun-Hwan rambled on, “Sunghoon, I can explain! We meant to tell you sooner, but-“

“Get the fuck out of my house before I kill you,” Sunghoon threatened sharply, before an embarrassed Jun-Hwan ran out the door, leaving the Park siblings to figure things out.

Some time passed, and rumors about Wonyoung ran rampant throughout her high school, most of which being initiated by Jun-Hwan himself. An immeasurable pity birthed within Sunghoon whenever he’d hear the muffled sobs coming from his sister’s bedroom at night as she struggled to get any sleep. He wanted Jun-Hwan to pay for the pain he’d brought upon her.

The plan was simple, really.

Sunghoon made it look like a camping trip gone wrong, killing off four of his teammates including Jun-Hwan in the woods. He made it look like a vicious bear attack, which surprisingly fooled the police, leaving him scot-free.

Sunghoon went on to quit his dreams of becoming an Olympic champion, pursuing the academic route instead.

Though, Wonyoung’s torment was far from over.

A group of mean girls called her names like “piranha pussy” and “semen demon” after Jun-Hwan’s death, claiming that she supernaturally killed him during intimacy. Suffering from constant scrutiny at school and grieving the loss of her first boyfriend, despite all that he'd said about her, Wonyoung was driven to commit the unspeakable, and took her own life. Her body was buried soon after, with posts like “Gone too soon” and “fly high, princess 🕊️🎀” pinned on everyone’s socials, including the mean girls.

After his sister's death, Sunghoon was never the same. His innate will to kill only grew stronger as the years went by. He made a promise to Wonyoung on her funeral, saying that he would someday avenge her no matter how long it'd take him.

➠ three years later, wednesday

“Sunghoon is hosting a party at his place this Friday night. Wanna come?” Your friend Kazuha asked you from her end of the phone. She developed a habit of face timing you whenever she was in the mood for a movie. You were busy scrolling through Netflix catalogs from the comfort of your couch, searching for a descent film.

“Sunghoon Park?” You inquired at the familiar name.

“The sad rich kid whose sister committed suicide after her boyfriend died? Yes, that guy,” she said, struggling to open a jar of pickles.

“Ugh, I could totally use your feminine power muscles right now," she cried, her face contorting as she fought with all her might to release the tight lid.

“That sounds kinda gay, Kaz.”

“Only for you, ____,” she winked playfully before searching her kitchen drawers for a butter knife.

“I mean, are you sure he’s okay with us coming considering how we treated his little sister?” You stopped your scrolling, putting the tv remote down on the coffee table.

“It’s not our fault she couldn’t handle a few jokes.” Kazuha retrieved the lost butter knife from the dishwasher, walking back to the counter,

“Doesn't it make you feel guilty sometimes?”

“C’mon, ____, that was ages ago! And besides, we were kids, we didn't know any better,” she lied, neglecting the fact that you were both well informed of the life-threatening dangers that came with bullying. Kazuha was just having a hard time admitting it.

You were quiet for a moment. How could she be so insensitive?

“Whatever," you mumbled, reaching for the remote again, swiping through the horror movie section. "What’s the hype around this party for, anyways?”

“It’s a costume party, silly!”

Although you were on movie-hunting duty, this conversation was starting to make you sleepy.

“Girl? Are you yawning?”

“Give me a break, Kaz! It's past my bedtime, now pay attention to your pickles,” you joked, rubbing the urge to sleep from your eyes with your free hand.

“It’s the last week of summer break. Don’t let productivity get in the way of your fun before school starts again,” Kazuha protested in both her defense and your favor.

You meditated on her words for a moment before answering.

“Ugh, fine! Only if you promise to join me at the mall for some early morning costume shopping,” you negotiated, pointing a finger at her through your phone.

“Yay!” She cheered, bouncing around her kitchen in a fit of joy, accidentally knocking the glass jar of pickles unto the floor.

“Dammit,” she swore under her breath, running out of frame to likely grab a mop or broom.

Ring. Ring.

You glanced from the tv, taking a quick peek at your phone: Unknown Caller ID.

Hanging up, you proceeded to scroll through Netflix.

Ring. Ring.

The same number was calling you again.

Kazuha was now back in frame, both her broom and mop keeping her hands occupied.

“You can call me back after you check that, if you want.”

“No worries, it’s just some random unknown number that can’t find a hobby.”

“Oooo, spooky,” she said in a teasing voice.

You hung up the incoming call, only for it to call you back once again. Now you were curious.

“Uhm, I’m gonna call you back, Kaz,” you said before hanging up.

“Kk!”

You answered the unknown caller, holding the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked.

“I’ve been dying for you to answer.”

“Yeah? And how’re you feeling now?”

“Honestly, I’ve been better. What’re you up to?”

“Looking for a good movie to fall asleep to.”

“Really? What genre?”

“Dunno. Probably something scary.”

“Do you like scary movies?”

Yikes. These prank callers really needed to step up their scare game. You decided to play along.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” It took everything in you not to cackle at how ridiculous you sounded. This mystery man was truly a recycled character.

“Hmm, you never told me your name, by the way.”

“Hmm, and I don’t think I will.”

“Oh, it’s because you have a boyfriend, isn’t it?”

“Nooo. Now tell me, why do you want to know my name? Huh?”

“So I can know who I’m looking at.”

You rolled your eyes at his cliche script.

“Right, so anyways, I’m gonna hang up now and you can just…uh, I don’t know, touch yourself til you’re content again.”

“Don’t hang up on m-“

What a loser, you thought to yourself, calling Kazuha back.

“Hi! What did they want?”

“It was just some nerd trying to prank call me.”

“No way. Did he sound hot?”

“Kaz, do you wanna watch this stupid movie or not?”

“Fine, fine, I’ve got my pickles and everything. Now press play!”

➠ thursday

Another easy day spent between you and Kazuha went by. After raiding the strip mall’s clothing shops (and food courts) in search of the sexiest party costumes available, you two agreed on an “Angel x Devil” duo theme. Kazuha chose the devil costume, handing you the sparkly white halo from the angel set. “It’s giving Victoria’s Secret,” Kazuha said, checking herself out in the changing room mirror before striking an awkward pose. You could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, but you couldn't get over how uncomfortable the revealing outfit made you feel. You and Kaz used to slut shame girls who dressed like this, only to turn around and do the same thing yourself. This whole experience felt hypocritical. “I look like an attention-whore,” you said to the mirror, a pitiful expression waving over your features. Kazuha walked over to you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Cheer up, ____. You’re more beautiful than any attention-whore I’ve ever seen, and don't you ever let someone tell you otherwise,” she smiled, kissing you on the head.

“Yay, how flattering.”

“No, I’m serious. We’re gonna be sophomores next semester. How long is it gonna take before we explore our scandalous side? Unless you plan on dying a virgin.”

Oh, the horror.

You considered her words for a moment, giving yourself one more look in the mirror.

“I guess this corset makes my boobs look pretty nice…”

“That’s the spirit! Now c’mon my child. Follow sugar mommy Zuha to the register,” she cheered in a high pitched voice, collecting the clothing tags and paying for your costumes.

➠ friday

12:23pm

You walked into the craft store and were greeted by the smell of sawdust and lumber. Grabbing a hand basket, you strolled around the aisles in search for a few repair materials. Last week, Kazuha accidentally broke the shelf you had installed in your wall with her heavy stretching equipment. Needless to say, you were left to pick up the pieces. To your misfortune, the wood glue was placed on an abnormally high rack. Raising up on tippy toes, you extended your arm, barely grazing the item with your fingertips. That’s when a tall figure reached over your frame, obtaining the wood glue with ease. “Thought you might want a little help with that,” the deep voice chimed, placing the wood glue in your basket.

You looked up to meet his face, jolting as if you’d seen a ghost. The helpful stranger proved to be none other than Sunghoon Park, the older brother of the girl you bullied to suicide back in high school. The last time you saw Sunghoon was at his sister’s funeral, which was almost three years ago. “Are you okay,” he asked, noticing the way your features fell at the sight of him. You tried to recollect your thoughts, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Y- yeah, I’m okay. Thanks,” you said nodding, trying to reassure the both of you.

He eyed you curiously, finding your bashfulness to be rather endearing.

“Do I,” he began, pointing at himself and back to you, “-have we met before?”

“No, I uh- Well, kind of. I- I knew your sister,” you admitted, trying to ignore your own stuttering.

“Oh, I remember. You’re ____, right? Yeah. Wonyo told me all about you and your friends. Who were they again?”

“Kazuha and Maddison.”

“Hmm, and where are they now,” he asked, following along as you subconsciously picked up a pack of brad nails.

“Well, Kaz is actually coming to your party tonight. Maddie moved away a while ago after her brother passed in the camping accident.”

All he did was smile in response. You found that odd, but didn’t give it much thought as he kept talking.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about those years recently.”

You nodded, hoping he would continue.

“I tried telling her to ignore the rumors. To keep smiling and focusing on things that made her happy. I guess it just came to a point where she couldn’t pretend anymore.”

Something in you wanted to say sorry, but you came to realize a long time ago that apologies lacked much worth anyway, benefiting the offender more than the offended. You wondered if he even knew how you used to treat her.

You made your way to the check out line, placing your basket on the conveyor belt. The cashier scanned your items, and you handed her your debit card.

“I’ve been thinking about her, too. Wonyoung was such a bright soul, and put her all in everything she did. She used to talk about you all the time, sharing stories of how amazing you were on the ice. She was so proud of you.”

“Yeah,” his voice cracked.

“Would you like your receipt,” the employee asked cheerfully.

“No, that’s okay. Have a good day,” you wished, taking your shopping bag in one hand and Sunghoon’s wrist in the other.

He was docile as you guided him outside of the craft store, pulling him to face you. Breaking the tension, you gave him a hug, leaning into his chest.

He restrained his sniffles rather well before pulling away as if he wasn’t just on the verge of crying.

“So, are you in school,” he asked, started up a new conversation.

“Yeah, I’m a sophomore. We actually go to the same university.”

“Really? I’ve never seen you around before. I’m a junior. What’s your major?”

“English.”

“Ahh, that makes sense. I’m majoring in Psychology, so we won’t have many classes together.”

You couldn’t believe that he was actually this comfortable talking with you. It was a relief knowing that he didn’t hold his sister’s passing against you.

“Well, enough with the sad stuff, I’ve got some last minute errands to run for the party, so I’ll see you tonight, alright? Do you need a ride?”

“Yeah, actually. Thanks for offering.”

Why was he being so nice?

“Yeah, no problem! I’ll pick u up around 8, okay? It was nice meeeting you again!”

“Yeah, you too!”

2:41pm

9:03pm

It was a Friday night and the mood was right, as some would say. You and Kazuha were dressed to impress in your flirty costumes, earning yourself glares from every corner of the room. You arrived a little later then anticipated, but were still thankful for Sunghoon’s kind gesture of driving you two all the way here. However, he’d been missing in action for the past hour, and you were really hoping that you would have the chance to talk with him again. In the meantime, you sat on one of his fancy couches, enjoying the lively rhythms of the music. Colorful flashing lights kissed the tall ceiling, with an array of drinks and snacks displayed at a bar. You knew Sunghoon was rich, but he had really outdone himself.

Walking over to the bar, you grabbed one of the plastic red cups and filled it with whatever flavored liquid enticed you from the large punch bowl, having a seat at one of the metal bar stools. You gave the drink a whiff before taking a sip.

Someone had definitely spiked the juice.

Although you currently had no one around to chat with, you tried to find some enjoyment in the crowded solitude, watching fellow party goers dance their hearts out before joining them yourself.

9:13pm

Kazuha invited herself to take a tour around Sunghoon’s fancy abode, that honestly felt more like a mansion than a home. She wasn’t sure if it was the faint traces of alcohol in her system, but she was certainly in the mood for a good time. Walking through his home’s back door, she spotted him sitting near his pool, staring at the wind-produced waves. She walked towards him, sitting in the idle seat beside him.

“Hi,” he started, barely glancing at her before looking back at the water, reflecting the moon’s beautiful glow.

“Hi. You didn’t dress up for your own party,” she chuckled, swirling the red liquid in her cup.

“I am dressed up. As myself, of course.”

“So, ‘Sunghoon Park’ is a part of your costume then, yeah?”

“Maybe. Would you like to get to know the real me?”

“Maybe,” she said in between a long sip of the fruity drink she held in her hand.

“If you could be anything at all, what would you be?”

Sunghoon rested his elbows on his thighs in a thinking position.

“A ghost.”

“You’d make one goon of a ghost,” she humored herself until she noticed that he wasn’t amused by her antics.

“Ghosts are liberal beings, free from the taxing cares of this blood and bone world.”

‘Who wouldn’t want that,’ Sunghoon thought to himself.

“Uhuh. So, how do you think your dead little sister is enjoying her boring life as a graveyard ghoul?” He froze at her question, gripping his fists around nothing, trying to get a hold of his emotions.

Kazuha was being a bitch on purpose. It was an innate attitude of hers that she had yet to break. Still and all, she couldn’t help but wonder what Wonyoung would be like if she was still here.

‘If they’re better than me, they’re better gone,’ Kazuha often reminded herself, more so as an affirmation, rather than out of belief.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sunghoon retorted, searching his blazer pocket for his silver flask, taking a thick gulp from its spout. Kazuha watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, marveling at the shadow of facial hair growing on his chin.

Cute.

His jaw clenched at the strong drink, the condensation from the silver canister leaving a print from his warm fingertips.

“Want some,” he asked, giving her a nonchalant look.

“Sure,” she said, opening her mouth for him to pour a stream of the amber liquid down her throat.

“You have a pretty tongue,” he said, using a thumb to toy with her lower lip.

Kazuha felt dizzy under Sunghoon’s dark gaze, his piercing eyes telling of all the bad things he planned to do to her.

He laid a hand on her exposed thigh, gripping at the plush skin. “Look at you, squirming in your seat for me and I’ve barely even touched you,” he whispered against her lips, tasting the rum that flavored her mouth with a kitten lick. Her eyes fluttered at the action. How was he so comfortable doing this in front of all these people?

“Is this why you hated Wonyo for so long? Because she could pull hot guys like me effortlessly? I never understood why it was so hard for you, anyway, considering that you go both ways,” he slithered.

She grabbed his wrist, snatching his grasp from her face.

“What? I thought we were having a little fun,” he grinned like a sly fox, displaying his pearly fangs.

“No, Goon! You were having fun!” She got up from the poolside, adjusting her clothes and wiping her mouth. “I don’t wanna be here anymore, tell ____ I’ll see her tomorrow.”

He set his eyes back on the water, taking another sip from the flask.

She waved her arms above her head frantically, trying to get his attention again. “Aren’t you gonna take me home?”

“Forget it, Kaz. You can walk home for all I care.”

She scoffed to herself. “You’re joking.”

“And you’re a classless bitch who bullies girls who’re better than you,” he spat, tucking his flask away in his jacket pocket before getting up to walk in the opposite direction of her.

“Sunghoon! I can’t walk home by myself in the middle of the night! I’ll get chopped up by some weirdo or something!”

“I’m afraid that’s not my problem,” he said, not turning meeting her face. “And by the way, I want you outta here in the next two minutes or else I’m calling the police!”

Kazuha gave Sunghoon the bird, walking the walk of shame as she left his party alone, dressed as the slutty devil he had made her feel like.

9:40pm

Kazuha took short strides as she walked along the concrete sidewalk, trying to get back home before her legs gave out. On the way, she found a random stick lying on a neighborhood lawn. She decided to keep it with her as a weapon, just in case she needed to defend herself.

Ring. Ring.

She answered her phone without looking.

“Kazzieeee.”

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Oh, we know each other very well.”

A lightbulb went off in Kazuha’s head.

“You’re the perv that prank called my friend a few nights ago, right?” She said, subconsciously walking faster, feeling paranoid for some reason, though, she tried to mask it with humor.

“Where are you going?” The voice on the other end asked.

“Home,” she answered for reasons she didn’t understand.

“I can wait for you at the door if you like.”

“I think I’d like it a little bit more if you found some friends instead.”

“Then why are you walking away from me, you rude devil?”

She turned around to check her surroundings, waving the stick weapon at the sight of a stop sign, dim street lights, and suburban houses. She cackled at herself.

“Oh man, you really had me there for a second,” she sighed, turning back around.

“So, are you gonna invite me in or do I have to force my way?”

“Ugh, what’re you talking about now?”

“I'm talking about how much fun it’s gonna be to rip your insides out!"

Kazuha’s eyes bucked in fear. She never expected the caller to threaten her.

“C- call me again, a- and I’ll call the police,” Kazuha warned in a trembling voice.

It’s hard to sound brave when you’re scared for your life.

The unknown caller let out a mocking chuckle, thoroughly amused by her responses.

She lifted the phone to her face.

“HANG UP AND YOU’LL DIE-“

The dial tone filled the stale night air.

Kazuha fished through her mini bag, looking for her AirPod case. She opened the Spotify app on her phone, clicking on her “Chyll Vybe” playlist. Swallowing her anxiety, she hoped that some upbeat music would take her mind off her fear. Something in her told her to warn you about Sunghoon, and she listened, sending you a quick text before power walking down the side walk. She lip-synced to the melody, trying to lift her spirits.

9:49pm

iMessage from ”Kazzie 🦢🩰” — I still don’t trust Sun-Goon. Pls don’t go anywhere near/with him 🙏

Reply: Where r u?

read

9:50pm

Kazuha felt like someone was watching her. That’s when she looked to her side and saw a tall clothed figure with a scanty white mask walking beside her. She flinched, “Oh my God, you scared the hell out of me!”

The person stayed silent.

“I don’t remember seeing you at Sunghoon’s costume part-“ Kazuha lurched forward over nothing, the clothed figure tearing through her flesh with a sharp blade, scraping the bone beneath.

Kazuha groaned at the feeling, gripping the offender’s arm at the profound pain.

The figure pushed her wounded body on the ground, taking the knife out of her abdomen before stabbing her again and again, until her ragged breaths couldn’t keep up with the continuous blood flow. Kazuha whimpered and winced, even after the stabbing had stopped, her abused innards glistening under the soft moonlight. She watched as the psychopath removed her AirPods from her ears before walking away, leaving her dying body on the pavement.

He put her headphones in his own ears before comically mimicking the way Kazuha was ‘power-walking’ earlier. Rihanna’s cover of Same Ol’ Mistakes blared from the white pods, chanting the lyric:

“But you've got your demons and she's got her regrets.”

“What a lovely song to die to,” the killer chimed, skipping off into the distance.

10:11pm

Buzz. Buzz.

Your phone vibrated in your white hand purse. Pulling out your phone, the bright screen revealed a text from an unknown number.

What a wonderful surprise.

You jotted in your password before finally checking the message.

You spun in your seat, searching the crowd behind you. The dancing party lights hindered your vision. You got up from your seat, stepping closer to get a better look. Goosebumps dawned on the surface of your skin at the sight of the hooded figure in a distorted caricature mask, gripping a knife in their right hand. It was a horrific look to say the least.

“Screw you.” You typed angrily on your phone to the unknown number, blocking the contact and putting your phone back away. You just realized how long it’s been since you saw Kaz, so you went out to go and find her.

“You shouldn’t have done that, ____,” you heard a dark voice say from behind you. You ignored it, thinking it was just your paranoia playing tricks on you.

10:16pm

“Why did you leave my side, Kaz? Kazuha?!” You called out in search for your friend. You didn’t entirely believe what the unknown caller said, but you still wanted to make sure she was okay. You made your way upstairs, opening door after door to no avail. Your friend was no where to be found. “Kazuha?! Seriously, if you don’t come out right now, I’m eating the rest of your dried mangoes-”

Crash.

You bumped into a formally dressed party goer, only to realize that it was Sunghoon.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay,” you worried, fixing the damp hairs that framed his pretty face.

“Oh- your hairs wet.”

“Yeah, I was just at the pool.”

“Must’ve been near the hot tub, you look flushed.”

He offered his hand to lift you up.

“Sorry, but have you seen Kazuha anywhere? She texted me something, and now I can’t find her.”

“Oh, she actually left about half an hour ago,” he admitted, still fixing his clothes from the fall.

“Why? Was she okay?”

“Yes, ____, she was perfectly fine. She probably just felt a little awkward and decided to go home.”

You hummed in response. Unlike Kazuha, you trusted Sunghoon for whatever that reason was, so you didn’t spend anymore time talking about your MIA bestie.

“What’re you doing?”

“Texting her good night. Even though she probably won’t see it til the morning,” you chuckle to yourself, eliciting a smile from Sunghoon himself. You have yet to learn his reasons for smiling at some of the things you say, but you had a feeling there was nothing to worry about.

“Who’s that,” he asked pointing to your conversation with the unknown number.

“Just some rando trying to scare me,” you replied, deleting the conversation before putting your phone back in your purse.

“Hmm, I thought you liked scary,” he replied.

You and Sunghoon started to trail back downstairs, ignoring the way his knuckles occasionally brushed against the back of your hand.

“Hey, uh, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private?”

You considered his offer, thinking about how Kazuha abandoned ship when she was the one who hauled you to this silly party to begin with. The night was still young, and you trusted Sunghoon. You wanted to leave with him.

“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna hit up the ladies room first though, and I’ll meet you out front.”

“Wait, Sunghoon,” you called out. “You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, right?”

“Have you?,” was all he asked before flashing a cheeky smirk, displaying his dimples.

“I’ll be waiting for you in my car, alright” he said, giving you a brief hug before heading to the door.

11:24pm

You weren’t entirely sure where Sunghoon was taking you, but you didn’t really care either.

You were too lost in the way he maneuvered the steering wheel with one hand, captivated by the prominent veins that traced his delicately long fingers.

After some time, Sunghoon pulled the shiny black vehicle into the driveway of a log cabin, hidden within the depths of the forest. The bright car headlights glazed the surface of a rectangular sign hanging above the front door, revealing the words "Park Lodge" carved into the wooden slab.

Sunghoon put the car in park, ceasing the calming sound of the air conditioner. His eyes were still trained on the view behind the windshield.

“So," you began, breaking the silence. "How many girls have you taken here before,” you teased, giving him a curious look.

“None, actually, other than my little sister.”

Peering out the car window, you took in all the trees and wildlife that made up your surroundings. It finally hit you that you were in the middle of nowhere with a guy you had known for less than 24 hours. Oh, if Kazuha could see you now.

“Do you own this place?”

“Yup. My grandfather had it built from the ground up when he was around my age. Now, it belongs to me,” he smiled, trying to mask his pride.

You both exited the vehicle, Sunghoon locking the doors behind you. The sounds of crickets and restless owls greeted your ears. He had shared so much of his belongings with you so far that it almost made you feel guilty.

“I hope I’m not giving off the impression that I’m using you,” you mumbled shyly under your breath, walking closely beside him.

“____, you’re exactly what I need in my life right now. If anything, I’m the one using you.”

Something about his comment made you feel uneasy, but you tried to brush it off. He unlocked the front door, letting you step in before him. Upon entering, the space was dimly lit, with wooden accents trimming each corner. An antique chandelier was the source of the faint light, drawing your attention to the artistic etchings that covered the ceiling. This place was truly a gem.

“You looked really beautiful tonight, by the way,” Sunghoon admitted, interrupting your gawking.

“Shut up,” you bashfully rejected his compliment, feeling a sudden heat rush to your face.

“What? I’m serious.”

“And I’m way too tipsy to think rationally right now.”

“Yeah? And what is it that you’re thinking, then? Honestly?”

You waited before answering him.

“That if you knew just half of what I’ve done in the past, you probably wouldn’t even be talking to me right now.”

He took your hand in his, turning you to face him.

“So stop talking.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” he said, beelining you to another room.

A bedroom.

He flicked one of the light switches before sitting you beside him on the bed. He held intense eye contact with you before speaking.

“I’m not oblivious, ____. You may be a nice girl, but I can tell you have a naughty side, too.”

The thought of you and Kazuha’s shopping adventure reminisced in the back of your mind. Promiscuity came so naturally for her, but for you, it wasn't as easy.

“Trust me, there isn’t a naughty nerve in my body.”

“Not yet, maybe. It just needs to be stimulated, first.”

The word ‘stimulated’ hung in the air for a moment.

“Sunghoon, what are you getting at here-“

You gasped as he stopped you mid sentence, caging you beneath his large frame on the bed.

“Maybe we could start with some on top of the clothes stuff, yeah?”

“Sunghoon, this is a little fast-“

“I really need this from you tonight, okay? Just, please. Let me explore you.”

The desperate look in his eyes softened your heart, sending a sensation of numbness through your limbs. It was hard to process that all of this was actually happening right now. A little voice in your head urged you to let go of the nerves and simply let him. As lust and desire intoxicated your senses, you accepted the fact that you were more than fine with this. More than ready for wherever this night with Sunghoon would take you.

“Okay,” you answered.

“Yeah," he asked in excited disbelief.

“Yes,” you reassured him, nodding.

“Explore me.”

That was the green light Sunghoon had been waiting for, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that quickly escalated into a heated tongue fight. He gently grazed his teeth against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. He snaked a hand between your legs, only for his touch to be hindered by the corseted bodysuit of your angel costume. “May I,” he whispered against your skin, sending a shiver down you spine as his fingers drew circles atop the fabric. You could only nod in response, too pleasure drunk to come up with any words. Tossing the outfit across the room, Sunghoon dipped his fingers into the growing wetness at your core.

“Much better,” he grinned, sliding his fingers up and down past your folds. You reached out to tug at his button up shirt, aching to feel his bare skin against yours. He caught on to your desires pretty quickly, stripping himself before you. You stared in awe at his toned body, sinful thoughts of him flooding your brain. He looked down at your vulnerable figure, smirking to himself.

“Both our clothes are off. You can stop teasing me now,” you said, causing him to chuckle.

“What’re you suggesting I do to you, then,” he questioned, inching closer before meeting you on the bed again.

You felt yourself squeeze around nothing.

“I want you. All of you.”

That’s all it took and Sunghoon was already diving back into your lips, lewd sounds bouncing off the bedroom’s walls. You busied yourself with unzipping his pants, palming the bulge that hid behind his boxers.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way, granting you access to stroke his shaft a few times before aligning his tip with your entrance. He pushed himself past your tightness, not giving you any time to adjust to his size before rutting his hips against you, groaning at the intense pleasure you gave him.

➠ saturday

5:04am

Last nights sleep was still fresh on your face, adding a weight to your eyelids that you didn’t care to fight just yet. You were laying flat on your back once you felt a different weight sit atop your hips in a still straddle. Eyes still closed, you knew the pressure came from Sunghoon once the scent of his rosy cologne hit your nostrils. You shut your sleepy eyes tighter as he grazed something sharp across the length of your neck before leaning down to kiss the spot softly, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. He traced the sharp object across the stature of your collarbone and the valley between your chest, tracing another straight line down your stomach to your navel.

Poke.

The sharpness barely pierced you before your eyes shot open at the sting. A shirtless Sunghoon sat on your lap with a large knife in his right hand, the fresh blood from your stomach coating it’s tip. You weren’t naked, but you were only wearing his oversized white poplin shirt from the night before, now stained with a few drops of ruby red. Looking around, you noticed countless stab impressions on the mattress.

Sunghoon must’ve violently stabbed a circle around your head while you slept, loose cotton and feathers covering the messy bedspread.

He looked up from his ministrations and saw that you were awake. You wanted to scream for your life, even though you knew no one would hear you.

“SUNGHOON-,” you tried, but he covered your mouth with his free hand, a sent of iron lingering in your nose.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be screaming? The trees might think I’m abusing you in here!”

You rustled under his palm before biting his hand, eliciting a groan from his throat.

“What the fuck is this, huh,” you asked, trying to get up from under him. He wrestled with your arms, pining your wrists to the bed.

“I commend your bravery, but try some shit like that again and I’ll finish cutting you open.”

His eyes were dark, void of any moral conscience. He brought the knife up to your neck, toying with the ripples that made up your anxious throat. “You deserve this for what you did to her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with you first.” He smirked at whatever perverse thoughts ran through his mind. Your breathing became ragged, as the urge to cry grew in your chest.

“Aww, we’ve got a crier,” Sunghoon teased, pouting back at you.

“K-Kaz, sh-she, she tried to warn me.”

“A- an- and you probably sh- should’ve listened,” he replied, mocking the way you stuttered. “I still would’ve caught your ass later, anyways.”

“You fucking killed her!”

“Oh, please. That bitch had the mouth of a viper, someone was gonna put her in her place eventually.”

“You’re insane!”

“I’m also self aware.”

The tears were becoming too much for your eyes to hold back, as thick streams poured from your eyelids, dampening your supple cheeks.

“You took my virginity because of your dead sister?” You yelled again in utter disgust.

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t fucking enjoy it.”

You spat in his eye.

“You missed my mouth, princess,” he said in a low voice before wiping the spit off of his face, smearing it against your chest.

“You’re into this, huh? Look how hard your nipples have gotten.”

He put his sweaty forehead against yours, planting a tender kiss to your lips that for some reason, you didn’t reject.

“You know, I did enjoy exploring you last night.”

He kissed you again, pushing his hot tongue past your lips, dancing with yours.

“I enjoyed our taste”

He kissed your neck, gripping your throat until your vision went blurry.

“I enjoyed your scent.”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled it like horse reins, causing a choked moan to erupt from you mouth.

“I enjoyed the pretty sounds you made for me.”

He glided his digits between your wet folds, dipping his delicate fingers into your entrance.

“Sunghoon!”

“I enjoyed the way you cried out my name as you clenched around my fingers,” he slithered seductively.

“Fuck, get off of me!”

He was in the middle of admiring your tits when he looked up to meet your rage-ridden eyes, his own face a flushed hue from the heat engulfing your sweaty bodies. He sighed in disappointment.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Ugh,” you squirmed, fighting your hardest to escape his grasp.

“How long do you think your weak little body can take my insatiable urges to torture you before it finally gives out? Huh? Making you suffer will bring all the more fulfillment to my life.”

“God, Sunghoon, I don’t care anymore! Kill me! We’ll burn in hell together, I guess!”

“Jeez, would you quit pretending like you want to die? You’re taking all the fun out of it,” he said, rolling his eyes.

The sounds of your choked sobs filled the room’s miserable air.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” you sniffled beneath him.

“Here,” he offered, throwing the knife across the room, causing you to jump at nothing, “allow me to clear it up for you. When I care about someone, I don’t let anyone fucking touch them. Yet, you and your friends managed to hurt her without even doing so.”

“We didn’t know she would take it that far, Sunghoon,” you pleaded in between sobs.

“I didn’t know that my sister would be taken away from me by a bunch of mindless teenage sluts with big and dirty dick sucking mouths! Life’s unfair!”

“Fuck you,” you retorted, feeling lightheaded from all of your screaming and crying. He snickered to himself, presumably finding amusement in how pathetic you sounded. Combing his hair back with a clawed hand, he peered down, looking into your eyes.

“I’ve had just about enough of your talking, princess,” he said, reaching for a towel to shove in your mouth.

Only muffled screams filled the room from there.

He would never admit that it was his own vanity keeping you alive. He’d call it mercy, when deep down, it was his twisted craving for your touch that stopped him from going all the way during torture sessions. Your life had been reduced to its lowest, never to see the mere light of day again. He kept you in an underground basement, lined with bricks and mortar to ensure that you’d never escape his sadistic dictation. Everyday behind those walls felt like an eternity of ‘toy versus toddler tantrum’s.’ If only you knew that a simple mistake you made in high school would be the very wrecking ball to sabotage your entire life.

❅ Thank you for reading @chlorinecake ‘s “Blood On Ice.” Make sure to check out more fun reads on my enhypen bookshelf!

❅ Special thanks to @ashgonedash for requesting this creative piece and @fanficfactoryfoxxx for curing my writers block!!! 🎂

✎ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

!¡update: BLOOD ON ICE part TWO coming SOON, introducing more direct yandere themes and plot exploration!! stay tuned 🎧

[slowd1ving]

ACT IV: DECAY ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

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MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･

Scene I: Ink . 　⁺

It all starts again on a very dull morning. Staccato beats of the rain on the rickety windows of Ramshackle provide background music for Vil to drink his smoothie to. Except that’s not the only miserable music. His ears are assaulted by the conversation you’re currently having with Jamil, Rook and Ace. Does Grim count when he’s technically the other pea in your miserable pod?

“All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to make a movie series that long,” you argue. Whose movies are you referring to? Vil wishes he was paying attention earlier. “Like what have you got to say for that many movies?”

“Trickster, some people are just dedicated to the pursuit of their passion,” Rook intercedes, leaning his head on his hands to gaze at you more efficiently.

“The Fast and Furious franchise has no reason to be that long,” you lament, frustration creeping into your tone. Vil’s never heard of that movie series. He doesn’t think he wants to know what it is.

“Rook, there’s like nine sequels, and the last one especially does not make any sense,” Vil takes back his earlier thoughts. This seems to be a conversation between you and Rook, in which Ace and Jamil are unenthusiastic spectators. “There’s nothing less beautiful than plot holes.”

“Anyways,” you continue in the same breath, all hints of sadness gone. Vil’s not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Do you guys feel ready for the SDC tomorrow? Your routine is really impressive.”

“My bones hurt so much,” Ace groans from behind his food. “I’ve never felt so pulverised.”

“We will win,” Jamil promises you, fiddling with his spoon on the table. You give them both a cheerful thumbs up while eating - for once, you’ve got scraps of decorum.

“I will put on my most beautiful performance knowing you’re watching, mon cher,” Rook clasps your hand between his gloved ones. Sure, Rook’s probably just being himself, but Vil can’t help the trickle of unease that he feels.

“I don’t doubt it,” you respond with a grin. “Those RSA twerps won’t know what hit them. Although, I’ve had a really weird set of dream-”

“Spudling,” Vil clears his throat to get your attention. You turn to face him, still wearing your jubilant grin. His heart almost stops. It takes all he can to not fumble while taking the lanyard out of his blazer pocket. “Keep this lanyard safe so you can come backstage as the NRC Tribe Manager.”

“Cool,” you take it one handed, still allowing Rook to clasp your other hand. Why does Vil care so much? He tries desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Thanks!”

“We’ll go over the routine and iron out any wrinkles in around twenty minutes,” Vil continues, meeting the eyes of each cast member. He’ll just have to ignore whatever he’s feeling until after the SDC. “Make sure the rest of the potatoes are up and ready to go.”

The tell-tale signs of nervousness creep into Vil’s being after he exits the room. He has to beat Neige. No longer will he be cast aside to play the villain. The world will see what he’s got to offer.

“Mira mira, tell me who, at this moment, is the fairest of them all?” Vil speaks slowly and quietly to his phone as he makes his way to his room to get some items for practice.

“Neige LeBlanche.”

He should’ve expected it, really, but he cannot help but let his teeth grind slightly in anger. Just you wait, Neige. He’ll beat Neige fair and square. Finally, he’ll be able to step out of the villain’s shoes.

His muscles ache after his gruelling training. Nothing he won’t be able to recover from; he can’t help but push himself to his limits at the prospect of beating Neige. The rest of the crew somehow manages to execute a near-flawless performance, with only a few minor hand-placement errors.

“Wow,” you cheer them on by your designated spot next to the speakers, cradling Grim in your lap. “You guys are absolutely gonna shred the competition.”

“That’s right!” Ace grins at you, catching the water bottle you toss at him and taking a few enthusiastic swigs.

“Pass me one too,” Deuce reaches out as you toss another water bottle. It’s a natural cue for a break, and the crew decides to take a breather. Vil feels an absurd surge of pride at the sight; somehow, these ungainly tubers have managed to grow into shapely potatoes who can no doubt beat Neige.

“We’ll regroup in ten,” Vil instructs. He’s not satisfied completely, but the passion that’s been poured into this routine is undeniable. Before he can question his body, his legs are already taking him to you. You’re scratching behind Grim’s ears and look up in abject surprise at his approach.

“I need your opinion,” Vil murmurs, leaning down to you so your faces are in close proximity. You furrow your brows; he knows how unlikely it is that he’s approached you. Still, your analysis skills are seriously impressive. “Can you give me a detailed observation of our performance? Spare no detail.”

“Right,” you pull out your phone nonchalantly, scrolling through your gallery until you find the recording of the practice. Of course you’ve come prepared.

“Right at the beginning it’s a really strong start, but as soon as those first few seconds are up, Deuce always misplaces his hand-” Vil’s not sure when he joins you on the floor, leaning ever so slightly into you as you zoom into the areas of imperfection.

“You’ve noticed that too?” Vil comments. You murmur your assent, pressing play again.

“It’s only a slight error, but yeah,” you continue, pausing the video again where it’s Kalim’s misstep. “I think it’s just overeagerness and the adrenaline of performing. The rest of the errors are really just minor hiccups with the singing - but I won’t be able to point them out as well.”

“I’ll give them some extra individual instruction,” Vil promises, more to remind himself than reassure you. You turn to scrutinise him; it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the weight of people’s gazes, but it’s just you.

“I’ve made notes on the small, consistent screw-ups that’ve surfaced recently when it comes to dance steps. Rook and Jamil are both fine, and Epel only has one,” your shoulder brushes against him as you turn extra carefully to not disturb the snoozing Grim on your lap. You hand him your class notebook, which has been filled with quick sketches of the mistakes. Vil’s eyes widen considerably at the level of diligence you’ve afforded your role. Sure, he knows your eye for detail in science, but he never thought-

“You can borrow it for a bit,” you turn the page to show him the notes you’ve made. Then suddenly you flip back to the previous page.

“I forgot you won’t be able to read them,” you sigh in exasperation. “All that work for nothing.”

Vil is oddly touched. You’ve made extensive notes just for him? He can feel the gesture warm his cheeks as he stares down at the outreached notebook, waiting for him to take it.

“The thought is appreciated,” he thanks you, carefully placing your notebook within his lap. He’s lucky the diagrams are circled with different colours marking out areas of weakness, or he’s sure he’d get lost trying to read through the scribbled notes right next to them.

“I can always just read them out if you need me too,” you lean back on one palm, balancing your body weight as you scritch under Grim’s chin. As much as the little furball wants to deny it, he’s very clearly got the mannerisms of a cat as a large purr rumbles from him. You stifle a little giggle into your shoulder.

“That- that would be great,” it’s so unlike Vil to get flustered, but he can’t help the smile that stays on his face well into the remainder of the practice.

He can’t seem to hold onto whatever hatred he had for you.

Scene II: Rot . 　⁺

The next time he sees your face is around ten minutes before the dress rehearsal on the SDC stage. Vil can feel his already straight posture adjust itself so it’s completely perfect, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Rook, given the look the hunter shoots him. He’s ignoring that.

“They almost didn’t let me in,” you complain, striding over to Rook and waving the lanyard that’s around your neck. Vil’s not sure how they could’ve missed it, with it being what can only be described as a neon red.

“It’s good to see you regardless, mon chou,” Rook is once again clasping your hands, and once again you’re not pulling away.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve just called me a cabbage,” you comment, looking around at the stage. The little furball that’s normally with you is nowhere to be found; Vil isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he isn’t wreaking havoc here, or whether to be worried that he’s wreaking havoc elsewhere. “Where do I sit while watching?”

“There’s actually the front seats directly next to the stage,” Vil points to the special row reserved for managers and important personnel. You unhook your hands from Rook’s to turn to where Vil’s pointing, your eyes lighting up as you see the comfortable looking chairs set up.

“Right, thanks,” you flash an extremely brief smile at both of them. It seems that whatever rivalry you had with him has been dissolved on your end. He doesn’t know if he should be insulted or happy about it. “Break both legs for both performances.”

“What?” Vil mutters to himself as you stride away enthusiastically. Maybe it’s just a saying from wherever you’re from. It’s ‘break an arm’ for performances, what are you on about? “What could that possibly mean?”

“Mr. Shoenheit, we’re about to go on air to tape your practice performance,” a cameraman apologetically interrupts Vil’s musings. He snaps to attention, letting his face fall back into the most professional poker face he can manage.

“Of course, I’ll get the NRC Tribe into formation,” Vil responds smoothly, waving the rest of the crew to the front of the stage. It only takes a minute; they’re clearly enthusiastic (if not a bit nervous) to perform in front of people who aren’t you and Grim. Deep breaths. A wave of resounding calm flows through him; it’s a lucid state he’s perfected before each and every performance.

The first notes of the rhythmic song start. His eyes unfocus slightly, allowing his muscle memory to take control for the most part. It’s now just a matter of pouring his emotions into the song and dance to truly capture the hearts of those watching. The flow. The haze. It all becomes a part of him, and he knows the rest of those dancing up on stage with him can feel it. Surely they feel the connection of their passion?

He meets your eyes, your wide, enraptured eyes as you gaze at him. He doesn’t fully realise, but the words he sings are for your ears for now. Let this be dedicated to you, and he can worry later about sharing the passion he feels with the rest of the spectators. Vil’s not emotionally stupid; he can tell his feelings have veered into territory that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge yet. He just has to let them flow into his performance and worry about the rest later.

His mind is deliciously clear, enjoying the endorphins pumping through his blood at the pleasant stretch of movement. It’s already halfway done? The altered passage of time when he’s in the zone is always a surprise. From your excited grin, he can safely assume this performance is one, if not the, best they’ve given. And it’s all for you to watch, before it’s posted for the world to see.

Raucous applause disrupts his flow as the cameras are cut with a signal from the camera crew. You’re standing and clapping your hands with some serious force as you join them up on stage.

“Almost moved me to tears,” you joke, congratulating them on a flawless performance. “Seriously though, you guys are ready.”

You don’t need to say anymore. You stand back to give them space, but Vil watches in dawning horror as you bump into the one and only Neige LeBlanche. It’s only a mild shoulder bump, but it’s happened. The two of you have made contact.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely, taking a big step back. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine, really,” Neige smiles at you, sickeningly sweet. Beside Vil, the NRC dance crew members look at you with incredulity. Why are you so goddamn oblivious? “I shouldn’t have approached this way.”

“If you’re sure,” you trail off, noting the weird looks directed your way by Ace and Deuce. “What the hell are you guys gawking at?

Before Vil can say anything, you’re already being yanked away by Ace’s insistent tugging. Your brows are still furrowed. Goddamn. Have you really never heard of Neige LeBlanche?

It seems Ace is interrogating you with that very question, judging by the furrowed glances he sends both your way and Neige’s. It seems Neige is quick to mask his surprise, walking towards Vil (which was probably the whole reason he approached the group in the first place).

“Your group was amazing,” Neige gushes - his eyes are lit up with awe. Vil feels… nothing, eerily enough. All that’s coursing through him is malicious calm.

“Thank you,” he maintains the professional image easily and smoothly, not missing the way Kalim and Deuce’s eyes swivel between him and Neige.

“It was truly a sight to behold; I had chills just watching,” Neige continues with starry eyes. “I can’t wait to work with you again!”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Vil muses calmly, letting the air of conversation fizzle out. Out of his peripherals, he spots you and Ace rejoin the group. Unfortunately, it seems Neige has also spotted you again; he shoots you a smile and turns to you.

“Hi, I didn’t catch your name earlier,” Neige’s innocent question leads you to a quick pause before introducing yourself. You’re not overly friendly, more like care-free as usual.

“I didn’t catch your name either, sorry,” you continue politely. Did Trappola wander off-topic while lecturing you? It clearly seemed like it from your slightly bewildered expression.

“Neige LeBlanche, at your service,” Neige’s eyes carry that stupefied look for only a second before it’s swiftly replaced by a cheery smile. Nothing. Vil suppresses a snort of laughter at your politely unknowing expression. Of course you’d be like this, meeting the arguably most famous person in the land with no respect for their importance.

“Cool, I’ll leave you guys to it,” you respond amiably, sending a thumbs up his way. You’ve just upped and left? Vil turns to the side slightly to stifle his laughter as you wander back to the seats where you’ve left your notebook. Utterly lacking proper conversation etiquette as usual. He supposes it’s a positive seeing the Neige LeBlanche seemingly at a loss for words.

“Was that NRC’s manager?” Neige asks Vil. With dawning horror, Vil realises that most of his crew is also standing at the first row with you, due to their practice slot being finished.

“Yes,” Vil responds succinctly, watching Neige watch your movements as you talk with Rook. You’re currently being rattled like a rag-doll with the way he’s clasping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, no doubt grilling you over how you didn’t know who Neige was. He can hear your raucous laughter from all the way on stage.

“Your manager this year is awesome,” Neige compliments, leaning forward slightly to see the action further. Vil suppresses the shudder of disgust. No way this is happening right now.

“Ah, I’ve got to go round up my own crew,” Neige comments distractedly, looking around him. Vil gladly takes this opportunity to take his leave to join the rest of his group, leaving nothing behind but a goodbye.

That bastard. Vil watches the concluding moves of the RSA crew’s performance with barely concealed disgust from his seat in the stands.

“We’ve been had,” he utters in shock. No way. That bumbling performance they’ve put on-

“What do you mean?” Kalim asks in dismay at Vil’s change in attitude.

“He’s right,” Jamil agrees with a heavy sigh. “Look at how much they’re appealing to all demographics with their sugary sweet performance.”

Deep resentment begins to fester within Vil. A familiar ringing noise fills his ears as he tunes out the chatter of everyone surrounding him. He almost doesn’t feel the way he slips out of his seat and down the stairs leading to the rooms within the colossal arena. He feels the pressure of a heavy glass bottle within the palm of his hand, not even having to look at it to know it’s one of Epel’s apple juice bottles. He’s only dimly aware of subconsciously infusing the drink with the same curse he used during the poison assessment.

May those who drink this fall into an endless slumber, Fairest One.

The comforting bubbling slosh of the drink lets him know it’s been tampered with. A small, rational part of his brain urges him not to do this; the rest of his body is consumed by an abyss of disgust and hatred. Gunpowder and other acrid chemical smells appear in wisps, only registering faintly as familiar with his nose. He ignores it all.

“Hi, Neige,” Vil smiles brightly at the youth in front of one of the backstage doors. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your wonderful performance.”

One heartbeat.

Neige turns at the sound of Vil’s uncharacteristically cheerful voice. He doesn’t suspect anything amiss, but Vil supposes he’s always been that way.

“It makes me really happy hearing that from someone I admire a lot,” Neige beams back. Perfect.

Two heartbeats.

“How about a drink? I’ve become rather partial to this brand of apple juice,” Vil’s smile is rehearsed; it’s absolutely oozing with venom.

“Sure!” Neige agrees enthusiastically. “I saw the brand on your Magicam a few weeks back - I was even going to order before I realised it had all sold out.”

Three heartbeats is all it takes to deceive him.

It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Vil’s downfall has been secured by Neige over the course of his life, whereas Neige’s downfall will be brought about in only a few seconds. The smooth glass of the apple juice bottle does not reveal the curse roiling within. It’s perfect - scentless, colourless and lethal. He wants to laugh when Neige accepts the cool glass bottle so easily. Has he no sense of danger?

“Roi des Neiges!” Who does that voice belong to? With a start, Vil turns to see Rook’s slightly dishevelled form as he runs up to Neige. “My apologies for interrupting the two of you, but the staff were looking for you, Neige.”

“Roi des Neiges..” Neige’s voice trails away as he stares contemplatively at Rook. “Wait-”

“My, I’m absolutely parched after running around looking for you,” Rook swiftly takes charge of the conversation. Why now? Vil can feel sharp cracking within his very soul. “Might I trouble you to let me have some of that refreshing juice you hold?”

No.

“Of course,” Neige agrees enthusiastically, if not a little perplexed.

“You should hurry back, Neige,” Rook continues, taking the bottle offered kindly. “And do not come back here.”

“Huh? What do you-”

“Go on, off with you! Away!” Neige’s question is sharply cut off by Rook’s insistence. Vil can hear him scurry off, like a little rodent.

“That sweet, tart aroma,” Rook breathes. With a start of horror, Vil notices that the cork of the flask has been removed. “Truly.. Epel’s hometown beverage is magnifique, to say the least.”

“I shall drink it to the very last drop, Roi des Poisons,” his knowing gaze meets Vil’s stricken one as he slowly raises the bottle to his lips.

No.

“Don’t do it, Rook!”

Glass shattering. It’s all Vil can do to keep track of what’s happening. His head feels like it’s underwater.

“He used his signature spell to curse the apple juice!” It’s the same speaker from earlier. Kalim?

“-look on his face was the same as Jamil’s-”

“-lost control-”

“Rook,” Vil’s voice rasps. He’s not sure he made the conscious decision to speak. The hunter turns to him with eyes not holding anger or disappointment, but concern. “Why did you..?”

“I wanted to believe in you,” Rook holds his gaze with no traces of accusation. “If it was cursed, I still wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste the fruit of a poison derived from an obsession with beauty bordering on madness.”

Madness?

Vil tunes them all out. He’s dimly aware of you speaking in concerned, hushed tones to the rest of them. Why are you here as well?

“Vil, do you have any idea how foolish that was?” Kalim’s voice is rimmed with desperate emotions. “After all that work, after saying the other teams would look like spuds compared to us, why stoop to this?”

Why stoop to this? Can’t he see that there is no other way? Rage pummels his veins, ripping through his body, his mind, his soul. Something gathers within him, dark and inky and fatal.

“That’s what I want to know,” Vil’s voice is laced with ice, and pure venom. “I’ve come to a realisation. That I… can never win! I’m going to handle Neige myself.”

“Trickster, Kalim! Do not inhale that mist rising from the floor! It’s the evaporated form of that cursed liquid!” Rook’s urging has hints of desperation within it. He turns to Vil. “I don’t see why one glass would have such a drastic… Oh, Vil, you didn’t-”

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Vil pleads. It’s not just Rook, he can see you as well, looking at him with that gaze that makes him want to bury himself away. “I just wanted to be the fairest, so why? Why? Why am I so ugly?”

“Roi des Poisons, you are far from ugly,” Rook calls out to him, reaching out a hand. Vil longs to take it, but he can’t. He’s too far gone.

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone!” Kalim’s pleas fall on uncaring ears.

“Silence!” Vil’s voice snaps. He can almost see himself from a separate plane, mist rising up around him in acrid, poisonous billows. He can see you, swaying on your feet slightly, looking more shaky than your companions. “What do any of you know? What does it matter if any of you forgive me? I can’t forgive myself!”

Let go.

Dark streaks overcome his vision, ebbing and flowing along the edges. It would be nice, to hand over the reins for a while, wouldn’t it? To let go of his fury, his resentment, his jealousy. What a dream.

“If I just melt everyone into hideous messes,” Vil’s barely aware of speaking. It’s a rather distorted voice, isn’t it? He can’t help but laugh. “Then I’ll be the fairest one of all, won’t I?”

The last thing he sees before it all overcomes him is your stricken face. He’s not sure you’ve ever worn such an expression before. He’s unlikely to forget those eyes, your facial muscles contorting into a painting of intermingling horror and worry. Why does he feel that shame rising again?

Didn’t he let go already?

Scene III: Wake . 　⁺

“I was the villain bullying the hero in the last play, too. Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?”

Villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they can do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. What I want is to stay on stage longer than anyone else.

“Those kids were trying to hold me accountable for a work of fiction. Silly boys, the lot of them.”

I always aim for one role - the hero. But… all I ever get to be is the villain.

“Vil is too special to play the part of a regular teen that viewers can relate to. Without that reliability, I don’t think he’ll ever pull off playing a hero.”

I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it. And yet.. Why? Why is it never me? All I want is to stay on stage until the end of a show.

In the end, it’s not the gentle splattering of rain on his face that wakes him up. It’s some foreign warmth on his face that causes his eyes to slowly open. Framed by his eyelashes and the haze of a deep slumber is your face. It’s as if you know, the way you look at him with such tenderness and concern. It’s as if you’ve pulled him from the deep recesses of his memories yourself, with the way your rough hands prop his head up so gently.

“How am I..” Vil rasps out, looking at you with nothing but queries in his eyes. His eyes search over your tired expression, the way the sclera of your eyes is still tinged a slight purple, and the various small cuts across your face. Did he do this? Waves of shame hit him and he can’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Thank goodness you’re awake, Vil,” you murmur down at him. Is this the first time you’ve said his name? It sounds foreign on your lips, and unbearably sweet. Why aren’t you mad at him? Why do you keep looking at him with those unaccusing eyes?

“Oh, Vil.. fair Vil,” Rook sighs in relief, crouching beside you on the rain soaked ruins. Ruins? Vil takes the opportunity to look round the battle site, the upheaved flagstones, the despoiled decorations. Another wave of shame meets him when he notices the haggard faces of his crew (is that Kalim bawling his eyes out? And is that Jamil scolding him?).

“I’m.. sorry you had to see that undignified display,” Vil apologises, making sure each and every one of his words is sincere. He cannot begin to comprehend how much shame he’s feeling at the moment. “Only third-rate people throw temper tantrums and take their problems out on others. My conduct was most unbecoming of all…”

“Y’right about that,” Epel grumbles, but without a trace of actual malicious intent. “Thought ya said people grow out of temper tantrums by the time they’re three?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Epel,” Vil uses your shoulder to haul himself up so he can sit up. You don’t seem to mind, even grabbing on to his wrist to steady him. With another crash of guilt, he realises how your grasp is shaky, no doubt due to your exposure to the curse when you don’t have any sort of natural magic resistance. “I’m no longer fit to be your leader.”

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone, Vil,” Kalim argues. Vil can see him approaching and standing next to where Rook crouches. “You haven’t stepped over that brink.”

“He’s right,” Jamil says, jabbing his thumb in the general direction of outside the coliseum. “Neige is dancing out there happily with the seven dwarfs. It’s a stretch, but we can say we got worked up and had a team brawl in here.”

“Yeah,” Ace interjects. “No way we’re letting you pull out because of a few bruises, after the wringer we’ve been put through.”

“All of you,” Vil feels a horrendous mushy feeling swell up within him. You’re still supporting him with the way you’re steadying his wrist. “You just want to pretend nothing’s happened?”

“I never said that,” Jamil retorts, but his face blooms into his signature smile. “We can just hold off explanations until after the competition.”

“You truly are wicked, Jamil,” Vil replies with a small laugh. It hurts, and he feels his chest contort with pain. Your grip on his wrist tightens and you steady his shoulder with your other hand, clearly not missing the way his face twists into a grimace.

“Here, I’ll help you stand, alright?” you’re surprisingly strong, with the way you unceremoniously (but carefully) haul him up so he stands leaning into your firm touch. Even with your clearly weakened state, you still grip onto him as if he’s the fragile one that isn’t allowed to fall. Vil can’t even bring himself to protest.

“I wasn’t the one who made the shot so strong, Vil was,” Deuce seemingly replies to a conversation Vil’s unconsciously tuned out. “The spell stores all the damage I take, then hits it back all at once. So it was only potent because of Vil’s potent magic.”

Ah. Deuce seems to be describing the final hit Vil can barely remember taking, the one that likely brought him back to the brink of consciousness.

“Don’t make it sound so violent!” Deuce splutters in indignation, and Vil once again realises he’s tuned out. He doesn’t particularly mind, focusing instead on the way you unconsciously seem to tense your muscles against him when shifting, the way you still have that signature chemical smell to you, the way you’re looking directly at him with that expression-

“Signature… You mean that’s my signature spell?” Deuce seems to be coming to a realisation with sparkling eyes. Good on him. Beside him, Ace seems to be coming to an unpleasant realisation with the way he’s incredulously muttering to himself about how he can’t believe Deuce has mastered his signature spell before him.

“Behold, Vil is awestruck and weak-kneed from the splendour of your blow,” Rook proclaims, gesturing to the not-awestruck Vil.

“I’d wager he’s also weak-kneed from something else,” Jamil comments sardonically, looking pointedly at the way you’ve got him in your grasp. Vil only hopes you’ve become suddenly preoccupied with something else.

“No, I’m just beaten head-to-toe,” Vil swiftly retorts. “That last blow did strike soundly, though. Nicely done, Deuce.”

“Thank you, sir!” Deuce smiles at him eagerly. “Although, I don’t know what to do about the wrecked stage.”

“It’s not feasible to fix it all with magic,” Jamil replies pragmatically, looking around him with a calculating expression. “With what power we have left.. Every scenario running through my mind all ends with the same brick wall.”

“Does that mean.. SDC is…” Epel trails off, looking at Jamil with a dawning sense of horror.

“What do we have here?” The new, booming voice is accompanied by green fireflies that send a small shiver down Vil’s spine. What’s he doing here?

“I thought I’d arrive earlier,” Malleus hums with a touch of surprise, surveying the surroundings briefly. “What do I find but a stage laid to waste?”

“Hornton!” you exclaim, and Vil can feel your sternum vibrate through his shoulder. You’re.. acquainted with Malleus Draconia enough to call him nicknames? He can’t even be surprised anymore. “There’s still two hours until the SDC opens!”

“Hornton?” It’s a collective response from the rest of the crew, voicing Vil’s thoughts.

“Do you have a death wish, calling your upperclassman that?” Ace shudders at your audacity.

“Do you even know who that is?” Epel’s shocked voice causes you to blink in surprise at his tone.

“He told me to call him whatever, so I did,” Vil has to stifle a laugh as you shrug. Of course you did.

“However did you get into the coliseum, Roi des Dragons?” Rook sounds positively astonished.

“I was invited by the Child of Man from Ramshackle,” Malleus replies, gesturing to you.

“Yep,” you affirm. Vil feels as though you’re ignoring the other, more pressing question Rook’s asked.

“The entire venue is still enveloped by the poison mist generated by Vil,” Rook’s explanation trails off as Malleus holds up a clawed hand.

“I am impervious to any curse, no matter how powerful,” Malleus takes another look around the wrecked coliseum. “Whatever could’ve happened here?”

Vil watches as you briefly and efficiently describe the events, listening extra hard for the parts where he would’ve been unconscious. It’s curious, the way you don’t let any trace of exhaustion or pain enter your voice. It only takes around two minutes for you to give the gist of the situation to Malleus.

“Children of men, I shall bestow upon you a gift,” Malleus’ words come with an incredible magic pressure that leaves Vil’s eyes wide. He steals a glance at you, and watches your own expression become slack with awe and curiosity.

“That’s Malleus Draconia for you,” Vil murmurs to you. Your brow furrows as you look down at Vil.

“That’s Malleus? Hornton over there was the one everyone was so excited about at the Spelldrive tournament?” you ask incredulously. After all this, you’re still holding on to that nickname? Your eyes dart back to those green fireflies that are somehow lifting all the ruined flagstones and pillars, and rearranging them into pristine condition. Within the space of a few heartbeats, Malleus has managed to restore the conditions of the arena into an exact replica of how they were before.

“He’s ludicrously out of our league,” Ace mumbles in awe. Vil can’t help but agree.

“Thanks a bunch, Hornton!” you beam at Malleus, who stares at you for a brief second before breaking out into chuckles. It’s the first time Vil’s ever heard the fae laugh, but you’re full of surprises as usual.

“Though you know who I am, you still stick to that pet name?” Malleus sounds terribly amused, looking at you as you fumble with an explanation. He interrupts whatever apology is about to leave your lips with another chuckle. “Truly, I do not mind.”

He turns to look at Vil with a resolute expression in his eyes that’s made all the more disconcerting by his piercing green eyes. “I’ve set the stage for you, Schoenheit. I trust you will keep me entertained.”

“I hardly need your urgings to put on my finest performance,” Vil suppresses the wince of pain as he straightens his posture, ignoring the very tangible reality of you still grasping onto him. “Be prepared for a standing ovation.”

“I’ll expect nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Malleus’ last words fade out with his disappearance. The only traces left behind by him are those green fireflies.

“Lady Luck is truly on our side,” Rook comments after the flashes fade out. “I was hardly expecting Roi des Dragons to appear here.”

Me neither. Though it seems today is a day full of surprises.

Vil leans into your warmth a bit more, and you indulge him. The arm carefully wrapped around him is sure and steady - he wants nothing more than to stay here until the end of time. You don’t ask questions, looking past his shoulder so you can direct the crew to their water. He knows he must let go to perform - it’s highly unusual to see the Vil Schoenheit rely on anyone, even if it’s a little bit. To see him clinging to someone, his rival of all people…

Gingerly, he lets go of you. Your grasp on him is firm to the very end as you let go and make sure he’s not at risk of fainting. The concern you display is almost comedic, but you don’t say anything.

He can feel your eyes burning into his back as he walks away, but he doesn’t look back.

Scene IV: Unopened Missive . 　⁺

Vil supposes it’s comedic as he pours everything he’s got left into the final performance, only to score exactly one point below RSA. It’s always like this; him, exactly one step behind Neige. He can’t fault Neige, anymore, not after he’s come to terms with it. As the thrum of music faded and the flow of performance left him, he was acutely aware of the raucous applause he drew. He did not care. All he was searching for were your eyes.

He’s sure Lady Luck is laughing straight at him as Rook proclaims himself as one of Neige’s biggest fans. What betrayal! Of course this has been added onto the list of surprises. It’s strange; he doesn’t feel the annoyance he’d expect to be simmering through his veins at that moment. It seems he’s let that go.

It’s practically hilarious as he joins Neige on stage to sing an encore. Only scraps of bitterness remain - had Vil not exhausted the whole team earlier, they might have won and took back that one measly vote. He’s accepted that. Still, his frustration is palpable as he leaves his crew to sing with Neige, though not to the audience. His professionalism is the one thing he’s managed to keep up.

“Hey,” your voice breaks him out of the reverie. It’s bizarre, the way you’ve escorted him back to Pomefiore, even though he’s got Rook and Epel to do that. It’s even more bizarre, the way he’s let you gently drag him to his room, where Rook and Epel have already gone back to their own chambers. They already know it’s best to leave him alone when he’s in a bad mood. So why.. why are you still-

The sharp tang of medicinal ointment brings him back to the current situation. You’re poised between his legs as he sits at his vanity, with an assortment of bottles behind you. It’s strangely intimate with the way the soft dusk lighting envelopes you with its mysterious aura. He’s not wearing any makeup, but you don’t seem to care; your gaze caresses his features, laced with only concern.

Please, don’t look at me with those eyes.

“I’m going to begin, alright?” you murmur, searching his eyes for any traces of discomfort. Vil nods wordlessly. The pressure on his chin from one hand of yours is feather light; he finds himself leaning into it slightly. Your other hand lightly brushes over the cuts on his face with the ointment swabbed onto a cotton pad - strangely, it lacks the usual sting which normally elicits a sharp hiss of surprise.

“I made this ointment myself,” you explain after seeing the surprise conveyed in his eyes. Of course you did. In any case, it seems to be working fine, judging by the rapid cooling sensation he’s feeling across his face.

“Why-” Vil begins to ask as you cap the ointment bottle and twist it closed with practised ease. Your hand is still on his face, but he can’t bear to pull away. Not here, in the privacy of his room, where the only eyes upon him are yours. “-why are you still here? Don’t you dislike me?”

You pause in the rummaging you’re doing in your pocket. Vil holds his breath as you turn to him with that contemplative look you wear while figuring out potions.

“I don’t actually dislike you,” you comment matter-of-factly, tilting his face to each side to observe your handiwork. “I’ve got better things to do than spend my energy stewing over you.”

Ouch.

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Vil’s composure is rapidly slipping down the drain as he remains (quite literally) in the palm of your hand. Your gaze doesn’t falter. “Do you just feel bad for me?”

“No,” you respond idly, still tilting his head this way and that. It’s like watching a cat bat at a toy. “I thought it might be good to have company and rely on someone else for once.”

There’s something else you aren’t saying. It’s unspoken in your eyes and the way your brow makes imperceptible furrows every few minutes. Vil’s breath hitches in his throat slightly.

“Did you-” he’s interrupted by that look, not one of pity, but one of resolute determination.

“Yes, I saw those memories,” you admit. You don’t look at him with an apologetic expression, one that screams pity. It’s a relief. “I didn’t mean to, like at all.”

“It’s fine,” Vil supposes it is fine. You wouldn’t tell anyone, he feels. He watches as your expression shrivels up into one of abject surprise as you feel around in your pocket, drawing out what seems to be a cream-coloured, expensive looking envelope. Vil knows exactly what it is, even as you scan the front quizzically then shrug. Of course. You can’t read the runes.

“It’s the results for the poison assessment,” Vil supplies. Strange. He doesn’t feel any excitement, or fear - it’s bordering on the neutrality of acceptance. It seems you feel the same way, as you just toss the envelope down with disregard onto the vanity and continue your search in your pockets.

“Aha!” your triumphant exclamation leaves him blinking in surprise. Why haven’t you acknowledged the results at all? You brandish another bottle of ointment in front of him excitedly, almost hitting him on the nose due to your very close proximity. “I’ve found the muscle and bone ointment!”

“Aren’t you going to look at the results?” Vil asks incredulously - it slips out before he can even comprehend he’s said it.

“I can’t even read them,” you untwist the ointment with your teeth, leaving tiny dents in the metal cap. “I’ll look at them later.”

The potent tang of nettles permeates the air as you set the open bottle onto the table behind you, letting go of Vil’s face.

“I’m going to need you to undress so I can access your back,” your nonchalant tone makes Vil’s reaction delayed. He can feel the back of his neck heat up at your words. “I heard the nastiest little crunch when Deuce’s spell hit you, so I’m gonna have to check those ribs.”

“Right,” Vil swallows thickly, standing up. Wrong move. You’re much too close now, pressed up against the vanity with him standing right in front of you. His body is brushing up against yours, and he can feel your body heat. Shit. He moves out of the vicinity to the bathroom, with all the composure of a professional actor.

“This ointment’s designed for deeper use than surface level injuries,” you call out behind him. “It’s gonna sting!”

“That’s fine,” Vil responds before shutting his bathroom door. He quickly loosens his shirt, wishing it were your hands doing- His heart pounds in his ribcage as he shuts down the thought. It only takes a minute before his shirt and blazer are both tossed into the laundry basket, all too soon considering the flushed sheen emerging on his face.

One final cursory inspection of his face in the mirror is necessary before he goes out to face you. He’s almost taken aback - not by the lack of makeup which he’s already accustomed to, but the sheer vulnerability within his expression. He looks like such a mess, and you’ve not even commented on it? You’ve just accepted that it doesn’t matter what he looks like; you’re going to treat him the same regardless. It’s a far cry to what he values as his principles.

He pushes open the door hesitantly. His torso is exposed, and he suddenly feels the jarring pangs of shyness. Why now? He’s gone topless for movie scenes before, for Sevens’ sake! Steeling himself, he opens the door completely. You’ve placed the vanity chair by the bed- surely you’re not-

“You can either lie on your stomach here, or sit up on the chair, which might be more uncomfortable,” you explain briefly, rolling up your uniform sleeves as if you’re about to conduct a lab practical. Am I the lab rat? “I’ve picked up a few massage tips here and there, so overall it should be a quite pleasant experience. Of course, if you want to omit the massage-”

“No, it’s fine,” Vil lets out a shaky breath at your nonchalance, gingerly lying on his front on his covers. Jack of all trades, aren’t you? He doesn’t realise just how tense his muscles have been until you press your thumbs into the muscles situated around his scapula. Your hands are coated in some sort of resinous, volatile substance, judging from the brief alcohol fumes flaring up whenever you place your hands down. You were right, there is a sting, but it’s not as sharp as he expected.

Why are you doing this? It’s a question that keeps replaying in his mind’s movie theatre, with the cruel laughing soundtrack interspersed in a tragic loop every few seconds. The two of you aren’t friends, and what you’ve done goes beyond the level of care Vil normally receives from friendship. He can’t complain, not when your warm, rough hands are finally on him, even if it’s to just rub the ointment in.

“Now, I’m no medic,” there’s a faint apology in your tone as you concentrate the ointment into a specific, aching spot. Vil barely registers the sting of pain due to your burning touch. “But I think that your rib’s been bruised at the very least in that spot, and that ointment should’ve healed the worst of it.”

His rapid heart rate distracts him from the loss of body heat from you as you move your hands away from his body. Please don’t stop. He feels a heavy pressure on his right shoulder, and to his surprise it’s the palm of your hand waking him from his reverie.

“I’ll bandage you up just to be sure,” you murmur, shifting your weight from foot to foot and looking around. It’s clear you’re hesitant, maybe due to your lack of experience playing a so-called “doctor”. Still, judging by the way the deep ache within has eased, you’ve done a pretty darn good job, as Epel would no doubt say. “Sit up.”

Vil obeys, gingerly swinging his legs round the bed until he’s sitting, and you’re once again hovering over him as you slip a clean bandage out of its plastic wrapping. He breathes in the comforting warmth of your body heat and repertoire of chemical smells that mask the floral traces on your skin. Don’t you feel the rushed thrum of blood that’s pumping through each vein and each capillary, as you wrap your arms around him to begin winding the bandage?

Is he nothing more than a mere patient to that clinical precision you currently sport?

“What would you have chosen, if you won the poison assessment?” Vil suddenly asks as you clip the bandage into place with a satisfied hum around the middle of his torso.

“Why are you asking as if I lost?” you let out a bemused chuckle, gesturing to the still-very-closed envelope sitting on his vanity. “We don’t know yet.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vil could melt with the way you’re gazing down at him as he sits with you standing in between his legs. Your sharp eyes contain a warning, one he has no intention of heeding as he presses the subject. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Fine,” your voice rasps slightly as you stoop down to his level. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation of your warm breath rustling past his ear. “Are you really that eager to know?”

“Go on,” Vil almost pleads, and he’s sure you hear the quiet hints of desperation in his voice. Your eyes lock back onto his; he’s slightly regretting asking you as he sees the dangerous glints in your eye. His breath hitches as he realises it’s the same, all-consuming look of seriousness you reserve for your experiments and potions. It’s as if he already knows what your answer will be, with the way his blood excitedly thrums to the surface to respond with an echoing yes.

Please.

The rough pads of your fingers meet his chin again in that gentle grasp as you tilt his head upwards. This is really happening, right? It’s as if he’s in a haze; anticipation of your movements is the only thing breaking him out of it.

“Can I..” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. He holds his breath. Yes. Your mere touch calls forth fireworks to explode in a vibrant cacophony.

“Please,” Vil’s quiet gasp is all the encouragement you clearly need, because the next thing he knows you’ve stepped forward and met his open mouth with yours. The heady taste of woodsmoke and cherry syrup lingering on your tongue is positively intoxicating. He’s not sure, but he can also taste the coppery tang of blood as well. Perhaps it’s from the heat of battle earlier? Regardless, his blood rises in response; he’s sure his face is flushed a deep pink.

You don’t hesitate, leaning his head to the side with your fingers to kiss him deeper and deeper. He groans into your mouth, feeling you smile as you taste his desperation. He positively convulses as he feels your hand trace the bare skin of his side; he’s so vulnerable like this, and he knows you feel it as you press into his body.

Vil gasps for air when you pull back. A string of saliva connects your lips to his; with a start, he realises that your lips are shiny and traced with the purple lipgloss he’s wearing. Your eyes are half-lidded with intensity and some other roiling emotion he can’t place. It makes his breathing even more uneven when he realises he’s made you look like that.

“Like what you see?” even now, traces of rivalry still lace Vil’s tone; he cannot help but provoke you to elicit another reaction. Your gaze slowly travels up and down Vil’s dishevelled appearance, making sure to scour every inch of it. He holds his breath when your lip curls in disdain.

“Please,” your voice rolls deep from your throat with sarcasm. It makes Vil’s blood cells burn with want. The sharp, intense look in your eyes only becomes more turbulent; it’s insanely attractive to be at your mercy.

“Don’t make me laugh-” your fingers curl into his chin more, and Vil can feel the suppressed strength within the grip. Blood is rushing straight down, and he can barely keep track of all the thoughts racing through his head. “-not with the way I’ve seen you almost do flips for my attention, with your one-sided rivalry.”

“Ah-” Vil’s gasp sounds suspiciously like a moan as you move closer, pressing a knee in between his legs inadvertently. You’ve clearly heard it, with the way you furrow your brow and pause your motions.

“Did you-” your eyes fully take in his heavy breathing and the way he’s coming undone from just kissing you. Your question is answered immediately.

“Please, keep going,” Vil pleads, removing one hand from where it’s gripping the sheets to your hip. You swallow thickly, eyes darting between his hand and face.

“You sure you want to continue?” you prompt, eyes settling into that same dangerous glint once again. “I don’t want to aggravate your injuries..”

“Please,” Vil all but begs, seeing the way your eyes glaze over with desire. The hazy, smoky smell of your skin almost acts like an aphrodisiac; he cannot help but be ensnared.

“Alright,” your voice is hushed when you tilt his head upwards to access his jugular, biting into the area slightly with sharp canines. He knows you feel it: the way his pulse jumps erratically beneath your touch. You draw out quiet, hushed gasps with every mark you make on his throat, with every movement of your waist against his bare torso, with every nudge of your knee in between his legs.

More.

He doesn’t even realise he’s slowly rolling his hips against your leg to feel any sort of friction until you press down on his hips with the hand that’s been supporting his shoulder.

“Not so fast,” you breathe against his skin - his back can’t help but arch slightly at the feeling of your breath against his neck. “Allow me to take care of you.”

It’s your words that make him pause in shock; they’re an eerie echo of what you said in his dream. Judging by the lack of change in your expression, you don’t know about it; thank Sevens.

You’re pressing into him, forcing him into the bed on his forearms while you lean in, kissing his mouth feverishly to bring out his gasps and moans. He’s unbearably hard, all the more so because of your knee moving out of reach each time he chases that delicious high. This is better than any dream.

Burning kisses trail their way from below his ear down to his collarbone. He’s suddenly glad for the wonders of concealer as he thinks about the marks you’re leaving. On the other hand, he’s strangely into the idea of people seeing he’s taken by you, so much so that you’re marking him up like this.

“Ah- right there,” Vil can’t suppress the noises he’s making as your lips travel down to his chest. He doesn’t care who hears him; he’s seeing goddamn stars with the way your tongue circles his nipple and your thumb mirrors the action with the other one. The pressure you’re applying deftly is making him intoxicated.

“You look so beautiful like this,” your fingers glide over the neatly wrapped bandages on his chest, trailing down to his waist. He doesn’t think it’s possible for his heart to beat any more erratically without thumping straight out of his chest. Is he really sure that you haven’t magically seen his dreams? After all, you’ve seen his memories. He waits with bated breath for your next move, not realising that you’ve already positioned yourself to hover between his thighs with a small grin on your face.

“Mind if I take these off?” you hook your thumbs around the tailored trousers he’s wearing. It takes considerable self-restraint to not tell you to just rip them off.

“Go ahead,” it’s a wonder that his voice doesn’t crack from the sheer pressure of what he’s feeling at the moment. Your grin is all edges as you efficiently unzip the front and slip the pants off. It seems that he’s surprised you when you look down at his smooth legs with your eyebrows slightly raised, taking in the fact that he’s wearing sheer black stockings to his mid thigh underneath his pants.

“All for me?” you run your fingers down his legs appreciatively, feeling the soft material underneath your fingers with an even sharper grin than before. Vil can’t help but shiver at the feather-light touches you give, contrasted sharply with the jagged vertices of your smile.

All for you.

It’s as if you can read his thoughts. You’re once again hovering between his legs, spreading them with nothing more than a gentle push. The touches you leave on his legs feel almost possessive; he cannot help but adore it. Will he be the only one seeing that expression on your face? He wants to be the only one, the only one to see the tumultuous desire warp and thrash within the glints in your eyes. It’s a far cry from your usual composure.

Sticky residue from his lipgloss is left on his soft inner thighs as you press kiss after kiss to the skin. He can feel desire pulse through you with every bruising mark you leave. It entrances him. The unspoken words you leave him are more than enough to assure him that even like this, with all his bruises and scrapes and tears, he’s beautiful.

Your hands slowly ease his underwear off; the cold air on the sensitive skin makes him hiss slightly, but it quickly turns into a gasp as you leave kisses in the crook of the skin connecting his thigh to his pelvis.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” you promise quietly. The ravenous look in your eyes doesn’t subside as you gaze at him from between his legs. He can’t help but let out a small groan at your words. What would his fans say if they saw him, lying so pliant for his supposed academic rival?

One of Vil’s hands fly up to his face to muffle the moans escaping his lips when your thumb circles his slit, made all too easy by the flow of pre-cum from his dick. The other hand is left desperately clutching at the sheets of his bed as his hips involuntarily buck upwards into your hand.

“Uncover your pretty mouth,” you slowly twist your hand down, all while gazing at his flushed face. He’s already seeing stars at the friction and can barely register his hand leaving his mouth to grip the sheets. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He can only hope that his door is soundproofed from the obscene noises leaving him as you pick up the pace. It’s not enough. Your hand moves away each time the haze of pleasure builds up, leaving him chasing after your touch. He’s sure he looks an absolute mess right now with the way tears are leaving his eyes and his brow has the sheen of sweat; you clearly don’t care as you lithely move upwards to kiss him. The cool fabric of your clothes presses into his bare skin, making him feel incredibly exposed to you.

You’re still moving with that teasing pace as you swallow down his moans. It’s unbearable, all the more so because you’re still covered in your uniform. He almost sobs in relief when your hand picks up speed and the pleasure starts steadily building in his stomach. His hips desperately grind into your hand and you let him, let him come undone with your touch and quiet praises. He’s close; the dopamine is flooding through his veins and all he can focus on is the way you touch him, the way you’re currently kissing his jaw and leaving more marks on his neck, the way you’re coaxing such obscene sounds from both his throat and from the skin on skin friction.

It builds and builds and builds, until all he can fathom is saying your name over and over, as if he’s some devout worshipper invoking some otherworldly being. He lets go, feeling the way you slow down to allow him to ride out the climax. Only white-hot pleasure courses through his mind, fading out more slowly than usual. He kisses you feverishly, feeling the warm skin on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer and closer. You’re now lying side by side on his bed, with you pressed up against him wearing your despoiled clothes, ones that have been despoiled by him.

“You’re removing your clothes as well, I hope?” his gaze trails down your body, looking at the offending uniform that you’re wearing. It’s a wonder he’s managed to form a coherent statement. Still, it’s only fair that you also remove the fabric with those deft hands like you did to those tailored trousers he was wearing.

“Right,” your gaze softens, moving your hands away from his body. His brows furrow with a question as he watches the hand sticky with cum approach your face- oh my. A scarlet flush blooms on his cheeks as you use your tongue to clean your hand up, before using it to lazily remove your blazer and vest. You don’t give them a second glance as you toss the clothes on the floor. The warmth you’re emitting is all the more palpable as only a thin buttoned shirt separates your skin from his. It’s incredibly attractive, watching your languid movements as you discard the shirt off to the side as well as your trousers.

The feeling of your bare skin on his shouldn’t elicit such a burning reaction from him, but it does; he groans as you lean back to slowly kiss him, feeling the way your body heat envelopes him without any barriers. He’s acutely aware of all the points your skin brushes against him - it’s insanely addicting. You’re kissing him without a care in the world, judging by the way you lazily cradle his face with your hands. He’s so malleable under your touch, so starved of affection that he’s wrapped around your pinky finger. He’s sure you can feel the way his skin flushes with a simmering heat.

The blue hour soaks you both in the gloom as your hands press him closer and closer, until he can barely distinguish where he ends and you begin. Is this what it means to become one, united in flesh?

Does he look beautiful to you like this?

He knows he does. He knows he does when you reverently trail down with your kisses, settling between his thighs again to fill him up with your fingers. He knows he does as you feverishly coax those angelic moans out of him; your eyes are blazing with desire for him. He knows he does as you draw out his climax for as long as you can so wave after wave of pleasure can keep hitting him.

It’s late evening when the two of you fall asleep, tangled together and worn out.

The letter on the vanity lies forgotten; Vil doesn’t particularly care about the results when he already feels your equal.

Scene V: Closing . 　⁺

“Goodness, trickster,” Rook’s exclamation when you emerge in the Pomefiore lounge room in the morning thankfully goes unnoticed by the few students milling about. “Our dorm uniform looks simply ravishing on you.”

“Yeah, mine got quite ruined from yesterday’s events,” your voice sounds raspy as you try to sell your act to Rook, who’s positively cooing over you. What a little prankster. Vil can’t help but glance at you from his favourite armchair. As the culprit responsible for ruining your uniform, he of course had to lend you a uniform. Still, you do look rather good in it.

“Don’t tell me you slept over and didn’t tell me?” Rook plasters a look of mock-hurt on his face, and Vil implores you to shut your mouth for once and put on the best act of your life.

“Something like that,” your expression is innocent, with the exception of your raised eyebrows. You don’t look at Vil at all as you smile at Rook, who’s unfortunately glanced over at Vil, scrutinising him with that disgustingly perceptive look.

“Does that explain the bruises on his neck?” Vil chokes on his smoothie hearing the hunter’s whisper. Of course he forgot something this morning. Of all days.

“Whatever could you mean?” you inquire nonchalantly, straightening the ironed collar of the uniform.

“Oh my,” Rook’s eyes are as wide as saucers as his gaze swivels between you and Vil. It’s rare to see him this gleeful. “You two totally slept-”

“I’m going to need you to shut it, Rook,” you cover the offender’s mouth abruptly before he can say anything more. You’re not denying it though, looking back at Vil with a wicked grin on your face.

Shit.

[blackdollette]

"got your bible, got your gun." || part seven.

꒰ ៹ . " 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆. "

west coast. - lana del rey

୨୧˖-ׁ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: cheers to a job well done...

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: new ! bau ! female ! reader x jealous ! spencer

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: spencer gets drunk, implications of sex

ㅤㅤㅤ꒰ ៹ . 🍒 previous chapters: 𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐕 , 𝐕 , 𝐕𝐈

“well if it isn’t the BAU’s very own ladykiller.”

derek sauntered over to the barstool next to spencer’s, his teasing comment followed by a firm slap on spencer’s back. 

the news had spread around the team like wildfire. spencer had been in bed, and not alone. the warm, small motel room that insisted on minimal clothing, the late night, and the tiny bed that you were forced to share all made the perfect recipe for a night of passionate lovemaking. surely, you and he were both fully aware that nothing went on within the thin walls of the motel, but no one was willing to swallow that important piece of information. but even with all the accusing stares and whispers, the case had been solved and wrapped up perfectly. and now you were all at the bar celebrating.

spencer groaned, shooting derek a warning glare. “knock it off, man. she’s right there.” 

their eyes shifted in unison to the area of the bar that held you. in the months that spencer had known you, he would’ve never thought that it was your scene. so his surprise was nearly immeasurable when he saw you sitting under the colourful lights, chatting it up with a guy who was the polar opposite of him.

a low whistle fell from derek’s pursed lips.

“she sure is something else, i’ll give you that.” he muttered, swishing around the bottle of beer in his hand before taking a short swig.

spencer bit back a futile protest. despite not having a single article of his clothing removed during that night with you, he definitely had woken up with the same thrill that came after an intense hookup. especially after waking up to the feeling of you clinging to him like he was your lifeline.

“...c’mon, morgan…” spencer said defeatedly, “...you know i’m not the type to sleep with a woman i barely know.”

derek feigned offense to the direct reference to his love life. “maybe not, but i think you know a lot more about that girl than you let on.”

derek let hit words linger, standing up from the chair and strolling over to where most of the action was and leaving spencer alone with his thoughts.

he had slept in the same bed with you, but that was as far as it went. he repeated that to himself like a mantra, forcing himself to believe that nothing else had happened while you were under those sheets with him.

so if that were the truth, why did he feel that pang of indignation from seeing you with a man who clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your prowess?

he felt unbearably out of place in this setting and here you were, blending in effortlessly. spencer had noticed your ability to do so the day you had met, and he wasn’t any less amused.

however, there had been some truth in derek’s words. he knew a lot more about you than he was willing to accept. that short night with you had allowed him to get the aroma of your hair that the pillow had soaked up. he knew your shoe and clothing size, found out your birthday from stealing a glance at your license, and was pleased to discover that you shared the same disadvantage regarding eyesight. 

“there’s my favourite roommate. i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

spencer flinched. as usual, you always seemed to appear whenever he was in a deep train of thought. he clutched his unopened beer a little tighter.

“don’t call me that. it was only one night.”

you rolled your eyes, taking the seat next to him and letting your elows rest on the granite counter, a few drops of alcohol scattered across the surface.

“oh c’mon, spencer. don’t be like that. don’t you think everyone’s giving me a hard time too?” you put up air quotes. “last member of the unit but first to get in spencer’s pants. i’ve heard it all tonight.” 

spencer tried to hide the furious blush that stained his cheeks, the warm toned but dim lighting working in his favour. “don’t you live for that kind of attention?”

you scoffed. “touche. but i’m not willing to let you off the hook for calling me an attention whore.”

spencer’s expression tinted with slight annoyance. “how much have you had to drink tonight? you’re even more… ‘you’ than usual.”

you shook your head. “i don’t drink. i’m not good with alcohol. and judging by that unopened beer, i can tell that you aren’t either.”

you and your damn perfect profiling skills.

spencer didn’t hesitate to snap back. “actually i just got it. so if you could just give me a second…”

he began to struggle to get the metal cap off the bottle. derek had done it so effortlessly, and now here he was struggling right in front of you. he brought the bottle to his mouth, popping off the cap with his teeth. judging by the way your eyebrows slightly inched upward, he had finally managed to impress you.

he took a swig from the bottle and nearly gagged from the taste. he never understood how something as repulsive as alcohol could become addictive, but one sip had turned to two, and before he knew it he had reached the last sip.

you were surprised that he had downed an entire bottle of beer within 5 minutes. even you were willing to admit how gross the drink was.

but what didn’t shock you, not even in the slightest, was that spencer reid was a total lightweight, already tripping over his words and hiccuping like a fool. it simply didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

~~~

the drive home was as normal as could be when you had a drunken agent in the passenger seat next to you. you practically had to carry him out of the bar and knew right off the bat that he was in no shape to get behind a wheel. so, you figured, why not have another night with him? it was already becoming a little pattern between you two.

just one night of having him on your couch couldn’t hurt…

[skeletoncrevvs]

crossbeat magazine, aug 2007

translation/transcription under cut

Crossbeat - AUG 2007 - TRANSLATION

PAGE 30-31 (excluding cover and contents page):

Special feature on rock legends coming to Japan

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

AKIRA, Tekkonkinkreet, Lupin III  - "I'm attracted to works that are innovative and take on new challenges. I love them. I can't stop thinking about them."

Welcome to MCR Theatre @Budokan!! A drama of destruction and rebirth explodes in a spectacular live performance!! Japan and Manga

Interview by Takuro Ueno, interpreter: Tomoko Katsuta

We take a look at Gerard's true personality and the band's latest vision as a huge fan of the band.

Pics: Tetsuro Sato

PAGE 32:

The explosion of "Dead!", the confetti of "Welcome to the Black Parade", the flames of "Mama", the fireworks of "Disenchanted", the explosion of "Famous Last Words"! My Chemical Romance's Budokan live show was a spectacular entertainment show with plenty of gunpowder and pyro. The first half was a live performance of the album in which they dressed up as the band The Black Parade, the alter-ego of "The Black Parade", and the second half was a performance of other songs. The set was almost the same as the US tour in the spring, and the live started with "The End", in which frontman Gerard Way appeared as a patient in a white coat.

What impressed me was not only the dramatic songs that quickly became anthems, but also the presence of songs that could be called excellent supporting actors that supported the main characters. The combination of explosive guitar and beats in "This Is How I Disappear" created a sense of intense speed. In the second half, Frank Iero (G) and Ray Toro (G) strummed their guitars with complete concentration in the raging ensemble. The heavy melody gradually changed its expression, and I was also excited by "Sleep," which had a cathartic surge along with a heavyweight groove.

Bob Bryar's (Dr) powerful drumming also really came into play in this kind of song. And what was most impressive was the glimpse of Gerard's "madness" for a short time. 

There's a fine line between madness and sanity. In his sane mode, he's a geek who loves comics and games with all his heart, while in his dangerous mad mode, he explodes with emotion on stage. I think that the album "The Black Parade" is somewhere between the two, and for those wanderers whose egos tend to become unstable because of their wandering, Gerard's message is absolutely real. What I thought after seeing this live performance was that "The Black Parade" is a work that reflects the current era, and it has an immeasurable appeal to stubborn adults.

After performing the album that they had pushed themselves to the limit and creating in a lavish manner on the Budokan stage, Gerard and the other four members shed their heavy costumes and appeared in casual clothes. Behind them was a backdrop with the word "REVENGE" written in large letters, and when the life-sized My Chemical Romance performed "I'm Not Okay" and "Helena," the audience responded with a chorus of their own. Unlike the first half, there was only one flashy performance using gunpowder, and there was no confetti raining down on the audience or flames rising up. At the end, the people who stood on stage were not emo charisma, but young music-loving men who grew up in the New Jersey punk scene.

On this day, Frank joined the stage of the opening act, the melodic punk band Bouncing Souls from his hometown. Gerard asked the fans several times during his performance to give them loud cheers and applause. If you think about it objectively, you can see that Gerard's jumps and fist pumps are not cool, but I think that the attitude of "it's okay to be uncool!" is punk, and such objective opinions are not necessary for My Chemical Romance. Their performance, which was full volume and full force from start to finish, was unmistakably punk, and it is because of this blood that they are somehow hard to hate, even when viewed as a new-age rock band. My Chemical Romance, who graces the front page of this special feature on rock legends visiting Japan, have written another page in rock history with their live performance at the Budokan, but in this interview we also get a glimpse into the true face of Gerard, who loves Japan. He loves Japanese manga and anime, and when he came to Japan last time

Pic: Yuki Kuroyanagi

PAGE 33:

he even went to the cinema. When I explained the purpose of the photo on the front page, he cheerfully agreed to a two-shot with Mario, a character representing Japan.

----What kind of image did you have of Japan before?

"I was imagining the world of Ridley Scott's film, 'The Blade Runner.' I'm also a big fan of comics and Katsuhiro Otomo's work. I especially love 'AKIRA,' so I thought it would be something like the opening scene of that story, and I think that image was correct. But I ended up loving this country even more than I had imagined. I had no idea that Japanese people were people who respected others and their environment so much, and it was refreshing to be able to come into contact with such people and have such a variety of experiences before returning to America."

----You've toured to quite a few countries, but your first visit to Japan was in 2004. What were your impressions at the time?

"I feel like I've landed on Mars. And I mean that in a good way. It's completely different from any other place I've ever been to. The cityscape, the culture, everything I could see was different from any other country. I've had the chance to tour many countries, but when I went there, I was disappointed to see that there were many similarities to America, or even the same things. But Japan is original and amazing. I was fascinated by everything, from vending machines to key chains to TVs. I don't understand what they're saying when I watch TV, but there's a lot to absorb. I'm always looking for something to stimulate me, so this country is perfect for me."

----Your first live show was on the indoor stage at Summer Sonic. How did you feel about the audience's reaction? They were really excited about songs like "I'm Not Okay."

"It was amazing! I'm so glad to get such a reaction.

I never dreamed that we would get such a good response to "I'm Not Okay" in a country we visit for the first time. But it was especially special to have such a good response in Japan. The first time we played in the UK was on tour with The Used. We have a following in the UK now, but the kids who saw our show back then seemed confused about how to respond to our music. I think they liked it, but the reaction was surprisingly calm. After that, we played in a small club in Germany, and it was a big hit. Then we came to Japan and the crowd was so excited, right? It was amazing that we were able to play in front of such a large audience, but when we played "I'm Not Okay," it was even more amazing.

----After that, you did a solo tour in Japan. What is the most memorable episode from your live shows in Japan so far?

"Well... they're all great... let me think about it... there's just so much fun to be had in Japan. The last time I played at Summer Sonic (in 2006) was memorable, the day I was on the outdoor stage in front of Linkin Park. It was a big victory to be able to play at Summer Sonic again, because it was my second time playing at a stadium. At the first Summer Sonic, I was battling drugs and alcohol. So it was impressive to come back and play on that big stage and do a show in front of thousands of people. I remember being able to show a great performance."

----When you visited Japan in January this year, you apparently went to see the film "Tekkonkinkreet."

Pic: Tetsuro Sato

PAGE 34:

I love Japanese. I love the sound of it. I think it's a beautiful language. And it's especially beautiful when people are angry. Japanese is at its best when they're angry (laughs). [top quote]

"It was amazing, but unfortunately it hasn't been released in the US yet. I think it will be a hot topic because the drawing style and the content are very different from what people think of when they think of anime. It was my first time going to a Japanese movie theater. You choose your seat and sit there. And everyone was quiet. I don't know if the movie was boring or if people in Japan watch movies quietly, but everyone stayed seated until the end credits, so it seemed like they liked the movie. But the only one who was laughing was my friend who went with me. It was kind of awkward. I didn't understand the language, so maybe I was laughing at scenes I shouldn't have laughed at? No, I think I laughed at scenes I should have laughed at, but everyone was quiet, so after laughing a few times, I decided to watch quietly (laughs)."

----(laughs) What other Japanese manga and anime do you like?

"I like all the works of Matsumoto Taiyo, the writer of ‘Tekkonkinkreet,’ and I respect Otomo Katsuhiro, who I think is a genius. I also like Tezuka Osamu, the godfather of this world, who wrote ‘Astro Boy.’ I also like ‘Lupin III’ and ‘Science Ninja Team Gatchaman.’ I'm always discovering new things from Japanese creators, and they often surprise me. I'm attracted to works that are innovative and try new things. I'm not interested in anime where giant robots fight other robots. It's just a melodrama with big robots in it."

----After graduating from art school, you worked as an animator for a while.

"I was working on a cartoon called "Sheep in the Big City" (a TV series that aired on the American cable TV channel Cartoon Network). It was completely different from Japanese animation, and the creator, Mo Willems (a popular animation artist known for his picture books such as "Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale" and "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!"), was influenced by 50s limited animation (animation that simplifies the character's movements) such as "Gerald McBoing-Boing".  But I was too young to watch the works of that era in real time, so I didn't really understand them when I was working (laughs)."

----By the way, what kind of comics did you draw?

"I drew [a] really crazy black and white comic. It was about two brothers who work as piano movers. They're said to be the best piano movers in the world, but they’re really not that good. I was inspired by American directors like Terry Gilliam (the director of "Brazil" and "12 Monkeys") and [the] Fritz Lang's film "Metropolis." I drew a dark and eccentric world. It was so outlandish that I got a ton of rejection letters from publishers (laughs). People seemed to have trouble figuring out how to sell it.”

----So from your perspective, what did you think of this work, which was painted with a uniquely Japanese touch?

"First of all, I'm attracted to the art. Look at Otomo's work. Just a single character standing in ruins creates a certain kind of image. That image is burned into your brain. That's why I'm so attracted to Otomo's work. He sometimes puts a twist on it and depicts an unrealistic world. That's what I like about him."

----You've loved comics and video games since you were a child, and that hasn't changed at all.

"Yes. I like video games because they are simply fun and a great way to kill time. I think online games on the Internet are fun because you can play them with your friends. When you're on tour like this, it's hard to meet up with your friends back home. Being able to play with them is one of the attractions.

The appeal of comics is... I love classic science fiction. I'm a big fan of the original Star Trek and The Twilight Zone. Planet of the Apes is good too. The appeal of comics is that anything is possible. You can express anything." 

----You also said in a 2004 interview with this magazine you also check out Japanese bands on YouTube. You mentioned Guitar Wolf, Cornelius, and Michelle Gun Elephant. What attracted you to them? 

"Their intensity. And the way they take music from a certain era and make it new with their own interpretation. Guitar Wolf is especially crazy! Their interpretation of rock and roll is amazing, and that's what makes them great. Their recklessness, that off-tune sound, that craziness! It's like they're playing a cheap tape recorder.”

PAGE 35:

There is an album with a sound that makes you think they just recorded it in a live recording session. But when you get down to it, it's not the sound or the songs, but their unconventionality that gets to the essence of rock and roll. I don't understand the lyrics, but the language difference doesn't matter. The energy of the vocals conveys everything. I love Japanese. I love the sound of it, I think it's a beautiful language, and it's especially beautiful when it's angry. Yes, Japanese is at its best when it's angry (laughs). That's why I love Guitar Wolf."

----I see. That makes sense (laughs). This is your fifth visit to Japan. What does Japan mean to you?

"Japan is a place that continues to inspire me. The more I come to Japan, the more I learn.

You get to know more places, and you get to meet new friends. The record company staff are my friends. The more people I know, the more I get to know Japanese people. I get inspired by them. I think the respect Japanese people have for each other is amazing. I like how they take pride in everything they do. And it's human. Even in things that seem impersonal, like computer manufacturing, you can feel the handcrafted attention to detail and craftsmanship. Japanese people value tradition and history. People from other countries are always thinking about the future and forget that the past is just as important as the present and the future.

----You've probably been to a lot of different spots, but have you been to Akihabara in Tokyo? 

"Hmm? What's it like there?"

----Home electronics have always been popular. There are lots of computers and electronic parts.

"Well, I guess I haven't been there yet. I heard there's a place in Tokyo that sells a lot of comics and manga? I'd really like to go there this time. I've mainly only been to Harajuku and Shibuya."

----That place is probably Akihabara. Personally, I also recommend Broadway in Nakano, but Akihabara is not only a comic book town, but it's also a crazy town where you can see adult women dressed as maids these days, so I definitely recommend you go there at least once!

"Oh, I've heard of it! I read it in a book. Also, a book called "Love Hotel" was recently published, so I'm thinking of reading it. It's a book about love hotels in Japan. Usually, foreigners can't enter those kinds of places.

Pic: Yuki Kuroyanagi

PAGE 36:

It's only recently that I've felt like I'm growing steadily. Before that, it felt like everything was moving so fast, and I wasn't able to cope as a person with that. Now that I'm moving forward at a steady pace, I'm adapting to the changes. [top quote]

Apparently, they were not allowed to take photos, but the author's female photographer was allowed to do so. The maid cafe also looks interesting. What place was it called again?

----Akihabara.

"There are comics there too?"

----Yes. Now, please tell us about this memorable Budokan live. Will it be with the same set and production as the US tour that was just recently?

"Yeah, we brought as much of the same set as possible. The Budokan has strict rules about pyro, but we're using the same equipment that Kiss used in Japan. So it's different from what we use in the US, but if Kiss gave us the OK, we thought we could accept it. In fact, we found that some of the things we use in the US set were unnecessary. For example, we didn't bring the ruins of a big building that we had at the back of the stage this time. It would take too long to send it to Japan. But the costumes and backdrops are all the same... and we'll use confetti, too. It's pretty much the same. But the most important thing is that the band is in top condition. We've been doing the set we're doing now for almost six months, and the composition of "The Black Parade" is perfect. That's the most important thing."

----The set list is divided into two parts, the first half is The album "The Black Parade" by The Black Parade, which can be said to be the alter ego of My Chemical Romance,and the second half is a return to My Chemical Romance and performance of other songs.

"That's right. I wanted to play all the songs on the new album. I wanted to do it in a big way. I didn't want to do it in pieces, so it just naturally came out like this. I also wanted to do something that would change from the beginning to the end of the show. So in the first half, we played a big performance with a big production, and in the second half, we stripped everything away and played our original selves. We wanted to show the core of the band. It was natural that it would be structured like this. The album is about an hour long, so it's not something that you normally hear. That's the length of a standard set. And then we do an encore in the remaining 30 minutes. But we don't like encores. We think it's arrogant to wait for the audience to applaud before going on stage, so after the first part, we go back[stage] and come out again at our own pace to show our support. [our appreciation (?)]"

----For some musicians, the stage is a place where they feel alive and can become their true selves, but what do live performances mean to you right now?

"It's a place where you feel alive. At the same time, it's a place where you can have a control that you don't have in your everyday life, and you can lose yourself. In other words, anything is possible. You can be very honest and let everything out. You can't experience that in your everyday life. From what I've seen of Japanese culture and what I've heard from Japanese kids, it's hard to express yourself with words in this country, so Japanese people express themselves through the clothes they wear. That's the case in America too, so for me, the stage is a place where I can say anything. Even if I'm opening for someone, once I'm on stage I can do anything. As long as I respect the band that's coming up after me, I can do anything."

----This summer you'll be touring with Linkin Park. How did this tour come about?

"They asked me to be their opening act. I was honored and really surprised because I'd never thought about it like that. They said, 'We're releasing a new album. We're going on tour soon, do you want to join us?' Of course I accepted."

----They're bands that have been active in a different scene than you, but there are some similarities between you and them, like the enthusiastic support of your fans and your commitment to art outside of music.

"That's right. The commonality between the two bands is that they have passionate fans who love music. Their new work is also very challenging. I think their fans are very smart because they can understand that. That means their fans could become our fans too. We like to tour with intelligent bands. That's why we toured the US with Muse recently. To really understand their music, you have to love it from the bottom of your heart. Of course, their songs are often played on the radio and are hits all over the world, but to really understand their music, you have to be sensitive. We like to tour with intelligent bands, and that's why we decided to tour with Linkin Park. I think they're very smart people.

----They have had successful arena tours in the US and the UK, and have conquered the Budokan in Japan.  How do you feel about the band's current state as it continues to grow?

"I feel great. It was only recently that I felt like we were growing steadily. Up until then, it felt like everything was moving at an incredible speed, and as people, I wasn't able to cope with that situation. But now we're moving forward at a steady pace, so I'm adapting to the changes."

----What direction do you want to take the band in the future?

"Well, I'm not sure if we want to get bigger. There are already people who enjoy our music. I'm happy to be welcomed by a larger audience, but we're not struggling to survive in this world. Actually, I miss playing small venues these days. At the same time, I want to play shows at legendary places, and I want to think about where I'll play in the future. Maybe it's one way to stop playing shows like we do now, and make the days we do play very special. I don't know if the band needs to get any bigger. I'm very happy with the situation. But I think we need to explore more creatively. ■

Pic: Tetsuro Sato

------

OP NOTE: this translation is ROUGH from google - i tried my best to make sense of some more of the questionable parts. please feel free to message me if i made any mistakes!

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

Reasons Why Diavolo is the Best Obey Me Babygirl:

He’s Diavolo. Just look at him. What other evidence do you need?

Seriously, though, please allow me to explain why I’ve been bouncing all over Tumblr declaring my love for this ridiculously adorable, charismatic, darling character.

I’ve seen a saying that goes ‘the loneliest people are the kindest, the saddest people smile the brightest, and the most damaged people are the wisest. All because they don’t want anyone to see the way they suffer’.

That, to me, describes Diavolo to a T. Every time he’s on-screen, he overflows with charm and sweetness, all the while masking everything brewing within. With the weight of not only one, or two, but three worlds on his shoulders, he fights to keep up a happy facade all the while battling against one hell of a storm.

There’s been flickers of his inner turmoil in the games, most notably Nightbringer. Which leaves an abundance of room to explore what must be going on deep within. Being burdened by an ever-growing list of responsibilities, tirelessly working towards an immeasurably heavy goal, having a strained relationship with his strict father-all of those are causing a storm of incomprehensible fire. Leaving us with plenty of room for fanfiction and headcanons. Yet Diavolo is always luminous with cheer and an insatiable appetite for fun.

Not only that, but Takuhei’s voice for him is perfect.

If you were to peel away enough layers, all of his sweetness, charm and warm energy would evaporate. Not just because he’s a demon, but because of all the burdens he carries. He’s one demon, one entity, carrying three worlds on two shoulders. He has to conduct himself in a certain way, every day and every night, in front of prying eyes. Because he’s to be the next ruler of the Devildom.

He can’t be anything less than regal, wise and dignified or else he’ll be scorned. On some level, he probably feels as though not even Barbatos understands what he’s going through. He goes through such great lengths to hide what he truly feels because no one would ever understand anyway. No one could ever possibly share his burden-nor would he want them to. Diavolo doesn’t even want to pass his burden onto Lucifer, whom he holds in the highest regard.

Whether he sees Lucifer as a boyfriend, husband, partner-in-crime, brother or best friend is entirely up to you. Have fun with your headcanons.

In addition to all of this, he looks either devastatingly sexy or unbelievably adorable in everything he wears.

[omegalomania]

no ok like. i know this is The YBC Blog and all but i really truly need to go off about how GENUINELY fucking fascinating the whole "young volcanoes" video is on a metatextual level. like the entirety of the youngblood chronicles says a WHOLE hell of a lot about the band in terms of the metaphors it's painting wrt the hiatus and reformation and the fact that they took this particular song (sonically incredibly airy and cheerful, lyrically desolate) and turned it into the dinner party from hell. this is a story where an external force chops up the lead singer and hollows him out and then serves his organs to the rest of the band. theyre made to consume him, literally, against their will!!! and thats not all!! they are vividly hallucinating at this point, because theyve been heavily drugged - again, against their will! - and they see this whole thing as a joyous affair. in their blitzed out brains, this is them reuniting after the harrowing experience of being kidnapped off the goddamn streets! and then they have this fucked up trippy GROUP HALLUCINATION where they are literally EATING PATRICKS ORGANS. and in the real world, none of them can see this happening - except patrick. patrick is not blindfolded. patrick can see them being forcefed his own viscera and he's too fucking high off his ass to do anything about it. in fact, in reality, he barely acknowledges his bandmates at all.

like just thinking about this from a metaphorical perspective. its fucking fascinating innit. the band literally cannibalizes patrick against their will, and he cannibalizes himself against his will, and they are all made to believe this is something that they want to have happen. they are misled and drugged into this. they eat him alive. they eat him ALIVE. and they are made to think they're having a great time doing it.

the band consumes itself for the seeming entertainment of the onlooking vixens. and they don't explore this through the avenue of pete, who the rest of the band regularly cites as the creative impetus behind the band, but through patrick, the voice. the mouthpiece. the one who sings the words. this is the third fucking video they released when the band came back from hiatus. and its this. it is the band being forced to consume the lead singer and primary composer from the inside, and him participating in this forced consumption.

it makes me grip my head and scream. we witness this horrifying incident so early and things only get worse and worse from there. for all that patrick kills joe and pete later in the narrative, they have patrick's blood on their lips first, staining their mouths, slicking their insides. and, like the case with patrick, who has been warped into something violent, they don't do this willingly; it is done to them. we see what true and genuine hatred of music and creativity has motivated the vixens to do. and in contrast we see, by the story's end, the thesis statement that the defenders of the faith love each other beyond any earthly horror that can be inflicted upon them. how unbelievably unfathomably fucking captivating for this to be present at the very start, this warped perversion of that kind of love. what else is friendship and brotherhood but this. what else is love at its most destructive and possessive than this. we are friends, we are brothers in arms, we are companions until the bitterest of all bitter ends. we have wrought immeasurable horrors upon each other. we have consumed each other. we have eaten each other alive. we all have each other's blood on our hands and in our mouths. if save rock and roll is the brightest and most elevated declaration of love imaginable, then young volcanoes is the darkest and most twisted. we don't want to be here. we're having the time of our lives. we're trapped. we're screaming. we missed you. we are better together. we are destroying each other. we love you. we love you to the most twisted and horrific and absolute endpoint imaginable. we love you. they won't let us stop loving you. we love you. they won't let us stop. we love you.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

My dearest Lumi,

Firstly, I want to congratulate you on your follower milestone. You exude talent and grace and I am beyond grateful that you’ve chosen to share your gift of writing with the world. You deserve every ounce of praise.

Secondly, I’d like to put in a request for said follower milestone. I would love if you’d write something for my favorite little lovable pot wash. His presence in Alford Plea makes me smile in abundance and he fills me with immeasurable joy. I have wracked my brain for like three days and just can’t come up with a solid premise so I’m leaving this one up to dealers choice.

You’re the best 💕

No solid premise?  No problem!  Here’s some softness for our little lovable pot wash 🤍🤍🤍

(Written for the follower milestone!)

He works in one of the best restaurants in the city, which is as fantastic as it is annoying, because it means that you hardly ever see Johnny at normal hours.  His shifts can start at half seven in the morning or two in the afternoon, and they’ve easily gone on for fourteen hours some days.  It’s not entirely unusual for you to be pulled out of deep sleep for a minute or two almost every other night—you’ll hear him try his best to be quiet sneak into your shared flat at and you’ll sleepily wonder if he’ll stick around the next morning long enough for you to make him some coffee or have breakfast together. 

And, of course, when he’s not working or sleeping, he’s studying. 

Your flatmate’s biggest and most well-kept secret is his university degree, one he’s determined to see through while he continues to work.  You wonder how he isn’t closer to burn-out, but you know him.  You’ve known him for a long time.  

He’s one of the hardest working people you know, the most cheerful, the life of the party, radiant and glowing, both inside and out, and you love him you love him you love him—

The front door clicks quietly shut and then—“Bonnie?”— and you smile.  

“In here,” you call out, and hop off the couch to grab him a beer.  He meets you halfway—when you close the fridge door, his goofy smile greets you—and oh.  The man makes your heart flutter, even after all this time.  Especially after all this time.  “Hi,” you whisper, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.  “Alright?”

“Better now,” he says, smiling.  In a few fluid moments, he’s taken the bottle of beer in his hands, used his teeth to open it like the complete savage that he is, lifted you up and set you on the counter.  “So much better now.”  The words are muffled on account of his face being buried in your neck, arms naturally going around you.

The actual time Johnny can spend with you feels like it comes in peaks and troughs, but never his affection—you’re always spoiled in that regard.  

You’ve never bothered labelling this thing you have with him because you don’t need to.  You share the lease of your flat, just as much as you share the good and the bad of your lives.  He’s your best friend, your flatmate, your confidant, your pillar of support, just as much as you’re his bonnie, his emergency contact, his mother’s favourite, his his his.    

“Mmpf—smell nice,” he murmurs (the words muffled against your skin make you shudder and you feel goosebumps along the length of your arms, but Johnny never notices).  Only when he pushes away from you do you get your first proper look at him.   

He looks tired, so so exhausted, but even then, nothing can hide the fact that he glows.  His eyes are melted lazulite under the dim kitchen lights, all the colours of the bright blue sea melted into one.  They hold you captive, and you almost miss his tired babbling.

“...knew it was gonna happen, but right now?  Been just months, wasnae expectin’ it, hen!”

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

You roll your eyes and try to get him to repeat himself.  “What weren’t you expecting, what happened?”

Your words make him roll his eyes mockingly, and he boops your nose lightly.  “You weren’t listenin,’ bonnie?  Simon.  The mad lad’s only gone and married his lass!”

“WHAT?”  Your brows kiss your hairline in shock, and you’re left gaping at him.  “Seriously?”

“Seriously!  Saw her rock on her finger today, massive thing!”  He shakes his head with a smile, and you know it’s in fondness for Simon and his new wife.  “Said Simon wasnae havin’ her hide it anymore.”

“God!  Married!  It’s so…grown up?”

“Suppose so, bonnie.  Nice, though.”  He pushes himself away from you and chugs  half the bottle of beer you’d given him.  “Debrief on the couch?” 

“Yes, please,” you groan and jump off the counter, massaging your buttocks.    

You follow him outside and he plops on to the couch, but there’s no sign of his usual routine of turning the telly on for some football.  You watch as he puts his beer on the coffee table (completely ignoring the coaster, of course) and leans his head back against the couch, looking deep in thought.  

Johnny looks beautiful in that angle, you think—broad shoulders leaning all the way back, his neck exposed and looking ripe for your mouth, your tongue on his skin.  You watch in a daze as he brings his hands up to rub his eyes with his palms, then stretches lightly and relaxes.  “Come sit wi’ me, bonnie,” he says, without opening his eyes, and you’re walking towards him without even registering the fact.  

He draws you in effortlessly, and each time, you fall into his orbit without even the pretence of resistance.     

“It…bothers you?  The fact that Simon’s married now, like a real adult?”  You busy yourself, looking anywhere but him, mindlessly moving his beer onto the coaster.   

“Naw, bonnie…no, it doesnae bother me.  I just…dunno, just bein’ a twat.”

“Maybe,” you say without preamble.  “You’re not…jealous?”

“Shit.  Maybe ah am,” he concedes.  “Dunno, it’s never bothered me like so before.”  He turns to you with a sceptical look in his eyes.  “Ye don’t want it?”

“Marriage?”

“Aye.  That and…to fall in love.”

Ah.  Your mind thumbs through the collection of moments you’ve felt over the years—moments where you’d been so sure that you’d crumble before him, beg him to feel about you the way you felt about him.  The memories flip in your consciousness painfully  until you have a measured response for him.  One that doesn’t give you away.  

“Doesn’t everyone?” you whisper.  

“Aye, of course.  But it’s different.  Girls are supposed to want it more?”  He says the words with a mischievous grin, and you have to scoff at the obvious attempt to rile you up. 

“That’s very feminist of you.”

“Just saying’ what ah’ve heard!”

“And yet, you’re the one bitching about it, John.”

“John?!  Ach, bonnie, you cannae call me that!” he says in mock-horror, hand reaching up to grasp at his chest.  And then he smiles at you again, sincere and full of light and so, so him, that you return in, almost involuntarily.  “Ah’m happy for him, of course.  He’s happy.  In love.  Happy.”

You laugh out loud before you can help it and take a second to notice his glare.  “Sorry, sorry!” you wheeze, sounding decidedly not sorry.  “You sounded like you wanted to fuck him there, for a second, I’m sorry!”

“Aye well, he’s handsome, no?  I’d go fo’ him!”

“...yeah.”  You sigh dreamily as you think about Johnny’s boss—tall and handsome, with arms the size of trucks—and the appeal is obvious.  You’ve met Simon several times over the years, and he’s only ever shown you respect and polite interest.  He’s not exactly your type, but even you can’t turn your nose up at a man that looks like Simon does.

“Okay, that’s enough daydreamin,’ brat!”  Johnny laughs, knocking into your shoulder with his own.  “Lustin’ after a married man.”  He shakes his head dramatically.  “Yer shameful.”

“Nah.  I’m happy for him too!  And…you needn’t be upset about this, Johnny—”

“I’m no’ upset at all—”

“I know.”  You put your hands up in surrender.  “You can be happy for your friend, and for Simon, and you can want it for yourself too.  Nothing wrong with that.”  You try to keep your voice calm, but understanding.  After all, you know all too well the feelings of both, coveting and being happy for your friend.    

 “Guess not.  N’ these things take time, do they not?  It’ll happen?”

“It’ll happen,” you confirm.  “Just need to find the right person and feel the right feelings for them.”    

“Gosh, this conversation’s makin’ me miserable!  Hate bein’ single, y’know?  S’not good for me.”  He leans against the backrest again, and turns his head just so he can look at you.  “We’re both single at the same time in a long time, bonnie.  Ye realised that yet?”

“Shit.  Yeah, you’re right!  Wow.  I hadn’t realised that!”   In fact, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it.             

“We oughta do somethin’ abou’ it?”

You hope to god your laugh only sounds nervous to your own ears, and that you don’t like a character in a Sunday morning cartoon with your shifty eyes that don’t dare stray in the direction of Johnny’s face.  “How about, tomorrow, I pick you up after your shift and buy you a drink?  We’ll even stop at that nasty chicken shop you like after.  So you can’t complain that I don’t do anything nice for you!”  

His eyes melt, and you along with them.  “Thank ye, bonnie.”

“Always.”

You can’t help but smile when his eyes radiate pure happiness at your words.  It takes so little to make Johnny happy and you want to spend a lifetime doing it.  So lost are you in the thought, that you don’t notice the twitch in the muscles of his forearm at the look on your face, how his fingers tremble as they cup your cheek.  When he kisses your forehead gratefully and leans away from you, you don’t hear his heart speed up or his shaky exhale, don’t feel his clammy palms.   

“And you’ve ne’er felt it, eh?  The right feelin’ for the right person?” he quotes you.

“No,” you lie.  I love you.  “You?”

“No,” he lies.  “But…maybe someday, eh?”

“Maybe someday,” you agree, easily.      

[bloomingdayswithyou]

Howdy! I would like to submit a request with a poly relationship with Mark and Johnny (NCT) along with a FtM reader (can be amab if you’re uncomfortable), just the typical fluff (idol au)

Shared Love

Pairing: Mark x Johnny x m!reader (poly) (could work with FtM too, just he/him pronouns)

Words: 493

Warnings: none! just pure fluff <3

In the cozy confines of their shared apartment, the soft glow of the setting sun cast ethereal hues across the room. NCT's Mark, Johnny, and their bandmate, m/n, were nestled together on the couch, their laughter mingling with the gentle hum of the television.

Mark leaned against Johnny, his body relaxed against his lover's shoulder. Johnny, on the other hand, had his arm protectively around Mark's shoulder. m/n was at the other side, his head resting on Johnny's chest. His fingers traced patterns on Mark's arm, his eyes closed as he listened to the calming rhythm of Johnny's heartbeat.

"I love you guys," Mark whispered softly, his voice like velvet against their skin. Johnny opened his eyes and gazed fondly at his two precious ones. "We love you too, baby," he replied, his voice husky with emotion.

M/n opened his eyes and smiled, his dimples deepening. "You make me the happiest person in the world," he said, his voice as sweet as honey. They fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own blissful reverie.

Mark felt an overwhelming sense of contentment wash over him. He had everything he could ever want: the love of his life, the companionship of his best friends, and the unwavering support of his fellow NCT members. He glanced up at Johnny and m/n, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun. "I'm so grateful to have you both in my life," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. Johnny nuzzled the top of Mark's head.

"You deserve all the love and happiness in the world," he said, his voice gruff with love. m/n leaned forward and kissed Mark gently on the forehead. "We're so lucky to have you," he murmured, his voice like a soothing lullaby. They spent the rest of the evening cuddled up together, watching movies and sharing secrets until drowsiness crept over them.

One by one, they drifted off to sleep, their hearts filled with an unbreakable bond and an immeasurable love that would forever intertwine their destinies. As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, m/n awoke to the sound of soft snoring beside him. He smiled as he watched Mark and Johnny sleeping peacefully, their bodies curled up together like two halves of a whole.

He knew that whatever challenges life threw their way, they would face them together, as a united front. Their love for each other was an unyielding force that would sustain them through the toughest of times and give them strength to overcome any obstacle. With a newfound sense of purpose, m/n slipped out of bed and went into the kitchen. He wanted to make breakfast for his two beloveds, to show them how much he appreciated their love and support. As he whipped up a fluffy pancake batter, he hummed a cheerful tune, his heart filled with an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude.

.

.

.

[dilf-din]

Let Down Your Guard, Lover (Open Your Door)

Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary day 16: neighbor, horse, desire

WC: 11.5k

Warnings: language, alcohol mention, pining idiots

A/N: here’s something to make up for the pain I dropped on Valentine’s Day! This one really got away from me. I hope you guys enjoy it!! I’ll try to have this cross posted on AO3 later tonight 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Day 1

Everything smelled like dust and sweat. A thick summer heat made the air feel as stagnant as it was stale. Even with the windows in the living room opened to the twilight sky, there was no wind to stir it around.

Jyn sank against a pile of boxes with two cold beers in her hands, offering one to Bodhi who gladly took it. Their foreheads were damp, long strands of dark hair plastered to each one.

“Well, we did it,” Bodhi said, still cheerful somehow.

All of Jyn’s cheer had bottomed out by their fifth trip up the narrow staircase and had yet to return.

“Thanks for all your help.”

“I’m just glad to have my best mate in my favorite city,” he smiled back, pressing the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink.

Jyn picked at the peeling wrapper with what was left of her nails. They had been chewed down to uneven nubs during the process of agonizing over checking and double checking every mental and physical list she had accumulated before packing up her small life and moving across an entire ocean. She and Bodhi had met years ago in a Uni exchange program. He had come to stay with her and her uncles for a term, and they became fast friends.

He checked his watch and sighed, “I’ve got an early morning. Think you’ll be alright?” he asked, pushing himself off the ground and offering her a hand.

She took it and hoisted herself up next to him.

“I’ll be fine. Just gonna shower and deal with this mess in the morning.”

He gave her a quick high five and let himself out the front door.

Jyn sighed and took a moment to really take in her space. Her first apartment.

The wooden floors had deep dings in them from decades of use, and nail holes had been sloppily plastered over leaving uneven textures on almost every sickly white wall. It was clinical and old, but it was hers.

Every room had wide windows that let immeasurable amounts of light in and looked down on the crowded streets. Her new bed had been delivered today, and she and Bodhi had even picked up a black velvet couch from someone on Facebook marketplace earlier that day. Jyn had a few pieces of furniture, a few pots and pans, a few mismatched plates, and a deep well of hope for the future.

Her stomach let out a low growl, and she decided to phone in a pizza from the place that had been eying them from across the street during their seemingly endless trips up to her flat. She also decided to fish out her bedsheets and some fresh clothes while she waited, shuffling through the towers of boxes and cursing herself for not labeling them more clearly.

Jyn showered in lukewarm water, washing away the sweat and grime that clung to her. The air here felt thicker than it did in London, like a second skin she had yet to get used to. She swiped a clear spot in the steamed up, segmented mirror and tried her best to detangle her hair before piling it on top of her head in a haphazard, still too wet bun. For clothes, she had fished out an old pair of cotton sweats and a navy shirt with her uni’s name across the chest in thick white lettering. It was a little short on her from a washing mishap her second year, but she was too fond of it to toss it just yet.

A soft knock hit her ears from the front room, the empty walls carrying it to where she stood in her bedroom.

“Coming!” she called out to who she assumed was the pizza guy as she hurried across the gritty floor and regretted not pulling on a pair of socks.

She pulled the door open and was face to face with a shy looking man with deep brown eyes. In his hands was her pizza box.

“Um, hi. I’m your neighbor. They delivered this to our place, but we didn’t order it,” he awkwardly held the box out for Jyn to take.

“Oh bollocks. I must’ve told them your number by mistake, sorry. I just moved in. You probably heard me fighting with the elevator this afternoon.”

He chuckled but didn’t respond, a small smile gracing his lips. He had hair almost the same color as his eyes dancing just beyond his ears and curling around the nape of his neck.

“Well thanks. I’m Jyn,” she smiled.

“Cassian.”

They shared a moment of unwavering eye contact, only breaking it when another tenant on the hall hurried out of their door, excusing themself as they squeezed behind the pair.

“Right, well. I’m gonna go eat this I guess.”

Cassian nodded, “Welcome home. It’s a pretty wacky neighborhood, but we try to take care of each other. We’re just next door if you need anything,” he gave another small smile and a half wave of his hand.

Jyn smiled and closed the door behind her, her attention almost immediately going back to the pizza as her stomach let out another noise like a sad cat.

In the hallway, Cassian became alarmingly aware of the pace of his heart and the sweat that was coating his palms. He wiped them quickly on his jeans and headed back into his apartment. Meshi was perched at the counter with his feet tucked under a stool. He didn’t look away from his computer screen as he heard his roommate re-enter their home.

“All good?”

“Yeah,” he smiled dreamily, sliding off his slippers and nudging them next to the shoe rack that sat by the entryway, “All good.”

Day 2

“Shit,” Jyn hissed looking at the half assembled coffee table and the snapped off piece of metal hanging from one of the screw holes. “Shit. Shit,” she leaned back on her legs and braced herself with her hands tapping the ground in thought.

Cassian had said to ask if she needed anything, and not that she was looking for an excuse to see him or anything, but she thought this definitely qualified. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

She brushed the dust off of the front of her jeans and slipped on a pair of sandals before exiting her door and approaching the one right next to it. Jyn smiled at the welcome mat they had placed in front of their entryway. A little faded, but a nice, warm touch nonetheless.

She knocked and stepped back to wait, suddenly feeling less bold.

The door opened quickly, but she was met with a man who wasn’t Cassian. He had much shorter hair and a bit of a confused look on his face.

“Hi, um, I’m Jyn. Your new neighbor?”

His eyebrows softened with a knowing look.

“Do you by chance have an allen wrench I could borrow? Mine cracked off in my bookcase,” she said pathetically holding up what remained of the handle.

The man chuckled and invited her in, “Sure, just one second.”

She crossed the threshold and stood in the doorway trying to take in as much as she could without looking too curious. Everything was more neat than you would expect for two men in their twenties. Not a book out of place, not a dish in the sink.

In the living space, the curtains were neatly drawn, and there were even some throw pillows on the sofa. The kitchen counter was spread with folders and pens next to an open laptop, and she guessed that Cassian’s roommate worked from home. And judging from his high and tight faded haircut, she reasoned he was ex military and at least part of the reason for the flat’s pristine condition.

The man had crossed over to the kitchen to rummage through a drawer.

“Cassian’s at work today. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“No need,” she said quickly, “Just needed to borrow this,” she hoped he wouldn’t notice the pink that was teasing at her cheeks.

“I’ll do ya one better. You can keep it”, he smiled, crossing the space once more to place the small tool her hand, “Name’s Melshi, by the way.”

“Melshi,” she repeated, “Well thank you, Melshi. I appreciate the kindness.”

He nodded and smiled as she let herself back out the door and into her own apartment.

Day 12

It was a while before Jyn and Cassian saw each other again. She started to wonder if he really existed, or if he was just a perfect figment of her imagination.

Imagination. She had to remind herself that she didn’t know anything about him, and that getting to know him as a friend was the best course of action. She had spent a lot of time her first two weeks wound up in daydreams about the boy next door with the dark hair, so she decided to make an excuse to see him.

The rotting bananas on her counter were begging to either be thrown in the bin or turned into a bread. So she went with the latter option and decided to add in some cinnamon and walnuts. Jyn had never been one for cooking. She learned enough to get by in Uni and resorted to ordering takeout whenever possible, but how hard could banana bread be?

She quickly prepared the batter and poured it into the two dingy loaf pans she had inherited from her mother. They were dull in color and covered in small dings on the inside and outside, but it was one of the few things Jyn had left of her, so she couldn’t bring herself to part with them even if they didn’t get used very often.

While the bread baked and filled her flat with the sweet smell of cinnamon, she put one of her dad’s old records on to play while she cleaned the mess in the kitchen. Humming to herself softly, she scrubbed each dirtied dish, wiped the counters, and even emptied the overflowing bin.

It was a Friday evening nearing dinner time, so Jyn decided to let the bread cool and bring it over first thing in the morning. She heard what she was pretty sure were two voices through the brick wall of her living room and hoped that Cassian would still be there in the morning.

Just as she was beginning to wonder about her dinner plans, her phone buzzed from the kitchen counter. It was Bodhi.

“Hello there!”

“Jyn! What are you doing for dinner?”

“Nothing yet, I just realized how late it was.”

“Want to order some Chinese? I’m at the video store up the road to try and snatch a copy of the new Conjuring.”

Jyn smiled, “I’ll phone it in.”

She ended the call and pulled the menu to the nearest Chinese spot off of the fridge where it hung with a faded snoopy magnet from her childhood.

Bodhi arrived about the same time as the food, quickly filling her in on all of the latest drama from the office. Jyn would be joining him in a data analysis role come Monday, but the way he had talked to her for years about his coworkers made her feel like she already knew everyone.

She listened to his stories complete with enthusiastic hand gestures and couldn’t help but laugh. Neither one of them noticed that they hadn’t paid a second of attention to the horrific goings-on of the movie on her small tv. The food in front of them was picked at until not much was left but some lo mein and a few egg rolls. The credits had long rolled when Bodhi checked the time, “Geez, almost eleven. Want me to help you clean up?”

Jyn shrugged him off, “Just got a few boxes to toss in the fridge. You’re good, Bo,” she smiled.

The clattering of plates stacking told her he had intended to help no matter the answer.

“What’s this?” he called from the kitchen.

She turned to see him gesturing at the two loaves of bread on the cooling rack.

“Oh, just some banana bread.”

“But you can’t cook.”

“Shut up!”

“Why two?”

“One’s for the neighbors.”

“For the guy?” Bodhi suddenly seemed very interested, “I thought you wanted him to like you, not die of food poisoning.”

“Shut up,” she repeated, crossing the space to defend herself. “It’s just banana bread. An idiot could make it.”

“Let’s hope that luck came through for you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Good night Bo,” she said pointing at the door with an annoyed but fond smile.

Day 13

Jyn paced back and forth in her entryway for several minutes trying to garner up the courage it would take to walk twenty feet to the right to knock on their door. It was half past nine, which felt like a reasonable enough hour to drop off a late morning treat on a Saturday. She took a deep breath and knocked, shifting back and forth on her heels, trying desperately to get all her nervous energy out before someone, hopefully Cassian opened the door.

After several seconds, there were no signs of life. She knocked once more and almost instantly regretted it when she heard a muffled voice call that they were coming.

The door opened to a very disheveled looking Cassian who must’ve rolled out of bed to answer her knock. His eyes were still heavy with sleep and his long hair was sticking up at angles that Jyn would’ve never thought possible. He was wearing faded blue plaid pajama pants and the softest grey tee shirt she had ever seen.

“Hi, so sorry. I um, I made some banana bread last night and thought you guys might like some,” she stammered suddenly feeling like crawling under their welcome mat and hiding.

She held the plate out awkwardly and turned to leave, but Cassian grabbed her wrist with a gentle hand.

“I love banana bread”, he said with a sincere smile, “Come in for a cup of coffee?”

“But I already woke you,” she said regretfully.

“I needed to wake up anyway,” he shrugged it off, inviting her in with a sweeping motion of his arm.

“We stayed up too late playing a game last night,” he admitted a little shyly, a chuckle spilling out of his upturned lips.

Jyn took in the state of their living area. The previously tidy space had been overtaken with a game board, dozens of cards and small tokens, a stack of empty pizza boxes, and some notebooks with scribbles in them tossed in the floor.

She smiled at the thought of them staying in on a Friday night to a rousing game of, whatever that was, as opposed to going out for drinks or dates. She had also noticed during her other brief visit that none of their pictures seemed to show a long term girlfriend (or boyfriend), and she counted that as another quiet victory.

Cassian had made his way into the kitchen, bare feet softly padding against the tiles. He moved quietly and surely, pulling out a bag of freshly ground beans from a local spot and filling a long necked kettle with water. The click of the gas igniting was the only noise in the room as he placed the kettle on the stove before turning to face Jyn once more. It was a comfortable silence, and she started to wonder why she had been so in her head about seeing him again. She pulled out a stool to sit at the counter opposite him and was the first to speak again.

“So, wild night?” she teased, leaning an elbow on the counter and cupping her chin.

He smiled shyly and looked down at the floor before meeting her gaze again, “Same thing we’ve done every weekend since college. Neither of us have ever been big party guys.”

“I was a wreck in uni,” she said wrinkling her nose.

“Were you now?”

“Well you know, lower drinking age and all that.”

“Sounds like you could give me a run for my money,” he laughed.

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of,” she raised an eyebrow and flashed a smile to match his.

“How did you end up here?” he turned to continue preparing the coffee, wetting a filter and placing it in the top of pristine chemex.

Jyn puffed out a breath of air while her mind spun, trying to summarize the last few months of her life.

“I was just ready to get out of London, so a friend put in a word for me at their office. And before I knew it I was on a plane and shopping for hand towels and lugging a heavy arse couch up a way too narrow stairwell,” she paused, “It all happened rather quickly. I’m still getting used to the time difference. I’m not usually an early riser.”

“A party girl like you?” he asked in mock surprise.

Jyn laughed, bright and clear showing all of her teeth, and Cassian’s heart skipped two beats. This conversation was quickly becoming a game to him of seeing if he could get her to laugh like that again.

“Well we can��t all be Monopoly jockeys,” she quipped.

“Hey now, Rivals for Catan is much more sophisticated than Monopoly, but I could easily beat you at Monopoly as well,” he countered.

They went back and forth, gliding through conversation topics like seasoned dance partners. Picking up where the other left off, following each other’s feet without ever breaking eye contact. It felt effortless, like how talking to someone you’ve known your whole life would. The kind of friend you stayed up whispering secrets under the covers in a twin bed with, laughing till you felt it in your ribs.

Jyn was mesmerized watching him work with his hands while he talked, carefully portioning out coffee grounds, adding bit by bit of water and taking the time to inhale as it bloomed and filled the kitchen with a warm, rich scent. Cassian seemed like a person who was full to the brim with passion for everything he touched. Jyn could tell he liked to put his whole heart into things. He didn’t seem fast paced and half assed like so many people she had met. Even the way he listened was completely engaged as they swapped stories of professors and classes and horrible group projects.

Cassian picked two mugs from the cabinet to the left of the stove and placed them on the counter in front of Jyn. One looked like a tourist mug from the Statue of Liberty, and the other was shaped like Darth Vader’s helmet. Jyn smiled at the little pieces of his life she was getting a glimpse of, and reached out eager hands for the Statue of Liberty one while he poured a golden brown stream into it, not nearly as warm as his eyes were when they caught a shot of the sun.

Cassian leaned against the counter and took a thoughtful sip from the remaining mug.

“Colombian,” he smiled, “One of my favorites.”

“Would it be a crime to ask for a spot of cream?” Jyn asked hiding her nose behind her mug.

“Ugh, you’re one of those people,” he feigned a chest pain, clutching at his shirt with his free hand.

“What, a normal person?” Melshi’s voice called groggily as he exited his room and joined the pair at the counter. His accent was extra thick in the morning, the sounds of his vowels were particularly drawn out.

He crossed to the fridge and pulled out a white and blue canister and offered it to Jyn, “Almond milk okay?”

“Yes, please,” she smiled gratefully, popping the top open with her thumbnail and dumping in a generous amount.

“Cass is a coffee snob. Don’t let it get to you,” Melshi smiled.

“Jyn brought banana bread,” Cassian gestured to the plastic wrapped plate on the edge of the counter.

“You can stay,” he said eagerly reaching for a stack of plates and forks.

“Oh no, I’m good. I have a whole loaf in my flat waiting for me,” she said declining the offer for a slice while the boys carved into it.

As they were taking their first bites, the watch on Jyn’s arm buzzed a tinny tune.

“Shoot, I’ve got to go give Lady her walk. Thank you for the coffee,” she drained the last of her cup and walked by them to set it in the sink.

“See you around. You’ll have to come over for game night one of these weeks,” Cassian called as she let herself to the door.

“I’d like that,” she smiled, giving a small wave before disappearing back into the hall.

Melshi waited until the lock clicked and spit a mouthful of bread directly into the trash can.

“Oh my god, what did she do to that?”

“It’s not that bad,” Cassian said completely unconvincingly.

Melshi wiped his mouth with a paper towel and scraped the rest of his slice into the trash, “Oh you’ve got it bad.”

“Whatever man,” he looked down at the plate of bread that was somehow impossibly wet and dry at the same time.

Melshi grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it as he laughed on his way to the bathroom.

Day 14

Sunday came with steady drizzles and low thunder. Not enough rain to flood the busy roads, but enough to make sure the bottoms of your pants were always wet. Puddles of grey water filled each crack and uneven spot in the pavement, rolling off of Jyn’s rubber boots, but sticking to Lady’s white fur.

Jyn didn’t mind the dreary weather. Lord knows London was rainy enough for a lifetime. She liked to imagine she was in a film scene, that she would stumble into the love of her life in a downpour. Maybe they would share an umbrella or squeeze in together at a bus stop. Maybe she would drop something and they would bump heads leaning down to pick it up. The cold air coming on definitely brought out the side of her that longed to cuddle up by the fire with someone.

She was still learning the area and definitely took a wrong turn or two on the way back to their building, but Lady didn’t mind the extra steps, though she was sure to take a long nap as a reward after the pair dried off.

Jyn decided to stop and check the mail room before heading up to her floor. She was expecting a package from her uncles of some tea and goodies. The key stuck multiple times in the stripped lock, and the hinges creaked loudly telling stories of years of use. With a smile on her face she plucked the brown box out and looked at her uncle Chirrut’s scrawling font addressing the package to her.

“Jyn?”

The call of her name pulled her attention to the door, and she quickly shut the small locker.

Cassian stood behind her with some bags in hand and his hood up. Specks of rain dotted his shoulders and the tip of his nose.

Lady gave a low growl and Jyn shushed her.

“I thought you had a dog not a horse,” he said with a small laugh, trying to mask his nervousness.

“She’s a Great Dane,” Jyn said with a toothy grin.

Lady came up to Jyn’s ribs. She had stark white fur with smoky grey markings and drooping red eyes, and she was sporting a yellow raincoat that covered part of her front legs and secured around her middle. Cassian had never seen an animal so huge.

“She’s very friendly,” Jyn assured.

Lady’s demeanor softened as she noticed Jyn talking to the stranger as if he was a friend. She pushed her big wet nose and towards Cassian’s hand to get a better whiff of his scent, but he retracted it quickly.

“She’s pretty,” he stammered, “Well I won’t keep you,” he nodded and backed out of the room.

“Wait, we’ll go up with you,” she followed him to the elevators.

He shifted the bags in his hand to call an elevator down and they stood in wait. Jyn almost thought she saw his hand shake as he reached out to push the button, but she wrote it off.

“Feels like home when the weather’s like this,” she remarked and he nodded.

“You just missed the snowy season. It should be pretty mild the rest of the year.”

The elevator gave a deep, faintly buzzing beep as the set of doors to the right opened up to let them in.

There was barely enough room for the three of them. Cassian swallowed hard as Lady stood between them, his skin pricking beneath his jeans from where he felt her fur brush up against them.

Jyn made a few more remarks about the weather and their walk that he barely registered as he prayed for the climb to go faster. When the doors finally opened, he rushed off, apologizing over his shoulder for leaving so quickly.

Jyn wondered if he was okay, watching as he dropped his key ring clumsily and fumbled with his door handle.

“I didn’t say anything weird, did I?” she asked out loud, mostly to herself. Lady cocked her head and followed her to their doorstep.

Day 26

Cassian had stopped by a few nights prior to invite Jyn to game night. She had offered to bake some cookies, to which he quickly declined and assured her that they would provide all the food.

She had been buzzing about it to Bodhi for days, and now that the evening was here, she was curled up with a flu. Her skin was a sickly shade of grey, and sweat coated her entire body while she simultaneously shook from chills. She had extra blankets piled on, but just a sports bra and sleep shorts on beneath the cocoon to try and even out her temperature.

A glass of tepid water sat untouched on the table beside her, the only thing she had had the strength to get on one of her trips to the restroom. She laid defeated, her mind in a thick fog and her body heavy with fatigue.

Bodhi had left work early yesterday for a long weekend upstate with his boyfriend, so she was left to her own devices. Hopefully it was something she could sleep off in 48 hours and crawl back into work on Monday, good as new.

She had spent the entire day in a fever dream trance, slipping in and out of consciousness, reliving some of her worst moments on repeat. She saw her parents, and longed for the cool touch of her mother’s hand on the burning skin of her cheeks and forehead, dreamed of the way her father had fed her soup when she was younger and unable to hold the spoon on her own. The ache of her heart rang loudest of all as her body groaned beneath the weight of whatever virus had laid claim to her cells.

——

Cassian checked the clock obsessively, wondering what might’ve held Jyn up. It was nearing eight o’clock, and he wondered if maybe she got stuck at work, or if something worse had happened.

“It’s all right, mate. I’m sure she’s got a good reason,” Meshi said softly, feeling too bad for his friend to even tease him.

They ended up watching Back to the Future and working their way through two large pizzas instead of introducing Jyn to the world of Catan, but in the back of his mind, Cassian couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Day 27

Cassian woke early on Saturday morning to a noise he couldn’t quite identify. It sounded like scratching at the front door, thick nails against wood over and over. In a sleepy haze, he tried to decipher what it could be, when he heard a high pitched whine.

“Is that a dog?” he asked out loud, as he kicked off his covers and exited his room to find an equally tired looking Melshi heading towards the front door.

The pair opened the door to find none other than Lady, Jyn’s Great Dane standing at their door looking particularly distressed.

“Lady? Is everything okay?” Cassian asked cautiously, stepping out into the hallway, only for the large dog to bound back towards the open door of Jyn’s flat and whine anxiously.

Seeing the door wide open made his stomach drop, and he rushed after the dog with Melshi close behind him. There were claw marks on the door frame and next to the knob. It must’ve taken her a while to get it open. All the lights were off and everything seemed tidy at first glance. He quickly ruled out a break in, and tried to figure out what was wrong.

Lady led them into the kitchen and nosed at her empty food and water bowls before stopping in the hall and huffing in the direction of the bedroom. Cassian walked past her and peered in the doorway to see what he thought was Jyn, wrapped in blankets and shivering violently. He checked the thermostat outside her door to see it was set way too low for this time of year and switched the heat on.

“Jyn?” he asked quietly.

“Hello?” she called back fearfully through chattering teeth.

“It’s me. Cassian,” he entered slowly and knelt by her bed.

Her eyes were glassy and skin damp with sweat, with hair mussed and matted on her forehead.

“Lady came to get us,” he explained softly, “How long have you been sick?”

“Yesterday morning,” she mumbled, drawing the blankets around her small frame, trembling.

Melshi poked his head through the door, “I’m gonna take the lass out to wee. Looks like she held it as long as she could, just cleaned up a spot in the kitchen.”

“Can you pick up some medicine? And soup?” Cassian asked quickly, “My wallet is on the counter.”

“Sure thing,” he nodded and retreated down the hall.

“I’ll be right back,” Cassian said, laying his hand on top of hers for just a second.

The space was already heating up. He checked the vents to make sure warm air was pouring out, pleased that her unit was still functional as sometimes theirs was spotty in the winter. In the kitchen, he filled a kettle and set it out, hoping Melshi would think to get some tea, then grabbed a rag and wet it, and poured a new glass of water.

Cassian crouched back by her bed and wiped at her forehead with the rag. He carefully cleaned her face, washing it of the dried on sweat, and smoothed her bangs back. She looked at him with thankful eyes, as green as ever, but missing the fire he noticed the first time they met.

“Can you drink some water for me?” he asked softly and she shook her head.

“C’mon, we can’t have you getting dehydrated.”

“Stomach hurts,” she muttered.

“Just a bit,” he pleaded, reaching his hand out to rest between her shoulders and prop her up enough to take a few sips of the glass he was holding out.

When she was done, she hit the pillow hard and another round of chills ran down her spine from the temperature of the water.

Cassian leaned back on his heels and pulled his hoodie off in one motion.

“Here,” he said offering it to her, not wanting to dig through her closet or intrude any more than he had to, knowing it would help to warm her up.

She reluctantly unwound herself from the blankets and pulled the hoodie over her head.

“Do you have another set of sheets?” he asked.

“Closet,” she pointed to the door in the hall.

He grabbed a fresh set of navy blue sheets and an extra quilt and exchanged them for the old ones he had found her in. Even with the hoodie that was still warm and smelled quite a bit like him, her body continued to shake.

“Hold me?” she asked in an impossibly small voice.

Cassian swallowed hard, “Of course, yeah.” He walked to the other side of her bed and scooted the quilt a little closer to her, not crawling beneath it though he desperately wanted to. The mattress sank beneath his added weight and the metal frame creaked as he adjusted his limbs and rolled onto his side, tucking himself around her. He pulled the lump of blankets against his chest and tentatively draped his arm around her waist. She pressed back into him, desperate to share the warmth of his body. The back of her head tucked under his chin, the hood was still pulled up cocooning her. He nuzzled his nose into the it slightly as he closed his eyes and willed her to stop shaking.

It wasn’t until this moment that he allowed himself to exhale. Being woken up by a horse sized dog and walking up to her door wide open had sent his heart into a panic that he had shoved down, not wanting to lose his cool and compromise whatever situation it was that she was in. He had felt a twinge in his gut since last night, like he knew she needed him.

“I got you,” he whispered against the hood on her head.

Jyn’s breathing steadied, and exhaustion overcame her. Within two minutes, she was open mouth snoring, just a small growl coming from the back of her throat as she slept in his arms.

Cassian thanked whatever god might be listening that she was safe in his arms right now. He didn’t know much about her at all, and definitely wasn’t familiar with her sleeping habits, so he did his best to stay as still as possible. Just deep breaths and a heartbeat against her back, no matter how badly he wanted to trace her arms, wipe her bangs from her forehead, press a kiss to her shoulders. From the clock on her night table, he could tell about an hour had passed since they first arrived when he heard Melshi and Lady come back through the front door.

He heard the clack of Lady’s nails on the wood floor and the clink of her leash hitting the kitchen counter when Melshi laid it down. Then, he heard kibble filling her bowl and the rush of water from the tap. There was a rustling of bags as well as he heard Melshi sorting through everything. Then the floor creaking slightly as his friend made his way down the hall.

He peeked into the room, face softening when he saw the sleeping girl in Cassian’s arms.

“Food?” he mouthed.

“Not yet,” Cassian mouthed back.

Melshi gave him a thumbs up and let himself back into the rest of the apartment. He decided to watch some tv with Lady until Jyn woke up, then they would both probably head back to their own flat for the day.

Cassian felt his body relaxing against hers. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock. Lady had woken them up almost two hours ago which was early on a weekend for him. His eyes grew heavier from their shared warmth and proximity, and he allowed himself the reverie of imagining this would one day be how they always woke up. Early Saturday sunlight, hazy feeling of love.

——

When he felt Jyn stirring in his arms, he peeked at the clock to see it nearing ten. Jyn rotated to where she was now facing him. Lips parted, breathing softly against his cheek. He felt his own breath hitch at the sight of her. Even sick, she was breathtaking. He drank in this moment greedily, knowing any minute now, she would wake, and he would be apart from her again. Now that he had known proximity, distance would never do. He craved the nearness of her orbit, to know the touch of her mouth against his. He suddenly felt like he needed to take a cold shower and jumped from his spot next to her, exiting the room as quietly as he could.

He closed the bathroom door behind himself and splashed cold water on his face. His cheeks were flushed with desire, and he hated himself for not being able to swallow it down. She was sick, that was all. He wouldn’t be in this situation if she wasn’t vulnerable, if she wasn’t in need.

Cassian gripped the sides of the sink tightly, doing his best to steady his breathing and rein in his thoughts. This wasn’t the time or place to be having these feelings. He switched back into caretaker mode and headed into the kitchen to see what Melshi had brought back from his outing.

“Matzo ball soup in the fridge, NyQuil on the counter, oh, and I got some Gatorade,” he called from the couch where lady was sprawled with her head in his lap.

“Perfect, thank you,” Cassian responded, opening her cabinets in search of a pot to reheat the soup in.

“Enjoy your nap, lover boy?” Melshi asked with a small quirk of a smile.

“Shut up,” Cassian, turned to face the stove, hoping to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“What? You look good together is all I’m saying.”

Cassian ignored his comment, dumping the soup from the plastic container it came in into a small saucepan and finally putting on the kettle he had filled earlier.

“Is she up?”

“No, but I think she will be soon. I heard her stomach growling. I’m not sure when the last time she ate was.”

“We’ll get her set up and head on back. I can stop by and let Lady girl out again later.”

“I’ll probably stay a while if she wants,” Cass called back, crossing his arms over his middle and leaning back against the counter while he waited for everything to heat up.

Melshi decided not to comment, and instead just smiled at the large dog in his lap, turning his attention back to the local news that was droning in the background.

——

Jyn woke to a pounding headache. The sun streaming in through her drapeless windows stung her eyes as she tried to piece together the last 24 hours with blurry vision. She buried her face in the hoodie and breathed deep. Everything came trickling in like a gentle stream. Cassian. The sound of his voice. The softness of his eyes. The feel of his arms around her. She felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the sickness, but maybe it was him.

She struggled to a sitting position and ran her hands through her hair. A warm shower later would help her to feel almost human, but she didn’t have the strength for that just yet. She pulled a pair of leggings off the pile in her chair and labored to pull them over her bare legs before padding down the hall, leaning against the wall for support.

Lady scrambled across the living room when she heard Jyn groan softly, drawing Cassian’s attention to the edge of the kitchen.

“Hi girl,” Jyn said with a small voice, a weak hand reaching to stroke Lady’s face while she wagged gently and pressed her nose into Jyn’s stomach.

Cassian felt like he had the wind knocked out of him seeing her standing there in his hoodie dwarfing her frame. The sleeves fell way past her hands, and the hem hung below her hips where it rested smugly above his. She looked like she was about to keel over, and he ducked under her arm just in time to give her more support.

“You shouldn’t be up walking around,” he chastised.

“I’m hungry,” she grumbled softly. All of her weight rested against his chest as she leaned her head in and closed her eyes.

He scooped her up with ease and carried her across the rest of the flat to the couch. Melshi was rearranging the cushions and holding up a blanket to drape over her while Cassian nestled her into the warm spot that his friend had been sitting in.

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile.

Jyn hated needing people. She loathed feeling helpless or inept, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t thankful to have someone there with her when the prior night she had been quite certain she was dying.

The boys scooted the table closer to the sofa and set her up with everything she could need. There was a steaming bowl of soup, two DayQuil tablets next to a glass of water, a bottle of juice Melshi had picked up from the deli, and a sleeve of crackers.

After about half a bowl of soup, she started to perk up a little bit, her body thankful to have energy again. She then placed the two orange pills on her tongue and swallowed them down with greedy gulps of juice. The pallor of her skin started to fade back into her normal coloring.

“Wait, so how did you get in?” she asked again, her brow furrowed tightly as she listened to the pair recount the story from that morning.

“My dog came to get you?” she asked skeptically.

“Swear on my life,” Melshi laughed.

“I felt so bad that I couldn’t take her out. I didn’t know who to call,” she lamented, reaching out to pet Lady’s head which was perched on the edge of the couch keeping a watchful eye on Jyn.

“She and I are great friends now,” Melshi smiled cheekily, “I don’t mind helping out with her while you’re on the mend.”

“Thank you,” Jyn smiled, suddenly feeling the weight of sleep overcome her again.

“I think I’m going to take another nap.”

“We’ll get out of your hair then,” Melshi announced, clearing the dishes from in front of her and carrying them to the kitchen.

Cassian didn’t feel right leaving just yet, and decided to listen to his gut like he should’ve last night.

“I’ll stay a little while longer if you don’t mind,” he said with a small smile.

Jyn gave him a dopey smile of her own as she sunk back into the pillow nest they had made for her, “I’d like that.”

Cassian rose to meet Melshi at the door, “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah yeah, Romeo,” Melshi muttered with a wink.

Cassian rolled his eyes and locked the door behind Melshi.

“Do you want me to help you to bed?” he asked, taking a seat next to her and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand to check for a fever. She leaned into the touch and closed her eyes, lamenting that she wouldn’t be sick forever and soon this attention would end.

“Just stay close,” she asked quietly, nestling her pillow against his thigh and pulling the blanket up to her neck. Her body buzzed with warmth from the combination of food, medication, and affection.

Cassian reached a tentative hand down and smoothed it through her hair. The side of her cheek turned up in a smile, and he took it as permission to keep going. His fingers ran along her scalp, separating out tangled strands of hair and brushing through them. Just as quickly as she had fallen asleep this morning, she was softly snoring again, relishing in the gentle touches he was offering her. She wanted to reach out with greedy hands and take every bit she could. She felt like a kid seeing a piñata burst for the first time, taking every bit for herself. But the rational part of her reminded her to pace herself, reminded her there was time. Time to know him. Time to be known.

She dozed in and out for a few hours, just content for her body and mind to be at rest. Cassian stayed beside her like a sentinel, strong arm resting down around her shoulder and cupping her elbow. His thumb absentmindedly rubbed circles over the sharp bone.

At one point she head the low timbre of his voice speaking softly to Lady. She kept her eyes closed, but listened closely to his words.

“You were a very brave girl this morning, you know that? Taking care of your mom like that. Smart girl,” he praised gently.

Though he had previously been apprehensive of her, she quickly proved that his old fears were not a good metric to judge people, or animals, by.

He looked fondly at the sleeping girl next to him and started to open himself up to the possibility of future days spent in each other’s company. Maybe he wouldn’t always wake at night clutching his chest, aching desperately for the things he lost. Maybe he wouldn’t always be waiting for the other shoe drop, because maybe, this time, there was no other shoe.

Day 37

That weekend came and went and so did a whole other week before Jyn really started feeling like herself. It took a while for her appetite to come back and for the fatigue to really let go of its grip on her.

Just the simple act of riding the train to and from work in the mornings and evenings depleted all of her extra energy. Her flat was in desperate need of a cleaning, and all of her messages were going unanswered. It wasn’t until she was finally folding a pile of laundry that had grown nearly as tall as her that she fully caught Bodhi up on the weekend he had been away.

Her phone sat on the edge of her bed, his incredulous voice coming through the speaker.

“He gave you his hoodie? He stayed to watch while you slept? He walked your giant dog that he definitely does not like? Babes, he likes you.”

“He does not. He was just being a good friend,” she scoffed as she turned the arms of his hoodie the right way and laid it across her lap. She hadn’t wanted to wash it and lose what was left of his scent, but she knew she couldn’t keep it covered in her germs forever. The last thing she wanted was to get one of them sick again. Her arms almost moved to pull it on over her old tee shirt, but she stopped herself. It was best to give it back to him, to not get caught up in a runway fantasy where he was her boyfriend come to save her.

She didn’t need saving, but she did need looking after sometimes, and she would be lying to herself is she said she didn’t wish he was the one to look after her.

——

“C’mon Jyn, you stupid girl,” Jyn chastised herself in the mirror. She had been laboring over a text to Cassian for two hours. Two. Hours. Staring at a phone screen and fretting about wording and whether or not to use emojis.

“It’s just a text message,” she reminded herself as her thumb hovered over the send key before pressing it with a sharp inhale.

Hey Cassian, I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner tomorrow just to say thanks for everything. 7 o’clock at Barbuto. Let me know.

He replied almost immediately, causing her to fumble with her phone when she saw the bubbles indicating he was typing.

Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be there :)

“Fuck yeah,” she whispered to herself, doing a little dance in her bathroom, unknowing that he was on the other side of the wall pumping his fist in the air.

Day 38

There was never a stage of her life where Jyn enjoyed dressing up. Not for her father’s achievement dinners when she was a child, not in uni for formals, and not now, getting ready for a semi kind of date with the boy who took her breath away. She just felt more herself dressed down in a casual setting. Fancy restaurants were too high stakes for someone who swore as much as she did. But still, she pulled on her one nice dress and a pair of boots with a small heel. She fluffed out her bangs to make sure they were even, and even attempted a basic smoky eye. Her old roommate taught her the beauty of smudging everything and making it look intentional rather than messy.

When she was in her taxi on the way to the restaurant, she began to wonder whether or not they just should’ve rode together. That would’ve made sense, but what if it was awkward? Suddenly, a barrage of doubts started ringing in her ears while she glanced at the time nervously. She woas somehow early and would therefore have plenty of time to rethink every decision she had ever made while she waited for Cassian.

She ordered a gin and tonic at the bar while she waited for her table to be ready, hoping a small buzz would calm her nerves. One drink turned into two and then three as she waited and waited with no word from Cassian.

The waiter approached with a sympathetic smile, “Would you like to order anything, miss?”

“No, sorry. You can pass it on to someone else who actually cares enough to show up,” she said with an air of bitterness, fishing in her wallet for a pile of cash and leaving it on the table. She tipped back her glass and finished the last of her drink, ice clinking loudly as she set it back down unceremoniously.

Jyn staggered out of the restaurant, half hatred, half alcohol, completely embarrassed. She felt like a fool for thinking the story could end any way but this.

When she entered her flat again for the evening, she beelined straight for her bedroom to scrawl a message on a pink sticky note. With a slap, she stuck it to the front of Cassian’s hoodie, and marched it to their doorstep, leaving it for him to find whenever he made it back from whatever was clearly better than spending an evening with her.

Back inside for good this time, she peeled her boots off by the door and almost broke the zipper on her dress from yanking it down her side so hard. She wet a rag and tried to scrub the makeup from her eyes, ending up looking like an even more pathetic drunk girl with every swipe. With eyeliner still smudged beneath her tearful eyes, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old tee shirt, and resigned herself to the couch. She checked her phone one last time to see still no text from Cassian, and threw it on the table, finally breaking down. The tears spilled eagerly down her face, big and wet like a sad cartoon character and she felt even more ridiculous and embarrassed for getting worked up over a boy. She cried herself raw while Lady looked at her with a concerned gaze.

“I should’ve known I was making it up, Lady. I should’ve known better than to let my guard down,” she lamented, a weary hand rubbing across her forehead.

Between the crying and the alcohol, her head began to throb, and she resigned herself to polishing off the pint of chocolate chip ice cream she had been saving for as a midnight snack in lieu of the lasagna she had spent all day thinking about. She turned on some movie she had seen a dozen times before and tried to ignore the creeping anxiety she felt when she thought about the awkward encounter that she would have when she inevitably had to face Cassian again.

Around eleven, she heard footsteps in the hallway, first to their door, then rushing back to hers.

A tentative knock.

“Jyn?” his voice was muffled by the door.

She bit her tongue, not wanting to make any noise to signal that she might be awake.

“Jyn, if you’re there, I am so sorry. I have a reason for not showing up tonight, and I’m sure you’ll never believe me, but I really hope you’ll give me another chance.”

A fresh wave of tears started falling without warning as she clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle the small sob that squeaked out.

Cassian pressed his hand against the door, hoping that he could make it up to her some day. He walked back to their apartment with heavy shoulders and leaned down to scoop his hoodie up off the door mat where it he had found it sitting with a note that simply said, “thanks for everything,” and then he broke too.

Day 49

Jyn had not seen or spoken to Cassian since that night. He never texted, never called. By now, she had a good feeling of his schedule, and made a point to only take Lady out when she knew he was at work or not around. Sometimes she would watch the sidewalk from her window until she was sure she saw a glimpse of him exiting, wait five minutes, and then leave herself.

She was utterly humiliated and numb from the whole ordeal, deciding it was best to continue on as if they were strangers, which they practically were. Strangers that had shared coffee and childhood stories. Strangers that slept in the same bed that one time. Strangers that felt like they were touching a live wire every time they made eye contact.

Bodhi had no explanation for what could have happened, but he kept urging her to give him another chance.

“Please at least give him the chance to explain himself,” he pleaded as they split an Italian sandwich in the break room.

Jyn gave him a dead panned look that said “are you fucking kidding me” as she peeled the pepperoncinis off her half.

“Why didn’t he text me, Bodhi?”

“I don’t know! But I trust this guy. I know he isn’t an asshole like the rest of them.”

“He certainly isn’t going above and beyond to make me think that,” she grumbled.

“He wouldn’t have done all those things if he was an asshole. That’s a lot of effort to go through if you’re just trying to get in someone’s pants.”

“Gross.”

“But true,” he raised his eyebrow and bit into his sandwich.

“I don’t know, maybe. I just don’t even think I can look him in the eye.”

“Couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Shut up,” she snorted.

——

Jyn trudged through the door that evening in defeat. Her week had been hell. Just today on her way home, a car splashed stagnant water on her just before she reached her apartment building, she had snagged her skirt on something and torn it all the way up the side, and her favorite dim sum place had been closed for a family emergency.

Her sour mood was inevitable, and she didn’t even feel like faking happy at this point. Her legs were sticky from sweat and the puddle she got bathed in. She hoped her shoes weren’t ruined as they squished beneath her with each step. She carefully peeled off her wet clothes and kicked them into a pile in the corner to deal with later. A hot shower would solve at least a dozen of her current problems. She struggled with the loose shower knob and prayed tonight wasn’t the night it broke off completely. Before the thought even left her head, she heard a pathetic crack as it came off in her hand.

“Oh come the fuck on,” she said through gritted teeth, grasping at the stump of a knob and trying to turn it any way to no avail. Cold water drenched the rest of her as she cursed, now completely soaked and full to the brim with rage. She felt and looked as pissed off as a wet cat.

She knew there was nothing in her tool kit she could grab to twist the handle and turn it back off.

“No, no I won’t do it. You’ve got to be kidding me. Fuck.”

She swallowed down the last ounce of pride she had that by this point was clinging to her with a white knuckle grip, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and walked to her neighbors’ door in defeat. Her hair was stringy and wet, sending streams of ice cold water down her bare shoulders.

This time, she didn’t even try to work up courage to knock, knowing how pathetic she would look to either party who opened the door, but she really hoped it was Melshi.

The door opened almost instantly, and she found herself face to face with the man she had been avoiding.

“Jyn? What happened? Are you okay?” Cassian’s face was painted with ten levels of concern as he took in the sight of her for the first time in weeks.

“I just need to borrow some pliers,” she said, trying not to make eye contact, “My shower handle came off.”

“Hold on, let me help you,” he turned to grab their toolbox from the top of the fridge and she groaned internally.

“I just need the pliers, if yo—“

“Let. Me. Help. You,” he said firmly, and added on a, “Please,” with those eyes that made him look like a kicked puppy.

The day she had been dreading was here. And not only was it here, she was half dressed, soaking wet, and starving. Par for the course for her life.

She turned wordlessly on her heel and led him through her apartment and into her bathroom.

“It’s been on the verge of breaking for a while. It was brittle and stuck a lot when I moved in,” she explained, crossing her arms over her chest as he tried to assess the damage.

All that was left was a nub barely a centimeter long. He tried a few different angles and grasps with the pliers, but each one slipped right off.

He grunted in frustration as it became apparent to him that the only way to get a secure grip was to stand under the stream of water.

“I can do it,” she offered.

“Please let me,” he said again, a firm hand reaching out to hold her wrist, not letting her dodge his eye contact this time. Deep regret sat heavy in his dark irises as they bore into her own and pleaded for a shot at forgiveness.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, hoping the tears she felt creeping into her vision weren’t as obvious to anyone on the outside.

Cassian climbed into her shower and gritted his teeth as he yanked on the fixture three times before it switched off with a loud groan. The tan henley shirt he had been wearing was soaked along with his hair. He pushed it back from his forehead and sputtered out a mouthful of water, and Jyn couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Let me get you a towel,” she leaned into the hall to pop open the linen closet and pull a stack of clean towels out for the both of them.

They both started with the ends of their hair, scrunching out huge pockets of cold water.

“The fixtures in this place are shit,” he commiserated.

“You can say that again,” she laughed lightly.

“Jyn,” he started.

“You don’t have to,” she began.

“I do though,” he said firmly with pleading eyes, “Please, you have to let me explain.”

She swallowed hard and leaned back against the cool tile wall, raising her eyebrows as if to say “out with it.”

“So that day, I got held up at the office. Just for a few minutes. One of the interns accidentally wiped a hard drive while trying to recover a corrupted file. Everyone else was leaving, I didn’t want to leave her there alone. She was terrified,” he started, and Jyn’s heart thawed the smallest bit listening to him talk about helping a scared college student out.

“That only took a few minutes though. But, it took long enough that I missed my first train and had to wait another twenty minutes for the second one. I was just pulling my phone out to text you that I would be late, and a fight broke out on the platform. These two guys started throwing blows and tumbled over onto the tracks. I jumped down to pull them up before another train pulled in, and my phone fell out of my pocket. I saw it get obliterated and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

So that’s why he hadn’t texted her. The fear of rejection loosened another prong from her tired heart.

“Then the police showed up, and I got taken in for questioning and as a witness. They didn’t let me go until after ten that night. And when I got home and saw my hoodie, I just knew you must’ve been so hurt,” he lamented. He had made his way closer to her now, closing the gap that had been separating them, mending the wound in her heart as well when he spoke.

“Jyn,” he brushed the still damp hair back from her eyes, “There is nothing on the planet that could have kept me from you. You have to believe me,” he whispered.

“Of course I believe you,” she looked down at the ground suddenly feeling dizzy from his closeness and the familiarity of his scent that she had missed every night since she gave him back the hoodie.

His lips inched closer to hers, hovering so she could feel his breath falling on her chin and the prickles of his mustache.

“Your move, Jyn. I need to know you want this, because I want it so badly,” he whispered hoarsely, lips brushing against hers as tried to hold on to his resolve.

A breath hitched in her throat as she finally allowed the band of tension to snap and pulled him into her hungrily, fervently.

Kissing Jyn was like coming home after a long day. She was warm against him, tongue sweet and welcoming. He allowed one of his hands to dip under the hem of her shirt and roam up the expanse of her back, pressing his wide palm flat against her soft skin.

Jyn tangled a hand in his hair and the other rested at his hip, her pinky finger dipping into the waist band of his pants and sending a heat through his body.

Cassian could feel a newfound tension welling inside of him. Now that he finally had a taste of the thing he had longed for, he wanted to dive in headfirst, to be completely submerged in their collision. Their hands started to get more desperate, pulling at clothes and dragging nails across skin. But what really did him in was the breathy moan that fell from her lips when he nipped at the skin between her neck and shoulder.

He didn’t want to, but he needed to pull away.

“Wait, wait.”

Jyn was suddenly afraid she had gone too far too fast.

Cassian read the look on her face and immediately tried to dispel any fear, “No, it’s not like that. If I don’t stop now, I’m afraid I never will.”

Her lips quirked into a mischievous smile, “And if I say that’s okay with me?”

He held up a finger, “Ah, wait. You need a shower. And so do I. Let’s start there and pick up where we left off after dinner,” he smiled.

Jyn frowned, bottom lip puckering out in a way that drove him crazy. Cassian leaned down to press two more kisses to the swollen pink skin before telling her to go grab clean clothes. He pinched her ass on the way out the door, and she swatted at his hand half heartedly.

He finally felt like he could breathe again.

She finally felt like she could breathe again.

——

Walking in to Cassian’s apartment with half wet hair and disheveled clothes drew quite a look from Melshi.

“I see you two made up,” he grinned from the couch.

“Man, shut up,” Cassian hissed.

“My shower broke,” Jyn explained lamely, her arms full of toiletries and a fresh towel.

“It’s just through here,” Cassian said softly, his hand on the small of her back as she disappeared down the hall.

As soon as he heard the lock click in place, he turned on his heel to stare daggers into his roommate.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

“I was gonna say the same to you, mate.”

Cassian leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed his face in his hands as he tried to process the last thirty minutes of his life.

“Do you want me to disappear? ‘Cause I can disappear,” Melshi offered, already grabbing his phone and the bag of chips he had propped next to him on the couch.

“Nah, stay. I don’t want to make it any weirder than it’s already been.”

“Good weird? Bad weird?”

“Great weird,” Cass smiled almost wistfully, causing his roommate to snort.

In the bathroom, Jyn’s heart pounded as her imagination ran wild. Though their last interaction had been pretty hot and heavy, she was caught up in thinking about the sight of her shampoo next to his. She thought of his bare feet on the tile, trimming up his beard in the morning while she showered. She thought of shared kisses with still wet noses and cheeks flushed from the steam, and when the time came for body wash, she reached for his instead of hers, hoping the scent would linger and lay gently on her sheets tonight while she tried to sleep thinking about the boy next door.

Day ???

Spring faded into summer, and summer into fall. The days grew impossibly longer, than too short to feel like you had ever gotten enough done.

The clock was nearing midnight as Cassian tiptoed through his dark apartment with a plate of warm cookies in hand. He bumped his bedroom door open with his hip and saw Jyn adding an extra blanket on her side the bed. She turned to smile at him when she heard the click of the knob closing behind him. He wasn’t sure when it was that she took his grey sleep shirt, only that he liked the look of it better on her than he ever did on his own body.

The bedside table on that side of the room now held her fan that she ran year round because she liked the noise, hence the extra blanket. Beside it sat her phone charger, allergy medication, and a book she had been thumbing through in her downtime.

His space had become her space and vice versa. They took up an unapologetic amount of space in each other’s homes and hearts, one of those couples who made eyes at each other across every room at every gathering.

Just earlier tonight, they had dipped out of a gathering early to go watch the newest installment of a docuseries that they had been looking forward to.

Cassian climbed into bed and nestled the plate of cookies between the two of them while Jyn flipped through the channels, pointing the remote at the tv on top of his dresser. She pressed her face up against his shoulder and he breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair and the moisturizer she applied before bed.

“Thank you for going with me tonight,” he whispered into the crown of her head, leaving a lingering kiss there.

“And thank you for leaving with me when things got loud,” she angled her head slightly to look into his eyes.

“I’ll always follow you home,” he murmured.

She pressed her lips to his before turning back to face the television.

In the room next door, Melshi was sprawled on his bed with Lady taking up the other half, both of them snoring into the night.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

So.

I may have just binged Xiaolin Showdown- I’m not quite at the finish line yet, but I am screaming. First of all - the main four embody their elements so well!

Between Clay’s down to earth attitude, but at the same time - being a strong, hard-to-take-down opponent. As a dragon of earth, I was definitely in awe the entire time. I enjoy his character so much, and the Texan sayings he says? Count me in!

Kimiko? Her fiery attitude matches being the dragon of fire so well. She has a free-spirited energy, and can’t easily be tamed even by the wildest of evils. She has an immeasurable, headstrong way of directly taking things on. She’s grown more as a character, but because these characters are likely no older than 13 - they still have a lot more to learn.

Raimundo. Dragon of Wind. He’s the most unpredictable of all of them sometimes - he has an energy which cannot be tamed, and won’t be held down by anything (even if it almost became his door fall). Though in the end, he came back around- deciding he couldn’t abandon his friends…

And then there’s Omi. The Dragon of Water. With his strength, athleticism, and optimistic personality make him perfect for his element- his cheerful but bold attitude are a wonderful mix and I cannot wait to see more from him and the rest of the cast! Though I only got to episode 25, and I’m purring like an idiot- Omi’s characteristics are mirrored as if it were water. He almost seems to go with the flow, but in the end - like a tsunami - he will always protect the ones he cares about.

But now- I get to talk about what I was itching to focus on grrr.

Our villains…

Jack Spicer is certainly the kind of villain who serves as comic relief, but even then- he’s a genuine good fodder to the four monks that stand against him. At times, we’ll see him team up with them for a shady cause, and I find this almost charming. While he isn’t the most terrifying of villains, and he simply functions as the filler for the monks to handle, I’ve grown quite fond of his character!

but ho boy, then we have Wuya and can I just say- she might not have a physical form but even then - she makes for a great opponent. The episodes in which she gained physical form were done so well, and I found myself being drawn in more and more. Her cunning and trickery make her a hard enemy to beat- and I am curious to see where else this series takes us.

BUT there’s another character that has me frothing at the mouth: Chase Young.

Previously on the side of good, Chase Young turned evil on the promise of power and youth- he has his army of Fallen Warriors to guard him, and well, if the fact he’s immensely powerful. Not to mention, he’s incredibly strong and has been around for, say, a while (?). He’s already caught my interest and I can’t wait to see more of him… also his interest in Omi from episode 25 “The Evil Within” has my metaphorical tail wagging because holy- I’m already seeing the vision: Chase attempting to sway Omi onto the side of evil…

Also, the Fallen Warriors being cats while Chase Young has slitted golden eyes (and yes, I know that secretly the mf is reptilian-) is extremely ironic and I live for it- nonhuman Chase for the win because, well, that is what he is! I can’t wait to continue seeing more of his character-

Of course, this is hardly helping my case at all…

Xiaolin Showdown and Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja would be such an interesting crossover- like, I do have a couple ideas cooking in my mind but at the same time… I need to develop this a little more! And if it happens to be influenced by the whole First Ninja and Chase Young dynamic, no it isn’t - whatever do you mean /lh

My tail is wagging

More to come soon! Because mrrr- I am ever so slightly hyperfixated…

[marloree]

Hiii!!! I have a hyuka x fem reader fic or oneshot idea thats been in my head for weeks😭

Hyuka and y/n dated for 5 yrs and broke up about 2 years ago because her mental health was going really bad and she became too dependant on him and he wanted y/n to heal independently so he broke up with her even though he was still deeply in love but stayed as friends because they didnt wanna break their 19 years of friendship….. but who knows if any of them have moved on during those years…

pls <33 and thank uuu

៳ₑₐ𝑛𝑡 𝑡ₒ 𝑏ₑ 𝑡ₒ𝑔ₑ𝑡ⲏₑᵣ

Pairing: Huening Kai × Reader

Genre: angst to fluff, romance, lovers to friends to lovers

Word count: 2.6 k

A/N: this took me quite a while to finish, but thank you for requesting and being patient with me, nonnie! I had so much fun writing this, please feel free to request more in the future!!

Taglist: @babymochibeargyu

“We should break up”, those were the words you uttered exactly 2 years ago. Now, as you were tossing around restlessly in bed, all the memories took over you, again.  

It was, or, rather, could have been your 7 year anniversary with Kai, that is if you didn't break up.  

“I respect and agree with your decision, we really should break up, at least for now, Y/N”, the scene was getting replayed in your head for the Nth time, reminding you of a broken record.  

You still remembered the hug Kai gave you before taking his leave, the pained look on his face. You remembered everything as if it happened only yesterday, but, sadly, that wasn’t the case.  

You stayed friends and you shouldn’t have a thing to grieve about, right? Perhaps you were just being a bit ungrateful, but, no matter how much you appreciated Kai’s presence as your friend, you still wanted things back like they were 2 years ago.  

Well, not every thing, you definitely wouldn’t want to get back into the mental state you were in back at the time.  

Getting only deeper into the mess day by day, you clung onto Kai as the last straw that could bring you back to normal life. That wasn’t the right thing to do, for neither of you. You couldn’t put all the weight of your worries and struggles onto Kai’s shoulders. No matter how badly he wanted to help you, he would never get you out of your state on his own - he simply wouldn’t handle it. And you knew it. Even Kai couldn’t deny that you were right in a way: concentrating all your will to live on him only wasn't the right decision.  

But, you knew Kai would never leave you alone in such a state and you were grateful for that. You decided to stay as friends, that was the best decision for both of you: while not letting you grow completely dependent on him, Kai still helped you as much as he could. With his assistance and immeasurable care, you slowly, but surely, made it: you got back to your best. You felt the life rushing through your veins, the energy taking over you again, you no longer were the poor mess that had to depend on your boyfriend for little things. Kai was so happy to see you get better. Sometimes, it felt like he was even happier for you than you yourself were.  

Now, having finally gotten back into exploring new things, finally having found a job that could bring you joy, with new people surrounding you, your life felt full, complete, almost perfect.  

Kai, through these years, had always remained by your side, cheering and rooting for you. But, you couldn’t deny that you missed him as your partner. You always viewed Kai as a great friend, a great person, a great boyfriend. He was truly the right person for you. But, could you say the same about yourself? Were you the true right one for him?

That definitely wasn’t the case 2 years ago. Naturally, everyone has their ups and downs, everyone struggles, but, you felt like you were dragging both of you down in your past relationship. And you never thought it was right.

Kai definitely loved and cared for you, even now. It was as clear as day. But, could you really bring happiness and joy into his life? Even now, having returned your strength, you doubted that.

“What if I go down again? What if history repeats itself?” 

Such thoughts never let you go, making you unsure on what would be the right decision in the current situation. 

On one hand, since you both seemed to hold mutual feelings, why not get together? But, on the other hand, what if your feelings were wrong, what if you never were meant for each other? What if you only fed up your illusions, what if the only right way was to part your ways completely? It was obvious you couldn't stay as friends only, but would getting back together make the right step?

There were too many “what if’s”... 

But, then it hit you: neither of you ever tried dating someone else during these 2 years. Even if you were never meant to be together, would the separation make any of you happier? It probably would hurt both of you just as much.

But then, why fight your feelings? If burning all the possible bridges the two of you built during these years wouldn’t make the right decision, why not listen to your heart and try getting back together?

You couldn’t foretell your fate, but you were sure you’d make it your destiny to be by each other’s side.

It's not like your relationship started out of the blue. The feelings slowly built up during the long years of your friendship. You would never bring yourself to tear apart the bonds that tied you for so long. 

Was it even possible, to begin with? Even if you'd part your ways physically, you were sure you'd never get one another out of your hearts and minds.

Sticking to each other through all the hardships seemed to be the only solution for you. You always would struggle and go through something, but that's the way life is. You knew that in the end you'd make it, you two would make it through. 

On that note your gaze wandered to the clock. It was almost 4 am…

Calling Kai right now definitely wouldn't be the right thing to do. “I should let him rest properly and call him in the morning”, you thought. 

The thoughts of your possible reunion brought some peace to your restless mind - you finally fell asleep at dawn.

Having woken up when the afternoon was behind, you were glad you had a day off.

Checking your phone, you saw a “good morning” text from Kai. He was so considerate, even though you weren’t currently in a relationship… Oh, the message was sent a good few hours ago. He probably was worrying right now about what took you so long to reply.

“Morning, or, rather, afternoon, Kai! Do you have some spare time to meet up today? It’s nothing of urgency, but I’d really want to discuss something with you if you have time, of course.” you clicked “send”, finally getting out of bed to prepare for the day.

Despite being busy with work, Kai replied relatively quickly. “Of course I can spare some time for you, Y/N! How does 7 pm at the nearby café sound?”

“We don’t have to make it so officially, Kai, you could just come to my place, I don’t mind.” You quickly texted back, not wanting him to go out of the way just to meet with you.

“Ah, if you’re okay with it, then sure! I’ll come once I’m done with work.”

You hearted the message before going to clean up your apartment. You had plenty of time to run all your errands before the evening comes and Kai's day at work ends.

While occupying yourself with work all day, you hadn’t noticed how fast time flew. Once 7 o’clock struck, your entire flat was cleaned from top to bottom, a nice dinner prepared to satisfy the hunger of the two of you and create a more cozy vibe. You were going to have a serious talk, so trying to bring up a warm atmosphere definitely wouldn't hurt.

You knew Kai would come within the next half an hour. While waiting, you sat by the window, looking at the sky that was slowly turning pink and orange as the sun set down.

The view was unspeakably beautiful and soothing. The colors, in a way, seemed to represent Kai’s cheerful personality. The color orange radiated just as much warmth and joy as Kai did, meanwhile the color pink reminded you of his tender and sweet personality. 

As you were looking outside, you suddenly noticed a familiar figure walking to your house. The sun rays playing on Kai’s figure only added to the feeling of warmth and comfort that he always brought with his presence. 

Once Kai got closer, he looked up at your windows, noticing you. You waved, a warm smile tugging your lips: you were always so happy to see him. Kai’s presence alone could make your day ten times better. Even when you were going through something, a text or a word from him already calmed your mind.

Kai waved back, the usual broad cheerful smile that was so dear to you appearing on his face right away.

You quickly got up to open the door. The nervousness that was getting to you because of the anticipated talk faded by the calmness and understanding that seemed to radiate off Kai. 

He always was so considerate and caring, he definitely would understand you and would never do anything to hurt you in any possible way or form. You trusted him so, so much, like you’ve never trusted anyone before. Kai never doubted you or disregarded your or anyone’s feelings. He always seemed to understand everyone and everything. In all honesty, you wanted to be just as comforting and understanding as Kai was to everyone. 

“Hii, Kai!” you greeted, the smile never leaving your face. 

“Evening!”, he stepped into your apartment, pulling you in a quick yet gentle hug that both of you got so used to.

“I’m so glad you came, I wanted to discuss something that has been on my mind for a while now…But, come on in first, I got us some food.” you invited him straight to the kitchen. 

“Ahh, that’s so sweet of you, Y/N, but there really was no need…”

You didn’t let him finish, interrupting in the middle of the sentence. “But, Kai, there was a need, I know you're starving after work and our meetup didn’t let you get dinner first.”

“Well, you’re right about that”, Kai didn’t push it, happy himself to share a meal with you: it’s been so long since you last did.

After washing your hands, you two sat down at the table. Your kitchen was just perfectly placed: all the rays of the setting sun got in at the right angle, lighting up the room and creating just the needed atmosphere.

You ate in silence for a while, letting Kai relax a little after work while you gathered your thoughts together. 

“How’s work?” You asked after a few minutes, starting with a small chat.

“Ah, everything’s going quite alright; we’re doing better this month, actually. What about yours?”

“Oh, that’s great! I'm doing fine with mine, too.” You shifted in your seat, unsure on how to turn the conversation to the wanted topic, but decided to simply state things as they are. If only it would be just as easy to do as to say... 

“Um, Kai, the thing I wanted to talk about…it's actually about us.” You glanced up, looking for all the possible reactions. When you did, Kai was already looking at you. Seems like he expected the topic to be brought up at some point. 

However, his gaze wasn’t judging or hostile; on the contrary, it was encouraging, with a hint of relief that the topic was finally brought up, almost pleading for you to continue. 

You took a deep breath in, once again looking up at Kai for the support you so needed at the moment. 

“Yes, Y/N, I’m listening”, he smiled slightly, although it was obvious that he himself was rather nervous, afraid of what you were going to say next.

In the end, there were only two ways for you: to either stay together, but only as a couple, or part your ways completely. Which one would you choose, the thought alone made his worries escalate. 

After a few moments of deafening silence, you finally began your speech. You had so many unspoken thoughts and feelings to share, you felt like you'd never stop talking.

But, you had to share every single thought that came to your mind, you had to be truthful and honest as much as you could - after all, the outcome solely depended on your honesty with Kai and yourself, to begin with, and your ability to express yourself and your emotions. 

Before you began, you felt like you were suffocating in the endless kaleidoscope of your thoughts, but as you kept on speaking, it felt like a massive weight was being taken off your chest. Even if things don’t end up working out the way you want them to, it still is going to be so much easier for you once you take it all off your mind.

You went on and on, telling and explaining every single thing and thought that occurred to you during your relationship and further friendship with Kai. 7 years, in total…you had so much to tell.

You tried hiding as little as possible, telling everything you felt: the guilt of not being good enough for him, ruining your relationship, you shared all the negative thoughts that took over your mind for the past months, but you also shared just as much about your feelings for him, how much you loved and cared for him, how much you wanted him to be happy at the first place, how much you feared to ruin his life with yours, but also just how you couldn’t imagine your life without his…

You talked and talked, feeling your thoughts getting messy again. “Kai, I don’t know…I love you so, so much, but I don’t want my feelings to harm you in any way”, you finished your speech so abruptly, almost wanting to cry: the situation seemed just unsolvable to you now as it did last night.

Kai didn’t respond right away, taking his time to gather his thoughts as well. However, his hand found yours, giving it a tight reassuring squeeze. 

“Y/N, you never hurt or harmed me in any way possible. I can’t live without you just as much as you can't live without me. I understand that your doubts come from the worry you feel for me, I appreciate it that you care so much, I really do. But please, Y/N, do not put yourself down, do not disregard your own feelings. The only thing I can say right now that I’m absolutely sure about is: I’ll never be happy living without you by my side.”

You listened quietly, slowly processing his words.

“The only way you can hurt me is by hurting yourself”, Kai continued, “I’d never want either of us living unhappily.” The words got followed by another squeeze of your hand, this time a much gentler one.

“So, at this moment, I’d like to ask you…Y/N, would you want to consider being my girlfriend? I know this is now the first time for us, but please be sure that my feelings are no weaker; they’re even stronger now than they were 7 years ago when we first started dating, I’m saying this being as honest as I can only be.” Kai confessed, his gaze being so soft and gentle.

“I-”, you breath hitched in your throat, your heart almost bursting out of your chest. “I want to be your girlfriend, Kai, even need to be yours, I’d say”, you muttered the last part shyly, yet loud enough for him to make out what you said.

“And I need to be yours, Y/N”, he whispered, intertwining your hands.

[singlecrow]

notes on watching Goodbye Farewell Amen for the first time since 2003, by singlecrow aged whatever. there’s also some stuff here I’ve put elsewhere, sorry you’re having it twice if you are.

Anyway it’s really GOOD, like, I know, other people have observed that in the last 50 years but it IS. Funny, sad, clever, textured, and also a really good episode of MASH? It has the things that one ought to have, like people talking over each other and tanks being driven into things and latrines and shouting. And in places it’s beautiful and eerie: everything about the bus journey is impeccable; and the shots of the bus coming in from the hills with the light coming through the glass were really something.

And then there’s Hawkeye. Oh god. you can’t do this, though, if you’re not this show. Eleven years, telling us right at the start in a funny voice and in the middle in a dead serious voice and then then quite often in a funny voice again, Hawkeye is… not very well. He’s fine. He lives in a war zone and is surprisingly fine. But Hawkeye has that immeasurable fragility, and it’s there, and you know it’s there because we’ve told you so, and it’s the kind of fragility that comes with being often-manic, very depressed, empathetic to the point of unreason. Crucially: it’s a sitcom. Hawkeye has entire episodes of him playing poker, sending telegrams to President Truman, kissing Margaret, and ordering spare ribs from Chicago and winning a tank in a bet. And a bunch of other stuff. It’s very funny.

But still. But still and all, for all it’s very funny. This episode needs less than a minute of set-up - an outdoor shot of somewhere that isn’t the usual place, and then Hawkeye sitting on the floor in a dark room, looking at Sidney, and you know. You always knew. This is it, for Hawkeye; this is where all roads have led.

(In 2003, I don’t think I knew to notice the camera lingering, as it does several times, on the locked door.)

Hawkeye is what I’ve carried with me all my life. Probably bipolar, always sleepless. I was fourteen and it was 2001 the first time I picked out Sidney’s line, elsewhere in the show’s timeline: “Actually, Hawkeye, I think you’re the sanest person I’ve ever known”. Hawkeye believed it and I chose to believe it too.

So does it undercut that, that my talisman of sanity ends up on the floor in the institution? No. Because Hawkeye gets up off the floor again. He is always fragile; he’s always hurt. And I actually really enjoy that, in its way. Hawkeye crying or screaming (or laughing) is always unpretty, because it’s like how real people do those things; and here, Sidney gets Hawkeye out of the institution but he’s still lost. He would be. He’s still manic if not psychotic, and desperately sad. (Sidebar: this - this! - is when he gets his most Exceptionally Bisexual line in the entire series, presumably because this is also his most Exceptional Disaster.) He cheers up a bit at the prospect of the wedding, because he does love a wedding.

So, fragile, yes. But I do believe that Hawkeye went home and picked up the threads of his life, and maybe he began like someone else did, hurt beyond the capacity of homeland to heal. There’s the crucial crack in Hawkeye’s nature; where you find the story. Is Hawkeye like Frodo Baggins, to diminish and go into the West, or not?

And the thing is, I think they’re an apt comparison. They have, remarkably, a similar cultural weight; enough of an exerted pressure on the fabric of the Western twentieth century. The wars that Frodo and Hawkeye came home from were all of eight years apart. And you step within the narrative and they’re both… some guy. Someone who had to do a thing they didn’t want to do, that needed to be done although it wasn’t their fault and nothing to do with them. Frodo goes home, and the Shire has been saved, but not for him. He can’t stay. He never finds himself again.

But I believe that Hawkeye will. He doesn’t end this episode still institutionalised, or even still frighteningly mentally ill; he ends up exhausted and sad and damaged and on his way home. And it’s like this show to leave this as a question that may or may not have an answer: can Hawkeye shatter that archetype, be not broken but more gold than cracks? He goes back to his own job, though it’s hard. He tells people he loves them. He says goodbye to Sidney with a quiet word of thanks. And when the time comes, he says goodbye to the others and goes. It is an open question: but this is MASH, which answers all such questions with love, and affection, and courage and care. Small things matter in dark places. Hawkeye’s great tragedy is that he’s the main character - a remarkable man but an ordinary one, a small-town doctor who doesn’t want to be in this terrible place - and the show necessarily makes an example of him. Here’s what happens to ordinary, good people, who did their best and didn’t deserve it. But then, if ordinary, then ordinary recovery, with love and care and time, and ordinary life.