#episode 3: the clocks go forward

[audreyfforbes-hamilton]

Glamours Audrey 🤩

[shorthaltsjester]

thinking about the scene between vex and percy at the end of campaign one where after over a hundred episodes of the two of them as snarky assholes (affectionate but factual) helping to fight dragons and gods, they both buckle under the weight of just. missing their families in a way that’s fresh to both of them in different ways, where percy finally has the room to admit what’s been taken from him and what he let himself lose in his commitment to vengeance (the ability to actually Grieve) and where vex just watched her brother walk into death off towards their mother. and it’s been a horrible day, and percy confesses that he was going to be a clockmaker, once.

and then, three decades later, we see the two of them elevated to a less accessible status through the eyes of bell’s hells, where they’re to be the judges whether laudna gets to come back, where The De Rolos™ are leaders and percy is a hardass and vex is a lady, except there’s an intricate clock tower in this Whitestone’s cityscape, except ashton goes to punch a statue bust and several brown bears occupy his surrounding environment. and vex sees a face not unlike her own that was killed precisely for that fact and commits to helping her and percy sees a face too much like his own and gives them a hard time until he’s standing surrounded by the crushed glass of his home and offering genuine advice about how to move forward.

and to me what was so compelling about vex and percy both as individuals and as two people who fell in love with each other was that they both had walls for different reasons that functioned in very similar ways where they didn’t have to admit the things they knew/felt were missing in themselves. but by the end of their campaign those walls aren’t gone but they have, like, doors and windows now or something. and that’s present when we see them again from the more removed view of campaign 3, percy’s harshness softens for his daughter, vex helps bell’s hells but also ensured that should laudna bring delilah back then whitestone was protected and, god!!!! they’re perfect delicious characters genuinely and the way that matt makes the duality that defines those characters (and their relationship and whitestone itself) where they are stoic and cold and harsh but they’re also warm and kind and silly. that’s narrative that’s character creation and development that’s environmental storytelling that’s to be loved (and to love) is to be changed.

sorry but tonight’s 4sd has been fantastic and the group talking about the inherent shittiness of whitestone’s geographic and historic placement and the resonance of seeing vex and percy and percy’s advice to ashton has me thinking so many thought’s because. what if whitestone was already tending towards uninhabitability and what if it got worse when the briarwoods diminished even the warmth the sun tree could provide but. what if the last son of the ruling family returned and what if he fell in love and that was enough not to cancel out the harshness of whitestone but to amend it and add something to it. something something the mistress of the grey hunt protects whitestone from the harshness of the parchwood, something something percy’s speech to vex about why he gave her the one title she’d have to earn, something something vex was already doing the work of the mistress of the grey hunt simply by caring about and standing by percy — even before it was love — in the face of orthax and the briarwoods and death blast coffins and deals with devils.

[fluentmoviequoter]

They See Deacon Loves You (5+1)

Requested Here (such an amazing request & a fun question)!🤍

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: 5 times someone realizes Deacon loves you, and the 1 time he realizes for himself.

Warnings: fluff, more fluff, some slight angst, reader is injured and goes to hospital (#3). Irina Zemanova (#2) is from 1x19, which is my favorite episode (thus far at least)!

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

1. Hondo sees that Deacon loves you by how he looks at you.

Every member of 20-David is exhausted. The entire week has been spent working on a complicated case with numerous raids, two hostage situations, and no casualties. When the case is considered solved and is closed by the head detective, you all take a deep breath and prepare to leave.

“Hey, guys, I know we’re tired, but is anyone interested in celebrating?” Hondo asks, raising his wallet. “It’s on me this time.”

“Suddenly, I’m wide awake,” Street jokes.

“I’m in,” Tan answers with a shrug.

Deacon looks at you, and you purse your lips as you shrug. “Sure,” Deacon answers for both of you.

Of your team members, you’re the closest to Deacon. You’ve grown close over the years, and you can talk without speaking, communicate without listening, and naturally gravitate toward each other no matter where you are.

On nights like these, you and Deacon tend to sit together, but Chris drags you to one end of the table as Hondo stops Deacon to talk at the other. Hondo asks a question, and when Deacon doesn’t answer, he checks his face for signs that something is bothering his friend. Deacon’s eyes are trained on something across the room, his facial expressions changing from smiling to furrowing his brows as he watches… you, Hondo realizes as he turns.

You’re deep in a conversation with Chris, leaning forward across the table as you laugh and make small gestures. Deacon’s watching you closely, his expressions mirroring yours as a different emotion appears in his eyes.

Hondo learned years ago that Deacon talks with his eyes. Everyone on the team describes Deacon as ‘strong and silent,’ but he’s only silent until you learn to read his eyes. Hondo sits back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watches Deacon’s eyes. Deacon glances away, so Hondo looks over to see what happened. You look up when the waiter approaches to ask if anyone wants refills, and Deacon turns the other way before you can catch him staring. Hondo laughs to himself, but Deacon’s attention is back on you. Deacon leans toward you, likely unconsciously.

Hondo shakes his head as he answers for Deacon, getting refills for the whole table. He knows Deacon and you separately and as a team, but now he sees another way to know you. You and Deacon don’t know it yet; Hondo is sure of that, but he hopes he can get to know you together soon. Hondo realizes what that look in Deacon’s eyes was: love. Deacon Kay is wildly in love with you, and his eyes say it.

2. Irina Zemanova sees that Deacon loves you by how he protects you.

Irina trusts you more than Hondo. Though you’re unsure why, you’re happy to stay with her if it makes her safe and comfortable. She convinces you to go to the outdoor café with her, and you radio to Hondo as you walk out with Irina.

“My source says to go to the table with a bagel and coffee,” Irina tells you, looking up from her phone.

“It’s there,” you say, pointing to the table.

She sits, but you stay to the side, looking around for any threats or her unknown source. Irina is looking at something, and when you clock the man dressed in black removing a gun from his waistband, you yell for Irina to get down.

Hondo beats you to it, tackling Irina to the ground as you train your weapon on the gunman. He smirks at you before you hear more gunfire behind you. Someone pulls you to the ground, cradling your head to protect you from the concrete. You see Deacon hovering over you, his eyes glancing down your body to ensure you’re okay before he pulls you up.

Deacon moves to kneel behind a seat as you do the same, back-to-back as you protect the civilians around you. Hondo calls it in as the gunman gets away in a stolen Jeep. As he turns to yell at Irina, she finds a more interesting subject to focus on.

Behind Hondo, Deacon pulls you to your feet, laying his hands on your shoulders as he ducks his head and looks you over. You grab his wrist, getting his attention before you smile and shake your head.

“I’m okay. Thank you, Deac,” you say, assuming Irina is reading your lips correctly.

Deacon’s shoulders fall as his hands raise to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks. He leans in slightly, his eyes roaming your face, catching on your lips momentarily before he pulls his hands away.

“This is all on you,” Hondo accuses, pointing at Irina. “And you will explain back at S.W.A.T. headquarters. You just made yourself a witness to a crime, so now I decide where you go.”

Irina tries to control her anger, choosing another subject. She asks, “Who are they?”

Hondo glances over his shoulder and tells her your last names. “And you nearly got them killed,” he adds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As Irina prepares to leave Los Angeles, she stops to talk to Hondo once more. 

“Too bad you’re not coming with me,” she says.

“Oh, I would, but… duty calls,” Hondo replies, placing his hands in his pockets as he shrugs.

“We could be like them.” Irina points to you and Deacon with her chin.

“If they ever realize,” Hondo responds.

The rest of his comment dies on his tongue as Irina pulls him into a kiss. She steps back and makes a comment about why she did it; Hondo can’t exactly think straight after the unexpected affection. Irina walks away, slowing as she passes beside you, standing alone after Deacon left.

“You’ll be very happy together,” she says.

Your brows furrow as she leaves, unsure what, or who, she means. Irina returns to her home with the knowledge you don’t have yet: that Deacon Kay loves you, and because of that love, he protects you.

3. Commander Hicks sees that Deacon loves you by how he cares for you.

Hicks enters S.W.A.T. headquarters searching for a few volunteers for an upcoming police charity event. You and Deacon are two of only four officers present, so Hicks calls your names, summoning you out of the boxing ring and into his office.

“I know it’s late notice, but we need a few more volunteers,” Hicks explains once you’re in his office.

Deacon glances over at you and nods, so you answer, “We’d be happy to help.”

“What would we be doing?” Deacon asks.

Your head swims slightly, and you blink against the lights above you as Hicks answers.

“You would be working with the kids, I believe, showing them- hey, are you okay?” Hicks interrupts himself when you close your eyes and tilt forward slightly.

“Yeah, I…” you begin before tensing your facial muscles.

You don’t feel or hear anything after Deacon says your name. You tip back after losing consciousness, and Deacon rushes to wrap his arms around your waist, lowering you gently onto the couch beside you as Hicks calls for help.

“Paramedics will be here in less than five minutes,” Hicks tells Deacon, moving to stand beside him. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m just keeping her head up. Her pulse seems okay,” Deacon answers quietly.

Hicks watches Deacon’s jaw work, a storm in his eyes as he fights to stay calm. Deacon has always been open in showing that he cares for his team, but Hicks wonders if he would be this concerned if it were Hondo or Luca instead of you.

The paramedics enter the office, and Deacon reluctantly moves back, allowing them to work. Hicks lays a hand on his shoulder, not sure what to say to comfort Deacon.

“She’s strong, Deac. Whatever happened, she’ll recover,” he promises, hoping he’s right.

“I’m going with her,” Deacon says as the paramedics move you to a gurney.

“Of course. I’ll fill Hondo in and be by later,” Hicks answers.

He watches Deacon take your hand as the gurney is wheeled out. Deacon’s actions toward you are more than caring for a teammate; Hicks has work to do before he can evaluate your relationship with Deacon.

✯✯✯✯✯

Hicks knocks on the open hospital room door before he steps inside. Deacon looks the same as he did earlier, though Hicks knew he wouldn’t have left your side and won’t until he is forced to. Hicks smiles to himself when he sees Deacon sitting beside your bed, leaning toward you as you talk. Deacon interrupts to ask if you need anything, and your smile grows as you shake your head.

Hicks thinks you mouth, “Just you,” but Deacon’s head turns toward the door when Hicks enters.

"How are you feeling?" he asks as he sets a small bag by your leg. “That’s from Molly.”

“Tell her I said thank you,” you reply. “And I’m feeling okay. Thanks you for getting me help so quickly.”

“That was mostly Deacon. Do they know what happened yet?”

Deacon looks at you with raised brows. “Yeah, what happened?” he asks, sarcasm bleeding through under his continued concern.

You sigh as you turn toward Hicks. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Hick’s brows raise, just as Deacon’s had, before he asks for more information.

“Last week, I got hit by something during a raid. I thought it was fine, just a bruise, but apparently it was deeper than I thought. My kidney was bruised and there was some slight internal bleeding,” you answer quietly, picking at the hospital blanket.

“Why didn’t our guys catch that?” Hicks asks.

You remain silent, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, so Deacon answers, “She didn’t tell anyone.”

Hicks laughs and shakes his head. He pats your shoulder and tells you not to do that again.

“I won’t. Sorry for worrying everyone,” you say, smiling up at Hicks.

“Feel better. Deacon will be here if you need anything, I suppose.”

Deacon nods, and you turn your attention to him as Hicks leaves. It’s just a glance, but Hicks sees that Deacon’s hand is under the cover, your hand gripped tightly in his. Even though they know what happened, Deacon can’t turn off the worry and the care because it’s ingrained in who he is.

4. Annie sees that Deacon loves you by how he touches and holds you.

Annie’s bed feels empty and cold. Since the divorce was finalized, she has slowly realized that the divorce was a mistake. Leaving Deacon was the biggest mistake of her life. If she had been more understanding or willing to talk to him, maybe they could be starting a family or working through their issues. Several months of being single have made Annie understand just how special what she had was. She needs Deacon back, she decides, and will do anything to get him.

Despite being divorced from Deacon, the officer at the front desk waves Annie through and hands her a badge. On the drive to S.W.A.T. HQ, Annie practiced what she would say. She needs to talk to him, and she’s not above begging him to give her another chance. Annie had Deacon once but made the terrible mistake of letting him go. With another chance, she won’t make the same mistake twice.

Annie stops when she sees Deacon and ducks behind a pillar as she listens and watches.

“So, your back hand will come around as you step out,” Deacon explains, his chest pressed against your back as he holds your wrists up.

“Front foot and back hand?” you clarify, glancing over your shoulder at Deacon.

“Yep.” He taps his foot against yours, signaling you to step out as his hand leads yours into the first move of a spinning hook. “From here, spin on the ball of your foot like a roundhouse and keep the hook pulled tight.”

“One more time?” you request, moving with Deacon as he moves through the steps, pulling you with him.

The movement pulls you closer to Deacon, and Annie sees he doesn’t mind. Not at all.

“Try one by yourself?” Deacon asks, stepping back.

Deacon’s hands drop slowly, his fingertips dragging down your arms until he backs away. He watches with a smile as you go through the steps slowly before taking a deep breath and doing it at full speed. The move feels identical to Deacon’s demonstration, but you look at him for confirmation.

“You did it! That was perfect!” Deacon cheers, his smile wide as he looks at you.

Deacon never looked at Annie like he is looking at you, but that’s not what catches her attention. Rather, it’s how he touches you.

You jump into Deacon’s arms, wrapping your arms over his shoulders as his circle your waist. Deacon spins you around before setting you down. His hand raises to your face, brushing over your cheek as he pushes a stray piece of hair back. Deacon’s touch is gentle and caring and so full of love. A kind of love that Annie didn’t experience. Deacon was never hers, Annie realizes, she just got lucky to have him for a while. His heart has been waiting for you, and she is no longer in his way.

5. Luca sees that Deacon loves you by how he serves you.

Luca’s grand opening of his food truck has come to the LAPD. He’s working, wanting to meet everyone and get a feel for how to best run the business. What better way to test operations and efficiency than feeding hungry law enforcement officers?

As he’s handing someone a plate of food, Luca notices you and Deacon standing side-by-side in line. The sunglasses on your face look suspiciously like Deacon’s, and his lack of sunglasses proves Luca’s suspicion. You turn your head and look up at Deacon, the sunglasses slipping as Deacon laughs at you, causing your smile to grow.

“Hey, man,” Deacon greets when he reaches the truck. “Busy day?”

“You’ve got no idea,” Luca answers. “What can I get ya?”

“Whatever you suggest.”

Luca looks at you, and you nod as you say, “Same for me.”

“Two suggestions comin’ up,” Luca replies before turning around.

You reach for your wallet, but Deacon grabs your hand. He shakes his head and hands Luca cash when he returns.

“Keep the change,” Deacon says with a smile.

“That’s against my morals,” Luca jokes.

“Then consider it a tip for the excellent suggestion,” you call as you step back. “And for keeping me alive.”

Luca laughs and waves before you turn around. Rocker steps forward to order, but Luca raises a finger to ask him to wait. Deacon’s hand is on your lower back, and Luca is invested in the affection and smiles you share with Deacon today.

“What are you looking at?” Rocker asks. He turns to follow Luca’s line of sight. “Oh. They finally together?”

“Not that I know of. Wait ‘finally’?”

“You don’t see it?” Rocker asks incredulously.

“They’re best friends,” Luca argues, furrowing his brow.

“Watch,” Rocker says with a laugh.

Deacon takes your food while you sit, then passes it to you before sitting beside you. He passes you napkins and a few packs of condiments and spices. You lean toward him to say something, then turn to eat.

“What are we missing?” Luca asks before taking Rocker’s order.

“You’ll see. Hopefully they will too,” Rocker answers, sighing.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luca’s eyes find you again just as Deacon stands. He raises his hand to you as he gathers your empty plate with his. Returning from the trash can, Deacon takes your hand to help you up. You jump to your feet, jostling your Deacon’s sunglasses with the movement. Deacon straightens the glasses against your face, smiling as you beam up at him. Your eyes are hidden behind the glasses, but Luca guesses you look similarly lovesick. Deacon has always been willing to serve people, but how he looks after you and provides for you is different.

“Told you,” Rocker says as he walks by, returning to work.

+1. Deacon realizes that he loves you by how you honor him and yourself.

Los Angeles is being hit by “the storm of the century,” according to the weather forecasters. The LAPD has opened several storm shelters, including S.W.A.T. headquarters. 20-David volunteered to help, and you were quickly separated from Deacon when you jumped to action.

Deacon finishes his assigned task and moves to a corner to look around. He wants to find something else to do, to help the people who need it, but he sees you and gets distracted. You’re rushing around, smiling kindly, as you help people. Giving out small care packages, finding blankets, giving people directions, everything you do is done with a smile, respect, and honor for yourself, your station, and your city. You care for the people around you, even though they were strangers before the storm.

Deacon watches you kneel in front of a small boy. His face is hidden, pressed against his knees as he curls into himself. You place a hand in front of you, palm up, as you say something. He raises his head just enough to look at you. Whatever you say works because he places one of his hands in yours.

Deacon feels something he hasn’t felt before. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed, and he’d be concerned if you weren’t around, but you’ve always caused unique feelings in him. This is different, though.

You pull the boy into your arms, standing as he hides your face in the crook of your neck. Slowing down, you look around before your eyes find Deacon. Smiling at each other, you walk to the quiet corner where Deacon has been waiting. 

“Tommy,” you whisper, rubbing the boy's back as you approach Deacon.

It’s only been a few minutes, but Deacon missed your voice and presence beside him more than he thought possible.

“This is Sergeant Kay,” you tell Tommy. “He’s like a superhero. He saves people, but he gets scared, too.”

Deacon smiles as Tommy turns his head against your shoulder to look at the supposed superhero. Deacon’s heart rate increases with your comment and how gentle you are with Tommy.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” Deacon says.

“You, too. Do you really get scared when you’re saving people?” he asks quietly.

“All the time. Lots of things can be scary. But, you know what helps me?”

“What?”

“Remembering that I’m brave and strong. Like now, that thunder is super loud and scary right?” Tommy nods, and Deacon adds, “But you’re so much stronger than that noise! I bet you could yell or clap just as loud.”

“I could,” Tommy affirms, nodding against your neck as he smiles.

“One other thing that helps is having other strong people around you. Like the beautiful lady holding you?” You laugh quietly, and Deacon fights to stay focused. “She is brave and being around her makes me brave. Who do you have here that is brave?”

“My mom.”

“Well, then you can stay with her and make each other braver.”

Tommy nods and looks up when his mother walks toward you. You set him down and watch with a smile as he runs into her arms. He nods excitedly, and his mother picks him up and walks toward you.

“Thank you,” she whispers to you.

“Thank Sergeant Kay, he did all the heavy lifting,” you tell her.

“Thank you, sir,” she adds before turning away.

You release a sigh before turning back to Deacon. His eyes are fixed on you, silently staring at you. Furrowing your brows, you frown, and Deacon feels another heart squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, raising a hand to rest on Deacon’s bicep.

“Nothing, nothing. I just noticed something,” Deacon replies.

“What?”

“That I want to do this.”

You want to ask what ‘this’ is, but Deacon grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest before you can. His lips capture yours, and you gasp into his mouth. Clutching his shirt, you push yourself closer as you move with Deacon. You’ve always been close and in sync, but this feels like the moment where everything you are and have shared intersects. This is the beginning of where your relationship was leading you all along. Deacon pulls back, looking at you with a smile while you stay close, your eyes closed.

“I,” you begin, pausing as you open your eyes to see Deacon. “I just realized something too.”

Deacon’s eyebrows raise, and his lips part, nervous as he waits to hear what you’ve realized.

“I want to do that forever,” you say, pulling him down for another kiss.

The way you treat yourself, the way you treat Deacon, the way you treat total strangers: that’s what Deacon thinks about as he realizes that he loves you. That he’s always loved you.

“We’re at work, guys,” Hondo scolds as he walks to Deacon’s side. You pull back and see Hondo’s smile before he yells, “20-David, they did it!”

Luca, Tan, Chris, and Street cheer, soon joined by a room full of strangers. You hide your face in Deacon’s chest as he walks out of the room, pulling you into a hallway to kiss you again. After all, forever is a long time, and he’s lost enough already.

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 7

Authors Note: GUYS my laptop crashed last night I am SO SORRY! But now its out and ready for y'all to read it...this chapter is lowkey like a filler episode but it was necessaryyy! Also y'all are so funny messaging me after I posted that this chapter would be up in 2hrs and then I was MIA, LMAO! Anyways, I LOVE Y'ALL <3 lemme know how you like it :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After battling with multiple special grade curses, y/n spends some time in the hospital so Shoko can run some tests to get to the bottom of the burning question: what was that cursed energy? With all of these thoughts swirling around y/n's head, she decides to discuss the incident with Gojo.

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: mention of d*eath, nightmares, pain, protective satoru

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“We’ve made our decision,” Gakuganji said, his voice flat. “For the safety of all sorcerers, y/n is to be executed by the end of the week.”

A silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. Yaga’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. Utahime’s face was pale, her jaw set in anger and disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re going to kill her for something she hasn’t done? Based on hearsay from a cursed spirit? This isn’t justice—this is murder!”

Gakuganji’s gaze didn’t waver, and his words didn’t hesitate. “This is protection.”

Yaga’s voice was a low growl. “This is cowardice.”

Utahime stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she turned to Gakuganji, eyes blazing. “Do you really think Gojo is going to stand by and let this happen? You’re sentencing her to death, and you know damn well he won’t allow it.”

Naobito’s smirk widened. “Let him try. No one is above the rules. Not even him.”

Yaga stepped forward again, fists trembling with barely contained rage. “This isn’t over. There’s still time to change your minds.”

But Gakuganji remained unmoved. “The decision is final. The execution will proceed as ordered.”

Yaga’s shoulders sagged, a mixture of anger and helplessness washing over him. Utahime stood frozen, eyes filled with disbelief, before she turned and stormed out of the room, unable to bear it any longer.

As the doors slammed behind her, the weight of their decision settled over the room like a shroud. Yaga stayed behind for a moment, his eyes burning into Gakuganji’s, before he finally turned on his heel and left.

The clock was ticking. And now, the countdown to your execution had begun.

—

Gojo was walking down the hall, on his way to meet with the second-year students for training. He was flipping through something on his phone when Utahime turned the corner in a hurry, her face twisted with anger and urgency.

"Satoru!" she shouted, her voice sharp and breathless. "We need to talk. Now."

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. "Utahime, is there a spider in your equipment locker?" He teased her, not yet understanding the severity of the situation.

Her glare could cut through steel, but there was no time for banter. "They’ve ordered y/n's execution."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His smile faltered, slipping away completely as her speech sank in. His heart did a sharp, painful pang in his chest, the kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Execution. 

For a split second, he said nothing, and Utahime watched his playful facade crumble as the realization settled in. His eyes widened with fear as his emotions bubbled up inside him.

“They—what?” His voice was dangerously low now, barely concealing the anger simmering beneath. His fingers curled tightly into fists, drawing blood which dripped onto the wooden floor. “Who?”

"Gakuganji. The higher-ups. The clan leaders. They’ve decided she’s too much of a threat, and they have sentenced her to death—by the end of the week," Utahime replied, her tone desperate but harsh. "I came to tell you as soon as they decided. We have to do something, she doesn’t deserve to die…"

Gojo’s mind raced, but the burning anger inside him was sharper than anything else. "Of course, they did," he muttered, and forced a bitter laugh. "They really think they can get away with this again, don’t they?"

Utahime watched him closely, worry flickering in her eyes. "You can’t just charge in there, Gojo. You need to be smart about this."

Utahime’s words still rang in his ears—execution—but all he could see was red.

He had faced cursed spirits, fought beings that would bring terror to most, but the idea that they thought they could kill you? That they believed they could take you from him—from this world, was nothing short of absurd.

His mind was made up. He wouldn’t waste time marching down corridors—with the clap of his hands, space bent around him. 

The familiar sensation of teleportation washed over him, and in a blink, the meeting room came into sharp focus. 

—

The room was exactly as Utahime had left it earlier—Gakuganji, Naobito, and the other higher-ups still seated, discussing plans that would never come to actuality. 

They barely had a moment to react before Gojo materialized before them, his presence sucking the air out of the room.

The tension was immediate. 

All eyes snapped to him, the weight of his overwhelming power pressing down on every corner of the room. Gakuganji, seated at the head of the table, locked eyes with Gojo, his face hardening.

"Gojo," Gakuganji began, but Gojo cut him off.

"You made a decision without consulting me. You actually think you can kill her?" Gojo’s voice was ice, sharp and dangerous. His sunglasses were now his hand, and his anger-filled eyes scanned the room.

Naobito shifted in his seat, a smug smirk forming on his lips. "You’re too late. The decision is final. Even you—"

"Shut up, idiot." Gojo snapped, his voice a razor's edge. His gaze was cold and unyielding. "You think this is about rules? You think I’m going to stand by and let this happen, you people are all cowards, I’m not worried about dealing with you."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, like the calm before a storm. The pressure of Gojo’s Infinity (which he was amplifying on purpose) began to fill the space, growing heavier, suffocating, pushing down on the higher-ups until they could barely breathe.

Gakuganji, for all his pride and authority, felt it too—a bone-deep fear creeping up his spine.

"I’m not asking you to reconsider," Gojo continued, his tone terrifyingly calm. "I’m telling you. This execution order? It’s not happening. If you try to go through with it, I’ll personally make sure that none of you live through that day."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Naobito, usually one to revel in conflict, remained quiet, his fingers tapping nervously on the armrest of his chair.

Gakuganji’s voice, however, remained steady, though there was a hint of something less certain beneath the surface.

"Gojo, you’re walking a dangerous line. You may be powerful, but even you can’t defy the entire jujutsu world! The consequences—"

"Consequences?" Gojo let out a bitter laugh. "You really don’t get it, do you?” 

His words lingered, thick with intent, and the threat was real. Everyone in the room knew it. 

Gakuganji, Naobito, all the higher-ups—they may have held their positions for years, but no one, not even them, was foolish enough to believe they could challenge Gojo and come out alive.

For a moment, Gakuganji held his ground, his gaze locked with Gojo’s. 

But Gojo didn’t flinch. His cursed energy was a crackling storm, barely contained, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. One wrong word, one defiant move, and he would obliterate them all without hesitation.

"You may be strong, Gojo," Gakuganji finally said, his voice low and measured, "but strength alone doesn’t make you invincible. Y/n is dangerous. If her power continues to grow unchecked—"

"Her power isn’t the problem here," Gojo interrupted again, stepping forward. The very air seemed to ripple around him, warping with the sheer force of his presence.

"You’re just scared of what you don’t understand. But killing her won’t solve anything. You did the same thing with Okkotsu and Itadori. How has that been working out for you, hmm?"

Naobito scoffed, but even he didn’t meet Gojo’s gaze.

"And what would you do, then? Let her walk free while her cursed energy spirals out of control? What happens when she becomes a threat to all of us? We don’t even know what she is—A special-grade curse addressed her directly, that will not go unnoticed!"

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening.

"I’ll deal with her. Not you. Not any of you cowards. Me." His voice dropped, lower and more menacing than before.

The room grew even quieter, the weight of Gojo’s declaration pressing down on the higher-ups like a physical force.

"And if you do not cancel, or at least defer her execution?" Gojo continued, his smile returning, but this time it was pure danger, laced with the promise of violence. "I’m siding with y/l/n."

He turned and began walking slowly towards the door. Before leaving, he paused, casting one last look over his shoulder, his voice dripping with promise.

"Consider this your only warning. Try to execute her, and there won’t be a Jujutsu world left to follow your orders."

And with that, he left the room.

—

Gojo stalked down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps drowned out by the whirlpool of thoughts crashing in his mind. 

The faint light from the overhead lamps reflected off the polished wood floors, casting faint shadows that danced across the walls, but Gojo was lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. It was rare for him to be in this state—this quiet, this uncertain. 

For someone as powerful as him, doubt wasn’t something he entertained often. But now, that doubt gnawed at him, an insidious presence that had wormed its way into his mind.

Execution. By the end of the week.

The words rattled around in his skull like a curse of their own, echoing with a cold finality he couldn’t shake.

No matter how many times he tried to reason his way out of it, the same truth remained: they had sentenced her to death.

You.

He let out a sharp breath, his chest tightening painfully as his mind spiralled. 

Gojo was many things—arrogant, cocky, reckless—but he was not naive. He knew exactly how the higher-ups operated. He had dealt with their politics, their cowardice, their obsession with control for years—he dealt with Itadori’s execution sentence and Okkotsu’s…But this? This was different.

His usual air of ease and invincibility felt strained, replaced by a heaviness he wasn’t used to carrying. The decision of the higher-ups was gnawing at him, and for the first time in years, he felt... uncertain.

As he rounded the corner, lost in thought, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Satoru?"

The soft sound of his name pulled him from his thoughts, and his heart skipped a beat as his worried eyes met yours. 

The way you said ‘Satoru’ just now, gentle and familiar, struck something deep inside him. When his eyes met yours his heart fluttered again—-there you stood, your eyes bright, practically sparkling in the dimly lit hallway.

He felt a pang in his chest that caught him off guard like a dull ache he hadn’t noticed until now. But your gaze—those sparkling eyes—seemed to hold the light, a warmth he hadn’t truly appreciated before. 

‘When did I start noticing such small things about her?’ He thought to himself.

The smile he plastered on was instinctual, a façade to hide the turmoil inside. "Hey," he greeted, his voice lighter than how he felt. "What brings you here? Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?"

But you weren’t fooled, not even for a second. Your eyes narrowed, observing him with that sharp intuition you always possessed, though a soft, breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Hey…is everything okay? You looked like a dear in headlights for a second there."

Your words pierced through the casual wall he had built up, and he felt exposed under your gaze.

You could read him too well. It didn’t help that this was the first time you’d crossed paths since that moment on the bench, heightening the already charged tension between you.

He tried to brush it off, letting out a short laugh. "Wrong? Nah, everything’s fine. I’m just, you know, dealing with the usual—saving the world, being ridiculously good-looking, that sort of thing."

Another breathy laugh left your mouth. Your eyes softened as your gaze met his again, your presence grounding him in a way he didn’t expect. "Are you sure? Please don’t lie to me—there is already so much going on…"

For a moment, Gojo stood there, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat.

His instinct was to shield you from the truth, to protect you from the weight of what was looming ahead. But looking into your eyes, he couldn’t lie to you—not about this. 

His smile faded, and for the first time, you saw the worry etched in his expression.

"The higher-ups," he started, his voice quieter now, "they’ve made a decision. One that... involves you."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but the concern on your face grew. "What do you mean? What decision?"

Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"They’ve ordered your execution," he said, the words heavy on his tongue. "By the end of the week."

The hallway seemed to grow colder as the gravity of his words sank in. Your eyes widened, the colour draining from your face as you felt your stomach drop. 

"Execution? But... why? I haven’t done anything—"

"I know." Gojo’s voice was firm, his gaze locking with yours again.

"This isn’t about what you’ve done. They’re scared of what you might do, what your power could become. It’s all paranoia and fear—they do this a lot—and they’re using it as an excuse to get rid of you before they even understand."

You took a shaky breath, and your hands trembled slightly. "And—um—you’re telling me this because...?"

"Because I won’t let it happen," he said, stepping closer, his voice growing sharper with intensity.

"They think they can decide people’s fates like this—this is the third time they've tried to dictate when someone’s life ends, and I’m done with it. I’ll protect you—those cowards can’t beat me."

For a moment, you just stared at him, your emotions swirling beneath the surface—fear, confusion, but also trust. 

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "I believe you."

Gojo felt that pang again, a deeper one now, knowing what he had to do to keep you safe. The stakes were higher than ever, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure how this would end. But as long as you were involved, he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t let you face this alone.

And he wouldn’t let them take your youth away.

—

The night was still, but your mind wouldn’t stop racing. You sat at the edge of your bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting pale shadows on the walls. Every thought seemed to tighten the knot in your chest. 

‘How could I stop this?’ You thought, with your execution day looming over you like a dark cloud, suffocating every plan you tried to form. Running wasn’t an option… was it? 

You clenched your fists, your knuckles white. Each idea seemed to spiral into a dead end, no matter how much you turned it over. 

Could you appeal to the higher-ups? Or should you run before the inevitable happened? Each option left you trapped—an inescapable fate drawing closer as your chest began to tighter with each failed idea.

Finally, exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids, pulling you into sleep. But sleep wasn’t an escape—The nightmare returned.

This time, it was different—darker, more vivid. 

You were back in the forest, the same one from that night. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing down on your skin like a weight.

Soon enough you felt the pain creeping in slowly, building in the pit of your stomach until it felt like fire burning through your esophagus. You stumbled forward, struggling to breathe as the searing heat spread through your limbs. But then… you saw him.

The figure from the dream wasn’t a blur anymore. His face was clear.

He wore a long, dark robe, his black hair tied back loosely. His appearance was calm, almost serene, but there was something sinister in the way he carried himself.

His robes shifted slightly in the wind, the wide sleeves brushing against his side. A slow, sickening smile spread across his lips, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by the pounding in your head, the pain radiating through your body. It felt like your bones were cracking under the weight of his presence.

The agony became unbearable, and you screamed—high and desperate.

Your eyes flew open, and you shot upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat.

The scream had escaped your throat, ragged and raw. Your body was trembling uncontrollably, the phantom pain still lingering in your spine as if his cursed energy had left its mark.

Before you could steady your breath, there was a knock at the door, sharp and urgent.

“Y/n—are you alright?”

Gojo’s voice, usually playful, was unmistakably laced with concern. The sound cut through the haze of terror clinging to you.

You sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding in your ears, your mind still caught between the nightmare and reality. The pain, although fading, still clung to your nerves. You heard the knock again—firmer this time.

"Hello there? Y/n? I'm coming in."

"Uh—No! I'm okay!" You stammered, your voice hoarse and trembling. But it was too late. The door creaked open, and Gojo stepped into the dimly lit room, his figure casting a long shadow on the floor.

His usual air of confidence followed him in, but there was something different this time. His bright blue eyes, often filled with mischief and amusement, now gleamed with concern as he took in your state—sitting on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, body trembling from the remnants of the nightmare.

“Satoru! I could have been naked!” You shouted at him.

“I couldn’t be so lucky,” he joked, but his tone quickly changed,

“You just screamed bloody murder, I doubt you’re okay, and with this whole execution thing, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He said softly. Without waiting for permission, he closed the door behind him and walked over to your side, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I… I had one of those nightmares again. That's all,” you whispered, your gaze shifting down to your trembling hands. It felt ridiculous to admit, but the dream had shaken you to your core, and no amount of forced composure could hide that. That pain…

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. He crouched down beside the bed, bringing his face level with yours. His presence, as overwhelming as it always was, somehow brought you back to the present, pulling you out of the lingering haze of fear.

"You’re still shaking," he noted quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What was it about? The same thing as before?"

You hesitated. How could you explain? You didn’t want to admit the truth—the figure, the pain, the overwhelming sense of dread that had seeped into every part of you.

You didn't want to sound weak or paranoid, especially not in front of Gojo. But then again, this was Gojo—he had a way of seeing through you no matter how much you tried to hide.

“It was… him. The same man from the forest,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This time, I could see him. It was clearer, and the pain—God, it felt real.”

Gojo’s expression shifted slightly, something hardening behind his eyes, though his voice remained gentle. “What did he look like?”

You swallowed, the memory flashing vividly in your mind. “He was wearing a dark robe, his black hair was tied back. His eyes—they were so cold, almost… empty. He looked at me like I didn’t matter, like I was nothing.”

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Gojo remained silent. He stood up slowly, his hands slipping into his pockets, as though he was trying to make sense of what you had just said.

The moonlight caught his profile, casting his expression in shadow, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

His silence unnerved you. You weren’t used to Gojo being anything but playful and brimming with confidence. This quiet, almost contemplative version of him sent your mind spiralling further into doubt.

“Gojo?” you ventured softly, your voice fragile in the stillness.

His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and calculating, as if weighing whether to say what was on his mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and serious. “This man—he’s not just in your nightmares, is he?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t wanted to admit it—not to yourself, not to anyone. But Gojo’s words peeled back the thin layer of denial you’d been hiding behind.

“He… he feels real,” you whispered, the confession trembling on your lips. “Every time I dream about him—-the forest, it doesn’t feel like just a bad dream.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. "And the pain?"

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “It feels like it's happening all over again, like he’s reaching into me, twisting something inside. I don’t know how to explain it… but it’s more than just a dream.”

Gojo took a slow, deliberate breath, then turned and sat on the edge of the bed, his proximity grounding you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, deep in thought.

“Do you think…” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to ask the question. “Do you think it’s a curse? That he left something behind?”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering over his temple as if trying to dispel a headache. “It’s possible,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “If he’s who I think he is, then this isn’t just a nightmare. It’s a memory.”

Your breath hitched. “A memory? You think this is real? The the man—and this pain?”

Gojo finally looked at you, his expression hard, more serious than you had ever seen him. “Y/n. If he marked you in that forest, then this pain, these dreams—they’re not coincidences. He’s using them to get inside your head—-causing you to relive memories.”

The thought made your blood run cold. "But why?"

Gojo straightened up, his eyes flickering with something dangerous, something protective. “I don’t know yet. But don’t worry, nothing will happen to you any time soon.”

His words should’ve brought you some comfort, but the weight of it all pressed down harder. “What if this is beyond even you?”

Gojo’s expression softened, but there was a steely resolve in his voice as he replied, “Y/n, I know it feels overwhelming. But remember, I’m the strongest.” He leaned closer, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. “No one can touch you while I’m around. Trust me.”

Your heart raced at his declaration, the conviction in his tone wrapping around you like a shield. 

But—no matter what he said, you couldn’t shake away the overwhelming emotions you felt rising in you. Nothing you did could stop the hot tears that were pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

You looked from your lap up to his icy blue eyes, your own filled with the tears threatening to fall. 

“Satoru…I’m so scared.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper in fear of it breaking as tears began to roll down your flushed cheeks. 

For all his bravado and playful banter, seeing you in distress ignited a protective fire in his chest.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped, revealing genuine concern. He leaned closer, taking in the way your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the quiver in your lips that spoke volumes. 

In that instant, he was reminded of humanity—of how fragile life could be—how easily joy could be overshadowed by fear. It was a feeling he often masked with laughter and teasing, but now, facing you, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped, revealing genuine concern.

“Hey, hey,” he said, brushing a thumb gently beneath your eye, catching a stray tear.

“It’s okay to be scared, but you have nothing to worry about with me around…”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at his reassurance and your skin burning under his touch.

His closeness was intoxicating, each heartbeat echoing in your ears as you focused on the way his gaze held yours, a mixture of intensity and something deeper.

Gojo's thumb lingered a moment longer, the connection between you crackling with unspoken words. There was a tension that thickened the air, a magnetic pull urging you closer despite the chaos swirling around. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the familiar scent that grounded you yet made your pulse race.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost husky tone that made your breath hitch. “No one is going to touch you. Not now, not ever.”

The way he leaned in just a fraction more, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, made your heart pound louder.

“I don’t want to die.” You confessed, your voice shaking, and more tears fell from your eyes. The admission hung in the air, raw and exposed, filling the space between you.

His gaze intensified, and for a moment, you could see the concern etching deeper lines on his face.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone fierce yet tender. “Not on my watch.”

Gojo’s smirk returned, hinting at his playful teasing, but beneath that was an intensity that promised more. He was strong, powerful, and yet here you were, baring your fears to him, leaving you feeling vulnerable yet safe. 

You wanted to pull back, regain control, but the moment was intoxicating—everything around you fading away, leaving only the depths of his blue eyes and the promise of something more.

He leaned back, a cocky grin returning to his face. “Besides, did I mention I’m the strongest?”

Your heart fluttered at his confidence. “Yeah, I how could I forget.” You said, letting out a small laugh.

“Good! Now, wipe those tears away!” he said with a playful look plastered on his face.

“I’m going to be up for the next while, so if you need someone to sleep wiitthh you, just yell for me.” He said before walking out of your room with a small wave. 

As the door clicked shut behind Gojo, a mix of warmth and anxiety settled in your chest. You hugged your knees, feeling the weight of your fears creep back in, but his words echoed in your mind—’Trust me.’ 

Clinging to the flicker of hope he had ignited, you wiped your tears and took a deep breath, reminding yourself that you weren’t alone in this fight.

With that thought, you closed your eyes, letting the promise of his protection guide you into a restless sleep.

—

The next morning dawned heavy with an unspoken tension. You walked beside Gojo as you made your way to the rendezvous point—an abandoned shopping mall on the outskirts of the city.

The rising sun cast long shadows across the crumbling structure, its shattered windows reflecting fragments of light onto the cracked pavement.

The once-bustling space now stood eerily silent, a shell of its former life. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and the distant groan of metal filled the heavy air. But it wasn’t the mall's haunting emptiness that had your nerves on edge.

It was the conversation ahead.

Gojo’s usual carefree attitude seemed slightly subdued as you both walked in silence. The steady rhythm of his steps beside you was the only thing grounding you in the moment.

You could feel his presence like a buffer against the dread curling in your stomach, that unspoken tension between you two hovering just beneath the surface.

It was a quiet intimacy that neither of you acknowledged, but it was there—palpable, real.

Without a word, Gojo’s hand brushed lightly against your back as if offering reassurance—an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

His touch lingered, warm and solid, sending a wave of comfort and something else—something deeper—through you. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he.

His fingers grazed your spine, then slipped lower to rest against the small of your back, his hand staying there, the weight of it subtle yet unmistakable.

The gesture was almost protective as if reminding you that he was there, and no matter what happened, you weren’t alone. Your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears.

As you continued walking, Gojo slowed down beside you, his hand sliding from your back to rest lightly at your waist. The contact was brief but intentional, his fingers curling just enough to hold you close. You glanced at him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him.

Gojo had lifted his blindfold without a word, the black fabric slipping up to reveal his piercing blue eyes, startling against the morning light. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. 

His expression, usually so teasing and carefree, had softened, and in the intensity of his eyes, there was something deeper—something unspoken that made your pulse quicken.

Neither of you said a word. There was no need to.

He gave a soft, almost wistful smile before letting the blindfold slip back into place, the casual mask he always wore settling back over him like a second skin.

His hand lingered at your waist for another fleeting second before he finally moved it away.

The moment passed, but the warmth of his touch stayed with you.

As you reached the central atrium, you spotted the others—Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, joined by Maki, Panda, and Inumaki. 

Their expressions were somber, eyes scanning the area as if expecting trouble. They had sensed something was wrong when Gojo called for a private meeting at such an unusual location.

Yuji raised a hand in greeting, his usually carefree smile missing. "Hey, y/n. What’s this about, Gojo-sensei? You’ve got us all gathered like we’re about to face a special-grade curse or something."

Nobara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they flitted between you and Gojo. "Yeah, spill it already. This place gives me the creeps."

Maki remained silent but alert, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Panda and Inumaki exchanged glances, their postures tense as if bracing for bad news.

Gojo stepped forward from your side, his tone deceptively light despite the gravity of the situation.

"I won’t sugarcoat it. This isn’t a mission. It’s about her." His gaze flickered briefly back to you before scanning the group. "The higher-ups have ordered her execution."

The words hung in the air like a curse, and you felt the weight of the moment press down on you as all eyes turned your way.

Yuji’s eyes widened in shock. "Execution? What for?"

Nobara’s voice was sharp with outrage. "What the hell? Are you serious?"

Maki’s eyes narrowed as she pieced it together. "This is about that cursed energy inside her, isn’t it?"

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight. "I…I think so. I can feel it in me—it's like a separate entity that I can’t fully control." Your voice wavered slightly as you met their stares.

Panda’s calm voice cut through the rising tension. "So, what���s the plan? There’s no way we’re letting them go through with this."

Gojo smirked, though the usual playfulness didn’t reach his eyes.

"That’s where you all come in. We need to figure out how to get the higher-ups off her back. Either convince them she’s not a threat, or we buy enough time to find another solution."

Nobara clenched her fists, fire in her eyes. "Screw convincing them. Let’s just storm the place and tell them where they can shove their execution order."

Maki snorted and rolled her eyes. "That’ll go over well, Kugisaki."

Before anyone else could respond, a sudden, oppressive wave of cursed energy washed over the mall, freezing the air. 

The sheer force of it made your breath hitch, an ominous pressure settling over your chest like a vice. Even Gojo tensed, the usual carefree ease in his posture evaporating as he lifted his head, sensing the disturbance.

Megumi stepped forward, his demon dogs stirring, responding to the dark energy. "That’s not normal. Its presence is overwhelming."

Yuji’s reaction, however, was the most telling. His face had gone pale, and his fists clenched at his sides as he whispered, "It’s him…"

You barely heard the words, but the look on Yuji’s face—the fear in his eyes—told you everything you needed to know.

Nobara reached for her hammer, her grip tight. “Who the hell is it, Yuji?”

Yuji’s voice shook as he spoke, his eyes locked on the darkened hallway ahead. "Patchface. He’s here."

The cursed energy surrounding you wasn’t just powerful. It was dark, malicious, and suffocating. The air felt thick with malevolence, pressing against your chest as if daring you to move. 

Suddenly, your vision swam, and the world seemed to warp for a second. You blinked, your heart racing, and then—you saw him.

That grotesque figure, pale and scarred, with that same patch of disfigured flesh sewn over his face like a grotesque mask. He stepped from the shadows, his smile sickly and twisted, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

“Ahhhhh, perfect, perfect, just perfect!” The patchface curse’s voice was sickeningly joyful, his tone unnervingly light, like a child about to unwrap a gift. 

“I get to fight my natural enemy, Yuji Itadori, the famous Satoru Gojo…” He paused, his eyes darting to you, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

“And you… the new experiment…I don’t think I can touch your soul…but oh god, I wonder how your soul feels, y/n y/l/n,” he purred, his voice dripping with twisted curiosity. “Oh, this will be so fun!”

His grin widened, and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of something darker, something far more dangerous than his playful demeanour.

His gaze flitted between the group, but it kept landing back on you.

“Let’s see how well you break.”

[moonknixght]

Jerk [Marc Spector x GN!Reader]

Summary: Despite having plans for a date with you after meeting with his ex-wife, Marc seems to have suddenly gone off communication, leaving you to be a bundle of nerves until you decided to call him. Heavily inspired by episode 3 of scenes from a marriage. Word Count: 2k Warnings: Angst with no comfort !!!!!!!!! foul language, Steven cameo (that's a sweet surprise than a warning), no mention of jake A/N: Gosh! I apologize for being super late with this one,, this was meant to be a drabble but i got carried away lol. And I'm a little rusty with writing atm, so don't look at me if the writing feels a lil wonky. though, Constructive Criticism is greatly appreciated! PS; The ex-wife mentioned in this is NOT layla its some other lady because we love layla in this household

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The drawn out rings of the phone was slowly aiding to a upcoming migraine as you paced between rooms, silently praying that you would get an answer to your frantic texts. A rather uneventful Friday night that you expected to spend with the person you were recently seeing, an unpredictably mysterious man, had come to an abrupt stop.

There was a lot you didn't know about Marc Spector; and that was okay, because it was just the process of 'getting to know someone' was, right? Sure, You had rambled your head off on the first date, all which he listened carefully; but with Marc, you never felt the need to push information out of him. It was like befriending an fragile animal that takes time to trust, but the epiphany that comes after is unexplainably amazing.

Growing from acquaintances to actually seeing each other and looking forward to spending time as a couple was unrealistic, which was why your entire relationship was so fascinating. The patience of talking things out was a quality that you both shared; likely being the reason of such a bond with each other. If anyone would listen, you would never stop talking about how perplexing that was.

As you both started building a line of trust, You came to learn that he was divorced and was in the process of sorting things out with his ex-lover— which, of course, you were fine with. And today, he had mentioned about her coming over, which you were also on board with. But with the plans that were arranged for today still being overdue and Marc falling off the face of earth, you couldn't help but feel.. jealous? worry, even?

It was exactly why you were frantically texting your boyfriend, questioning on where he was and if his ex-wife had taken her leave. The only response that you received was being left entirely on delivered, adding fuel to your already anxious state. You felt like you were just being extremely clingy— and that they were probably still talking.

Your gaze travelled to the clock. 15 minutes to 1 am. Holy fuck. Had you really been texting him for over an hour? Had it been over two hours since you had set your dinner table, waiting for him? The latest that Marc had promised he would be was by 10:30, so it was just utterly ridiculous that it was past midnight and he was still unresponsive.

Swiftly grabbing the unopened bottle of wine kept on your table and making it to the couch, You set your phone down on the coffee table as you took a swing of the drink. It was crazy how this entire thing had gotten you so riled up, but as much as you hated to admit it, you were head over heels for this guy. So committed infact, that you were desperately checking on him for the past two hours; that you haven't even had your own dinner yet. One last call. Maybe he'll pick up.

That was the words that your guilty conscious prompted while you sat in the uncomfortable silence, eyes falling on the phone that lay discarded on the table. Obviously, you were going to feed into your thoughts. Of course you did.

And much to your surprise, it only took three rings to connect to the voice that you were just waiting to hear— but it didn't take you long to notice that it came off in a growl, much to the contrast of the soft spoken tone that Marc usually carried.

"Marc?" "Hey." You let out a sigh of relief, shaking your head ever so slightly at your own frantic actions. Atleast he was doing okay. "Are you okay? Where have you been? I've been—"

"Good. Uh, yeah, but listen, it's not cool to, like, bombard me with messages."

There was a short pause where you sat slightly bewildered. before you felt yourself sink into the seat, like a child who had just been scolded. Even with guilt creeping up, You wanted to still defend your own case, which was the endless worrying you had endured for the past hour, waiting for anything from Marc. Just a simple notice to cancel their date for the night or even to say that he was okay. But instead, You were simply left in the dark.

"Because you were supposed to call me, Marc."

"I told you, I'd call you when she left." "Oh, so she hasn't gone yet?" "No, She hasn't. She's still here." Sipping from the glass of wine and setting it onto the table nearby, your mind was quick to rush into many conclusions, but you kept your mouth shut. Whatever they had to discuss must have been really important. "Isn't it late? How are you both still talking?" "No, She— She's in bed." An exhale could be heard from the other end, as your brows furrowed. In bed? Marc lived in a single bedroom, so did that mean he was taking the couch? But before you could even question it, it was like the male at the other end had almost read your mind, because he immediately cleared your doubts, Albeit, you would have wished he never said anything. "..My bed." Oh. Feeling betrayed and lost would be an understatement of how you currently felt. Confused even, to some extend as a steady silence began to occupy the call. You weren't quite sure how Marc wanted you to respond to that. Did he want to hear you weep from the other side? Or be upset at him? Maybe even yell a few select choices of words for wasting your time? But instead of any of that, pure silence rang through the call and if it weren't for Marc checking if the call was still running, he would've thought you hung up. "Hello?"

The feeling of being let down was coursing through your veins at this point, making itself obvious with the lump that grew in your throat and how you stiffened up in your seat. You weren't sure what exactly to feel, a floodgate on sadness and anger opening like it was a pent up dam that was released. You sniffled quietly, trying to bite back the tears that were pricking at the corner of your eyes. It was unfair how distraught you felt. Another audible exhale could be heard, before you heard Marc's voice again. You weren't even sure why you felt like crying, but it was clear that this wouldn't end well. "Look, I'm suggesting that we should take a break because this is just not.. Not working out right now." "When did it work out, Marc?" "Wh— What are you talking about?" "I said." You spoke, recollecting yourself in a suspiciously gentle manner. "When were you not trying to use me as a way to move on?"

It was his turn to grow silent, and that was pretty much the answer you needed. To think that you gave him the chance, thinking that maybe this time around you could actually be with someone who cared— There were no other words to describe what you've been this entire time. You were foolish. "Goodnight. Sleep well." You'd be lying if you said that you didn't still want him to come back to you. Justify himself properly. Say that this was all some sick joke. But you were also aware that there was probably nothing that would save this. Still, You stayed when he spoke up again, for whatever reason. "Stop. Just Listen. This doesn't have to be.. what you think it is, I just need time to collect myself and honestly, I've been feeling for a while that—"

The urge to laugh was overbearing, and you didn't hold back. "You're so full of shit, Marc." Anger was finally settling in before the male at the other end could even respond to your words, but this wasn't about being courteous anymore. It felt like if Marc had cared for you even a little, this wouldn't have happened like it did. "Own up to what you're doing, asshole. I know you like to evade your responsibilities but just for once, if you have any respect for me, stand up like a man and say it to my face so I can just accept the fact that I've wasted my time and effort on you."

"Okay, Let me stop you here before you say anything else that you're gonna regret."

"No, fuck you. The only thing I regret is thinking that you actually cared enough to be with me. Turns out, your only concern is keeping yourself occupied and acting like you don't give a shit about everything that leaves you. You're a selfish prick."

"Fine. It's over then."

"Good. Lose my number and Have a good fucking night, Spector." The call was immediately cut, and so was the brightness of the candle that you had lit earlier by the dinner table. The dimness eased your volatile temper, but it bought the dejection and uneasiness that had failed to show up during the call. There was an option for you to cry it all out, but for reason, you didn't. A soft sigh escaped your pursed lips as you rubbed your eyes. Maybe you'd end up bawling your eyes out about this when you were nestled into the cold embrace of your bed.

You didn't even feel hungry anymore; so shoving the pasta that you had cooked hours prior into the fridge and cleaning up, you tried your best not to think of everything that just happened, which was difficult in it's own volition. It was just a few dates, so you were technically the one in the wrong for letting your guard down so easily and falling for a man who barely talked to you. That conclusion stung a little, but it helped you feel better as you picked up your phone and the bottle of wine again— too exhausted to take off the gorgeous outfit you had picked out for the night as you opened tinder; trying to scroll away like you were gonna move on.

—

On the other side, Marc had made the mistake of pacing through his room as he made the call, biting his cheeks as it reached it's abrupt and upsetting end. Guilt did lace his features, but reminding himself that this was the last he would ever hear from you made the circumstances a little less horrible. Glancing at the phone as his thumb hovered over your contact, He heard a meek voice call out to him. Not that of his ex-wife, but that of Steven's— who had seen everything from the reflection of the mirror that Marc found himself standing before. "Marc.." The reflection called out to him, a clearly disappointed expression lacing his features as he tried to find the words to even begin expressing how regrettable this would be. Steven didn't have to elaborate, though, because in the few seconds that Marc met Steven's concerned eyes, he knew this would just add into the contrition that already plagued his mind.

Marc tore himself away from Steven who made a lowly attempt at trying to reason with him; walking back to where he had just been previously. It was because Steven knew, and so did he, that he found what it felt like to be loved again through you. But he was undeserving of it. With everything he has done and all the secrets that he hid, he only deserved the toxic relation he had with his ex, which atleast kept his needs at bay; a fair trade for all the arguments he had with her. You were right about him being a selfish jerk. Though it was for all for the wrong reasons.

[forpiratereasons]

okayyy things i loved about ofmd s2 today's edition is!! FRENCHIE. what a guy. first off, joel fry, i'm free on thursdays. second, love that he gets promoted to first mate, tries to decline, & IMMEDIATELY disobeys his mad new boss to try and help izzy. he reaches out to izzy a lot tbh and of course frenchie and jim together are the litmus test for how we're meant to feel about izzy.

but frenchie is affectionate with izzy! holds izzy's hand in e1 while fang hugs him, leans against his leg in e3 while they're in zheng's jail, goes back for him in e8 when ed is carrying him forward. i think he grows up a bit esp in the first few episodes & helps his crew at the end (go frenchie!), setting him up to the captaincy at the end.

now that i look back over the series with an eye on frenchie i think they do lay a groundwork for his captaincy - not only does he become ed's first mate but he also has a functioning coping mechanism (a lot has been made of the compartmentalization as frenchie not handling shit but compartmentalization is a legit mechanism and i think once the crew is all back together frenchie gets his shit together pretty fast so u know just bc we don't see frenchie having appropriate outlets doesn't mean he doesn't have any) that would allow frenchie to take a step back and make decisions without necessarily reacting from fear. this is what enables him to fend for izzy!! he can put aside the fear of ed and ask himself, what is the right thing to do? take care of the crew.

other things that slid past me in the first few watches but which i think were more significant than i realized:

in ep 3, when the revenge and the red flag meet, the crew looks to frenchie to answer stede's questions about ed.

auntie talks frenchie (authority) and fang (soft, cultural connection - this is a deft bit of manipulation that totally works btw) aboard the revenge.

frenchie delivers the verdict against ed exiling him from the ship in ep 4 - it can't come from stede, because stede is compromised where ed is concerned, and so instead frenchie is their spokesperson.

we get one final clue as to frenchie's authority and respect among the crew in the post-ep scene of ep 8, where frenchie slips out of the jail - yeah, it's partially because he's thin enough to fit through the bars, but other folks who could fit refuse. he gets the courage up and does it, and it works! he frees the crew!

so you know, i guess i didn't instantly clock frenchie as captain in the final shots of the revenge, but it also didn't ping me as weird that he was giving orders. he's grown a lot over this series. notably, oluwande doesn't take on this sort of active role this series - his arc is a little different with zheng and jim now, his priorities are changing, and he doesn't want to captain the revenge, he wants to follow zheng. just because olu would have been the obvious choice in s1e10 doesn't mean things can't change! olu didn't want to be captain then, he doesn't want to be captain now. that's okay!! the crew have found another leader amongst themselves!!

i'm really excited to see what kind of funky cool badass jacket-wearing captain he'll make in s3!!!

go frenchie!!

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2, Hangs on a double meaning - Answering why .5 + .5 = 25 lazerii *The end?*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The end?

Welcome to the end of the Bonkers Meta Series featuring your favourite Art Director/Clue detective. This is it! I'm going to wrap up this series as well as I can with what I think really happened, the final 15 and why Crowley says the things he says. Meta, Spoilers, Beware! All that. “Armageddon only happens once, you know. They don't let you go around again until you get it right.” 

If you've read my Metatron post you'll know that I thought there were *at least* two time loops with tweaks to achieve different outcomes, seeing as we seemed to be presented with two versions of events a lot of the time, two similar lines of dialogue, double meanings for lines etc etc. If you want a really good recap of a lot of the Clues that have already been compiled already you can go through them here. Yesterday I added my own : The columns in front of the bookshop get stained by a demon, and the stain stays and goes. But why do we care?

Here's my final thesis using the context I'll put together below :

The Metatron is changing the past and the present on earth using the book of life. He's forced a time loop of the last few days at least 50 times over a period of (realtime) months to get the outcome he wants : the separation of Aziraphale and Crowley to allow him to complete the second coming. It only worked once. Let me explain.

1) Not time skips, but stitched loops

My theory about the columns goes like this : a demon touches the right column in the attack on the bookshop, and dirties it. The problem is, in every episode we get multiple versions of the column that are dirtier or cleaner. Why? Because a demon has been touching that column in *more or less* the same place and getting it dirty over time, but the effects on the bookshop only layer every loop and reset, instead of being erased. The layering aspect is super important and I'll get back to it. For now, if we take it that the column gets dirtier over many loops, we now know what we are seeing : a bunch of different time loops stitched together to create a sense of time moving forward in a way that we can understand the story, but that skip forward and backward through the loops. Cleaner column = earlier loop. Here's discussion about clock hands if you want evidence, some even saying the hour hand seems to be going backwards in the first episode or the last, or even that the minute and hour hands must be backwards to make sense. If we think of time skipping ever forward and actions getting deleted (as some have said), then clocks going backwards makes no sense. But if we think about it as a time loop where things and actions are ever being tweaked and changed, then OF COURSE the times won't make sense anymore. People don't show up at the same time if they don't do the same thing they did before. The biggest time discrepancies I've seen in a single scene are A) Crowley's phone and watch being an hour apart in S2E1 and B) Inside the bookshop between Gabriel's fly flashback in S2E6 and him and Beez holding hands, there's an hour difference on the clock. I think that by the time we get to very late loops, some things are happening up to an hour later in the day. A simple example we are shown up top is the Eccles cakes. They are there in the first part of S2E1, but then they are no longer there somewhere along the way. In the first loop we see an ordering action/receiving Eccles cakes action, which takes *longer* than just not doing that and going straight to the shop, so that loop will be slightly later. It gets infinitely more complicated the more loops you are looking at, and we have at least 50 of them. How do I know that?

2) A 25 lazerii miracle

If we know that effects on the bookshop are cumulative and don't reset (because columns), then let's try this idea on for size : Aziraphale and Crowley have been performing the same half miracles on the same spot for 50+* loops, and each times they are layering and getting stronger. .5 demon + .5 angel = .5 angelic miracle x 50*ish loops = 25 lazerii miracle goes off in heaven on the latest loop. Shax then confronts Crowley in his car about a mighty miracle, so we're in a loop here where we've layered quite a lot, but not the last loop because he still has the original glasses/ *but also* Crowley's sideburns are long. Compare it to the scene directly after, and how sunny and bright it is. We're in a later loop and and earlier loop simultaneously.

3) Crowley's been testing So I've been searching for a *reason* that Crowley wears a turtleneck in S2E2 and thren new glasses and changes sideburns, and he seems to be up to some pretty crafty spy stuff, seeing as 1) he seems thrilled by it, and 2) he won't shut up about it (How will our hero cope? Jane Austen, nasty piece of work, master spy) There's also this Clue :

Crowley has a secret, as we know everyone with their hands deliberately in their pocket does in the series. I think Crowley knows before Aziraphale that something is wrong, because he's getting little snippets of memory and feeling, and so he's going off to try and change things about himself, the Bentley and the shop to remind himself in the next loop and leave himself clues or change outcomes if he fails to escape. In the early loops it seems like a fun spy mission, but by the end he's pretty tired and jaded that he doesn't seem to be making any headway on his own.

It *also* explains him throwing books and canapés on the floor in the bookshop to see if it changes in other versions. The problem being that Gabriel keeps cleaning everything up and reorganizing the titles to Crowley can't tell if it's his system or not. (lolsob)

It makes this line seem like he can't fit the loop pieces together anymore, and is trying to make headway without any information, rather than a pre-fall reference.

And this line probably much later in the loops (New sunglasses, long sideburns) :

Okay so! To recap : Everyone gets reset every time, and they make different choices because of past and present edits. But, most heavenly and hellish things don't obey earth laws, and therefore things like miracles start layering, and memories start seeping through the loops. (Point 4 is optional but absolutely hilarious, so I'd like to think it's worth speculating about)

4. The flaw in The Metatron's plan

There's a huge flaw in The Metatron's plan however, and it's that Heaven and Hell don't work like earth does. He's spent so many loops trying to get the result he wants, that he doesn't know that something crazy is *also* happening in hell. Every loop, Shax is emptying out the legions of demons until they barely have enough low level lackeys to go up at all. Hell is understaffed because no new people come into hell in the loop from earth, and they're sending all the demons that aren't subject to the reset into battle. This isn't a negotiation, it's a montage.

So the attack on the bookshop isn't one attack, but waves, and the waves get less powerful each loop. Stitched loops would also explain why Shax now hands Crowley his mail again in the last attack after *just* handing it to him on the park bench, like, 4 days ago in an earlier loop.

I don't have evidence for this directly, but if The Metatron put Maggie together with Nina successfully only in the last few loops, then she's fighting in the bookshop only a few times, and doesn't invite the demons in any other times, which might be why the only evidence is the column, and not books being ruined. But, it might also explain why the demon Eric gets discorporated a bunch of times in a row, he's doing it later and later in each loop. (These are kind of contradictory thoughts, I know.)

5. Aziraphale realizes too late. When I wrote part 4 of this series I was pretty awed by the fact that Aziraphale managed to figure out the Metatron was rewriting things after only hearing him say ONE LINE of dialogue. However after more thought, I think that he's been getting close to the truth a bunch of times by communicating with Crowley in previous loops. In each successive loop he tells Crowley later and later, and it's been getting them reset as punishment each time they figure it out together. By the end they barely communicate at all, because they can feel the danger. Watch his reaction here, in what we can assume is a *very late or last loop (because of the time on the clock)*

He stops himself from interrupting and telling Crowley something important he's just realized : that he's seen Gabriel and Beez get together before. "I know what this means..." 6. Saraqael is helping both sides without them knowing We see Saraquael helping Crowley immediately with the trial when she finds him in heaven. Why would she help Crowley without having ever met him before as a demon? The exchange of "Crowley I remember you, we worked on the Hosehead nebula together" and "I meet a lot of people, (*he doesn't say* I don't remember you)" is a code. They are both trying to communicate what they remember like spies on a bench in St.James park. Who recognizes who, who's trying to stop this madness. Maybe once Crowley gets to heaven this time he's seen multiple trials with multiple endings, and Saraquael has seen them too, I don't really know. BUT she's also communicating with Aziraphale at one point. Look at Saraqael in this scene again about the 25 lazerii miracle. She *remembers the book slap* and then the *looks* at Aziraphale in regards to Gabriel.

Yeah Gabriel, IT NEVER F*&?%ING WORKS IN ANY LOOP SO STOP DOING IT. - Saraquel, probably. Are Saraqael and Aziraphale testing later/earlier in the loops as well? Is this when the miracle was weaker? Who knows! 7. The Metatron job offer was many, many offers

It's really hard to tell with all the pieces of the puzzle moving around, but I think I can count 7 job refusal loops by Aziraphale in the last fifteen minutes. Here's a summary 1) Chinwag with Crowley in the room 2) We should go for a walk instead, here's a coffee 3) You don't have to answer immediately 4) Go tell you friend the good news (This is the important one), it's the last one where he tries to convince Crowley to come with him 5) I need to take care of my bookshop 6) The Metatron puts Muriel in charge of the bookshop, but Aziraphale wants to take something with him 7) Aziraphale straight up runs out to Crowley with "I think I-" 4, again) The Metatron takes him out of the bookshop. "Ready to start"?

Trying to screenshot all that would be insane, so just go rewatch it with all this in mind, and look at how the lighting changes inside of the bookshop and the jump cuts to different angles, and how his face resets every time. It's HEARTBREAKING. 8. The argument

I'm so blown away by the acting and writing (as well as the art direction) in this show, and it all comes to a head in the final argument. Many important lines have double meanings in series 2, because everyone is trying to speak in secret code to not get caught. Especially in the final loops.

In the last loops, we have an Aziraphale who is moving ever closer towards accepting the Metatron's offer, with the straw that broke the camel's back being he could restore Crowley as an angel**/save him; and Crowley who is moving ever farther away, by having to hide all of his Clue gathering, and confiding less and less to Aziraphale in each loop.

Check out the double meanings going on in this whole exchange if you consider that they are trying to save each other using secret codes neither one of them can hear. It's so shattering. Especially when you consider they've probably made it to this argument at least twice, and Crowley convinced him the first time. Why do I say that, you ask? 9. No Nightingales

Because I think Crowley remembers a loop where A Nightingale Sang was playing when they kissed, and Aziraphael didn't leave, but he knows they aren't in that version anymore. 10) I'm a demon, I lied. I'll probably post more abut the secondary characters because Shax, Furfur, Michael, Uriel and Nina etc all have roles to play, but for now, this is it.

----------------------------------------- Thanks so much for reading the gigantic post. If you disagree with my thoughts, or think this is terribly wrong, that's totally fine! I won't be offended. Without a real season 3, everything is just ether. Fingers crossed. I'd also like to thank The Ineffable Detective Agency, @embracing-the-ineffable, @cobragardens, @indigovigilance, @yowlthinks and more for inspiring me and feeding my brain with posts. *Loop numbers could actually be 25+ if you think that .5 demon mircales + .5 angelic miracles pour register as 1 whole miracle in heaven, I just didn't want to go into that in the main review. **The Metatron's meddling in the past seems to me trying very much to highlight to Aziraphale how *good* and righteous Crowley is, despite being a demon, in order to convince Aziraphale that joining him in heaven is a real possibility, and he should push for it.

[firewasabeast]

Uncle Eddie- Chapter 2

Two and a Half

(read here, on ao3, or start at the beginning)

At least once a month, Eddie would come over and watch Juniper while Tommy and Buck went out on a date night.

On those days, Juniper would spend most of her time at Tommy or Buck's heels, asking when her Uncle Eddie was coming.

“You an Papa get dress!” She exclaimed, pushing at Buck's legs to try and get him to go into the bedroom.

“Juniper, it's only three,” Buck said with a laugh. He lifted her up in his arms and took her over to the old grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. It was something Tommy's dad had left him when he died. Tommy hated it, but also couldn't seem to let it go, so there it stood.

“What number is this?” Buck asked, pointing to the three on the clock.

“Tree!” She squealed.

“Right.” He moved his finger. “What number is this?”

“Five!”

“Good job!” He gave her a high five before turning back to the clock. “When this,” he said, pointing to the hour hand over the three, “gets from here to here,” going back to five, “that's when Uncle Eddie comes.”

She pursed her lips together, staring intently at the clock, as though she could get it to move with her mind. After a moment she wriggled herself out of Buck's arms. She stood in front of him, staring up at the clock. “I wait here.”

Buck smiled. He knew she wouldn't be there longer than a couple minutes. She'd get distracted with her dolls, or her toy cars, or the episode of Bluey that was about to begin.

He got his phone from his back pocket and took a quick picture, sending it to Eddie with the text:

Waiting for the clock to strike five so she can see her Uncle Eddie.

As much as Juniper looked forward to their special time together, Eddie was pretty sure he enjoyed it even more. With Christopher at college and the house feeling quieter every day, he relished the moments he got to spend with her, filled with play time, imagination, and endless laughter.

So, after seeing the text, he couldn't help it if he ended up at Buck and Tommy's place by 3:45 with the excuse that they could get ready without distraction.

He ignored Tommy's, “She's got you wrapped, man,” in favor of bending down on his knees, arms stretched wide, as Juniper ran to him as fast as her little legs would allow and launched herself into his arms.

*****

“We'll be home around nine,” Buck said as Eddie and Juniper walked him and Tommy to the door. “Junie- She's been getting into karate lately. Thinks she, uh, she can kick people in the shin and as long as there's a hi-yah attached to it it's okay.”

“We'll be fine, Buck,” Eddie assured him. He makes a mental note to buy her some boxing gloves. Never too early to start learning some techniques.

“And she has to have her yellow blankie to fall asleep or she'll scream.”

“I am not new to this, Buck,” Eddie reminded him.

Tommy placed a hand on Buck's back. “He's got it, babe. They'll be fine.”

They went through this every time. Buck was the more overprotective of the two. Always worried that some sort of danger was looming around the corner. It wasn't like Tommy could blame him, with his tendency to get seriously injured on the regular.

Tommy was slightly more laidback, although Eddie knew he was just as protective on the inside. He was simply better at hiding it.

Buck bent down to Juniper, who wrapped one arm around him while keeping the other hand latched onto Eddie's finger. “Bye, babygirl.”

“Bye, Daddy.” She patted him on the back, “Have a fun.”

Tommy bent down next. Juniper put her hands on her hips, raised an eyebrow at him. He mirrored her.

It was something they had started months ago. At random times she'd give him the look and he'd have to return it, then try to “read her mind.”

“You're thinking of... the number three!”

She shook her head, a smile washing over her face. “Two, Papa!” she shouted. It was always the number two. Every single time.

“Darn!” He looked up at Eddie. “I never get it right.”

“Being a mind reader is not an exact science. Don't beat yourself up about it.”

Tommy smiled, leaned in and gave Juniper a kiss on the cheek. “Who do you call if something bad happens?” he asked.

An eye roll. “Nine and one and one.”

“Good job!”

Tommy stood back up just in time for Juniper to turn her hand and begin shooing them out the door. “Daddy, Papa, go.”

Buck turned to Tommy. “I cannot believe our child is kicking us out of the house.”

“It's a tragedy.”

“You heard the girl,” Eddie said, waving them out the same way Juniper was. “Daddy, Papa, go!”

As soon as Buck and Tommy were out the door, Eddie looked down at Juniper.

“What's your name again?”

Juniper let out an exasperated sigh, hands back to her hips. “Chewpiner.”

Eddie snapped his fingers, “That's right. How could I forget? Mind if I call you Chewy?”

She rolled her eyes, brought her hands to her face and pushed hair back from her eyes. “Fine.”

They played this game every time Eddie came over. Although, to Juniper it was not a game at all.

If her dads were home, she'd be walking over to them right now, a very serious look on her face, and tell them, “Uncy Eddie forgot my name... again!”

To which Buck would ask dramatically, “Uncle Eddie, how could you?!”

And Tommy would add, “It's Chewpiner!”

“Let's go, Uncy Eddie!” She yelled, heading for the back door.

“I'm comin', Chewy!” Eddie followed closely behind. They always had to play pirates first. She'd been fascinated with them since she was eighteen months old, watching old episodes of Jake and the Neverland Pirates. On her second birthday, Eddie and Tommy spent the day building a pirate play set in the backyard while Buck kept her busy. Eddie will be forever grateful he recorded her as she came outside and saw it for the first time. He'll also never forget the neighbors calling the cops, thinking someone was being murdered from the sound of her excited screams.

She'd had the play set for six months now, but loved it just as much as she did on day one.

*****

After pirates was dinner. Eddie fixed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the both of them, along with some carrot sticks and goldfish.

When he placed the plate in front of her she looked down at it... unimpressed.

He knew this would happen. Happened every time. She always forgot that he was not a gourmet chef.

She glanced up at him. “Daddy makes ri- riso... risotto.”

“Oh does he?” He sat across from her, taking a big bite of his sandwich. “Did he also teach you the word risotto just to mess with me?”

She tilted her head to the side, scrunched up her nose. “Huh?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” Pushed the plate closer to her. “Eat.”

Sometimes Eddie couldn't believe what a perfect combo Juniper was of her two dads. Not just her attitude, but looks as well.

Technically, she wasn't biologically Tommy's or Buck's. Eddie still remembers Buck getting that call. Everyone was at Bobby and Athena's, enjoying a barbecue dinner, when Buck excused himself from the table.

A few seconds later he returned, tapping at Tommy's shoulder and telling him they had to go.

“One week old,” he explained poorly. “Girl. Hospital. We. Us. Now.”

Everyone got the gist, tossing out congratulations as Tommy and Buck rushed out the door, then Tommy ran back in a few seconds later when he realized he forgot their keys.

Still, it was hard to believe. Her eyes were identical to Tommy's. A deep ocean blue with specks of hazel. It wasn't something Eddie would have ever noticed on his own, but once Buck showed him twenty side by side photographs, the resemblance was uncanny.

She had a birthmark on her left arm that was a near match to Buck's. Tommy had sent everyone a picture on the group chat as soon as they got to the hospital. Buck, smiling with tears pouring down his face as he held up her little arm to show the camera.

Her hair was light brown, just like both of her dads, with loose curls that clung to her head when they'd get wet.

“It's like she was made just for you guys,” Eddie said the first time he ever held her. It was an offhand comment, spoken as he stared down at the most adorable little girl he'd ever seen.

It also brought both Buck and Tommy to tears.

Buck couldn't even speak, just nodding his head in agreement.

Tommy wiped his own tears away before they could fall too far, muttering out a, “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

*****

Dinner turned into a discussion about her dolls. She had to tell Eddie each of their names, how old they were, and apparently each of them had a whole backstory.

Eddie was pretty sure Buck was behind that one.

When dinner was cleaned up, they colored. Juniper proudly held up a drawing that was just a rainbow of colors scribbled on the paper, “For you, Uncy!”

Best. Drawing. Ever.

Afterward, they had ice cream while they watched reruns of Bluey.

That damn show always made Eddie cry.

Soon enough it was time to get ready for bed. He got Juniper cleaned up, teeth brushed, changed into pajamas, then brought her back out to the living room to brush her hair and put it in braids.

Learning to braid was quite the experience for him. Tommy and Buck were far more natural at it than he was, but he made it his mission to learn because Juniper was always asking him to braid her hair.

So he went to YouTube and watched as many videos as he could. Actually learned to french braid while he was at it, and now he was her favorite braider.

Once he was done he turned off all the lights except for one dim lamp, put Cinderella on, and she snuggled up in his lap. He tossed a blanket over her and her eyes immediately started to close as she drifted to sleep. “Wove you, Uncy Eddie,” she mumbled, her thumb coming toward her mouth but making no actual effort to put it in her mouth.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, Chewy.”

He could have turned off the movie once she was good and asleep. Could have gone and laid her in her room, turned on a basketball game, and scrolled through his phone as he waited for Tommy and Buck to get home.

He didn't though. He kept her in his arms, continued watching Cinderella, and made mental notes of different parts of the movie. He knew she'd ask him about it the next time he saw her. Even if she didn't make it through a movie, she'd remember what they had been watching, and ask Eddie his favorite parts.

*****

When Tommy and Buck got home an hour later, Juniper was still sleeping soundly in Eddie's arms.

“Hey,” Tommy greeted quietly. He smiled at the sight. Juniper lying there, mouth open wide, little snores escaping with each breath. She had a hand latched onto Eddie's shirt, her other curled up underneath the blanket. “I can take her to bed. Thanks, Eddie.”

He scooped Juniper up in his arms, Eddie only slightly reluctant to let her go.

Buck rubbed a hand down Tommy's shoulder as he passed by. “I'll be there in a minute to tuck her in.”

“M'kay, babe. We'll be waiting.”

Buck turned back to Eddie as he stood and started folding up the blanket.

“Oh, um, where's her special blankie?” Buck asked, looking around. “She'll have to have it if she wakes up.”

Eddie shrugged. “Still in her room, probably. She never asked for it.”

Buck stared at him. “You're magic. I swear to God, you're magic.”

Eddie smiled, "When you're right, you're right," he said, beginning to gather up his things and head out.

“Thank you, for tonight.”

“I've told you a million times, Buck, you don't have to thank me. I like hangin' out with my niece.”

“Yeah, she loves it too. You really are so good with her,” Buck said. “We never have to worry about her when she's with you.”

Eddie eyed him knowingly.

“I never said I didn't worry,” he corrected, “just that I didn't have to worry.”

Eddie laughed. Before leaving, he took a detour to the dining room table.

“You ever think of having another one?” Buck asked.

Eddie laughed harder. “God no,” he replied, picking up the scribbled drawing Juniper made him, “but getting to be her uncle is pretty cool.”

[cbrownjc]

Some spoiler thoughts for episode 2x05

I haven't done a rewatch yet, so these are just some initial thoughts on the episode (spoilers):

Daniel was so not let go after those 3 days. Bank on it.

Daniel already said it -- the drug den thing was a fabrication of his memories being rewritten. But, more to it, Louis' memories of that time were also rewritten. Between that as well as his extensive burn? Who knows what Louis even remembers of the 1970s either.

Neither Louis nor Daniel remember a damn thing of what happened during what would be the Devil's Minion period! (Particually because who knows how long it took Louis to even heal. With those types of burns, I'm going to say a few years at least.)

The show left things extremely open-ended for both Daniel and Louis' characters at the end of the flashbacks which can be filled with whatever the show writers might have ideas about that time period over how many whatever seasons. They haven't locked themselves into one single thing going forward leaving it open-ended that way.

Yeah, even if they want Louis and Daniel to have had sex sometime later. Because again, they both don't remember anything. 😏

But Armand -- Armand does. He remembers all of it. And oh you dear, f-ed up gremlin, I really did think you might not have been responsible for Daniel's memories, but now I'm starting to wonder . . . .

Louis, in 1973, doing what he does in Merrick. Because it was remembering Claudia -- how she manipulated him -- that sent him running into the sun. And even though he tried -- and failed -- to do it in 1973, he's going to fully remember it in the present day too IMO and, this time, he'll succeed at doing it.

Because yes, in Merrick, Louis actually succeeds in killing himself. It's only because of how vampire blood works, and a lot of it being poured over Louis' body, that he is revived. And I really think we are headed toward a "rule of three" wrt this. I think Armand clocked Louis was close to killing himself sometime directly after Paris because of maybe almost really trying so, and that is why Armand put a veil up over Louis' mind.

Because even back in 1973 it's clear that Louis actually didn't remember the bit about Claudia until he drank Daniel's drugged-up blood! Between that and Arman directly saying "She didn't love you!" (which yes, was a line taken directly from toward the end of the IWTV book that Armand says to Louis about Claudia), whatever cloud Louis was actually under in 1973 lifted for a bit . . . enough for him to run out into that sun and almost succeeded -- which I feel we'll learn/see was actually his second attempt.

His third (and final) attempt will be in the finale. And that time will be the one that succeeds. (And then he'll be resurrected/reborn).

"Am I going to be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?" Yeah, Armand, it looks very well that you are -- will be.

I loved Luke as young Daniel! And I feel very sure we're going to see more of him. He and Jacob had such a bouncy chemistry.

And oh, the scenes between him and Assad as Armand -- so creepy and sinister! Just what it should be at this point in time between Daniel and Armand, at the beginning of things. They even had Daniel held prisoner in the house for three days, the same length of time he was held in the cage in the books. But everything Armand did to Daniel here was so much more unnerving, particularly the chair thing.

So . . . Armand really didn't know the Talamasca was watching then? Hmm, okay show but I'm side-eyeing that one. Because really, he should have IMO.

Though I did notice that Daniel strategically didn't show Louis the pictures of him and Armand taking Daniel out of the house. Which I still don't think makes any freakin' sense, them doing it the way they did, even with Louis being hurt like that. I supposed Louis wanted to make sure Armand didn't hurt Daniel still, but . . . .

And oh, Armand. I can see any and all attempts to defend you wrt what is coming have really slipped away much after this. I know why you are doing all of this, I get it I do, but . . . *sigh*

You should have told Louis that Lestat was saying, "I love you." But you are still so scared of being alone . . . this is all going to bite you back next season Armand. So, so much.

Would I say it's my most favorite episode of the show ever so far? Not yet. But I known it's the one of Season 2 that I'm going to rewatch over and over the most so far. Yes, I love it for the beginning of Devil's Minion that it gave us, of course. But I love that it also really started to show the friendship and trust that Rolin Jones kept saying last season was between Louis and Daniel. Louis and Daniel just being friends is something I never expected going into the show and has become such a favorite dynamic of mine too.

So yeah, it was a wonderful episode. I do think it was hyped up a bit too much in the "most disturbing thing I've ever seen" department because I actually did not find it to be all that disturbing in the horror department. But as far as character development and dynamic building goes it was stellar and revealed some great things, so I can ignore my little nitpicks.

[gluion]

safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ jacob bae

jacob bae x reader, slight lee hyunjae x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with jacob.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, afab reader (no-gendered terms), lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, hyunjae is your ex, changmin and kevin appearance :'), elements of the last of us (don't support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u're remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by @wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo's the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ my life changed forever reading shawna's piece. thank you for letting me write a piece based on your work (if you haven't read it, go check it out!) just like you, i am a sucker for apocalypse aus :')) hope i did justice to your beautiful work. anyway, love wins all coming out yesterday was a miracle because it's definitely made for this fic </3 thank you to @heemingyu and @deobienthusiast for betareading a bit of this! if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last? 

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans, taking them away from the lives they’ve lived, everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of hyunjae’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember hyunjae’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, hyunjae was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, eyes off the path as he met your gaze. “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and hyunjae found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of hyunjae was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with hyunjae. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant hyunjae would be with you.

still, time continues to move. hyunjae knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and hyunjae met changmin, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, hyunjae was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others, save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to changmin, you and hyunjae got to learn about how to find supplies in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. hyunjae decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. changmin became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and changmin reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing hyunjae fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, hyunjae glanced at changmin, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moves, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but changmin kept his arms around you, holding you back from letting the infected reach you, from letting hyunjae come back to you.

the wails that left you are enough to attract the infected. if only the infected were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to hyunjae, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, changmin dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of hyunjae, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, changmin saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to changmin, but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named jacob.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that hyunjae left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out of your mouth. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, hyunjae’s last words to you play on repeat—the ones he failed to say, the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“changmin, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since hyunjae’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “jacob! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, changmin caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way hyunjae did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still, lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of jacob’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails. 

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

jacob still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and jacob got used to the new dynamic; while he goes hunting and you’re tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night would come, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to jacob who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—changmin, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the fire that continued to burn. “we met changmin a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, jacob never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own. 

“i resented changmin after what happened.” you moved your gaze to jacob whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending hyunjae’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows—together, for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw changmin,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told jacob that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you keep an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of changmin; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of hyunjae you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, jacob listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and jacob found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he was born the same year as hyunjae, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, jacob promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and jacob who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “it was my graduation.” it hit you like a sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i was next in line to go up on the stage until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my hyunjae.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of jacob’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he spoke of you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where hyunjae and changmin now stay. your mouth turned dry as jacob’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber. the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing hyunjae’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of hyunjae being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save hyunjae that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. 

the voice was caught in your throat. how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects? how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of changmin that once caressed your face, the lips of hyunjae that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were jacob’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

jacob took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps. when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you, and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is. 

half a year went by. jacob still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; jacob goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two—stolen glances, quiet giggles, linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and jacob decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you on the couch, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm. 

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted the jacob’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun. 

jacob’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left you as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home, indulge in my hobbies, live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm, the movement of his chest against your back, the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since hyunjae’s death, you considered it. 

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes—they glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours. 

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival. you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named kevin, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and jacob grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of hyunjae still lives?

but one glance at jacob was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin, but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” kevin asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met jacob’s for a split second—confusion, dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. jacob was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and kevin to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with jacob.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it cannot compare to how jacob shines.

you needed to get some sleep is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. you couldn’t look at him. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward, refusing to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left jacob, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by, and another goodbye had to be done. kevin stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were jacob’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told kevin before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot. 

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and jacob found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached jacob’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how jacob’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him, his brother, and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house. 

you then stood in front of your old house with jacob by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two. 

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and hyunjae. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw jacob crouched in front of the console table with eyes. trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside hyunjae with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside jacob. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind. 

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at jacob and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost hyunjae, and 11 months since changmin told you his last words—but it was also 13 months spent with jacob, choosing to survive with him. 

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and hyunjae; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from. 

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in jacob’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and jacob stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how jacob came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “jacob, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger, and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw jacob holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “jacob!” when he looked back at you, you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing jacob’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up—making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how jacob’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears. 

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“jacob!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as jacob was with you. 

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and jacob fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but jacob came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, first-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how jacob holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth, tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

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[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 1.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: an unspecified age difference, this is an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Author‘s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.

Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne song Can I Stay

Links: Can I Stay: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Your new assistant was going to be a problem.

You clocked him as a problem before he walked through the doors of your office.

You spotted the danger a mile away the moment you saw the memo from the President of the company’s personal secretary advising you that a new member of your team would be starting today. A new member whose presence you’d never requested; who’s resume you’d never even seen, and whose last name was suspiciously identical to that company President’s whose Secretary was asking you — no, telling you to welcome your brand new, fresh out of college, probably fresh out of his dear mothers warm hugs and kisses embrace, with as much of a warm welcome as if you were welcoming the President himself.

Not only did you get thrust into your lap a most likely spoiled rotten nepotism baby, but now he was sitting across from your desk staring back at you with a bright beautiful smile of plenty of professionally straightened teeth and an even brighter happy go lucky personality that told you that this strapping young man had never known a day of struggle in his entire life — as short as that life had been so far.

An assistant should be younger than you anyway, right? You wouldn’t feel right bossing a homely old man around all day.

Did that young assistant have to be so very pretty though? Did he really have to be sitting there so damn moist and tender, looking at you with his head cocked to the side as if he had been jumping to as many conclusions about you as you had about him?

“I’m Byun Baekhyun. I like playing video games and working out. I can’t eat cucumber or spicy food. Please take care of me, Miss Manager Noona.” His words pulled his pink lips into a pout as he spoke and the sounds of his voice had just enough of a nasal whine that you wondered if he simply always got his way all of the time with everyone he knew.

You frowned and ticked your head back and forth at the name he called you. “Just Manager.” You corrected sternly and his wide smile dipped into a pronounced pout. The kind one might see on a little kid who’d just dropped his ice cream cone. You heard a nasal grunt of complaint come from the back of his throat and you hated how quickly that sound strummed a particular chord inside of your chest. You felt weirdly rebuked for the quick rebuttal and your lips dropped open almost against your will, “I mean, it’s just that…”

Just when you’d opened your mouth to speak he’d already moved on, “So what do I do here, Miss Manager…?” His words out loud stopped at the word Manager but you caught the movement of his lips as he silently mouthed the forbidden word ‘Noona.’ Clearly thinking he’d gotten away with something, his bright smile was back and as he asked his question he leaned forward with both of his elbows bent on the edge of your desk. His head peaked around to steal glimpses at the various pieces of work both open on your desk and brought up on your computer screen. You had been up to your ass in it before he walked in here and the thought of pausing all of this progress to train this guy was making your stress ulcer act up. You had deadlines to meet if you were going to get this script to the Assistant Directors in time for them to begin filming the next episode. The directors had deadlines, the locations were booked and paid for, the sponsor checks had long ago been cashed, and the reality show talent had a schedule that, contractually, could not be delayed. You simply did not have time for this inexperienced man to be asking you silly questions like “So what do I do here, Noona?”

You pulled a long breath into your lungs through your nose and closed your eyes for a moment, harnessing your self control. It wasn’t his fault you were overwhelmed with work. It wasn’t his fault he was born into a life of privilege and comfort. It wasn’t his fault that you didn't have time to train an entire new employee on the complicated job that sat before you. It was, maybe, perhaps his fault though, that the full head of bottle blonde hair you saw on top of his head had just enough highlights in it to bring out the pink in his cheeks and lips and make him look like something straight out of a boy band.

By the time you’d finished taking in your several calming deep breaths and you put your eyes back on him he was standing over your desk with his eyes peering over the document you had been working through for the past hour.

He was reading and mouthing the words, although from upside down you doubted he could tell what he was looking at, yet you watched curiously as he stuck a slim finger forward to touch the corner of one of the papers. You had been going over translations. Making sure the wording was correct, yes, but ultimately safe for widespread distribution. Your copy had red slashes through it with changes and suggestions. You were the final set of eyes that would approve this language that would be distributed proudly with your companies name all over the world.

“I think this one is no good,” he pointed to a single word on the document that had seemed innocuous enough for you to skip over it entirely. “That word,” his fingertip was stopped on a noun in the middle of the page, “means something very, very naughty in Brazil.”

Your eyes glanced down to where he pointed, surprised first for him to catch on to this task so quickly without you even having to explain it, and second to learn that sometimes a seashell is not just a seashell.

“That’s what you are doing with this, right?” He was grabbing the stack of papers from your desk now. “Give it, you have more important things to do, Miss Manager…” Again his lips continued the next two syllables in silence and you realized that this man was probably the most stubborn person you would ever meet in your entire life, and you were about to be permanently sealed into his mind as his Noona, whether you allowed it or not.

And it wasn’t that you approved of any of this anyway. But by the time your brain turned back on, the documents were already in his hands and he grabbed the red pen and started marking the page on top.

You had no choice but to allow it. The mere thought of someone taking away even a fraction of your workload felt like some sort of a dream come true. Plus, it really did seem like he had some idea of what he was doing. Part of you was genuinely curious as to how he would do.

You glanced over at him occasionally as he read through the pages making his notes and you soon found yourself immersed in the next task that was due soon.

Your focus was interrupted when a chipper sing-songy tune sounded out in his voice beside you, “I’m do-ne,” he called out and the script plopped down on your desk. His eyes were bright and his wide smile was back as his eyebrows wagged in the direction of the stack of papers he’d proudly presented you with.

You’d only made it through the first page when he started speaking again — this time without the singing.

“Did I do well? Do you like it? Can I stay?”

You were leafing through the pages, finding the spot where you left off and where he took over and you quickly read through the lines, taking care to read every suggestion he had made as well as the suggestions he had not made on the chance that in his inexperience he had missed something.

It looked pretty good. You didn’t tell him that though.

“Where did you say you came from again Mr…?”

“Baekhyun. I am Byun Baekhyun and I am yours now. You can use me however you like.” His wide smile had not so much as trembled since he’d brought the script back to you and the jovial attitude did not let up as he delivered to you one of the strangest, most ridiculous promises you’d ever received from anyone in your professional career.

You kept your face blank and ignored his eagerness. At least he was enthusiastic.

“Can you take this down to QC for final approval, Baekhyun…and do you have, like, a resume or something I can look at?”

He nodded with his eyes wide and he was digging through his bag for something. What he handed back to you was a tablet. The electronic kind that kept the little kids quiet at restaurants. His fingers tapped on the screen as he peered over your shoulder he brought up a picture in his photo gallery that seemed to be just a screen shot of his resume. He had to flip past various personal pictures as he did it and you did your best not to focus on any of it until he’d reached the one intended for you to see. There was nothing inappropriate from the looks of it. But it didn’t seem polite of you to snoop.

You did see some things though. Not that you were trying to see anything, but the picture right before the resume was one of him sitting in the driver’s seat of some fancy foreign car with a sweet smile on his face and a different color of hair that if you were being honest looked just as good, if not better than the blonde he had now.

“Sorry Noon—Uhh, Miss Manager, I don't have a printed copy on me but you can look at it there.” His hands were busy putting the paperwork carefully into a large white envelope so he could deliver it all to Quality Control and his head whipped back around with an afterthought for you, “You can just scroll to see the next page, okay?”

He was gone before you could answer him.

His resume showed promise. He’d graduated from an expensive Ivy League, of course, and had spent a few years abroad on various internships, no doubt landed with the ease of his family’s connections in the industry. You’d reached the end of the first page feeling somewhat hopeful that this time your new assistant would prove himself to be quite useful to you for however long he stayed in such a bottom level position. He would probably last no longer than a half a year before he rocketed to the top of the chain of command. The next page had various awards and honors achieved throughout his education and you glanced at the dates that he attended school, cursing your ability to do some quick mental math to guess his age.

He was young. A good amount of years younger than you, that was certain. Of course he was young, his skin still had traces of that smooth soft baby fat in his cheeks. Your finger scrolled back to the first page of his resume and with your fingertip still connected to the glass you allowed the picture to backtrack just a little, so the edges of the image of him smiling behind the steering wheel of that car showed just a little.

You had no business doing this. What were you thinking? You were just some delusional old lady thankful that she had an extra five minutes to her own thoughts thanks to her brand new assistant’s skills with a red pen. You quickly swiped away, back to the safety of the approved viewing material. Page one of Byun Baekhuun’s resume. You swiped again, a little too forceful for this tablet and page two quickly filled your screen. Perhaps the third swipe you made was out of spite but you gasped out loud when the next image in his picture gallery filled the screen of the tablet completely.

A wave of panic filled you and you quickly raced to undo what you had just done, what you had just seen.

You went back. It wasn’t enough.

You went back again, desperate for what you had just seen to be erased from your memory, but no matter how long you stared at the words on that screen, no matter how forcefully you exited out of the gallery entirely, closing the whole thing up and then finally giving up, locking the tablet and putting it to sleep, that image crept back up again and again and again.

Soon the desperation turned to bargaining. And bargaining turned to acceptance. It was normal really for a woman like you, a single, lonely, overworked woman like you to have this sort of reaction to accidentally seeing an attractive shirtless man standing poolside with the sun at his back and wetness glistening over his skin and broad chest and abs and other various well defined, firm, manly muscles.

Anger followed next. You were pretty sure you were going in the wrong order here, but how dare he put that picture in his tablet and just tell you to scroll. It was so easy for him to say it too as if he wanted you to find the picture and admire the time and work he put into building all of those muscles in his body. What if you had been caught in a trap. What if this was some sort of a test by HR to see if you needed to be sent to sensitivity training for sexual predators. What if there was a tracking device on that picture and there was now a blaring nipple warning happening in some control room upstairs.

A soft and pleasant ding interrupted your thoughts and you had a message waiting from Dami in the QC department. Baekhyun must have delivered the package by now. A quick glance at the clock on your computer told you that he had been gone for some time now and you half wondered if perhaps he had gotten lost on his way back.

“Oh my god. WHO. WAS. THAT?!!!??”

“I take it you got the revisions — please be quick, I’ve had 1st AD breathing down my neck all morning.”

“Gotcha. You made some interesting choices with this but I'm into it. What was wrong with those seashells?”

“Vulgar slang, censored in the Brazil market.”

“Ohh-la-la, great catch! This is why you’re the best.”

Her latest message stared back at you as your fingers refused to type a response. The last thing you wanted was to accept someone else’s work as your own, but you also really want to spend too much time on this distracting conversation that was keeping you and her both from your work. A simple emoji would do the trick. A smiley face, or a rolled eyes emoji maybe. Something that didn't exactly make claims to the potential slip up that Baekhyun caught on his first upside down glance at the script that you somehow missed even after looking over it twenty times.

Maybe you needed to brush up on your international slang terms for various sexual acts and their involved genitalia.

“My new assistant, Baekhyun, caught that one.” The long pause between her misdirected compliment and your delayed confession made you feel just a little bit guilty for any potential misunderstandings you might have opened yourself up to.

“Even his name is pretty.”

[She should see his muscles] an uninvited guest in the back of your brain whispered and you winced when it happened.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind you felt the shame of its aftermath course through you. That was the last thing you needed to be thinking about.

You didn't have much time to dwell on it because there was a sudden commotion outside of your office door. You heard the sound of someone’s shrill shouting, overdramatic screaming really and the telltale sounds of someone being thoroughly scolded. At the exact same time an alarm was sounding out on your phone telling you it was time to make it to your biweekly meeting with the directors and assistant directors upstairs. You quickly grabbed your laptop and calendar and made your way out of your door to see what in the world all of the fuss was about.

The carpet outside was littered with assorted papers and standing in the middle of the mess with his head hung down in shame was your assistant, looking sheepish and guilty. The source of the shrieking, as usual, was Carla, one of the less organized members of the translating team. You could see the now empty document tray sitting just at the edge of her desk and you imagined that she had set the whole thing precariously close to the edge again just tempting fate.

“What am I supposed to do with this now? This was my whole day’s work and you’ve made a huge mess of it all! Who even are you? Are you supposed to be in here?”

Baekhyun’s head dipped lower and his cheeks were bright pink as he was scolded again and again for bumping into her teetering tower and sending it crashing down to the ground, as you had seen happen around her desk at least once a week.

“Sorry, but I hardly even touched…” He was opening his mouth now, and as he began to protest what he thought was an unfair scolding you saw her lift up a rolled piece of paper and bonk him squarely on the top of his head with it.

You knew it was time to intervene and you cleared your throat noisily to make your presence known.

Carla’s hand with the rolled up paper dropped in an instant and her eyes widened as she looked at you in surprise.

“M…Manager, He…”

Baekhyun’s face whipped to look to you and you noted the apprehension in his eyes and the way he pulled his lips into the smallest pouty frown.

“Carla, why don't you and Emily work together on this? I know you’ve been working very hard all alone this week. Emily, let’s push back your workload to next week, hmm?” You pivoted to address the rest of your team as to not call attention to Carla alone.

“Everyone, let’s not stack everything on the edge of our desks. Let’s try and keep a clean workspace for everyone so accidents like this don't happen so often.”

You did your best to keep any bit of reproach out of your voice and it must have worked just enough to satisfy the easily excited girl because she closed up her mouth and flattened out her angry eyebrows with a small shrug.

You weren't above cleaning up a little mess here and there. As soon as you were done talking you dropped down to your knees and started gathering the papers up into a stack, the moment you moved, the rest of the team all dropped to their knees to do the same. Baekhyun was the first at your side, reaching for papers and pulling them out of your hands as you made neat stacks and he placed them carefully on the opposite side of Carla’s desk next to the partition, safe from literally anyone who might want to walk through this office.

“Baekhyun, I have a meeting upstairs, why don't you tag along so you can see what that’s like?”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered beside you with a smile building on his face again and he moved quickly, keeping directly behind your steps as you moved down the hallway to the elevators.

“Noona, I’m so sorry about that earlier — I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I don't even know how it happened. All of a sudden she was just yelling at me. ”

“Manager, Baekhyun,” you corrected quickly as you stepped into the elevator first and he followed behind with a sheepish smile creeping up on his face. “And you didn't cause any trouble. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You were so cool though. You felt like a hostage negotiator, freeing me from my kidnapper. What did you think of my resume? Am I a man that meets your high standards?” His questions came in rapid succession one after another and you held your composure well at the mention of that damned resume of his.

That resume and those muscles.

“You’re smart and you seem capable enough,” and young and firm and handsome as all hell, “I’m sure you’ll do fine while you are here.”

You gripped your calendar in your fist and tapped it lightly against his belly. He grunted once and grabbed it with his free hands. “Pay attention to that. You’ll need to follow my schedule.”

He smiled and shone brightly in response with an energetic head nod and he spent most of the upstairs meeting leafing through your calendar, making small marks on certain dates and pulling out his cell phone to no doubt copy certain entries into his own phone calendar.

Baekhyun’s first day was eventful but he was very promising. The next days and weeks to come were interesting in a way you hesitated to define.

He proved himself valuable to you instantly. He was indeed smart and capable and had a sense about him that you hadn’t seen before in a coworker. Having him at your side not only made your own job infinitely easier, but you noticed your mood had lightened when he was around.

He was cheerful and funny and although you tried your absolute best not to encourage his jokes or god forbid, laugh at them, the first time you slipped and let a quick chuckle out over something stupid he’d said he looked at you with wide eyes and the proudest grin on his face. You had to instantly roll your eyes for damage control.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever made you laugh. Noona, admit it, you like me just a little bit.”

You’d given up on trying to break him of that nickname after the first week of him just ignoring your attempts. The first time you’d answered to it, you knew it was over. You’d screwed up.

And you just did it again with the laugh. He was holding something very important just out of your reach as he sometimes did when his mood grew playful and you had been doing your best not to kick him in the shins so he would drop the stupid thing that you just needed your final signature of approval so you could move on to the next thing that needed your immediate attention.

“I never said I didn’t like you, Baekhyun, this is work. We are working right now. If I miss this deadline that’s it for me and for you and for the entire department out there.”

“So when the project wraps you’ll have a drink with me and then you’ll laugh at all of my jokes? You promise?” He dropped the papers just enough for you to be able to touch the corner of them and you gripped them tightly, pulling them hard into your hands with a force that instantly made him let go. He knew the penalties of destroying something at the last minute and no amount of playfulness would make him risk having to run around re-gathering important person’s signatures with just one hour until shooting began.

It was what you needed and you signed quickly with a pen, passing them back into his arms with an urgency on your voice.

“Fine. Go. Now.” He was out the door without a second word. Of course he was playing about drinks with you. Of course he was playing with you about liking him just a little bit. This was just what he did and he didn't mean any of it at all. This guy was so far out of your league he had his own fan club.

He was very highly sought after by all of the young ladies in this office alone, and you had heard rumors of his popularity in the rest of the building.

Why wouldn't he be joking with you? It made no sense for you to take any of it seriously and you knew it deep down inside of you.

You made for a quick fluff in the mirror on your wall and a touch up of your makeup along with slipping on a classy professional jacket and the heels you kept in your office for situations that required you to look just a little more presentable than usual. You had another meeting to attend for an upcoming project. Something new and different that required you to meet with a whole new team of very important people to sell yourself and your team and their highly sought after skill set. You pressed the elevator button and caught a glimpse of your reflection in the shining silver elevator doors and just behind you saw the familiar bounce of his blonde hair as he rushed to your side to join you at this meeting. He was huffing and puffing from clearly running through the office to get back to you. You noticed the flush in his cheeks and what looked like dust on his jacket. His hair was just a little messy too. You always did your best not to look too closely at Baekhyun. The few times you did allow it your mind would wander into forbidden places and you noticed that it never took very long for him to catch you watching him.

He didn’t need to attend this one. It was more of a schmoozing event than any sort of technical planning meeting but the sight of his bright smile brought you a strange comfort so you didn’t send him away. Inside the elevator you noticed he was watching your face rather closely and when you turned to him in question he lifted a finger up to his lips and pointed.

“Your lipstick has a little smudge.”

Great. Just what you needed. You tried to look your best and just ended up a mess again. You reached up and rubbed lightly below your bottom lip and he shook his head and took a step closer to you and lifted his own hand to your face.

You froze and held your breath and you stared into his face in shock as the tip of his finger ran a path down the edge of your upper lip. He cocked his head to the side and his eyes slipped into your own for a split second and you were sure that you noticed his cheeks darken a shade. Had your own cheeks given you away so easily as well?

Baekhyun cleared his throat but he wasn’t done and he was no longer looking into your eyes as he did this. He made another, firmer pass of his index finger over the edge of your upper lip and you instinctively pulled your lips inward and squeezed them together, pretending as if you needed to spread your lipstick more instead of just getting away from his fingertips that touched you in this quiet and private place.

As you did it, he moved again. His hand lifted to run his fingertips along your temple, where you must have had an errant strand of hair that he slowly and carefully tucked behind your ear. You kept your breathing calm and steady and you kept your face impassive, but the racket inside of your own chest as your heart beat took on a life of its own was distracting and terribly concerning. You were a mess deep down inside. You were just so good at hiding it from him.

“There,” he whispered. “Beautiful,” he said even quieter, almost entirely under his breath just as the sound of elevator dinging made you jump with the sudden intrusion.

You were the first one out. You didn’t hear his footsteps behind you as you usually did and when you risked a quick glimpse behind you, you noticed he hadn’t yet left the elevator and his focus seemed distracted and lost.

“Baek,” you called and his eyes snapped back to life before the elevator doors closed on him. He shook his head lightly and took three big steps to take his place at your side. His smile was nowhere to be found and his eyes didn't quite meet yours and something about him made the air in this blasted hallway feel awkward and claggy and downright difficult to breathe in.

“Oh, I feel—,” you let out a breath through your pursed lips and whispered out loud to yourself as you placed a hand over your chest to calm your beating heart, “—-nervous,” you admitted in defeat, pausing outside of the heavy wooden doors.

“Because of the meeting?” A quiet question eked out in a familiar voice behind you and you refused to meet his eyes.

“Of course, why else?” You answered flatly and quickly but his reply did not come as quick. What came instead was a sharp inhale of breath pulled into the lungs of the man who stood behind you at this door.

“Right,” he said softly with a small exhale through his nose. “Why else.” He agreed out loud. You must have imagined just a hint of disappointment in that exhale. Of course you’d imagined it. It probably originated inside of your own head, really. Everyone knew you had no business feeling any sort of way about your assistant Byun Baekhyun. Whether it be disappointment; or heart flutterings; or attraction; or desire; all of it was off limits.

“Baekhyun, this is a very important meeting.” You inhaled slowly and deeply and stole a glance to your left where Baekhyun stood and you noticed he had what looked like an entire leaf stuck to the top of his head.

What?

The more you looked at him the messier he actually seemed and you knew that behind that door would be a multitude of very important, very rich people who held your future in their hands. People who very likely did not have dirt on their coats and leaves in their hair.

This would not do. There was an empty hallway near the stairwell at the end of the corridor. You’d often used that quiet space to regroup before these kinds of meetings. You knew there was a bench and a clock on the wall that did not tick as it’s big hands spun around its face. You reached for his arm and pulled him

“Why are you so messy? What happened to you?” You pulled him fast and he complied with rushed steps to the sanctuary of that quiet space and when you pushed at his shoulders, sending him down to sit in front of you on the bench, he did so with a soft grunt of surprise and zero resistance. Baekhyun never ever resisted anything from you. You’d overheard him downright arguing with some of the other staff members before but he took being your assistant quite seriously and treated even small requests from you as if they had been laws set in stone to follow.

He was just a little bit ridiculous but mostly he was just the best.

“Before, when I was getting signatures, the paper flew away in the wind and I had to chase it down. There was a bush…” You brushed at his coat with your fingertips, patting harder to get some of the dirt to fall off and you had to step closer to him to get at the leaves in his hair. There were two and they were small and dried and they crumbled into a million bits when you grabbed them, making you have to pull apart the strands of his blonde hair carefully to remove every last bit of them.

“…it flew under the bush in the courtyard and I had t-to…”

You knew you were leaning into him and he seemed to abruptly stop his explanations when you took another step placing your feet in the spaces around where his feet parted, you felt the roundness of his kneecap brush against the inside of your inner knee and he had gone completely still and his words quit entirely. The part of your brain where you kept your most incriminating secrets about him sounded alarms and warning bells. You ignored the cacophony in favor of this necessary task at hand.

It took some doing but you’d gotten all of the mess out of his hair. There was a small pile of broken and dried leaves sitting in the palm of your hand and you noticed some more dirt on the breast of his dark blue coat. It was a dark enough colored coat that the dirt would definitely show so you reached down with your empty hand, laying your palm over the spot, you tried to brush the dirt away. It didn’t budge as easily as you wished it would and a second pass with your hand, with more pressure seemed to work better.

It was almost done. He was nearly perfect again but when your hand returned for one more pass your mind’s alarms rang as you caught on to the firmness and the warmth you felt below his coat. the feeling of him inside of these clothes.

Your stupid intrusive thoughts that you did your best to keep at bay surged up again.

Baekhyun was silent and motionless. Baekhyun had done nothing to encourage this. Everything he had ever told you that might have sounded flirtatious was said in jest. He was joking. He was always joking with you, that was just his way. But he sure did joke a lot with you. You often found yourself confused and frustrated by him.

The dust was gone. He could go now. You could let him go. He was ready to face them.

“There,” you said in a soft whisper, beautiful you thought in secret. Your whisper felt an appropriate tone of voice for such a quiet and secluded hideaway such as this and you mustered up the nerve to remove your hand from his chest so you could throw this trash away and attend your damn meeting.

You rocked back on your feet, shifting your balance away from where he sat on this bench, introducing some distance between the two of you. Then you moved your hand away from his chest for a fraction of a second you no longer felt the warmth and the firmness of his body below your palm and you began to pivot on your heels, you began to turn away from him and extract yourself entirely from this fantastical and impossible situation you had been entertaining inside of your own silly imagination. Only when you shifted so did he and rather than the warmth of his chest under the palm of your hand you felt the slow moving heat of his hand covering over the back of your own hand.

The sensation caught you off guard and you froze mid step, looking down to see it happening. You felt the smoothness of his fingertips tracing an achingly dizzying path up your wrist and higher until your entire hand had been covered completely by his.

You took another step away from him. This was strange. This was some sort of trick of your imagination again.

Your eyes sought out his eyes for answers only the look you saw in his expression did not give you any insight at all. He was watching you with a sort of detachment from this, from you; similar to the same look you’d seen from him in the elevator earlier. Similar to the look you’d seen from him many times over the course of the last few months of working closely with him.

You needed more answers than his face could give and when you took another step the grip he had on your hand tensed and he held on tighter and suddenly he was in motion as his thigh muscles tensed up and he stood on own two feet.

Your mind was consumed by confusion and uncertainty when his movements did not stop.

Baekhyun took a step into you, undoing the distance you had carefully and desperately put between your body and his body and out of the corner of your eye you caught movement in his other hand.

The fragments of seconds of time were insufficient to process any of this. If he was playing some sort of a trick, he was taking it too far for sure. Your heart was entirely too weak to take this kind of behavior from him.

Baekhyun’s hand lifted — he sought to touch the side of your face and at the same time, the distance between the two of you shrunk in an instant as he moved in. You watched on in surprise and in shock until every detail of Byun Baekhyun’s face blurred and you felt the warm wetness of his lips that landed over your own surprised ones.

He kissed you.

He had kissed you.

In this space, this quiet space that was once only yours, he had kissed you and you were frozen in this moment without even the ability to comprehend how this man could have done this, or why he had done this, or what, if anything at all was the punchline of this particular joke of his.

He had kissed you and he was still kissing you and your frozen reaction must have been what brought him to his senses.

He opened his eyes and his lips retreated just enough for him to pull back and look into your face. You made a sound. It was the smallest questioning hum from the back of your throat and you shook your head a microscopic amount to try and clear the static happening inside your brain.

“Uhh,” you finally managed and he had dropped his hold on your hand and closed his eyes up tight.

He looked to his left and then he looked to his right. Both spaces were empty. You were standing in front of him but he did not look at you.

His eyes closed up again and you saw him pull his lips in between his teeth and he bit down and exhaled a huff through his nose before pulling his expression into the smallest wince.

“Shit,” he whispered. He looked behind himself. He looked up at the ceiling and he looked down at the floor. He wasn’t actually looking anywhere but you knew for absolute certainty that he was not looking at you.

You swallowed away the dryness inside of your mouth at the sound of that tiny curse word and the unimaginably tiny sting you felt inside of your chest when you heard him say it.

This was okay.

This was fine.

It was just a mistake; a joke taken too far. He was silly by nature and you did not need to read anything into this little blunder of his. You definitely didn't want to make him feel bad about having made this mistake. Maybe this suffocating ache inside of your chest was the punchline. You could feel its tendrils creeping up inside.

Ha! Ha! Stupid old lady.

No. No, This was okay.

This was fine.

The clock on the wall called to you and you watched the minute hand join up with the hour hand as the two became one and it was 12 noon. It was time for both of you to be inside that meeting room instead of out here playing jokes on each other and instantly regretting it.

His gaze followed yours, touching upon that clock and understanding the task at hand and you stood straighter, fixed your skirt and jacket, made sure your button up blouse was still closed up tight, and you made a few steps toward the trash can to throw away the dried leaves from his hair and from what felt like ages ago and you heard his footsteps follow you down the hallway to enter the meeting room.

You did not hold the door open behind you and you did not listen carefully for the comforting sound of his footsteps behind you. When you opened the door to walk inside you did not do so with any regard for anyone else in the world — especially not for someone like Byun Baekhyun, who’s father’s name adorned the outside of this enormous building and even your paychecks. Especially not for Byun Baekhyun who had exactly three weeks left of his detail in the International Subbing Department before he moved on to QC or AD or wherever the hell he wanted to go when he left you.

[To Be Continued]

Links: Can I Stay? Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[missadangel]

Little Bird in a Cage (Javier Peña x Reader)

Part 3 - Your'e in his apartment

Gifs by tomshiddles - azertyrobaz - djo

---------------------------- All episodes here ------------------------

As you spent a few more days in Miguel’s place, you felt like you no longer have any strength to fight or making plan for escape, only hoping for the best. You were thinking of back the military base, the days you spent there. This room was better than a royal suite, however, you preferred that boring little room over to this one.

Little bird in a golden cage…

And Javi…

Indeed, you missed him a lot, the way he looks at you, touches you, how he catches you and hold you with his strong arms when you tried to escape, how he checks on you every day.

You sighed deeply while you sitting on windowsill and watching gansgter-like men outside changing shifts,  you realized how strange life was. You couldn’t stop thinking about how to get out but it was close the impossible.

Anyway you didn't want to lose your hope at all, they should find you sooner or later. Javi would come for you, you wanted to believe that, you had to.

Around midnight suddenly your door knocked. You jumped up from the couch, no one usually knocked at this hour. A man sneaked in and closed the door gently behind him, you recognized him immediately when he turns his body to you.

"Jorge-"

"Shhh," he shushed you. "Be quiet, Y/N. I don't have much time."

"What's going on? You're working for Cali-"

"Right yes, but I don't work for them anymore, never mind that, I need to tell you why I came here."

You nodded your head in agreement, listening to him with curiosity.

"When I noticed you, I let your friends from DEA, whatever you call them, I told them that you are here. They will come for you, but at the same time they have to get Miguel or our plan will fail and they will probably kill me and my family."

His voice like he’s about to cry. You didn’t know what to say then he took a quick breathe.

"There is only one thing you have to do, you have to leave the room at exactly 1:40 and go down to the lower hall, that’s it."

"What are you saying, it's impossible for me to even walk out the door."

"Don't worry, just trust me and your friends, okay? I have to go now, be careful."

"You too," you said behind him.

Your heart starts racing, Javi, he’s coming for you, you smiling with hope, checking the clock and waiting for the time he said.

-----

"We're ready," Chris said, checking the safety of his gun one last time.

After Javi put on his bulletproof vest, checking his pistols magazine and reloading.

They have arrived with a police team of about 20-30 of them.

All specialized in special tactics and rescue.

"We're ready, sir," the captain informed Javi. He nodded.

"Okay, everybody get in position, you know what to do, let's do it," pointing Chris with his gun to make him move forward, to the mansions entrance.

"The six policemen moved to the garden, behind of the mansion, while the other six heading to the both sides.

Javi, Chris and Daniel headed for the front door. Captain was right behind them with the rest of the police team. Watching their back.

First they rang the bell, but when they weren't allowed in, Javi handed them the paper with the search warrant  written in a paper.

At the same time he was taking a quick look inside.

With a sign from the captain, policemen spreading and began to search the place, warning the armed men to drop their weapons.

Javi and the others approached the golden colored door where Jorge had told them about. The door was leading to Miguel's room at least they thought so.

Your room was upstairs to make them to see you, you had to go down the hall where Jorge told you to go. Golden door opened, Chris and Daniel rushed in but realized no one inside. They came back to the main hall and start to open all the doors one by one and looked inside. Another door caught Javi's attention, and when he tried to open it, he realized it must be locked from the otherside.

"Open it!" Javi ordered one of Miguel's men.

When the man stood expressionless like a wall, Javi became furious, grabbed him by the collar.

"Open the fucking door!”

--

When clock struck 1:40, you took a deep breath and opened the door as slowly as you could. You are relieved to see no one around. Jorge told you to go down to the hall so you moved to the stairs.

"Open the fucking door!”

You startled and immediately head straight to that direction, his voice was coming from downstairs. You run to the railing without even thinking. And there he was, you felt like you gonna cry.

Before you were about to call out to him, Miguel grabbed you from behind, covering your mouth with his big hand. You were almost out of breath, struggling, trying to push his hand away. With all your strength you start elbowing him but failed, he was pulling you to the opposite direction, away from Javi and others.

"You little bitch, I told you to behave yourself," he hissed.

Miguel was dragging you with him, you struggled more, Javi was down there, you just have to call for him.

Finally you noticed that you have no choice but bite Miguel's fingers deeply, he painfully pulled his hand away.

“JAVI!!!” you shouted as loud as possible.

As soon as Javi heard your voice, headed for the upstairs in a hurry.

But Miguel was faster, grabbed you again dragging you out heading for the exit which leads to the helicopter landing zone. Javi noticed that by hearing the sound of helicopter keeps  approaching.

 Both Miguel and Javi in a race now, like cat and mouse. You were Miguel’s only ticket to flee freely so no way he is letting you go.

"Stop!" Javi pointed his gun at him. "Stop, goddamn it!"

Javi gave you a quick look, but his eyes were on Miguel.

"It's over Miguel, let her go and surrender, now!"

"No way, you'll let us go on, or I'll kill her!"

Your heart began to beat faster with fear, not only was Miguel's arm tightening around your throat, also you felt nauseous with fear.

"No, drop the gun, and let her go, now!" he growled.

Miguel hissed, moving backwards to the helicopter, dragging you with him, his gun pointed at Javi this time.

You were exhausted for being dragged, feeling like you’re going to faint, not able to move anymore.

Javi following you both carefully, never lowering his gun.

When the helicopter landed, Javi shook his head as no.

"No, don't," he warned. There was more pleading in his voice.

"Back off, or I'm really going to kill her, I can see you care about her, Agent Peña. Otherwise you would have shot me by now."

That was true, it didn't matter for Javi to capture him alive or not.

As Miguel was about to get on the helicopter with you, you were looking into Javi's brown eyes, all emotions can be seen in them, desperation, sadness, anger.

And in that moment everything happened so fast, you thought Miguel was going to sit in the helicopter seat and then make you sit too, but no he didn’t.

He pushed you down instead.

"Nooo!"

Javi ran very fast, but not fast enough to stop you from falling to the ground. As soon as he comes, he lifted your head and sliding slowly his lap. You watch him while, he shooting at the helicopter with his gun until he’s out of bullets, furious as hell. Then he looks at you, is saying something but you cant hear him clearly anymore, losing your consciousness.

---

You woke up with an incredible headache, opening your eyes and trying to remember what happened.

You moaned involuntarily as you regained consciousness.

"Y/N, you awake? Feeling okay? Are you in pain?"

His warm brown eyes were looking at you with great concern.

"Answer me please."

"Not sure which question should I answer first. " your head was so fuzzy you didn't know if it was a dream or reality.

But when you looked around you realized that you were definitely not in a hospital.

"How can you be funny even in this situation," Javi giggled while he caresses your head then your hair.

"Well, I'm freaking high, okay? I don't know if I'm dreaming, are you really here, Javi?"

"It must be the drugs they gave you at the hospital."

You heard the word hospital and wondered why you weren't there right now, Javi helped you sit up.

"Hospital? I was there?"

"You don't remember? Well we took you to the hospital right away, then you opened your eyes for a little while and that's when your father came and-."

"My father? Really? Wow, why the hell I can’t remember that?"

You were so surprised that you didn't remember a shit.

"You've been through a lot, cariño. You should rest"

You nodded. He placed another pillow behind your back, making you more comfortable. 

"But, Javi, where are we?"

"In my apartment," he smirked.

You raised your eyebrows and that was unexpected.

"Did you kidnap me again?"

Javi laughed.

"Sort of, yeah."

"How this happened?"

"Miguel is still out there, we don't know what he's going to do, besides, I've spoken to your father, it's definitely not safe for you to be in your own house, so he also agreed."

"Are you absolutely sure you spoke to my father? Not someone else?"

Javi licked his lips feeling little guilty.

"Hm, I might not have mentioned him about my apartment," he grinned.

“Wow you’re so mean,” you giggled.

Suddenly you realized your arm covered with one hell of a thick bandage.

"What the fuck happened to my arm? Is it broken?"

"Calm down, no, luckily it's not broken, they said it's a muscle contusion and little scratches. I think you hurt when you fell on your shoulder that time…” his eyes flashed with anger for a moment.

"Oh, I see…" you said suddenly trying to change the subject.

"Come on, get some rest, you'll be better in the morning." Javi stands and covers you with blanket.

"Okay." You nodded, but you couldn't help thinking about you were in his bed right now.

“Thank you for saving me Javi,” you murmured.

He pressed his warm lips on your forehead, his moustache thickled you a little, then you peacefully fell asleep.

----

When you woke up late in the morning, Javi was already gone. You picked up the note he left on the table.

"I have to go to work, please take your pills, two policemen will be outside to watching over you.”

You walked to the window ledge, there was indeed a police car outside. Feeling safe yet uncomfortable. But you were starving so you went straight to the fridge, took more than you needed and put them on the table. While eating fast, observing his apartment, checking his stuff.

You weren't sure when Javi was coming home, and you were alone again. It was getting boring to live like a prisoner under the guise of protection all the time.

Soon  you decided to go through Javi's dressing room, after all, you had plenty of time, even if it was a mess, so you can tidy it up.

This apartment was a studio, so there were no other rooms. So sneaking into the dressing room was a very tempting idea.

When you opened the closet door, you were surprised to see dozens of suits in different colors. It didn't look like Javi's style. In the next closet you found what you expected, leather jackets, short sleeved shirts and jeans. Even though it was a man's closet, it was looking neat and clean.

You flushed as you imagined Javi getting undressed here, giggled to yourself.

Then you go back to the living room, something was haunting you. Wondered how many times he took a woman here?

Damn, being alone for hours, could really drive a person crazy.

You sit on the couch and turn on the TV, to make time pass more quickly. But you fell asleep in an hour because of the drugs.

When you opened your eyes, you realized Javi returned home already and for some reason he picked you up in his arms.

It must have been a wonderful dream, you thought.

"Are you awake?" he asked softly still holding you.

"What are you doing?"

Such a stupid question.

Javi took you off his lap and helped you to sit on the chair and as soon as you sit, you came back to reality.

It wasn't a fucking dream, damn it.

"Nothing, just, you were sleeping on the couch, I wanted to put you to bed."

After that Javi took a bottle of water from the fridge and started drinking it.

"You know, all the people who go crazy must end up alone before lost their minds, absolutely no one should be alone, never," you said in a firm voice.

He was confused as hell,

"What are you talking about, did you watch some psychobabble shit on TV?"

"No, I was, just a bit feeling lonely today," you kept your head down, wondering when it would end.

Javi put another chair across to yours and sit. He was giving you that famous look from under his eyebrows again while holding your hand which made you blush immediately.

"Cariño, we're very close to the end, just a little more patience, okay?"

You nodded, "I know Javi, I'm sorry, it's really not easy to handle this situation. But I'm trying."

"I know, you're so strong, otherwise you wouldn't have made Miguel miserable," he chuckled.

"Yeah, you should have seen the look on asshole's face when I bit his hand hard," you said with naughty smile.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he smiled back. Then he looked at your bandage. “Your arm better now? Lemme check.”

While he was unwinding the bandage, touching your arm, you couldn’t help yourself to stare at him. You wanted to kiss him badly. His warm, perfectly shaped lips-

“It looks better, lemme dress your wounds and wrap your arm with a thinner bandage, like the doctor said.”

You nodded, licked your lips with desire torturing you inside made you almost cry. He was so beautiful.

“Here, much better, right?”

Damn, he caught you staring at his lips.

“Y-yes, thank you.”

He smiled in response and stood up, "Go to sleep now, I'm tired too, I'll take a shower and get changed."

Then he headed for the dressing room.

Wait a minute, what does it mean? So he was going to sleep next to you? 

You got so excited, your body was on fire. Your palms were sweaty and you were thinking about how you could seduce him and your time was ticking.

Also you wondered why he didn't make a move to get you into bed. Maybe because you just got injured with effect of falling, still have bruises on several parts of your body. Maybe you should courage him, give him a signal.

While Javi was in the shower, you rushed to your suitcase, knowing of course that your father wouldn't put a sexy nightdress or lingerie in there, unless it was packed by the housekeeper lady Dolores. Luckily you giggled mischievously when you found a nightdress that was quite sexy.

Thank you Dolores.

Your smile grew wider and wider as you thought about Javi's reaction.

Even though you were wearing a sexy nightdress, it felt ridiculous to just stand there, so you did as he told you and lay down on the bed. You turned the other way, not in the direction Javi was about to come. Your body was starting to feel like it was boiling with heat.

As Javi was in the dressing room he realized he had no pajamas, he usually slept half naked with his underwear.

He wore a thin pair of pants underneath, so as not to make you nervous. On top he wore a black short-sleeved shirt, but he didn't button it. Because he could never sleep like that.

Javi was surprised and gasped, seeing you like that from behind, started breathing fast, his heart racing. He wanted to touch you so badly.

A moment later he rubbed his face hard, trying to erase all the feelings immediately but not quite successful though. His eyes were locked on you as he approached from the other side of the bed.

When he sat on the bed, you opened your eyes with shake he caused. But he wasn't looking at you, he lay down on the pillow with one hand under his head. He seemed to be watching the ceiling. You were almost angry, how the fuck he didnt feel anything? You hissed and turned over.

However, that move made him feel even worse, because your thighs exposed, like an open invitation.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

He finally speaks as soft as velvet.

You wanted to sit up in bed and leave, as if you felt rejected. But you sat up so fast that you staggered and fell back on the pillow.

"Are you okay?" He was worried, he put his one hand just next to your body, and touching your face with another hand.

"Damn, cariño, your face is, burning."

As he put himself on top of you was so unbearable. You pushed his hands away and got out of bed.

Javi couldn't make sense of it, he thought he had said something wrong.

He also got out of bed.

"What's wrong, Y/N?"

He was just standing behind you.

You couldn't handle with your feelings anymore, you wanted him with every part of your body, suddenly you stopped thinking and turned around, pressed your lips to his.

He was surprised, yet, immediately responded by grabbing you around the waist with both hands kissing you back, you gasped with pleasure, his moustache tickled your upper lip and your cheeks which was perfect.

His breath became heavier when he sliding his hands under your nightdress, feeling your soft skin. You threw your head back by his touch, and he used that opportunity to place kisses on your neck, while he was busy with that, you grabbed his shirt taking it off, dropping it on the floor.

“Javi,” you murmured through his ear, “I thought you wouldn’t want me, so I was upset.”

Javi looked into your eyes, “Y/N”, he whispered to your lips, “I want you baby, I want you so badly. I was thinking maybe you wouldn’t want me this way.”

“what do you mean?” you asked curiously keep rubbing his muscular shoulders, feeling every curve of them.

“All the trouble I caused, and all the things you've been through, I didn’t want to ruin anything—“

You stopped him with a kiss.

He was already halfway undressed and this time he started kissing you back roughly, then he picks you up and pushes you up against the dinner table, knocking off some papers and files which some of them certainly important well he didn’t give a shit.

You were pulling his body closer to you with your legs surrounding his hips, made him pressed his body even more against you, then you were startled by the dial phone ringing.

Javi stopped for a moment, but his lips hadn't left yours yet. After the phone went silent, he's kissing you again, but this time he was in a hurry. 

Unluckily Javi's satellite phone started ringing too.

"Fuck," he growled, his harsh breathe hit your face then his lips left yours and he pulled his body back involuntarily.

"I gotta take this, baby” said after he grabbed his phone.

You nodded. "It must be important, go ahead. "

Feeling a little sad, you sat on the edge of the bed and looked curiously at Javi on the phone.

Damn phone.

You soon realized it was Chris, you can hear his voice over the phone. Then Javi smiled while his eyes still on you. His smile turned you on again.

How much wetter can I get, you thought. The lower part of your body squirming, wants to you belong to him, bitting your lower lip, when Javi turn his back, you pressed your hands on your pelvis and tried to relax.

Finally Javi hung up the phone and sighed deeply, happy.

"I guess something good happened?"

"They managed to catch Chepe, another leader of Cali cartel. He's still being interrogated right now and it's only a matter of time before he gives us Miguel."

"Oh, he's the only one left, then."

Javi nodded, smiling.

"We're very close to the end," he said then he stopped for a minute.

"I'll need to change, mm, including my underwear."

He winked at you, gave you a kiss on the cheek and hurried to the dressing room.

"Me too, but need to take a freezing cold shower first," you said, heading for the bathroom.

----

---------------------------- All episodes here ------------------------

[unculturedswine-101]

I'm the fox you've been waiting for! (Benny O'Donnell x reader)

Chapter 1: Schools out

A/N: The amount of Benny fics on ANY platform is abismal so I gotta do a solid for myself and all the Benny sluts out there..this will be a series don't you worry *also just for stories sake, Jodie is not Mitch's sister, you are.

Chapter 2

WARNINGS: Cigarette (via you and others), your ass gets smacked, quick peak down a shirt

It was the last day of your junior year of high school, and it couldn't be over any sooner. Before your final class, you helped Jodie and Darla load the last few bags of groceries into her truck, sighing as you felt the hot Texas sun beaming down.

Meanwhile, Ms. Wilks hadn't even arrived at her own class yet, as Shavonne, Jaye, Cynthia, Jodi, you and Pink discussed the best Gilligan's Island episodes. Before long, Pink was recruited by Don to leave the class, and things soon fell dull as you began to doodle in your sketchbook. Until Shavonne nodded her head towards the group and the four of you left to smoke in the bathroom (a very common ''trip'' you girls would take during class). As cigarettes were dispensed amongst the group, Jaye began ranting about the ''male pornographic fantasy'' on Gilligan's island. Shavonne and I exchanged looks, while Jodi argued that at least the professor was really sexy. You laughed and decided to make a dash for the hallway, hearing the booming laughs of the guys echo throughout the building.

''All right, let's go kick some ass!'' You heard Benny say, you jogged to catch up with them ''Hey you guys, wait up!'' At the sound of your voice, the boy's heads instantly turn toward you - most notably Benny, who runs up first. At Lee High School, you were known to turn the heads of guys and girls alike. You did take in how you looked; makeup, curlers before bed to set your hair and clothes that most of your paycheck went to. ''What?'' Benny asks ''Hey Benny, I've got a favor to ask you'' you asked, teasingly running your hands across his toned biceps. ''Whatever you need'' he smirks. You lean forward to touch his paddle ''Take it easy on my brother this summer, okay? All..of you'' Turning and facing toward Don and Pink to include them in on the subject. They chuckle, Mitch Kramer?'' Benny laughs, yeah Mitch Kramer'' you reply, hoping they'll have mercy on your freshman brother. ''Yeah, yeah I'm gonna give him a beating he'll never forget!'' He exclaims as he cracks his hand down on the hard wooden paddle. ''Just don't get him more than the other guys…any of you'' trying to compromise. You knew the guys had been waiting since September for this day to come, but you couldn't help but worry about your brother's sore ass all summer. ''You got our word sis'' Pink reassures; ''your little brother will be okay''. As he finishes, you notice Benny take a quick peek down your shirt, only for you to catch his eyes as you reply with a simple ''thanks, see you guys!'' As you turn away, you both hear and feel a big smack, courtesy of Benny on your ass. ''Ow! Benny…'' You turn around to see all 3 guys laughing as you catch up with Shavonne, Jodi and Jaye. ''These guys I don't know…'' you sigh to your friends as you return to class ''You know you like it'' Shavonne returns.

Seemingly everyone in the Classroom is bored out of their minds, with the vast majority of you staring at the ticking clock. Finally, it sounds leaving a herd of students to make a bolt for the front door. You get on the other side of Shavonne as she starts up her truck, Jaye climbing in the other side. ''Do you think Darla is just a little too excited about terrorizing these poor girls?'' You ask the truck. ''I mean totally, but do you remember how brutal our hazing was? It took almost a week to wash egg out of my hair'' Shavonne complained, running her fingers through it, as if the shells and yolks were still caking it.

[ketsueki-writes]

Hii! I saw you're doing that 'welcome back beloved' event and wanted to ask if you could write some headcanons about jjk men(preferably gojo, itadori and choso but if you only write for one I'll be fine with just choso) with a fem!reader who has narcolepsy and cataplexy?

If you don't know what that is narcolepsy is a sleep disorder witb symptoms such as excessive daytime sleepiness (so basically a reader who sleep a lot and can fall asleep anywhere. Also narcoleptics need to take a 10-20min nap before doing something that needs concentration)

And cataplexy is a sudden and transient episode of muscle weakness accompanied by full conscious awareness, typically triggered by emotions such as laughing (so basically a reader who experiences muscle weakness in her whole body when she laughs or gets too excited)

I hope it's not too much and not too hard for you😭 Thank you!💗

ɪ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴏɴ! <3

ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴏ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ɪ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ.

♡ Satoru Gojo

Somehow you've always been so predictable to him. He knew whenever he pushed open the door of your home that there you'd be. Preparing. He walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him as he neared you. He pressed a hand to the wall as he slid off his shoes, watching you with a sweet smile across his lips. He set his hands to his sides, sliding them in his pockets as he neared you, hushed and full of admiration. His head turned slightly as he checked the clock on the wall, his eyes quickly finding their way back to you as the moment he got the time. It was nearing the part of the day where you'd go about whatever task you set out to do that morning. Whether it'd have been cleaning or something on that computer of yours he knew he'd find you here- preparing.

Sleeping.

At first he didn't get it- narcolepsy. He joked that it sounded like necromancy and you slapped his arm, telling him to cut it out while he laughed. However once he got it, he got it good, reminding you to take it easy and watching for any sudden bouts of drowsiness that might befall you.

He leaned forward slightly, pressing a hand to your cheek as he softly thumbed your chin, whispering sweet nothings in a way that seemed almost too loving for his normal taste out in the world. He soon looked around, figuring the couch wasn't quite good enough for you. He loved to the front of the couch, bending forward as he went to scoop you into his arms before you moved. He froze, curiously looking- his eyes growing wide like his smile as you hummed slightly, pushing yourself up to your side.

The white haired man's feeling gleamed brightly on his face as he squatted down in front of you, whispering softly "Hello sleepy-head" before your eyes finally focused on him.

He gleamed as you did, he'd been waiting all day to see those pretty eyes and finally he got the opportunity to do so. He pressed a kiss to your forehead as your arms wrapped around his neck. He pulled you in closely, his familiar scent filling you as the two of you embraced.

"Missed you too-" he snarked, grinning as you pulled back slightly to look at him. You only playfully rolled your eyes as he chuckled, picking you up and into his arms. "So- what's the plan for today?" he asked softly into your ear. "I'm thinking, maybe me, you, some food and a movie huh-" he added.

You'd like that, and he'd like it a lot more.

♡ Choso

You quickly moved around the house, quick of course but not too quick. You didn't want to trigger any sort of episodes.

You needed the place to be as clean as possible, as spic and span as you possibly could. You had so much that was going to be happening- but regardless of all of it only one part stood out from among the rest.

He was soon to be home.

You smiled to yourself at the thought, doing your best to keep calm before you heard the doorbell ring. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt all those giddy nerves finally form one single fireball-

and down you went.

Panic set in as you felt the control you once had beginning to slip from your fingers. You could've sworn you heard the doorbell ring again but you weren't sure. You tried to fight it, feeling a wave crash through you as your muscles began to lose tone.

Cataplexy is something you'd had for as long as you could remember and you knew what triggered it but how were you meant to help yourself. Who could be calm when the love of their life was just on the other side of the door?

You opened your mouth to try to a call for help, a task that seemed ferociously hard before the lock clicked and turned, the knob moving slightly before turning itself. You began to collapse on yourself as if you were melting as the door began to open.

If you'd have blinked you'd have missed it.

You weren't the only one excited for him to be home.

As if it were the Flash himself he moved, the dark-haired man wrapping his arms around you as you sank, cradling your body into his. You looked up at him as he smiled, holding your body close to his.

"I missed you too baby," he said sweetly, running a hand alongside your cheek before he lifted you to the couch, letting you down in his lap. Your body felt comfortable against him, each piece of you melting to him out of your control but he seemed to like it better this way. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your lips, holding his there as he breathed deeply against you. He finally pulled away with a face of nothing but clear adoration.

Choso was usually very calm and reserved but he made a point to show his affection to you whenever he was around you, whether it be small gestures or touch. You knew for certain his love and care for you, even with a debilitating disease such as this one.

Because he loved you, so very much.

[cloudsofbespin]

Do you what makes me go feral over this interpretation of DM? The enforced/involuntary intimacy! The ways these two are so closely tied together, and forced into being so deeply known to each other!

Armand spends days(!) investigating what makes Daniel fascinating, looking into his entire life - what’s he’s proud and ashamed of etc. He also slips, and starts telling Daniel about his early traumatic life for a moment, falling into his orbit! Then(!) we have Armand biting (leaving a permanent mark) and drinking from Daniel, even stating that he deserves this. Given that it’s been established that when someone properly drains or turns someone else they literally drink and ‘see’ their life, everything that they are! Armand literally saying that he wants to and deserves to devour Daniel. It’s a strangely intimate murder attempt. Or this is at least one interpretation, unless the TV show is limiting the ‘seeing’ of someone’s life to only be the case during a vampiric turning. Even then however we have this occur when Armand turns Daniel in Dubai. Daniel in turn has from day one wanted to find out exactly what and who Armand is, even being curious about him as Rashid in season one (‘what’s he’s endgame’ etc). Probably recognizing Armand on some unconscious level from San Francisco (cause I do think Daniel is honest if sacred when he states that he does find Armand fascinating). The Talamasca has also provided him with extensive information about Armand, which I’m sure he’s dug into. Especially now after how it all went down. Daniel also manages to expose Armand’s lies, because he comes to understand him - he reads Armand’s script notes and is in general on the look-out, spotting Armand looking over the unmarked script in episode seven. Immediately clocking it and realizing what’s he’s worried about (the script with his notes). These two have come to know each other, far more intimately than they probably really wanted to - becoming so exposed - which is going to be crazy going forward with their relationship.

I do hope the show builds on and uses this aspect. I mean they literally established that the vampiric bond makes maker and fledgling, to a certain extent, emotional open (and vulnerable) to each other. Which is crazy when we remember that these two are some of the most avoidant people on the show. Armand constantly hiding, manipulating and lying (remember AZ’s comments?) because he’s so scared to be alone, Daniel making self-deprecating jokes constantly clearly being somewhat emotionally unable to be vulnerable (also possibly dealing with some internalized homophobia, as a bisexual man). It all makes me feral and I so look forward to them interacting in season three! What do you think? What do you speculate their interactions will be like? If you had to guess? Would love to know, always enjoy reading your DM thoughts!

this ask has just brought me to my knees because a thousand times yes! allow me to borrow an expression from hannibal: they have both seen behind the veil. they know each other. daniel saw the monster within upon their first (well technically second but you know what i mean) meeting as armand pried into the darkest corners of daniel's mind. i feel daniel is the only one that makes armand completely lose his cool and makes him open raw. i just want to see more of that in season 3. i need to see raw emotions from both of them

[genericpuff]

HIHI!!! I hope you're good, Puff!!

If you're ever up for it, I'd love to hear how you work and create while dealing with ADHD. I got a confirmed diagnosis just yesterday (though I've been suspecting it for a long time) and it'd be wonderful to hear how you cope with the struggles it provides, or even discuss any benefits you've discovered.

If not, no worries!! Thank you for reading this, Puff!!

<3

oh god I feel so bad every time this question comes up because. I can't really tell you how exactly I've been able to do it LOL Congrats on getting your assessment, I actually just got paired with a new physician the other day and am now pursuing medication for my own ADHD struggles as well! I got diagnosed with 100% combined ADHD yaaaaay!

Short answer to your question: very very carefully! Because despite the work I put out, I am still VERY prone to burnout. While on the surface you all see me putting out regular updates of Rekindled, underneath that are projects that have fallen to the wayside because my brain just said "nah, I don't wanna play with you anymore" and that sucks! And I don't want Rekindled to wind up that way either!

Recognizing my limitations and making accommodations where needed has definitely helped. Changing my update schedule from once a week to once every two weeks, working with an assistant, learning which battles to fight and which ones to pass on, etc. Obviously out-of-pocket things like having an assistant aren't options for everyone, but getting to work with Banshriek has really opened my eyes to how much I was putting myself through with when I was flying solo. I have that bad habit of taking on way too much for myself, thinking that I'm capable of being everything within a project and fulfilling every role, but that's exactly how folks like us wind up getting burnt out and falling out of love with our projects. So I've definitely learned to appreciate collaboration more in that regard, both for the sake of "carrying the load" as well as giving me another voice to give input and feedback.

But when that's not an option, definitely make sure to pace yourself. There's so much misinformation about what makes a "successful" comic and normalization of extremely unhealthy working habits that it makes people think they're not allowed to make comics unless it's a 50+ panel a week ordeal. Update on a schedule that works for you, people appreciate consistency above all things, even if it's only a page a week or a few pages a month, that's more than enough.

You also absolutely need to make sure to rest. Proper rest, no thinking about the next page or the next update, just go out and exercise or hang out with friends or do something that gets you away from your usual working area and also provides you with stimulation. It's good for both your mental and physical health. I know with ADHD it can be very tempting to just pour every bit of yourself into a project right off the bat because you're so excited and full of BEANS, but that's just the dopamine demon talking! Don't let it tempt you into spending all of it in once place! If you do that, that's when you'll wind up burnt out and taking breaks that you can't recover from! It's a marathon, not a race!

When it comes to my own experiences, I really just love drawing comics. If it wasn't Rekindled, it would be anything else. That made it 'easy' to turn it into a habitual routine, but that's only because to me, drawing comics is the escape from the more boring shit I have going on in my life. This means I have to balance it carefully so that it doesn't become too much of a job or an obligation. There are definitely times when that balance tips, when the last thing I wanna look at is whatever episode I'm working on, and when I find myself crunching on pages with 2 days left on the clock before an upload.

The important thing is not to get yourself down over the failures and keep moving forward, even if it's not as fast a speed as you were hoping for. We're often really hard on ourselves to put out 150% on everything we do, but if 150% were the norm, it would just be 100%, y'know what I mean? And even still we're not designed to put 100% in every day, because some days we'll only have the capacity to offer up 30% - 30% is 100% on those days. Be kind to yourself <3