#he doesn’t want you to suffer. he remembers the painful expression etched on the face of the lady next door when he was growing up

[luvrodite]

a draft from a few days ago. thinking about dad!jason thanks to sunnie and just. how stressed that poor man about your safety and comfort. you so much as breathe wrong he's alert.

anyway i'm thinking about how one night, after a long week of running around trying to get everything sorted – the crib you guys had wanted wasn't available and you'd said it was okay but he'd seen the downturn of your mouth so he's been trying to get the materials together to make the exact same one, and even though he's cut back slightly on patrol and he knows steph is capable, he can't help but worry about the kids he's been trying to keep an eye on, and his body seems to give out as soon as he hits the mattress that night so when he wakes up and doesn't hear your breathing next to him or feel the weight of your body – he panics.

he stumbles out of bed half asleep and nearly crashes into the doorframe, fear threatening to grip him in a chokehold. he's already imagining the worst possibilities but then –

oh.

you peer over your shoulder curiously at him, barefoot and still in your soft sleep shorts, the material of your shirt rising over your growing belly.

safe.

he blinks, rapidly, swallowing to ease the dryness of his throat. burning eyes fall to the open flame on the stove in front of you, the metal skewer you're holding with a marshmallow on the end, edges golden. there's traces of sugar on your bottom lip, and he heaves out a haggard breath, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins with nowhere to go.

"you okay?" you ask carefully and he lowers himself into a crouch, dropping his head into his hands.

"sweetheart, you can't do that," he groans, the complaint muffled. he hears the soft patter of your feet against the floor and your hand splays over his back, a grunt falling from your lips as you join him, carefully kneeling by his side. "i think i just lost ten years off my life."

"i just wanted a snack," you say quietly, and he can hear the pout in your voice. he looks up and you're frowning at him. he reaches out to take your hand in his.

"you could've woken me. i woke up and i didn't see you and–" he cuts the sentence there.

it's true that he's made strides since the both of you got together. he's come far from the man who feared sleeping in the same bed with you, worried about accidentally reacting in a half-awake state and hurting you – but the baby has brought back some of that fear.

you've seen it in the way he tenses in a crowd, a hand always at your back, eyes scanning the perimeter tenfold to when it used to only be the both of you. he refuses to let you carry anything over a certain weight, and you're almost 70% certain that he's employed the rest of his family in keeping an eye on you when he can't (you'd have to let tim know his disguises needed some work).

you soften then, shuffling closer to press your mouth against his. he can taste the caramelised sugar on your tongue, a fleeting brush that lingers in his mouth when you pull away.

"i'm here," you assure him. "we're okay."

he tips his head forward to press it against your shoulder, letting out a quiet groan. his heart still feels like there's a grip on it, and he has no interest in moving from this spot until it settles once more. you're content to let him, he finds, a hand brushing over the nape of his neck soothingly.

he's in the middle of counting his breaths when something prods at his lips.

"wha-" marshmallow fluff is stuffed into his mouth, and he makes a garbled sound as it gives under his teeth, sticky, overly sweet.

"stop trying to feed me that shit!" he protests, when he's swallowed and you stifle a laugh, pinching his nose playfully.

"i have a message from our baby," you say, struggling to keep a straight face. "they told me they don't like it when their dad is upset, so you have to eat it, it'll make you feel better."

"our baby told you that," he echoes flatly, unimpressed. you nod, raising your eyebrows pointedly in a look so smug it makes his teeth ache.

"you wouldn't want to upset the baby, would you?"

on the floor of your kitchen, you have a staring contest. jason is the first to blink, and your resultant smile makes up for the artificial sweetness that he swallows with a grumble, leaning forward to bite the rest of the marshmallow off your fingertips, nipping at your fingers for good measure.

“no,” he sighs, and knows it’s the first of many demands he’ll be unable to deny. “no, i guess not.”

[freedfutura]

hii!! I’m coming from ur Wattpad! I have a request, Vance hopper x fem reader and it’s just fluff where Vance escaped from the grabber and goes to reader for comfort?

Hey!! I love seeing my Wattpad readers on here. Coming right up! <3 Hope it’s what you’re looking for.

[Vance Hopper]

Thanks For Sticking Around

Vance Hopper is described as a lot of things. Angry. Violent. Spiteful. Rough. Temperamental. But one thing people often forget to list is sensitive.

Vance Hopper is sensitive.

When he was taken by the grabber, he was forced to face the worst parts of himself. No matter how hard he tried to disguise his fear and pain with bravery and anger, it was clear that he was anything but brave. He had to face the facts- and that was that he was truly stressed out and terrified about his impending doom. He was afraid that no one cared enough to come and find him. That no one would care if he lived or died.

Sure, he was angry. Angry that he was weaker than the grabber. And that try as he may, there was no over powering a grown man twice his size.

In the end, his escape was pure luck. And he didn’t even do it alone- he had to obtain help from people who weren’t even alive. He couldn’t do it alone.

He’s always been stand offish, it’s just in his nature. So when the cops came to interview him, he was as stiff as a board. Not answering a thing they asked for over an hour until he was sick of sitting in the blinding lights of the interrogation room. Then he proceeded to answer their stupid fucking questions with short annoyed responses, finding their pitying expressions extremely irritating. He absolutely fucking hated the way they looked at him- like a hurt kitten. They spoke to him like he could break any second. It made him want to pull his fucking hair out.

When he was finally able to go home, the main goal in mind was to get a shower. He took his time, gently scrubbing at his bruises and scrapes. Watching the water pour down his body and pool around his feet- turning brown and red as it mixed with the blood and dirt previously smudged into his skin. Then, he redressed his wounds, changed into some fresh clothes and laid in bed.

He thought he would finally be able to get a solid nights sleep.

Of course, that was just too much to ask for.

No matter how many times he tossed and turned, he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable under his blankets. He felt wrong. He’s use to having too many feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with, but never before like this. The feelings he has are far more persistent. No amount of beating the shit out of others or playing pinball to dissociate would ever make him forget what happened to him. He can’t even look into a mirror without seeing that piece of shit’s finger prints etched into the skin on his bicep.

In pure frustration he tosses and turns erratically until he can take no more and throws his comforter off him with an angered grunt. He’s so worked up from all the movement that he’s panting with anger, balling up his sheets in his fist until his knuckles turn white.

He closes his eyes tightly in an attempt to calm himself down, and the first thing he thinks of is you.

And that’s when it hits him.

You! He completely fucking forgot he had you! God, what a fucking idiot. How could he forget the very thing that kept him motivated to escape in the first place?

You couldn’t have heard the news yet. They were yet to announce it on live TV. He imagines you must be worried sick about him, and his dumbass has had the power to make that suffering end this whole time.

He rushes to stand up from his bed, wasting no time to hurry to the phone in his bedroom. At first, looking at it makes him cringe as he unintentionally remembers the one in the basement. However, he soon shakes away that feeling, moving forward to pick it up off the receiver and place it against his ear. His fingers move quickly to dial the only number he had ever memorized. The same number he tried dialing in that damn basement oh so many times. Your number.

It rings for a few moments, and he begins to worry that he’s calling too late. After all, it’s already nearly midnight and your goody two shoe self always went to sleep at 11 on the dot.

Just as he’s losing hope, he hears a click followed by some shuffled noises.

“H-Hello?” You mumbled out groggily.

His face lights up in excitement, already feeling at ease by the mere sound of your voice.

His voice gets caught in his throat as he thinks of what to say, until he finally settles on keeping it simple. “Hey, sweetheart…”

If he could see your expression now, he would probably laugh.

Your eyes just about fall out of your school with how wide the burst open. You literally drop your phone in surprise before hurriedly rushing to pick it up again.

“V-Vance?! Where are you?! Are you ok?! Do I need to call 911?!” You rush out, choking back tears as you clutch the phone tightly.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head despite the fact that you can’t see him. “Nah. I already talked to those fucktards. They’re still as shitty as they were before I went missing. I’m at home. I’m alright now. Just a little bruised up- nothing too bad.”

“Y-You’re ok? What happened to you?” You stammer out, wiping away any stray tears that managed to escape you.

Though you’re trying your best to hide the fact that you’re crying, he can clearly tell by your irregular breathing and the shakiness in your voice.

With a slight frown he replies, “I…was…taken. By the fucking grabber. But I killed that motherfucker. Snapped his neck with a fucking phone cord. I bet he’s rotting in hell as we speak.”

From the sound of his voice, you would never be able to tell he was just kidnapped and trapped in the confines of a basement hours before. It’s honestly concerning. You know how Vance can be. He bottles up his emotions and then explodes at an innocent bystander for breathing too loud. But the worst part about him bottling things up is that he forces himself to suffer alone. And you’re not having that.

“I’m coming over. Now,” you decide sternly, hanging up the phone before he even has a chance to reply.

His heart flutters at the determination in your tone. Though he would never admit it, he always appreciated the way you would stubbornly force him to allow you to comfort him. He really needed someone to push his boundaries right now. To force him to let their love in.

Within a few minutes, he hears rustling outside his window, and looks over just in time to see you throw the panes open and clumsily falling through. You land awkwardly on the floor. He snorts at your idiocy, though is quickly cut off when you bounce right back up and practically throw yourself at him.

He stumbles back into his bed, barely saving himself as you throw your arms tightly around his neck and kiss his face again and again.

He feels heat creep up his neck and fights the urge to shove you off and cuss you out. Normally, he isn’t the hugest fan of affection beyond the occasional hand holding, but after everything he’s been through, he just can’t bring himself to deny your touch. He didn’t want to waste the very lucky opportunity he’s been given to feel your warmth once more. So, he carefully wraps his arms around your waist, allowing you to lay atop him as his eyes slowly shut in relief.

This is what he needed. You. In his arms. Your hair tickling his cheek. The scent of your shampoo lingering in the air around him. Your soft skin against his. God, he needed it so bad.

His hold on you tightens as he realizes this, unintentional tears strolling down the sides of his face.

“I missed you so bad,” you admit, your voice shaking and inevitably cracking towards the end of your sentence as you begin to tremble with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

He hums lightly in response, simply showing his appreciation for you by holding you tight.

“Can I stay the night?” You ask hopefully.

He remains silent for a moment, but eventually replies, “yeah, alright. If that’s what you want. I don’t really care.”

You smile. Because even though he says that, his hold on you had just increased ten fold- showing no signs of letting up even if you had changed your mind.

Vance had a funny way of asking you to stay. Not by using his words, but rather through his actions. You knew when he called he was secretly asking you for your comfort, without actually saying that. He made it seem like what happened was no big deal, knowing you would come running to his aid.

Not everyone was cut out for a relationship with him- but to you he was complex. And you were willing to take your time and put your pride aside to understand him.

And later on, when he assumes you are sleeping, he ever so quietly whispers, “thanks for sticking around.”

And you just smile, pretending not to have heard a thing.

[ladydimitrescuspet]

A Living Hell

ao3 link! a little bit of angst for you beautiful souls! I must admit that I hurt my feelings writing this so I ask that you send alcina some love and all the positivity that you can! as always sorry for any grammatical errors, please enjoy, and let me know your thoughts if you want to share them!

warning: no happy ending, sorry!

Tag List (only fill out the form once please): @lord-dimitrescu, @alwaysgoodnight, @paint-it-periwinkle, @lightspica, @ultimatebottom69, @sexyheisenbeast, @crazy-obsessed, @squid3, @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu, @the-obscurity, @sapphicalciee, @ladydimitresculove, @solemnnova, @itsyourgirlmalise, @the-little-shadow, @marvelwomen-simp, @rachelthefanfictionwriter, @d14n4ol, @peachesandlesbians, @celina1221, ｜Anna, @Gansito83, @Followingmyheartledmetoyou, @theuslesslezbian (won’t tag, idk why)

-----

“Mother, I think Y/N’s broken. They’re afraid of me, they’ve never been afraid of me.” Daniela said to her mother.

Alcina motioned for her daughter to come over to her, patting her lap. When Daniela was on her lap, her head rested against her mother. “Y/N’s...” Alcina trailed off, gathering her words together properly. “I know Y/N acts a little different around us nowadays, but.... because of that wretched man-thing and what he did, their memories of us have disappeared, for lack of a better word.” Alcina explained.

“Disappeared? Will they come back?” Daniela asked with a small frown.

Alcina pressed a kiss to Daniela’s forehead. “It’s complicated, darling. With Y/N’s amnesia, there’s no telling if they’ll retain their memories ever again. Donna’s doing all she can to monitor their progress.”

“But?” Daniela questioned.

Alcina sighed. “But it’s not looking hopeful.” Alcina replied. Daniela sniffled, her eyes watering. “Nonetheless, my sweet girl, we’ll do all we can to create new memories with them. We must, however, gain their trust again. Where are your sisters?”

“In Y/N’s room.” Daniela replied quietly.

“That’s no good. If Y/N’s scared of you then there’s no doubt that they’re scared of them as well. Up now, Dani.” Alcina said.

Daniela pouted. “Carry me, momma?” Daniela asked, giving her mother her best puppy dog eyes.

Alcina sighed again, a small smile forming on her face. “Fine, fine. Come now, let us go tend to our guest.” Alcina said as she stood from her chair, her daughter in her arms.

As they walked the halls toward your room, Daniela asked her mother some questions. “What if Y/N doesn’t want to create new memories with us? What if they never love us the same way they used to?”

“It will take time, Daniela, but we will do what we can. Unfortunately, we cannot force them to want more with us just because of how things used to be. They have to want those things on their own, do you understand?” Daniela nodded her head. “Good, good. Down you go, dear.” Alcina said as she placed Daniela on the floor before knocking on the door in front of them.

Cassandra opened the door. “Hello, Mother.” Cassandra said. “Y/N’s locked themselves in the bathroom and they won’t come out. They keep screaming that we’re murderers and they want to go home.” Tears welled in Cassandra’s eyes.

“Oh, my darling, I’m sorry. I’ll explain once I calm them down.” Alcina replied, her hand coming up to run her hand over Cassandra’s hair before cupping her cheek. “Like I told Daniela, it’ll take some time, but we will help them readjust to life in the castle.”

Cassandra nodded her head. “Of course, Mother.”

“Mother, has Cassandra told you about Y/N? They’ve been acting very strange since they woke up.” Bela said as she entered the room, a plate in her hand. “I thought it would be nice for them to eat.”

Alcina smiled at her daughter. “That’s very kind of you, Bela. Leave the plate on the vanity, I’ll make sure they eat.” Alcina said. “Why don’t you girls go entertain yourselves before washing up for dinner while I talk to them.” The girls nodded their heads before exiting the room.

Alcina knocked on the bathroom door. “Go away. Leave me alone.” You responded, the door muffling your voice.

“Darling, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Alcina replied. “Why don’t you come out here and have something to eat? I sent my daughters away, but Bela brought you some food.”

“I’m not hungry. Can you please just leave me alone?” You asked.

Alcina sighed. “I’m afraid I can do that, dragoste.” Alcina let out a small grunt as she positioned herself to sit up against the wall by the bathroom door. “How about this? If you talk to me about what’s wrong, I’ll give you your space, okay?” Alcina suggested.

You mulled the offer over for a moment before ultimately agreeing to it. You slowly opened the door, a bit shocked to see the Lady on the floor. You sat across from her, your back against the bed. You put as much distance between the two of you as you could.

You bit your lip and sighed. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.” You said.

“But darling, you are home. Castle Dimitrescu is your home. Has been for a few decades.” Alcina replied.

You shook your head. “No. No. This is not my home. My house is in the village with my family. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to belong here.” You looked up at her with tears in your eyes. “I just want to go home. Please let me go home.”

You could see the pain in Alcina’s eyes as you pleaded with her. “I’m afraid with the most recent events that have happened, your home is no longer intact. And darling, your family…” Alcina trailed off.

You shook your head. “No, you’re lying. Stop lying to me. Take me home. Now.” You demanding as you stood up and walked over to her. “Take. Me. Home.”

Alcina sighed before rising to her full height. “As you wish, draga mea.” Alcina replied. “But you will not be permitted to stay on the premises, it isn’t safe to do so as it once was.” You frowned at her words, but you knew she was probably right.

It wasn’t until the next that you and the Lady of the Castle travelled down to the village. The shops were all boarded up, the homes were more rundown than the last time you’d been down there. Despite that, you could see the villagers working on their homes to fix them from the event that happened that the Lady had mentioned.

“What… what happened?” You asked as the two of you walked down the road. You thought you might have needed to give her directions, but she seemed to know where she was going. She looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, confusing etching her facial features a bit. “You mentioned some kind of event or events that happened.”

“Ah.” Alcina grimaced slightly as she thought about. “I guess you could call it an invasion. A one man invasion.” Alcina replied. She cleared her throat before continuing. “You see, Mother Miranda is… in need of something. She, well, she found the perfect thing to help her out so she took it. And we, unfortunately, suffered the consequences of her actions. You were injured during the events protecting ou- my daughters from him. He attacked you from behind with some object, hitting your head thus causing you to fall unconscious. A very heartbreaking moment, dear. And then you were in a coma and my dearest sister, Donna, has taken to monitoring your progress during your amnesia.” Alcina explained.

You frowned. “Amnesia?” Alcina hummed. You shook your head. “No. I can’t, that can’t be. I don’t… I don’t remember ever being at the Castle. Ever.” You stared ahead as you came up to the ruins of what used to be your home.

“And what do you remember?” Alcina asked, putting her hand on your shoulder.

You flinched, moving away from her. “Don’t touch me.” You snapped. “As for your question, I remember saying good night to my family and then going to sleep. Then when I woke up, I was at the Castle, in your…” You trailed off as you tried putting the pieces together. “Your eyes widened in horror. “You. You did this. You caused this.”

“Darling, wha-“

You cut her off. “Don’t act innocent. You killed my family, destroyed my home, and kidnapped me. Making up some story about some man invading the village as the perfect cover.” You glared at her. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? That I would just believe your lies?” You could see the pain and hurt in Alcina’s eyes. You moved away from her when she reached her hand out to you again. “I said don’t fucking touch me!” You hissed.

“I’m sorry.” Alcina said softly. “But I didn’t do this. You… you came to the Castle to work. To provide for your family.” Alcina let a small smile grace her face as her eyes teared up a bit. “You were quite clumsy when you started out. The girls didn’t think we should keep you on after your first week, but I… I saw something in you. I made you my personal hand servant after that week. You were terrified. I remember how scared you looked when you found yourself in a room with me, alone. I can’t count how many times I had to reassure you that you were safe with me, for weeks on end. It did take a while for you to warm up to me, but after that you were very confident in your role. We got close, you got close to the girls too. Then one thing led to another. We married. And then that man-thing destroyed the peaceful and loving family I had by taking you away from us.” Alcina sniffled, a few tears falling down her cheeks.

A part of you believed her story, feeling a little tingle within yourself as she told it. But you knew it wasn’t true. “You’re very good.” You replied. Alcina stared at you, purely confused by your words. “At lying. At weaving words together to make them sound believable. You almost had me, almost made me believe that that’s what really happened.” Alcina opened her mouth to say something, but you shook your head. “Don’t bother. You want to know something?”

“Know what?” Her tone sounded a bit lost, you could tell she was beyond hurt by your words.

“That you’re a monster.” You replied. That broke her heart, you could tell the moment you said it, watching her expression crack when you called her a monster. “You take young girls from their homes, kill the men and eat them if they even breathe in your direction. Murdering those girls to use their blood for your so called wine. And call it a form of living, a way for you to survive. You’re a murderer. You’re a monster. But you see yourself as a God, like what you’re doing is okay. It’s not, it’s disgusting. You disgust me. Your daughters disgust me.”

“Y/N, please. You don’t… you don’t mean that. You don’t mean it.” Alcina pleaded slightly as she tried to reach out to you again.

You pushed her hand away, forcefully. “I said don’t fucking touch me. Do not fucking touch me.” You were breathing heavily. You shook your head. “I have to leave. I need to get out of here. You’re monsters, all of you. Every single last one you.” You started walking backwards, away from Alcina. Away from the village. “I'd say I hope you all rot in hell, especially you, but you're already living in it.” You said, spitting at the ground before turning around.

Alcina fiddled with your engagement ring and wedding ring as she watched you walk away from her, tears flowing down her face. She was going to give them back to you when the two of you got back from the village. After she told you what happened. She hadn’t expected you to react that way, didn’t consider this scenario.

Alcina didn’t come after you, she knew she’d already lost you. Twice now. No sense in trying to force you into something you didn’t want. Maybe you always felt this way and the attack was your guiding light, the one you needed to clear your mind and realise just how horrible of a person she was. The girls crowded their Mother as she came home, questioning your whereabouts when they didn't see you.

“Y/N will no longer be residing with us, girls.” Alcina replied. “You may send some maids to clean up the guest room and then you may go play. But I ask that you refrain from ever mentioning Y/N, wipe the Castle of their presence. Get rid of it all.” Alcina requested. “They are as dead to us as we are to them and it will stay that way forever.”

“But Mother…” Daniela started, but quickly found herself closing her mouth at her Mother’s intense stare. “Yes, Mother.” Daniela said dejectedly. Her sisters following her lead before dispersing into their swarms.

Alcina sighed as she made her way to her chambers, placing your rings in the box she’d gotten them in. “Good bye, iubirea mea.” Alcina said softly as she closed the box and placed it on her vanity. The only things she wished to remember you by, allowing only a small part of you to reside in her home and her heart.

[viastro]

in the spring | jeon wonwoo

ミ★ synopsis: in which you suffer from a car accident and have amnesia when you wake up. wonwoo is your current boyfriend, but you keep remembering your ex. [inspired by the numerous tiktoks i saw with this prompt]

ミ★ genre: angst, some fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: minor (?) character death

ミ★ word count: 7,663

ミ★ pairings: wonwoo x female reader (featuring ?? x female reader)

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! i wanna start off by saying that this is not realistically accurate ! i did some research on amnesia, but i’m not sure if this is still accurate at all. i also didn’t want to mention who the other member is, so it’ll be a bit of a surprise. i hope you guys enjoy this one, make sure to give wonwoo lots of love !

“Oh! She’s waking up! Go get Wonwoo!” 

“I already told him and he’s quite literally sprinting up three flights of stairs.”

“Why would he do that? There’s literally an elevator?!” 

“Guys, if you could step to the side so that I can do a proper checkup on the patient.” You let out a quiet groan when you open your eyes, just to immediately close them when you see how bright it is. The numerous voices don’t lessen when you attempt to open your eyes again, and you lock eyes with an older woman in a white coat. You frown when you realize she’s a doctor, and you look around the room to find three other guys staring at you with tears in their eyes around your hospital bed. 

“Why am I-” You cough at how dry your throat is, and the doctor immediately hands you a plastic cup filled with water. You give her a tight-lipped smile as a thank you, before taking a long sip of the liquid. Once the cup is empty, you hand it back to the doctor before glancing at the three guys again, and you tilt your head when you find that they’re all incredibly handsome. 

“What am I doing in the hospital? And why are there three handsome guys crying as they stare at me?” You ask as you turn to glance back at the doctor, and you raise an eyebrow when you hear one of them let out a loud gasp.

“Oh my God, she doesn’t remember us-”

“YN!” You jump slightly at the loud voice, turning your head to see a man with blue hair at the doorway to your hospital room, tears filling his eyes as he stares at you. 

damn, he’s handsome too.

“Sir, please let me do a full check-”

“Y-yn, I’m so fucking sorry.” The blue haired man cries as he walks over to your side and grasps your hand. Your eyes widen slightly, and you glance around at the other guys to see them crying as well. 

“W-who are you?” You tentatively ask, and you feel his grip on your hand freeze. He slowly looks up into your eyes, and you watch as more tears escape as he stares at you with a shocked expression on his face. You internally pout to yourself, he’s too pretty to cry over me.

“As I expected, excuse me sir.” The blue haired man steps away from you to make room for the doctor, but the expression on his face remains unwavering as he stares at you. The doctor proceeds to do a checkup on your vitals, as well as shining that bright light in your eyes that makes you wanna pass away. 

She leans back after she’s done and tilts her head at you. You mimic her, and she lets out a chuckle before her expression turns more serious again. 

“Yn, do you know why you’re here?” She asks, and you shake your head no. The doctor purses her lips and begins to softly explain how you ended up in the hospital, and how long you’ve been here. Your mouth slowly drops open at the news, and you raise a hand to touch your head, but the blue haired man stops you before you can do so. He reluctantly releases his grip on your hand, and your arm falls back to your side.

“I-I was in a car accident four days ago and went into a coma? And I just woke up?” You ask, and the doctor nods her head solemnly. You bite the inside of your cheek, “And I have amnesia?” 

She nods again, and you glance at the four handsome men who are staring at you with swollen eyes. Feeling guilty for not remembering who they are, you find that you’re too shy to ask for their names. The one with black hair seems to notice, and he attempts to give you a reassuring smile, but you can see the pain in his eyes as he steps forward towards you. 

“Yn, I’m Vernon, your best friend. We met in our first year of uni, six years ago.” He tells you, and you recite his name to try and ring any bells, but you come back with nothing. He gives you a grin and shakes his head at you, “It’s okay, you won’t regain your memories just like that. Don’t stress too much about it.” 

You clench your fist at your side and nod your head, feeling grateful that he’s being understanding, but upset that you’re putting him and the other three in pain. One by one, the other two boys introduce themselves to you, Mingyu and Soonyoung, until you’re left with the last guy. The blue haired beauty who seems to be in the most pain out of the four of them. He slowly walks up to your side and sits in the seat beside your bed. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, and he bites his lip, looking down at his hands when tears fill his eyes again. You find tears filling your own eyes at his sadness, and you grip the bedsheet between your hands when he looks back up into your eyes.

“I-I’m Wonwoo. Your boyfriend of two years.” He tells you, letting out a sad smile. You stare blankly at him for a moment, letting the information sink in, before you turn to glance at the other three and the doctor. You turn back towards Wonwoo, and you find yourself incredibly confused at how you managed to pull this man.

So being in shock you ask, “My what?” 

The guys let out a quiet laugh from beside you, and you watch as an amused smile etches itself onto Wonwoo’s face at your question. He runs a hand through his blue hair before nodding his head, “Your boyfriend of two years.” 

You squint at him, “You’re capping.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at you, leaning back into the seat. “I’m not. You were the one who begged me to be your boyfriend though.”

“Aye, don’t lie to her Wonwoo. We have the videos of you swooning for her when you first laid eyes on her at my birthday party.” Soonyoung says, and a smile forms on your face when Wonwoo scowls at the blonde. You shake your head, but let out a little groan at the throb you feel in your head. Wonwoo immediately stands up and leans closer to you, asking if you’re okay as he checks your head, and you give the pretty man a small smile. 

“I’m okay Wonwoo, don’t worry. It’s probably just because of my concussion and receiving all this information too.” You tell him, and he purses his lips. The doctor nods her head at your statement, telling Wonwoo and the other guys that it’s true. 

“Dr.Park, do you know when yn might get her memories back?” Mingyu asks after she checks on the bandages on your forehead. She leans back and gives them a small smile, “It shouldn’t be long. It won’t come back all at once like a wave, but small bits and pieces will come back until she can remember. Showing photographs and videos, or telling stories can help speed up the process as well. Don’t stress that much about it though.” 

The five of you nod your heads, and the doctor gives you a grin. “I’ll go and tell the nurses to bring you dinner, if you need anything, just press the button or have one of your bodyguards go and ask for us.” 

You let out a chuckle at the term she used and nod your head. She bows towards the four guys before stepping out of the room, leaving the five of you alone. You watch as Vernon nudges Mingyu and Soonyoung, before motioning towards the door with his chin. 

“We’ll leave the two of you alone.” Vernon says, and you nod, watching as the three of them exit the room as well, leaving you and Wonwoo alone. You turn your head to glance at the blue haired man, just to find his catlike eyes already boring into yours. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, just gauging each other's presence, before you squint at him again.

“There’s no way you’re my boyfriend.”

“I’m literally your boyfriend.”

“Proof?” Wonwoo chuckles, pulling out his phone and turning it in your direction. Your eyes widen slightly when you see that his lockscreen is a photo of the two of you at the beach, with you laughing and him staring down lovingly at you. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “So you are my boyfriend.” 

Wonwoo smiles, nodding his head. He turns the phone towards his face to unlock it, before turning it back towards you so that you can see his lockscreen. You pout at the sight of it, just a photo of you in the kitchen doing a heart with your arms towards the camera. 

“I wish I could remember this.” You mumble sadly as you stare at the photo, having no recollection of what occurred. Wonwoo bites the inside of his cheek at how dejected you look, and he reaches out and tentatively rests his hand over yours, causing you to look up at him. 

“I can tell you about my lockscreen and homescreen, if you want?” 

The two of you stare into each other's eyes for a moment, and you find nothing but love in his gaze as his eyes bore into yours. Letting out a hopeful smile, you recall what the doctor told you about how photos, videos, and hearing memories can speed up the process of regaining your memory, so you nod your head. 

Wonwoo grins before beginning to explain the extremely eventful history of the photos he showed you until your food arrives.

“Good morning, yn.” You glance up from your phone to find Wonwoo walking in with hot cocoa in his hands, and he watches your face light up when he hands it to you. You smile up at him, “Thank you, Wonwoo.” 

He nods his head and settles down in the seat beside your hospital bed, and the two of you converse quietly as you each drink your hot beverages. 

It’s been a couple days since you’ve woken up, and Wonwoo has come to visit everyday. You learned from the nurses who have been watching over you that Wonwoo would take care of you when you were in a coma, and would even end up falling asleep beside you until visiting hours were over. However, you haven’t been able to remember anything about him. 

“Oh, Wonwoo.” You say when you notice a few strands of his blue hair sticking up. He glances up at you from the video he was showing you to find you pointing to his head. “Your hair is a bit messy.” 

He raises an eyebrow, and raises his hand up to fix it himself, but you stop him with a grin. “I’ll get it for you.” 

Wonwoo smiles when you reach out to flatten the strands of hair, feeling like this is a step forward since you’ve been cautious with him since you’ve woken up. While you may not know it right now, you would always pat his head whenever you saw him or fix his hair for him. 

As soon as your hand rests on the top of his head, a patchy memory floods your brain, causing you to immediately retract your hand and grasp your head. Wonwoo looks up and stands from his chair as soon as he sees the grimace on your face.

“Yn? Yn??”

“Yn!” You let out a laugh at his spiked up hair that you did with the wet blue hair dye on the top of his head, and his mock anger turns into a giggle at the happiness on your expression. The two of you lock eyes in the mirror, and you flash him a bright smile. 

“I said you can dye my hair blue, not make me look like sharkboy from sharkboy and lavagirl.” You don’t respond, but instead shoot finger guns at him in the mirror and he laughs at your silliness. 

“You should have never given me this power.” You say with a grin, and he lets out a sigh, making you pinch his shoulder as you take off the plastic gloves from your hands. He smiles, turning to you and puckering up his lips. 

You raise an eyebrow, “You wanna do the Kylie Jenner challenge too?” 

He scoffs at you, and you giggle, immediately bending down to press a soft kiss against his lips. He smiles, muttering the three words that always make your heart burst. 

“I love you, yn.” You open your eyes and stare into his deep brown ones that always seem to hold mischief in them. You peck his lips one more time before muttering back, 

“I love you too-”

“Yn, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Your eyes open and you immediately look up to see Wonwoo staring at you with a concerned expression on his face. Your hand lowers from your head and rests over your beating heart, “Yn, take deep breaths. Follow me, okay? In…”

You copy Wonwoo’s lead until your breathing finally goes back to normal, and he lets out a sigh of relief when you’ve finally calmed down. He sits back down in his seat beside your bed, and watches as you just stare blankly at the white bedsheets. 

“Yn, what happened? Did you remember something?” Wonwoo asks after a moment, and you have an internal debate with yourself on whether or not you should tell him that you didn’t remember him but someone from your past. You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing that it would only hurt him.

but i should be honest, he’s my boyfriend.

but his feelings would be hurt…

aaaAAAAAAAAAA DAMN YOU AMNESIA !

And so you turn back towards Wonwoo and shake your head with a reassuring smile, “No, just a small headache. Dr.Park told me that the small bursts of pain would be a common occurrence, so don’t worry too much, okay, Woo?” 

Wonwoo bites the inside of his cheek at the nickname that slipped past your mouth, a burst of hope in his chest at the fact that you said his nickname unconsciously. He lets out a small smile and nods his head, the worry now disappearing from his face as he begins to show you the video again. 

All while you watch it with the feeling of guilt in your heart, wondering who that person was in your memory, and why it wasn’t Wonwoo.

“You’re joking.” 

“I’m literally not.”

“No, you’re joking.” 

“Yn, you quite literally almost confessed your feelings to Wonwoo while you were drunk off your mind.” Vernon tells you, and you continue to shake your head. Soonyoung, Mingyu, and Wonwoo laugh beside you, and you scowl at the three. 

“There’s absolutely no way I did that-”

“W-Wonwoo,” Soonyoung begins, mimicking your voice as he starts to sniffle and fake some tears. You watch in horror as he turns towards your boyfriend, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Curse you and your pretty face and nice personality! Fuck you Wonwoo!” 

“Stop…”

“What are you doing, yn?” Wonwoo asks, immediately fulfilling his role as the two recreate the night you absolutely humiliated yourself. Soonyoung sloppily grabs Wonwoo by the collar of his shirt, and shakes him slightly, and you raise a hand to your mouth in shock. 

“Do you know how-” You immediately close your eyes and cover your face with your hands when you begin to remember something. Wonwoo and Soonyoung stop their roleplay as soon as they see you doubled over, and Wonwoo sits on the side of your bed and begins to rub your back. 

“Yn, you need to stop drinking.” Vernon says from your side, and you push him back, drunkenly holding the half-empty bottle of soju as you squint at your handsome best friend. “N-” You let out a burp mid-sentence, and Vernon’s lip quirks up slightly. “No.” 

Vernon rolls his eyes, stepping over and grabbing the bottle from your hold easily, before walking back into his kitchen and placing it on the highest shelf. You curse to yourself, knowing that you can’t climb up onto the counters when you’re drunk. 

“Tell me why you’re drinking so much when you know how bad your hangover is going to be tomorrow.” Vernon says as he sits down in the seat beside you at his kitchen table. You bite the inside of your cheek when tears fill your eyes after a moment of thinking, and Vernon’s amusement immediately turns into concern when he catches sight of this. You rest your cheek onto the table, and Vernon watches as a single tear slips past your eye. 

“I think I love Wonwoo.” You mutter quietly, so quiet that Vernon almost misses it. He lets out a soft smile at your confession, and nods his head, having already sensed this by the way you look at the man. 

“I think he loves you too, yn.” You bite your bottom lip, sitting up and resting your head in your hands as more tears spill from your eyes. Vernon reaches out and pulls you onto his shoulder, whispering words of comfort.

You suck in a breath once you open your eyes again, and immediately turn towards Wonwoo, who is already doing the breathing exercise to try and get you to calm down. Once your breathing goes back to normal, you rest a hand over your heart, and turn towards Vernon, who’s staring at you in concern. 

“Did you remember something?” Mingyu asks, and you nod your head slowly. The guys all perk up in interest, and you let out a pained smile as you look at Vernon, before turning to glance at Wonwoo. 

“I remembered me crying over you in Vernon’s kitchen, I think it was probably a few days after I humiliated myself in front of you.” You tell Wonwoo, and you watch as a bright smile slowly forms on his face. He pulls you into a hug, and your eyes widen slightly at the contact. 

“This means you’ll start remembering things soon.” Wonwoo says excitedly, and you let out a close-lipped smile, nodding your head as you rub his back softly. Your eyes trail over to Vernon, whose eyes also appear to be sad as they stare into yours. Biting the inside of your cheek, you look away, now filled with more questions than answers.

“So you remembered most of your memories with Vernon, Mingyu, and Soonyoung?” Wonwoo asks as the two of you walk around the garden at the hospital, and you nod your head with a small smile. Wonwoo nods his head happily, feeling grateful that your memories are slowly coming back. 

“Maybe you haven’t remembered most of our memories because you’ve known me the shortest?” You purse your lips in consideration of his question, nodding your head as it does seem to make sense. The two of you walk quietly, just soaking in the warm, Spring sun. 

You’re going to be discharged soon since your concussion seems to be almost 100% gone. They just have to do a few more scans and you should be good to leave by Saturday. You’ve been dreaming of most of your memories from the recent years with the boys, but you haven’t remembered most of the memories with Wonwoo. 

“Oh!” You turn to see Wonwoo bend down and pluck a daisy from the ground. He turns back towards you, a shy smile on his face as he tucks it behind your ear. The heat rushes to your face, and you open your mouth to say thank you, when that familiar feeling floods your head again. 

You raise a hand up to your forehead, and Wonwoo immediately grasps your hand and leads you over towards the bench nearby so that you can sit down. You double over, covering your face with your hands as the memory floods your brain.

“You really wanted to fulfill your weeb fantasy, huh?” You tease, and the blue haired beauty rolls his eyes at you. You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek to reassure that you’re just joking around with him. The two of you walk around the square, looking at the brilliant shades of pink from the fully bloomed cherry blossom trees surrounding the two of you. 

“I can see why cherry blossoms are your favorite flower.” You mutter softly, extending your hand out and watching as a soft, pink petal falls onto the palm of your hand. He smiles at the sight, taking a picture of you as you stare at the petal. You turn towards him when you hear the sound of the camera shutter, and you squint your eyes at him. 

“What? You look pretty.” He tells you easily, and you bite the inside of your cheek at his honesty. You glance back down at the petal, only for the wind to push it off your hand. You watch as it flies in his direction, before landing on the top of his head. You let out a smile, and he chuckles, picking it out of his hair. 

“Did you know that catching a falling cherry blossom makes your first love come true?” You ask, and he raises an eyebrow, stepping over and wrapping his arms around you. You smile brightly when he steals a quick kiss from your lips, and you wrap your arms around his middle. He lets out a sigh, “Does that mean we’re gonna get married?” 

You shrug your shoulders with a chuckle, before the two of you pull away and begin walking around the square again.

“What if we got married in the Spring? So we can have a cherry blossom wedding.” He asks after a moment of the two of you walking around in a relative silence, and you giggle at his idea. He turns towards you, pinching your shoulder with a smile on his face, “Why are you laughing at my dreams?” 

You pinch him back, eliciting a slight squeak from him, causing you to laugh. Letting out a sigh, you smile softly at the premise of the two of you getting married one day. “We’re two broke third year university students. I don’t think we should be so ambitious just yet.” 

“Let me dream.” He tells you pettily after a moment of silence passes between the two of you, and you stop walking, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you. You wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your head into his chest without another word, and he lets out a soft smile, before wrapping his arms around you. You mutter, “I’m kidding, I like the idea of a cherry blossom wedding.”

He kisses the top of your head, “I know.”

“Let’s take a picture before we go and get food, mm?” He tells you after a moment of the two of you just holding each other, and you nod your head, pulling away so that he can pull out his phone. He holds his phone down so that the cherry blossom trees can be seen in the background, and the two of you flash bright smiles as he takes a couple pictures of you both. 

“I’ll add this to our wedding slideshow folder.” He says, and you let out a loud laugh at the joke, slapping his shoulder, causing him to giggle. You double over in laughter when you see him actually add it to an existing folder titled wedding slideshow <3333, and he laughs beside you. 

“Happy three year anniversary, yn.” He tells you once the two of you calm down, and you smile brightly up at him. You lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips as the cherry blossom petals fall around the two of you, before pulling away with a bright smile on your face. 

“Happy three year anniversary.”

“Yn, breathe.” You let out a loud gasp once the memory stops, and you lock eyes with Wonwoo who is sitting beside you with a concerned expression on his face. Wonwoo’s eyes soon fill with worry, and he reaches up and cups your face, thumbs swiping under your eyes, “Yn, why are you crying?” 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Wonwoo mentioned it, and you rest a hand over his wrist as he continues to wipe away more tears spilling from your eyes. You find that you don’t have an answer to his question as he pulls you into his arms, and your head rests into his shoulder as more tears continue to pour out. 

You don’t have an answer.

You and Wonwoo quietly read together in your hospital bedroom, with you being able to be discharged in a couple days. The two of you haven’t spoken on why you were crying the other day, as Wonwoo saw that you didn’t know yourself. 

You roll onto your side so that you’re facing Wonwoo, who is sitting on the small couch beside the window. You peek over the pages of your book, just to find your blue haired boyfriend deeply engaged with what he’s reading. Letting out a small grin, you continue to watch fondly as he turns the page, only for his eyes to look up from his book and lock with yours. 

“Like what you see?” Wonwoo asks, and you roll your eyes, hiding your face with your book again. 

“You wish.” You answer, and he chuckles. It’s only when you glance over your book to take another peek, that you feel the familiar sensation fill your senses. Wonwoo looks up from his book when he hears you let out a curse, and he immediately stands up and walks over to your side when he sees you covering your face with your hands.

You glance up from your homework when you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. You let out a small smile at the neutral expression on his face, as if he didn’t just initiate skinship with you as the two of you study for your finals. 

You look back down at your book, before falling back into the rhythm of taking notes at a decent pace. That is, until you hear a loud snore beside you. You choose to ignore it at first, until you hear another one escape his mouth after a few seconds. And so you turn your head to find your pretty boyfriend fast asleep on his Chemistry book, hand still holding yours as he does so. 

Pursing your lips, you check the time on your phone, just to find that it’s 2 in the morning. The two of you have been studying for at least 12 hours now, you both deserve to sleep. You move to let go of his hand so that you can gently wake him, but his grasp on your hand tightens instead. 

“Are you awake?” You ask with an amused smile on your face, and you watch as he slowly opens his eyes and stares into yours. You giggle, reaching your hand up and patting his head fondly as he groggily sits up from the table. Not letting go of your hand, he rubs his eyes with the back of his free hand before standing up. 

“Are we going to bed now?” He asks groggily, and you nod your head. He smiles, before dragging you over to your room without another word. You mutter out protests about how the two of you didn’t clean up your workspace yet, but immediately get shut down when he plops down under the covers and pulls you into his side. 

“We can clean up tomorrow morning.” He tells you softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your head and closing his eyes. Biting the inside of your cheek, he squeezes your hand, and nuzzles his head into the back of your neck. 

“Goodnight, yn.” He mumbles, and you smile, before closing your eyes as well. 

“Night night.”

“Fuck.” You curse to yourself through your heavy breathing, still unsure of what his name could possibly be. Wonwoo soothingly rubs your back as you rest your head onto his chest, harshly biting the inside of your cheek as you’re filled with even more questions rather than answers. 

“Did you remember something?” Wonwoo asks after a moment, and you don’t respond. You just silently wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck for comfort. “Can we just stay like this? Please?” 

Wonwoo nods his head, tentatively wrapping his arms around your frame. He cradles your head with his hand, and whispers soothing words into your ear. “It’s okay yn, it’ll be okay.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel that familiar feeling again, and you tightly grip Wonwoo’s shirt. His eyebrows furrow in concern, and he tries to pull away to check on you, but you continue to hold onto his waist. “Yn? What’s wrong? Yn?”

“Yn?” Wonwoo watches as you wordlessly walk to the bathroom after slamming your laptop shut. He follows after you, and his eyes immediately widen in alarm when he sees you grab a pair of scissors and raise it to your hair.

“Yn!” You stop when you hear Wonwoo’s voice, and you turn your head to see Wonwoo standing at the entrance to the bathroom, staring at you with worry. You bite the inside of your cheek, and drop the scissors back onto the bathroom counter. Feeling your eyes brimming with tears, you attempt to hold them back. 

“I-I’m okay-” You get cut off when Wonwoo steps over and wraps his arms around you, immediately cradling your head with his hand. The rest of your excuse dies in your throat when Wonwoo nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. 

“You don’t always have to be okay, yn.” Wonwoo tells you, and that’s when the tears spill from your eyes. You wrap your arms around his waist, crying out that you can’t get along with anyone at work, and that your boss seems to hate you. 

“I bet she doesn’t hate you.” Wonwoo reassures, and you shake your head as you sniffle into his shoulder. 

“She absolutely does! I,” You sniffle again, and Wonwoo lets out a small smile when you mutter out how gross this is before continuing. “I got tea yesterday and forgot to get her a donut like I always do, and she hasn’t smiled at me since!” 

“Yn, I don’t know how anyone could hate you. She might’ve just been having a bad day.” Wonwoo says softly as he runs his hand through your hair. Shaking your head, you let out another wail about how you’re going to get fired, and he bites the inside of his cheek at how silly you’re being. 

“Try and talk to her tomorrow, mm? And invite your co-workers out to get lunch or something. Friendships always blossom over food, trust me.” You close your eyes once your breathing goes back to normal, and Wonwoo slowly pulls back so that he can get a good look at your face. He lets out a fond smile when he sees your puffy eyes, and a little bit of snot that escaped from your nose. 

Not letting go of you, he leans back and grabs a tissue, and begins wiping away your tears. He places the tissue over your nose, “Blow.” 

And so you blow your nose, not to say that it’s your proudest moment, but Wonwoo doesn’t care. 

“Everything will be okay, and if you wanna cut your hair then make sure that you’re in the right frame of mind when you do so.” Wonwoo tells you, and you softly slap his shoulder, eliciting a chuckle from him. You finally let out a small grin, “Thank you, Woo.” 

He nods his head, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Anything for you, yn.”

You open your eyes and loosen your hold on Wonwoo. He pulls back and examines your face, “Did you remember something again? In just a span of a few minutes?” 

You nod your head, giving him a small smile. You reach out and pat his head, making his eyes soften immediately. “I remembered me almost chopping my hair, and you convincing me not to.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes brighten, before he lets out a little chuckle, causing you to raise an eyebrow. He turns his head and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, eliciting a squeak from you, and warmth to rise to your cheeks as you slowly lower your hand back down.

Smiling at your shyness he says, “That’s happened multiple times. You have to be specific.” 

To which you scowl, slapping his arm, causing him to laugh and tell you he’s only partially joking. Even through the joy you and Wonwoo feel for you remembering something about your guys’ relationship, the heavy feeling in your heart is still prominent. 

“I’ll come back a bit late tonight.” You pout at him, and he giggles at your cuteness, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His big, bright eyes are filled with love as he stares at you, and the roots of his black hair are beginning to show. The two of you don’t mind though, you both think the blue and black looks nice.

“We’re supposed to watch the new episodes of Haikyuu! tonight though.” You say, and he grins, squeezing your face between his hands. 

“We can still watch it tonight, I just have to meet with my group for econ to discuss our project.” He tells you, and you purse your lips, before you nod your head. You know that this project is crucial for this course, considering the rumors you’ve heard from the fourth years at uni who took the class the year before. 

“Okay, make sure to text me, mm?” He nods his head, before pulling you into another hug. You let out a small sigh, knowing you won’t get tired of this feeling. 

Home. Home is wherever he is.

“You want me to buy you any drinks when I’m on my way back to your apartment? Tea? Boba?” He asks once the two of you pull away, and you purse your lips in thought. He lets out his melodic laugh at the expression on your face, and you break out into a smile. “Can you buy fried chicken? So that we can eat it as we watch?” 

He nods his head, before grabbing the doorknob and turning it. He pauses though, and you raise an eyebrow when he turns back towards you and presses another kiss to your lips. 

“I love you, yn. I’ll be back later.” He says against your lips, and you nod your head with a soft smile on your face. 

“I love you too. Be safe!” And with that, he walks out of your apartment. 

You glance at the time, seeing that it’s 10 PM. You knew that he was going to be a bit late, but you didn’t expect him to be this late. You open up your messages with him, just to see the last texts between you two where he asked what kind of fried chicken to get. 

You’re about to turn off your phone when your screen lights up with a call, and you see that it’s Vernon. Raising an eyebrow, you answer and place the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Yn.” You frown at the sound of his labored breathing, and you slowly sit up when you hear him sniffle. 

“Vernon, is everything oka-”

“Yn.” He cuts you off, and you bite the inside of your cheek nervously at the shakiness to his voice. His next two words send an icy feeling through your heart, and you find yourself scrambling towards the front door without a second thought.

“It’s Joshua.” 

You wake up with a loud gasp, resting your hand over your heart as you stare at the light beginning to stream in through the hospital window. You raise your hands up to your face, feeling the wetness of your cheeks as you hear your heart pounding against your ears. 

You feel a sob building up in your chest, and you double over as you begin to cry. Grabbing the pillows, you chuck them across the room as you start to scream. You don’t know how long it takes until someone walks into the room, finding you screaming and crying out Joshua’s name in agony. 

You don’t even realize that it’s Vernon who is holding you to try and calm you down, telling you that it’s okay, that it’ll be okay.

All you know is that you remember. 

You remember everything. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

You stare up at the white ceiling, looking at the numerous holes as you try to think of your answer. You turn your head to see Vernon staring at you with a small smile on his face, chin resting in his hand. You let out a grin at the sight, feeling a sense of comfort from Vernon as you look at him. 

“I don’t know. Feeling like I’m going through the five stages of grief again.” You mutter quietly, turning back to count the number of holes in the ceiling. 

So far you’ve counted 457, nope. 458 now. 

“When you didn’t remember me, I knew you most likely didn’t remember Joshua.” Vernon says, and you bite the inside of your cheek at the memory of him. 

Your first love.

“Do you still think of him?” You ask quietly, remembering Joshua’s bright smile whenever he looked at you. Vernon lets out a sad smile, nodding his head as he adjusts himself in the seat beside your hospital bed. 

“Everyday. I think of him everyday.” Vernon answers, and the two of you stay silent for a moment, letting everything soak in. You sit up in the bed, running a hand through your hair as you pull your knees up to your chest. “Do you think he hates me?”

Vernon immediately shakes his head ‘no’ at you, and you let out a sigh. Vernon reaches over and pats your knee, making you turn to look at your best friend. “Remember when we had that talk? The night you cried on my shoulder?” 

You purse your lips, nodding your head as you remember the full story now. Vernon gives you a reassuring smile, “Everything I told you then, still applies now.”

“I think I love Wonwoo.” You mutter quietly, so quiet that Vernon almost misses it. He lets out a soft smile at your confession, and nods his head, having already sensed this by the way you look at the man. 

“I think he loves you too, yn.” You bite your bottom lip, sitting up and resting your head in your hands as more tears spill from your eyes. Vernon reaches out and pulls you onto his shoulder, whispering words of comfort. 

When you finally calm down, you pull away from Vernon’s hug, and wipe away the tears on your cheeks. You do a bad job at it, so Vernon reaches out and wipes away the rest with a tissue. Letting out a tired sigh, you slam your fist on the table. 

“I can’t love Wonwoo, Vernon. I can’t do that to Joshua.” You say, and Vernon shakes his head at you. The two of you sit in silence, with your leg shaking underneath the table at the memory of Joshua. 

“Yn, you know how much Joshua loves you?” Vernon asks after a moment, and you turn to glance at him, waiting for him to tell you. Vernon smiles sadly, reaching out and patting your head. 

“He loves you so much that he’d do anything for you to be happy, even if you find happiness being with another person.” Tears fill your eyes as you stare at Vernon, and you look down at the table. You cover your face with your hands, and Vernon sucks in a breath. 

“You and Joshua will forever deserve better than what the two of you got, but he wouldn’t want you to risk your own possibility at happiness for the sake of him.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the memory, and rest your head on the top of your knees. Vernon lets out a small smile and glances over towards the door, seeing that familiar blue head of hair waiting by the window. Vernon motions for him to come in, and he slowly opens the door. 

You look up at the sound of the door opening, and you break out into a smile when you lock eyes with Wonwoo. He smiles softly at you, and his eyes slowly widen when you get up off the hospital bed and immediately wrap your arms around his middle. 

“Is everything alright?” Wonwoo asks after glancing at Vernon to see the black haired beauty shaking his head ‘no’ in his direction. Wonwoo tentatively wraps his arms around your frame, cradling your head softly. 

“I remember everything.” You answer after a moment, and Wonwoo freezes in your hold. He slowly pulls away to get a look at your face, and he sees you looking up at him with that familiar twinkle in your eyes. “Really?” 

You nod your head, and you watch as Wonwoo’s face slowly breaks out into a smile. His hands trail up to cup your face with pure joy on his features, “You remember everything? Even the time you jumped into the pool to try and avoid me when we weren’t dating yet?” 

You immediately frown, “Who told you that?” 

To which Wonwoo’s eyes flick to the right, before glancing back at you.  You let out a gasp of betrayal when you comprehend why he looked in that direction. You turn towards Vernon, who is now slowly raising his hands up in surrender. You point at him, “You told Wonwoo?!” 

“It ain’t me.”

“It was you.”

“Wonwoo!” The three of you begin to bicker, with three different arguments going on at the exact same time. The three of you are so loud that you fail to notice Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Dr.Park step into the room with congratulatory gifts for you getting discharged. 

“Should we… step out?” Soonyoung asks quietly when you move to put Vernon in a headlock, only for Wonwoo to hold you back from doing so. It’s only then that the three of you realize that you have company, and you all pause your movements. 

“Oh my God… heyyyyy…” You say when Wonwoo sets you back down on your feet. Mingyu lets out a giggle when Vernon reaches out to move away a strand of hair on your face, only for you to slap his hand away. 

You still feel betrayed.

“I see that you have your memories back?” Dr.Park asks, and you nod your head with a small smile. She grins as she hands you a bunch of documents about your stay, and the tests you took. “I’m glad you’re doing alright. Wonwoo already checked you out, so you just have to change into your clothes and you’re all set to go.” 

You nod your head, telling her thank you as she steps out the door. You glance at the four guys all staring at you, and you squint your eyes at them. “I have to change.” 

They don’t understand at first, until Wonwoo’s eyes widen and he immediately grabs Vernon by the arm, and begins shoving Soonyoung and Mingyu out the door. You let out a smile and wave your hand at the four once the door closes behind them. 

“Well, it’s time to go.” You mutter to yourself, before heading into the bathroom to change. 

“Where should we eat as a celebratory dinner on yn getting her memories back and getting discharged?” Soonyoung asks as the five of you head towards the hospital exit. You glance up at Wonwoo when the guys begin spewing out different food options, and you grin when you see the soft smile on his face. 

“Fried chicken?”

“Nah, that’s for tonight’s celebration. How about pho?” 

“Oh! Oh! What about bbq?” Your stomach grumbles at the mention of grilled meat, and the guys let out a laugh. Vernon pats your head softly, “Guess we have a winner on where we’ll eat lunch.” 

The five of you finally exit the hospital, and you stop your movements right when you lay eyes on the numerous pink petals on the sidewalk before you. You slowly glance up to see the fully bloomed cherry blossom tree. Out of habit, you lift your hand so that it faces up towards the trees. And you watch as a delicate, pink petal slowly falls from the beautiful flowers and lands right in the middle of the palm of your hand.

You let out a soft smile at the sight of it, feeling your heart warm when the wind pushes it away. You turn your head in the direction it flies off to, watching as it swirls in the wind as if it were dancing to a song. It finally lands right on Wonwoo’s blue hair, who is standing by and watching you with a fond smile on his face.

You grin, running up to your blue haired boyfriend and immediately grasping his hand. He presses a kiss to your temple once the two of you begin walking in Soonyoung, Mingyu and Vernon’s direction.

“I love you.” Wonwoo mutters against your head, and you feel heat rush up to your cheeks when you turn to see the overwhelming amounts of love in his gaze as he stares down at you. You stand up on your tiptoes and quickly steal a kiss from his lips, before pulling away with a soft smile.

“I love you too, Wonwoo.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Until The Last Star Dies

Jason Todd x Tamaranean!Reader

Word Count: 2.4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Mentions of Past Abuse

Author's Note: Old story I edited and am now posting again! This is technically the start to all those Outlaw x Reader ones. Guess I gotta work on those next! Enjoy! -Thorne

The all knew something was going to happen between the two Tamaranean sisters when the Titans and the Outlaws teamed up for a dual mission. Something usually did when the sisters got together, one of them asking for help for the last of their people, the other completely devoid of and inclination to help. Kory had brought up the conversation once during the mission when she was beside Dick and Jason, but the two had shaken their heads and reminded her not to do personal during a mission—else it risk the best outcome of said mission.

Kory hadn’t been impressed with the answer, but she’d relented at least until they were back in the Titan’s Tower, and the moment she brought it up with her sister, she knew she’d made a mistake.

***

Everyone watched as the two Tamaraneans stood at each other’s throats; Kory pointed a finger at her sister, her voice accusing. “They are our people, (Y/N)! You cannot just turn your back on them!”

(Y/N) scoffed incredulously. “Our people? You mean the people who turned their backs on us? Them?” A bitter laugh echoed throughout the room and most of them shivered at how cruel it sounded. “Damn them all.”

Kory reared back, emerald eyes wide with shock. “How can you say that, (Y/N)!”

“Easy! With my mouth!” She countered, then let out a sigh. “I have no desire or want to help them, Kory.” (Y/N) turned and began walking to the door. “They can die for all I care.”

When Kory spoke, her voice was low with disappointment. “Mother and Father would be ashamed of you, Kiyahnd’r.”

(Y/N) stopped dead in her tracks and turned around, her face and voice etched with disbelief. “What did you just say to me, Koriand’r?”

Kory stood up to her full height, imposing to most but her sister. “You heard me, Kiyahnd’r…they would be ashamed of your attitude and disassociation with our people.”

A crimson haze colored (Y/N)’s vision and she exploded in a fuming rage causing the others to step back in apprehension. “OUR PARENTS SOLD US INTO SLAVERY TO AVOID WAR! THEIR OWN CHILDREN! AND YOU EXPECT ME TO FEEL SYMPATHY FOR OUR PEOPLE?!”

(Y/N) felt an all-powerful energy surge through her, and an ominous white-hot aura surrounded her. “I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR OUR PEOPLE! I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR KOMAND’R! OR FOR OUR PARENTS!”

They watched as Kory matched her power, shoulders and back glowing green. “We have a duty to our throne as they did to Tamaran!”

“TO A THRONE THAT TURNED THEIR BACKS ON US BECAUSE THEY WERE TOO AFRAID TO FIGHT!” (Y/N) pointed at her. “HOW DARE YOU TRY AND JUSTIFY THEIR BETRAYAL! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHAT WE SUFFERED AS A RESULT?! THE EXPERIMENTS?! THE ABUSE?!”

“Of course I have not! But we are heirs to the Tamaranean throne, Kiyahnd’r! We must—”

She was cut off as a bolt of ivory energy flew by her head; it slammed into the wall with a catastrophic explosion, putting a hole through the entire seventeen walls of that particular side of the building.

Kory turned to stare at the gaping hole in the wall before facing her, her eyes narrowed, voice twinging dangerously. “Did you just challenge me, Kiyahnd’r?”

(Y/N) bared her teeth as she took a menacing step forward. “Do not make the mistake of laying your hands upon me, sister. We both know full well who would win that fight,” she promised, then her eyes darted to the members around them, eyes either widened in worry, or narrowed in expectation for a fight.

She inhaled shakily and shut her eyes, and the energy around her began to fizzle away until all that was left was her. She opened her eyes, gazing sadly at Kory, then, she spoke, the words coming out pained. “I do not want to save them, Koriand’r. The day they gave us up was the day I cut my ties with them. You want to play the high and mighty Tamaranean princess? Be my guest.”

She spun on her heel and walked to the door, but as if remembering something, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder, affirming, “But do not assume that I will do the same.”

The group watched as she left; Kory sighed and hung her head.

“Kory?”

She looked up at Dick and Jason who each gave her a look of concern; she opted for a reassuring smile. “Do not worry for me, Dick. I am okay.”

Jason stared at the door (Y/N) walked out of, offhandedly mentioning, “I’m more worried for (Y/N).”

Kory nodded at Jason’s words. “As am I.”

Dick placed a hand on her shoulder. “What’s been going on?”

She collapsed down in a chair and sighed again. “Though Tamaran was destroyed, our people survived and started over.”

“New-Tamaran right?” Jason asked, though it appeared he knew more than he let on.

She tipped her head side-to-side at Jason’s question, not entirely sure how to answer the question in terms of a plain yes or no. “In a way. Our people are now considered nomads.” She paused. “Komand’r reigns as Queen, but she is not fit for it. I have tried many times to convince Kiyahnd’r to help them. We have a duty to them to do so…but she will never forgive our people or Komand’r for what happened to us.”

“Can you blame her Kory?”

Her head tipped to look at Jason. “What?”

He shrugged. “Can you blame her?” Jason repeated and knelt in front of Kory. “You both were enslaved and experimented on. Memories and feelings like that aren’t exactly erased…or forgiven.”

“I know,” Kory said, reasoning, “But…I just wish she could work towards it.”

“It’s not always that easy.” He answered, then nodded at Dick and rose to his feet. “I’m going to go find (Y/N).” The two of them watched Jason leave the room in search of her.

***

After an hour of searching, Jason eventually found (Y/N) on the roof, staring up at the moon, her legs dangling over the edge.

He walked over and stood beside her. “Mind if I sit next to you, doll?”

(Y/N) didn’t shift her gaze from the glowing, natural satellite. “Do as you wish, Jason.”

There wasn’t heat in her words, and he wasn’t bothered by the indifference as he sat beside her, quietly admiring the moon.

It was quiet until she broke it, murmuring, “Kory wants us to forgive our people and move on…as if nothing happened to us.” She paused and shook her head as if the very idea were incomprehensible. “We are a naturally open species when it comes to emotion, but I do not understand how she can let go of everything so easily…how she can turn aside years of consistent abuse and smile so easily.”

Jason observed her for a moment, mulling the thought on his tongue. “What exactly happened to you, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N)’s face morphed into an anguished expression; she breathed deeply before sighing and speaking. “When my grandmother ruled Tamaran, she gave herself up to appease the Citadel. When my father took the throne, he did the same…but instead of giving himself…he gave Kory and I away.” She swallowed thickly. “We were…tortured…raped and humiliated…for years.”

She rose as she felt the rage flowing through her again. “Then we were given to the Psions…and we were experimented on. Again!” (Y/N) shook with indignation and her hand shot towards the sky, a bolt of energy leaving her palm. “She expects me to let it go! To forgive the very ones who put us in that position!”

Her hand released a succession of star bolts, and Jason watched as she fumed with unadulterated fury. “I will neverforgive them for it! They will never understand what we went through! They will never know what it is like to beg for death because you know it would be better than what was to come!”

Jason’s eyebrows drew in sympathy and (Y/N) clenched her hand into a fist, energy gathering within. His eyes widened, and he worried, “Uh, doll? That’s a big star bolt.”

(Y/N) studied the night sky. “I know.”

She uncurled her fist, and the bolt released, slinging into the sky, then it exploded, and Jason was reminded of fireworks as it shattered into millions of gleaming shards.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath and her shoulders squared as she spoke adamantly. “I will never forget the time I spent within the Citadel’s captivity…or the Psion’s. And I will never forgive Tamaran for putting me there.” She turned to Jason and looked down at him, her fists clenching. “For as long as I breathe, I will never help Tamaran. I would soon rather die.”

Jason rose from his seated position and gently took her hands in his own, uncurling her clenched fists; he smiled sadly at her. “You don’t have to, (Y/N).”

She wasn’t expecting him to say that, and her jaw went slack. “…What?”

His smile widened a fraction, and he squeezed her hands. “You don’t have to forgive them. Not until you want to.” He paused and raised a hand, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Hell, and if you never want to, you don’t.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “You will not think me ill-disposed and bitter?”

Jason voice took a solemn tone. “If anyone has the right to be bitter, (Y/N), it’s you. You’ve seen and experienced horrors that would break most people…and if it didn’t, it would leave them a shell of what they once were. But you? You’ve come out reining victorious over it.” He paused. “I know it doesn’t do much to alleviate the memories, and this might make me sound like an insensitive ass, but your past doesn’t define you, (Y/N). You aren’t what they made you.”

She dropped her gaze and side-stepped from his grip, her arms wrapping around herself. “…But I am.”

Jason tipped his head and walked with her. “Why do you say that?”

She stopped and turned to him, her hand gently rising into the air; her power flowed up her arm and into the air smoothly. “I am what they made me, Jason. I am literally a walking nuclear reactor.”

(Y/N) stared at him. “Tamarans do not possess the talents that Koriand’r, Komand’r, and I possess. We received them unwillingly at the hands of the Psions. We are different…and it is because of them. We were tainted by their heinous experiments…and my life is scarred from it.”

Jason gazed at her before taking her hand again, his thumb caressing the back of it. “Perhaps…but your past was a lesson, not a life sentence.” He met her eyes. “Don’t let yourself be bound to it, (Y/N).”

She regarded him for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “You speak of moving on, but you still allow your past to haunt you.”

Jason nodded. “I do…but I’m trying to work on it.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you work on it?” She looked at their hands. “You will never forgive him for what he did to you Jason…so how do you move past it to better things?”

“You’re right.” (Y/N)’s gaze moved back to his. “I won’t ever forgive that bastard for what he did to me. And for a very long time, I did not and could not forgive Bruce for letting me die. But I had to come to the realization that I was partly to blame for what happened to me, and that Bruce tried his best to save me…he just wasn’t fast enough. And that wasn’t his fault.”

He paused and brought a hand to her cheek, caressing it. “It’s different for you, (Y/N), because you were forced into those situations by measures beyond your control. But you have the power and ability to say that this isn’t how you are going to be defined.”

(Y/N) took in his words and whispered softly. “Why have you always been so kind to me, Jason? I am underserving of it.”

He smiled. “Because I’m in love you.”

Her eyes widened and she felt the breath leave her lungs. “…What?”

Jason snorted. “I’m in love you, (Y/N).”

“You—I…What?”

Jason chuckled as she floundered. “Why are you so shocked? The Batfamily tends to lean towards Tamaranean women. I mean look at Dickhead and your sister.”

(Y/N) was still in stunned disbelief. “I—no…you—no.”

Jason’s hand let go of hers and wrapped around her waist. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

“You cannot love me.”

He flashed a grin. “I can love you…and I do love you, Kiyahnd’r.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “…Why?”

“Because you are beautiful and strong and the literal walking definition of goddess.” Blushing slightly, he added, “You’re also badass…so that…certainly factors into it.”

(Y/N) lowered her head and laughed, then looked at him. “You are something else, Jason Todd.”

He cocked a brow. “I hope you mean that in a good way, doll.”

(Y/N) snorted and wrapped her arm around his waist before rising into the sky; Jason’s grip tightened, and she smirked. “Do not be afraid, Jason…I will not drop you.”

Jason grunted. “I wasn’t afraid of you dropping me, (Y/N).”

“So…the steel grip around my waist is just…because?”

“Yep.”

“As you say.”

The two of them rose higher until the sight of the building and ground below them was a shrunken image.

They stared up at the stars. “Beautiful…are they not?” she asked.

Jason nodded in wide-eyed astonishment. “Absolutely.”

(Y/N) glanced at him. “Your eyes reflect the stars so clearly.” Jason’s eyes moved to hers and they gazed at each other; she lowered her head and sighed. “I do not know if I am the best person to love, Jason…I am…damaged.”

A hand curled under her chin and coaxed her up; she met his eyes again and he smiled. “Yeah, you are.” He paused. “But I don’t know a single person who isn’t. You aren’t alone, (Y/N).” Jason leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. “You have me. Until every last star in this universe dies. You have me.”

An easy smile grew on her face, and she leaned in, lips stopping just before his. Her eyes narrowed in adoration and she whispered, “Thank you.”

[whimsicallyreading]

An angsty one-shot for your day. I stayed up way too late to write this.

CW- drinking

Aelin keeps the letters stacked neatly on her desk.

Each letter is stamped, addressed, and ready to mail. In tiny marks on the back, she writes the date every individual one was written. The envelopes are his favorite shade of green. A deep, pine color that she’d painstakingly scoured every stationary shop to find.

Delicately, Aelin seals the latest envelope and adds it to the growing pile.

My Love,

It’s almost winter here in Orynth. I know it’s your favorite season and you are probably sad to miss out, so I took a Polaroid of the clouds coming in over the staghorns for you.

Do you remember how we’d sit in front of Mistward every year and watch the first snow storm come in over the peeks? We would drink hot chocolate and talk for hours. About our families, our futures, anything and everything. It’s still one of my favorite traditions.

In fact, it’s where I am right now. Writing this letter to you. Just because you are overseas doesn’t mean you get to bail out. I bought two hot chocolates, but I suppose I’ll have to drink yours for you. What a shame.

Writing to Rowan was her weekly tradition since he got deployed. No matter how busy life got, every Friday she wrote him two full pages front to back. Whether she got to sit at her desk or had to scribble against the rusty bench at the bus stop, every inch was covered in her hand writing.

That was her personal rule. They had to be handwritten. Aelin felt it meant more that every piece of the letter was entirely from her. So she keeps a collection of colored pens handy for whenever the urge to speak to her husband grows to be too much.

At the bottom of the last page, next to her signature, Aelin always kisses the paper with red lipstick. Maybe it’s cheesy, but it’s the same shade she wore at their wedding.

You could see the ghosts of the color along his jawline in their favorite photos together. His beaming smile, the smudges of red on his face and the collar of his white dress shirt. A remnant from the happiest day of her life she thought would bring him comfort.

My love,

Winter is here! It’s so cold outside. You would say it’s this frigid every year, but it just feels different this time. Maybe it’s because you aren’t hear to snuggle up with and your side of the bed is empty? You were always so warm.

I keep your slippers by the couch. They are ridiculously huge on my feet, but I swear they still feel like you just walked in them. Your warmth is still there.

You would laugh if you saw me hobbling around the apartment in them. My toes slide all over the place. Truthfully, your feet are atrociously large, dear- Still they remind me of you, so I love them.

Aelin gets home late from work that night.

Humiliated tears sting her cheeks, even as she rubs them away. The feeling of that creep, Cairn’s, hands lingering on her ass.

She was used to fending off handsy patrons. What bothered Aelin is that when she complained to her boss, Erawan, he publicly berated her for instigating the customers.

None of the other waitresses would meet her eye when she looked for back up. Grave, the bartender, sniggered through the entire dressing down. Aelin could still feel their eyes on her skin as Erawan accused her of being provocative.

Rowan would have demanded she quit the job. He would have marched down to the bar and broken Cairn’s face. Possibly even held him back so Aelin could do it herself.

Aelin needs the money, though. Rowan’s accounts were frozen due to some stupid technicality at the bank. Without her paycheck, she would lose the apartment.

Sniffling, Aelin slides her feet into Rowan’s slippers and plops at her desk. It isn’t Friday yet, but she’s desperate to speak to him.

As her hand flows across the paper, Aelin knows she won’t describe the days events to him. He’s under enough stress without her work drama adding to his worries.

My love,

Yulemas is next week. Aedion is in Caraverre with Lysandra and our new nephew. Lorcan and Elide are going up from Perranth to stay with them, but the roads are so frozen in Orynth I may just stay here this year.

Besides, work is busy right now. They need someone to man the place for the people with nowhere to go for the holidays.

Maybe I’ll host a little celebration at the bar. Like we did that one year when we got stuck in the Hostel in Rifthold. We made the best of a bad situation, and it was the first time you told me you loved me. I think I’d like to relive a little of that this year.

I miss you. Please come home.

Aelin lays in her bed the night before Yulemas and sobs.

Ugly, guttural noises spill from her chest and she soaks their pillows with tears. The newest envelope is clutched against her chest, and the building stacks mock her from their spot across the room.

Her heart is so raw. Aelin knew it was a bad idea to count the letters, but there was so many. Curiosity got the better of her, and now she was bleeding for her mistake.

Fifty-six.

A full year of letters she hadn’t been able to send.

Rowan had only ever written her twenty before he was declared missing in action.

A year ago, she’d been hanging bobbles and decorating a tree knowing her husband only had a few weeks left of his tour.

Aelin had painted a welcome home banner, and her whole family made plans to come and spend the holiday with the soon-to-be-reunited couple.

She had his slippers waiting by the door. Rowan’s favorite blanket was laundered and folded on his side of the bed in case he wanted to lay down. Aelin had it on good authority that the bed would be one of the first places they visited when he arrived. Emerys had even given her a mixture of their favorite hot chocolate to make.

Everything was perfectly in place for his return.

That’s what when the soldiers arrived at her door and her world fell apart.

Lorcan came home a week later. He hugged Elide and she cried into his shoulder. Happy tears. So unlike the ones Aelin had been shedding. Her friend beamed ear-to-ear, as the love of her life gathered her into his arms and squeezed.

It was a touching sight, but Aelin could feel the hot knife being twisted in her chest. Elide’s happiness caused her physical pain, and it made her feel so selfish. She didn’t begrudge Lorcan his life, or Elide her joy- Aelin just missed her own husband.

Elide and Lorcan spent Yulemas together. Kissing and holding hands. Lysandra finally announced her pregnancy. Aedion’s expression when he opened the box with the baby onesie inside was priceless. Her cousin whooped and hollered, almost dancing with the prospect of becoming a father.

Aelin smiled. She gave her congratulations and celebrated with her family. They hugged, and laughed. Aedion took care to include her in everything, and she played her part even as she tried to ignore the concerned looks her family exchanged behind her back.

Aelin made it to lunch before she couldn’t take it anymore.

Fenrys was the one to find her having a panic attack on the bathroom floor. She hadn’t even known it was a panic attack. Aelin just assumed the pain of losing her soulmate was finally killing her. The tightening of her chest and the body aches felt enough like a heart attack to be convincing.

He gathered Aelin in his arms and counted breaths with her. His twin brother Connal was lost in the same fight where Rowan had gone down. Fen had seen the whole thing from the cockpit of his plain, and nothing he did could’ve saved them.

He shared his pain, and for the first time Aelin felt like someone understood her.

Fenrys let her lean on him as they excused themselves from the celebrations. They drove to some bar in Caraverre and spent the rest of the day wallowing over whiskey.

Aedion came to collect their drunken asses later that evening. Worry etched into every line of his kind face. It only made her feel ashamed that she’d rained all over their happy day.

He was going to be a father, and she’d forced him to spend his time fretting over her instead of reveling in that news.

Now here she was a year later. Aelin wasn’t going to subject herself to that again. Couldn’t. She wouldn’t force her grief upon anyone else this year, either. Just because she was hurting didn’t mean that everyone else had to suffer with her.

So, as Yulemas Eve came, and before she could finally distract herself with work, Aelin pulled Rowan’s blanket over herself. She’d spritzed it with his cologne, donned his shirt, and pulled his socks over her feet. Aelin did everything she could to feel surrounded by him.

Then, alone in their bed, she watched as the clock ticked down to midnight.

Rowan,

Wherever you are, I hope my words reach you and that you know you aren’t alone. I wish with every ounce of my being that I could trade places with you- would give anything, just to know where you are.

It breaks my heart, to be without you. Every breath seems pointless. I lied in my last letter. The roads aren’t frozen. I’m not needed at work. No one really needs me to be around them. I just couldn’t spend another holiday surrounded by happy people when the other half of my heart is gone from me.

When you come home, I will feel like celebrating again. I’ll wrap my arms around you, and we can make up for lost time. Just please, don’t make me wait too much longer.

Merry Yulemas, my love. We will be together again one day.

Until then, I’ll keep on writing, only so long as you don’t yield.

Sincerely, your loving wife

Aelin

[pars-ley]

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex 

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?" 

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab." 

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics. 

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is. 

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?” 

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm. 

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands. 

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented." 

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this? 

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there. 

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds. 

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave. 

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking. 

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside. 

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze. 

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?" 

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?" 

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building. 

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No." 

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

 "Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline. 

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before. 

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is. 

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie." 

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?" 

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after. 

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks. 

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade. 

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice. 

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

[hualianff]

Distant Faces

The Lonely (Instrumental) – Christina Perri

After much deliberation, HC finally decides what to give XL on his birthday: a painted portrait of XL and his parents during Xianle’s most prosperous days. Even though HC tries his best not to remember his life during those times, he knows XL loved his parents despite how everything turned out. 

It’s been over 800 years, after all. 

XL had offhandedly mentioned he can’t even remember the details of his parents’ faces anymore. The way his mother’s eyes shone chocolate brown in the sunlight; the way his father scowled in disapproval but never in a malicious manner. The way his mother held him when he felt sad, let him cry on her shoulder. The way his father looked proudly upon XL as his son.

Admittedly, XL had a complex relationship with his father. They didn’t always see eye-to-eye, especially towards Xianle’s inevitable deterioration. XL can cry because he misses his mother, but with his father, it’s more than that.

It’s regret.

It’s shame.

It’s anguish for the tension that kept his father at a distance that now seems insignificant.

But being the kind of person XL is, he’d rather remember the positive aspects of his relationship with his parents than the hardships.

Especially because he feels like he failed them in the end.

HC cannot relate to XL’s experience of having loving parents who genuinely cared for him, much less the loss of such parents. An abandoned child like himself had to bear the burden of living from a young age. HC did not grow up nurtured or fawned over; HC endured his cruel existence by looking after himself. 

After meeting XL again after his third ascension, HC now knows what it’s like to be loved–fiercely and unconditionally. To imagine losing XL gives HC a palpable semblance of what XL felt when he woke up completely alone on the day his parents passed. Over the decades, XL has briefly talked about that day, though never in full detail. Partially because XL’s mind has blocked out the trauma, but it is also simply too painful to remember.

Originally, HC heavily debated whether gifting his husband the portrait was even a good idea. The last thing he would want to do is upset or offend XL. HC wasn’t even sure he could properly replicate the king and queen’s faces.

Ultimately, HC decided to go through with his plan. He hopes that if anything, this painting can help XL recall his parents’ faces and the fond memories he had with them. Perhaps it could serve as an outlet for healing from the years XL suffered on his own. Everything HC does is for the happiness of his husband.  

After going through one of his earliest memories via his butterflies, HC spent days sketching, outlining, and painting the portrait. He miraculously managed to portray the details as accurately as possible—MQ and FX themselves confirmed. The two heavenly officials failed to hide their teary eyes, MQ abruptly turning away while FX furiously rubbed at his cheeks. It’s one of the few instances HC holds his tongue when around the two martial gods.

There is no shortage of people who celebrate XL’s birthday when it arrives—heavenly officials, Ghost City, and worshippers alike. HC spends the entire day by his husband’s side, visiting as many festivals to witness the joyous ceremonies. Worshippers place extra lavish offerings on their altars while XL’s friends personally deliver their gifts at Puqi Shrine. (The designated location for heavenly officials.)

Once it’s evening and the festivities have calmed down, only two remain inside Puqi Shrine. HC has taken the liberty to cook a quick meal for them to share. He ladles soup into XL’s bowl, then scoops rice topped with fried fish onto his plate. 

“Thank you for making us dinner, San Lang. It looks delicious,” XL says, eyes sparkling. HC smiles warmly.

“I would be a fool to not spoil Gege with wonderful food, regardless if it’s his birthday or not,” HC solemnly says. “Though I do hope he enjoys the fish and soup.”

“There are no doubts about that,” XL replies before eagerly spooning some broth into his mouth. His eyes visibly widen as he sputters a bit, spoon lowering back into the bowl. “Oh, that’s hot!”

“Careful, gege. Allow this dutiful husband to blow on it.”

They finish eating with satisfied slurps and chewing, keeping casual conversation between bites. Before XL can get up to clear off the table, HC snaps his fingers, every dish already washed and placed back in the cabinets. 

They are finally alone, energy spent and stomachs no longer empty. HC’s eyes shift to the corner of the room where a covered, flat object is propped against the wall. 

“Gege, I have one last present for you.”

“That’s been here this whole time? Wow, it’s so big!”

HC doubts himself even as he hands over the wrapped gift. He watches with bated breath as XL carefully works open the covering with nimble fingers to reveal what’s inside.

Once XL sees the entire painting in all its glory, his hand flies over his mouth. His initial excited smile upon tearing away the wrapping paper is replaced with a tense frown, the type when someone is trying their best not to cry. 

A ragged sob escapes his lips.

XL can’t stop staring at their faces—his parents’ faces—who he hasn’t seen in centuries. Who he never got to say goodbye to. He touches the canvas, paints dried and glossed over with a finishing product that gives the image a sleek sheen. He touches their familiar faces, pleasant smiles etched onto their lips, and then his own, placed between his father and mother, smiling widely: happy.

XL hugs the canvas to his body, closing his eyes, and cries his heart out.

HC’s heart shatters at the sight of XL breaking down, though it was almost a guaranteed reaction. He doesn’t hesitate to rush forward to embrace his beloved from behind, nuzzling against XL’s temple as his smaller body trembles uncontrollably. But before HC can express his pitiful apology, he hears quiet, repetitive mumbling among XL’s broken sobs.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Gege-”

“Thank you.”

“-breathe, my love.”

“Thank you.”

Over and over again. Nearly nonsensical through ragged chokes and desperate gasps for air. HC shakes his head as tears wet his own cheeks, as if to say a thank you was not needed. He rubs up and down XL’s arm, occasionally pausing to massage his neck, anything to comfort him in his sorrow. XL suddenly grasps onto HC’s wrist, an anchor from the barrage of overwhelming emotions washed over him over the last few minutes.

HC eventually rasps out a remorseful, “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what for exactly. For triggering XL’s tears. For the death of XL’s parents. For the loneliness and grief XL has experienced and never had the proper closure to.

XL continues weeping without a sound. For the fear of ruining the portrait with his tears, XL carefully places the painting on the table. He gives the painting one last lookover, lower lip wobbling. XL bites his lip to suppress the whimper threatening to erupt from his throat. 

How could he ever forgive himself?

“Me too,” a son whispers to his parents. 

Half an hour later, XL and HC are situated in their bed at Paradise Manor. Per XL’s request, HC skillfully hung the painting up next to their wedding portrait. Two pieces juxtapose two different eras; one, a window to the past; the other, a relic that will remain timeless.

Someday in the future, XL will have the strength to commemorate his parents with more than just a fleeting prayer. He will describe them with words and stories that do them justice. He will honor their legacy not by following in their footsteps (for they have long disappeared against the force of time), but by practicing the values they bestowed upon him while simultaneously learning from their faults and mistakes.

However, for tonight, HC wraps XL in a snug blanket burrito, holding XL from behind as the former prince mourns in silence. HC doesn’t push his beloved. He merely squeezes XL’s hand to remind him he has someone to listen to him. The last thing XL requests before falling asleep is another portrait of his parents, this time with both him and HC sat in the middle. 

“Father...Mother...if you could see me now...see how happy I am,” XL tiredly thinks, sleep beckoning him to surrender to the darkness. “You guys really...would have loved him.”

(Special thanks to @no-one-says-hi and @iaintnosidekick for listening/helping)

(Inspiration)

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Monstrous Secrets Chapter 6

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1970

Summary: The High Lord’s meeting.

It was by sheer bad luck that you were sitting next to your cousin when Beron and family strode into the gathering of High Lords. It was by even worse luck that Eris had his sleeves rolled up, inadvertently revealing the bargain marks that so perfectly matched yours. You could see realization dawn on each of your friends’ faces even as his family remained perfectly oblivious. You hoped with every fiber of your being that they didn’t think you’d struck a deal with him willy-nilly, even more so that you didn’t make a deal about Mor.

Rhys, if you can hear me, let me explain before you jump to conclusions.

Judging from the almost simultaneous crinkle of their noses, Rhysand and Feyre seemed to notice the scent of your bond with Eris. 

Well, at least they won’t think something worse I guess.

Nesta just raised an eyebrow.

Doesn’t matter. We don’t get along anyway.

Mor’s eyes just flitted between you and your mate, growing wider and wider in horror.

Please don’t hate me.

Cassian and Azriel, though, were the worst with their twin expressions of disgust that they didn’t even attempt to hide. 

And there goes life as I knew it . . .

Then your eyes strayed to Eris himself. The first time seeing your mate in over fifty years, and it’s like this, under these circumstances. You would not cry in front of these people, you swore to yourself. You wouldn’t. Though Cassian’s accusing scoff of, “Just tattoos, huh?” What’d you sell to him, your soul?” damn near made the tears fall despite yourself.

You studied Eris instead of acknowledging your (former?) friend, noticing the struggle etched into his face that made it look as if he wanted nothing more than to hold you.

Rhysand’s voice flitted through your mind, “So that explains why I thought I smelled you in that meeting with Keir . . .” Nothing more. Such a neutral statement that gave you no hints as to what he was thinking.

It was Feyre that reached over, across Rhys, to touch the hand you had clenching the arm of your chair. Her eyes spoke of someone who knew what it was like to have a mate that was hated and to be forced away from them. If anyone in the world would understand what you were currently suffering through, it was her. “Go to him,” she ordered softly. “We’ll sort out the rest later.”

As soon as you were on your feet, Eris was moving--family be damned, apparently--towards you. You met in that undefined no man’s land between the people of the Autumn Court and the rest of the High Lords. In an instant, you were hauled up into a desperate kiss--audience be damned this time. His hair was cut short, you noticed when you went to grab a fistful. You wondered when, exactly, he’d done it and why.

“What is the meaning of this?” Beron demanded.

When Eris pulled away slightly, you opened your eyes to see that his were still squeezed closed and his jaw was clenched.

“Well?”

Eris’s jaw twitched again, to the point you were worried about his teeth cracking under the strain. You leaned up on your toes, cupping his face in your hands, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips while sending soothing feelings across your bond.

“They seem to be mate,” Rhys announced as your returned your weight to your heels, and you could just hear the cocky smirk on his face like he’d known the entire time.

“Be that as it may,” Helion spoke up, reminding the group that there were, in fact, others present beyond the Night and Autumn Courts, “we have more important matters to discuss today.”

Eris reached up to grasp one of your hands so he could kiss your knuckles before parting.

The meeting continued relatively smoothly after that, despite how tense the situation with Tamlin was or the curious/awkward/angry glances people were shooting at you and Eris. It wasn’t until you were in the suite provided for the Night Court that anyone even brought up the topic that left such a stain on the atmosphere. When they did, you couldn’t help but think about how Eris was probably going through the same and worse at the hands of his father wherever he and his family had disappeared to. The sharp pings of anxiety and pain that were slipping through the bond only made you worry more, fingers tracing over the black bands instinctively.

“How long?” Cassian demanded as Azriel vanished with Mor, neither sparing you so much as a parting glance.

You shifted your wings nervously, and your hand fell away from the tattoo, not wanting to draw even more attention to them. “Remember that first ball I went to in Spring when you all wanted me to play spy?”

He snarled as he turned and punched a nearby column, thankfully not doing much damage to the thing.

“Now, now, don’t destroy this place,” Rhys teased though you could still hear the strain in his voice and see it in the way his mouth was pinched at the corners. To you, he asked, “Why did you never tell anyone?” Tell me? he added in your head, clearly hurt.

You scoffed, arms moving to curl around your middle. Your wings were starting to cramp with how hard you had them squeezed against your back. “Can you imagine how his father would have taken that?”

“Doesn’t explain why you never told us!” Cassian shouted.

Wow, having your closest friend turn on you hurt more than you could have imagined. Still, you snapped at him, not wanting to back down. You’d earned your place, Cauldron damn it, and it wasn’t by being cowed every time a male raised his voice. “Don’t you think I wanted to?!” Now, you were toe-to-toe with the feared general. “At first I kept quiet because I was a fucking slave and an Illyrian and he was a fucking heir to one of the courts! And he was betrothed to my friend and I didn’t even know if it would go anywhere! And then--”

“And then Mor happened,” Feyre realized, “and you couldn’t because how could you tell your family that you loved a monster?”

On some level, you knew that she could relate because Rhys had a similar reputation; she had to, in order to put it into words that succinctly. Against your better judgment, you argued, “He’s not a monster.”

Cassian scoffed.

“He’s not!” Your head whirled back to his, hand whipping out to shove him back even just a step. “So only Rhys is allowed to have that sort of façade?! Eris was trying!” You knew you were broadcasting your anger in a way that was likely overwhelming to Feyre and Rhysand, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. “You heard it from his own lips; breaking off that engagement was all he could do for her. There wasn’t time for a better plan. Not when the one he’d been working on before got blown to smithereens!”

“So you’re going to blame her?!” Cassian’s fist clenched in a way that made your stomach do the same. 

“No!” you shrieked. “Cauldron, no.” The mere thought of it brought tears to your eyes yet again. “Do I wish we’d both been more open and talked about this shit before that happened? Yes. Do I wish Eris and I had come up with a plan sooner? Absolutely. Would I ever blame her for the shit she went through? Never.” You looked at the ceiling in an attempt to blink back your tears. “She was my best friend, and I have barely been able to look her in the eye for five hundred years because of something that could have been solved easily if not for the backwards beliefs of others. You cannot imagine what it’s been like all this time. You just can’t.”

Fere seemed to notice something based on the gasp that slipped past her lips and the worried look she leveled you with. “When was the last time you saw him before today?”

Your wings shifted nervously, a tell you’d been trying to rid yourself of ever since Rhysand pointed out in your youth. Again, your hand moved to touch one of the black bands; however, that was a consions, self-calming action. “We said our vows while Amarantha was stealing the High Lords’ powers,” you admitted aloud for the first time. It felt even more horrible than any time you’d thought those words to yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rhysand’s fists clench. Even Cassian seemed taken aback by the admission. “It was too dangerous to meet after that.”

“So tonight . . .” Cassian’s voice was much calmer now, as if he was starting to understand your side. He was, after all, your closest friend even if he was pissed at you.

“Was the first time I’ve spoken to or even laid eyes on my husband in over fifty years.”

Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a look that told you everything you needed to know about whatever mental conversation they were having. No doubt, they were discussing how horrible that sort of separation from a mate would be, especially after the taste they’d gotten when she was recently undercover in Spring.

“Don’t mistake what I say next for forgiveness or finality,” Rhys said after they looked away from each other once more, “because there’s clearly a lot we need to discuss as a group and as a family.” The spark of anger in his eye, something so rarely directed towards you, made you shrink in on yourself a little. His voice slithered into your mind through the little passageway in the mental wall you kept open just for him, Especially the fact that you think of yourself as less than him because of what you are. “But he will be allowed here tonight without any harm coming to him. Just stay in your room to spare Mor and Az.”

“His father won’t let him out of his sight, Rhys. Not after this.” He’ll be lucky to make it out without blood being spilled.

He lifted a brow as if to say, “Oh, really?” as he strode over to open the door to dramatically reveal Eris Vanserra posed on the other side as if to knock. His violet eyes turned icy as he gave your mate a once-over. “From the sound of it, I’m about five hundred years to late, but if you ever hurt her--”

“You’ll let your dog finish what he started,” Eris interrupted. “I’m aware.” His gaze was locked onto yours as he spoke, and you could feel the shared urge to have your arms wrapped around the other. You could read the tension in his stance, the way he was holding himself revealing that he was in pain as well as worried about you. He was wearing a different shirt, this one with the sleeves fully covering his tattoos. None of this boded well for what he’d been enduring while you were fighting with your friends and family.

Rhys made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff, oblivious to the observations you’d been making. “Traded one of my cousins for the other. Just destined to be part of the family aren’t you, Vanserra?” He waved off whatever Eris was about to argue, ignored the golden flames that shone in his eyes. “Just go. Enjoy the time you have together before the world goes to shit. Again.”

Immediately, you stepped away from Cassian, who you were still close enough to feel the heat off his body because of the arguing mere minutes (had it been only minutes?) before, so you could grasp Eris’s hand and lead him to your room.

[toosicktoocare]

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?” 

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably. 

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.” 

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open. 

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous? 

“Young man, do you know what day it is?” 

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue. 

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all. 

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.” 

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat. 

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on. 

The hell? 

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it. 

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.” 

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies. 

“This young man fell from the roof!” 

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels. 

“Well, hello there, not dead person.” 

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet. 

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm. 

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences. 

“From up there?” 

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head. 

“Um, yeah. I guess?” 

“You guess?” 

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid. 

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?” 

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?” 

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him. 

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.” 

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head. 

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“Enough, Tony.” 

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly. 

“What’s your name, son?” 

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment. 

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit. 

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer. 

“Peter?” 

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.” 

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.” 

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens. 

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him. 

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.” 

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man. 

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?” 

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging. 

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later. 

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?” 

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that. 

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow. 

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?” 

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment. 

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand. 

“It’s all you had.” 

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face. 

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?” 

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.” 

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan. 

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.” 

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?” 

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway. 

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.” 

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out. 

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.” 

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit. 

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Two-Player

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders

Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, Minor (and Platonic) Kakyoin & kid!Jolyne

Summary: There are days when Jotaro’s body remembers every single injury that it's ever received. Days when he aches from his toes to the top of his skull, and days when his nerves light themselves on fire. Medication won’t touch it, and the pain is either too grating or too unpredictable for him to ignore for any length of time.

He tries to break it down into pieces. To compartmentalize it all away the way he does with the memories.

Notes: I was having a chronic pain flare, asked my wife who I should inflict it on, and her answer was, "Jotaro and/or Dick Grayson". So here's the Jotaro version. Btw, I'm doing a writing / fic giveaway! Check out this post to see how to enter. Goes until 8.25.21!

-

There are days when Jotaro’s body remembers every single injury that it's ever received. Days when he aches from his toes to the top of his skull, and days when his nerves light themselves on fire. Medication won’t touch it, and the pain is either too grating or too unpredictable for him to ignore for any length of time.

He tries to break it down into pieces. To compartmentalize it all away the way he does with the memories. It’s all he can do in moments like these, when he’s hunched forward and breathing too heavy. Biting at his lip in a desperate attempt to keep from making a sound, lest Kakyoin or Jolyne choose that exact moment to barge in.

There’s the throbbing in his ankles and knees; both of which twinge with an excruciatingly sharp agony whenever he tries to stand from his desk. If he falters in the slightest, he’ll have his hips to contend with, and they’ll bring him to his knees for daring to exist. Best to stay put until he can no longer take the stillness that builds in the damaged joints, not that walking seems to alleviate the radiating pounding that blossoms in each joint and spreads endlessly outward. The more he thinks about it, the wider the radius grows, the harder it is to control his breathing.

Speaking of, his ribs burn from inflammation, and every breath is like inhaling fire, deeper and deeper until he’s choking on the exhale. The coughing that follows makes his guts twist up. Knotting around an invisible blade and splitting apart until he smells more than tastes the scent of blood and bile rising in the back of his throat.

The pain running through his nerves is a mixture of fire blight and an intense, piercing sensation that he’s yet to fully find the words for. There’s a reverberating ache to each stab. A constant and endless reminder that makes it impossible for him to sooth with the fingers he digs into the meat of his arms and legs. He can only stand to do that for so long, anyway. His wrists cramp after a few seconds. Already fatigued from writing. Working always makes the tendons tighten until they feel like they’re going to snap.

For whatever reason, his head feels the need to join in on the fun. Possibly because he’s already tense everywhere else. Possibly because it’s just that kind of day. Either way, he can’t ignore the ache there anymore than he can anywhere else, and it’s significantly slowed down his progress for the day. He’s done little more than stare at the papers on his desk with a blank expression for what must be hours now. The words blur together so badly that the ink almost disappears from his vision, which is a welcomed relief to the burning of his eyes.

He’s so overwhelmed by it all that he doesn’t hear Kakyoin. Kakyoin who he doesn’t ever tell, because Jotaro would rather grit his teeth and force his way through the day than tell his husband, of all people, that he hurts. As if Kakyoin doesn’t know a truer, more hellish agony in his every waking moment.

“Jotaro?”

His own name being called is what finally breaks him out of his pity party, and the look on Kakyoin’s face tells Jotaro that it’s been said more than once. There’s worry etched in the crease of Kakyoin’s forehead and in the way his lips are turned downward. Kakyoin would be crouched at eye level with him if he could, but his own body is hardly partial to that sort of movement.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Jotaro grits the words out and resists the urge to wince at the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t think he’s spoken at all today, but it still somehow sounds like he’s been chewing on glass.

Kakyoin’s frown deepens, “Jolyne was asking about- actually, it’s not that important. Are you alright?” He knows the answer already, but Kakyoin is nothing if not calculating. He wants to hear Jotaro speak. Wants to hear his reply. He’s trying to gauge how bad the situation is without expecting a proper, direct answer. He knows Jotaro too well for the man to be able to lie.

“Been better,” Jotaro admits, and he knows it’s an admission of just how poorly he feels. For him to fail to write Kakyoin off means that he’s struggling beyond what he can handle.

“I see,” Kakyoin says the words tightly. He seems to roll a thought over in his mind before sighing. “I think that you should lie down for a bit. I’ll get some painkillers. When’s the last time you had any?”

“I-” Jotaro mirrors the frown on Kakyoin’s face as he glances at the clock. Too long, he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to.

“Chasing pain won’t get you anywhere,” Kakyoin says, but his tone is far from patronizing. He speaks from experience. It’s better to try to stay in front of the brunt of their agony. They don’t stand much of a chance otherwise, not that Jotaro thought he’d had one since the moment he woke up that morning.

“Jolyne-” He starts, as a last ditch effort to get out of being mothered by his own husband, but he’s not surprised when Kakyoin shrugs him off.

“I’ll take care of Jolyne.” Kakyoin pauses, “And I can draw you a bath, if you’d like. The heat might help.” He would know, given his own chronic pain. He can’t take hot baths, given the sensitive nature of the reconstructed bits that make up his midsection, but he regularly soaks individual limbs when nothing else is working.

“I- yeah, okay,” Jotaro has to admit that the idea sounds nice. Maybe submerging the deep aches will help sooth them away, if only a little bit. Perhaps enough to make lying down more bearable, because that’s his problem with the idea of getting into bed: it’s going to hurt. He’ll hurt here or there, which is why he continues to insist on sitting at his desk on days like this. What’s the point in wasting time if he’s going to be miserable no matter where he is, or what he does? He might as well at least try to be productive.

“Good,” Kakyoin smiles gently, “Give me about five minutes before you come up? I’ll get that started and take care of Jolyne.”

“Sounds like a deal,” it doesn’t, actually. Kakyoin’s getting the short end of the stick all the way around. What with having to take care of Jotaro and Jolyne while dealing with his own pain.

“And quit that,” Kakyoin grumbles. He pokes Jotaro between the eyes, right on the bridge of his nose. “I married you, Jotaro. I don’t mind taking care of you or Jolyne, and I'm not inept for being a borderline cyborg.”

“I know,” Jotaro says with a sigh, “I don’t- I didn’t mean-” He hadn’t said anything, but that’s the problem with Kakyoin: he’s intuitive in a way that no one else Jotaro knows has ever been, and he can practically read Jotaro’s mind when he chooses.

“I know,” Kakyoin echoes, cutting Jotaro off before he can dig himself any deeper. His smile returns, and he leans down enough to press a kiss to the top of Jotaro’s forehead, only a short distance above where he had touched Jotaro a moment before. “Sometimes I just think you need a reminder. We’re equal, and you can have chronic pain, too.”

“Sounds fake,” Jotaro mumbles, but there’s a faint, upward pull of his lips that has Kakyoin barking out a laugh.

“Sure it does. Five minutes, JoJo.”

“Five minutes,” Jotaro repeats, already planning on it taking about that long just to get himself to the door to his study. His joints are already threatening to drop him if he so much as thinks about moving too quickly.

He watches Kakyoin go with fond eyes, and it takes approximately sixty seconds before he realizes that there had been a moment of relief. Where his brain had been too busy to be solely wrapped in his own suffering. Perhaps he’ll suggest that they all turn in early. There’s a new Disney movie that Jolyne’s been dying to see, and he knows she won’t mind being still too terribly if she gets to have the two of them in one room, sans work.

[kiki-shortsnout]

Fic prompt

Hey! This was a fic prompt for FrostIronStrange (54- Reading a book together) from @acutepotato !

-------

Stephen handed the textbook over to the Cloak, yawning as he looked at the watch on his wrist, the one Christine had given him, damaged but still working, a fitting metaphor. He reminded himself that he needed to call her. It’d been weeks since their last conversation, and he was surprised that she hadn’t been hounding him.

It was just after one in the morning, hours after he’d told his partners he’d be up for bed. He shoved his chair back with a wince, knowing he would get an irritated earful from at least one of them. It was probably Loki’s turn, he’d been nagging recently about how fragile Tony was as a mortal, how he needed his sleep, his food, his exercise.

He chuckled as he imagined Tony’s disgruntled expression, an image of a bedraggled kitten with a goatee coming to mind, which indicated it was way past the time to sleep.

Creeping up the stairs, he did a last check of the foyer of the Sanctum, checking for any breaches to his wards or spells, anything out of place before he shuffled over to the artifacts. He spent longer here, checking them all over, making sure everything was as it was meant to be and that his Asgardian lover hadn’t accidentally borrowed anything again.

Despite being careful, the door to his bedroom creaked as it opened, and he slipped in as silently as he could, shucking off his tunic top onto his armchair and looking over towards the bed dimly lit by the bedside lamp. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that Loki hadn’t woken when he’d entered the room.

Loki was the textbook definition of a light sleeper, and he was even worse when he had one of them in his arms, constantly alert in case something should happen to either of them. Centuries of losing things he loved, of believing himself unworthy had left scars that no amount of tender touch could eradicate.

Looking at him now though, Loki was the epitome of calm, laying on his back with one arm up by his head, his other holding Tony securely to his side. The smaller man’s breathing was heavy in true sleep, not shallow like Loki’s was, his head nestled on Loki’s shoulder.

As he finished getting undressed, Stephen paused as he heard the shifting of skin across sheets, and he watched Loki push himself up into a sitting position, looking around with a frown.

‘What’s wrong?’ Stephen asked in a whisper, leaving his pants on and padding over to the bed, placing a knee on it as he reached out towards Loki. His fingers trailed over Loki’s side, teasing up the bumps of his ribs and the crisscross of scars there as he peered down into worried green eyes, his heart beginning to quicken.

‘Nothing with me, but I fear…’ his body tensed up under Stephen’s touch as he looked down, his swallowing loud in the silence of the room.

‘Lo? Sweetheart, what’s-’ his gaze snapped down at the low whine Tony let out in his throat, watching the way he became restless against Loki’s hip.

‘I thought we had avoided any complications about the date passed,’ Loki breathed out, brushing Tony’s bangs back, his fingers sweeping aside the sweat beginning to bead on Tony’s forehead.

‘Just because he says he’s alright, doesn’t mean his subconscious mind is. Stane literally tried to rip his heart from his chest. Tony still feels conflicted about his death. Come on, sweetheart, wake up,’ Stephen whispered down to him, stroking his fingers up and down Tony’s bare arm, willing him to wake up before the nightmare became intense.

‘You are safe with us, beloved, none will harm you, I swear it.’ Loki added his own concern, the tiniest hint of anger coating his last few words. ‘If that man still lived today, I would carve his own heart from his chest!’ Loki spat, keeping his touch on Tony light as they continued to try and wake him.

You and me both, Stephen venomously agreed as he watched the effects of the constant betrayal Tony had suffered, the pained gasps clogging his throat and the tears dampening his lashes.

‘Tony,’ Stephen raised his voice, adding a little jolt of magic to his fingertips, enough to rouse Tony from his sleep without physical harm to his body. It did the trick, jolting Tony awake. Brown eyes were open but unseeing, and he flinched from their hold as he flung himself towards the other end of the bed, his hand splayed over his chest.

Over the scars of where the arc reactor had once sat.

‘Calm yourself, Anthony, it is only us. We will not let harm come to you, you are safe,’ Loki soothed, carefully extending his hand, leaving it hovering in the space between them, not moving any closer. Tony’s head swung between them both, his breathing shuddering in huge, panting gasps, his eyes enormous and his pupils dilated.

‘Obie?’

‘He’s gone, Tones, he can’t hurt you, no one can hurt you, you’re safe,’ Stephen reassured, not moving, holding his breath. He watched Tony try and process what they were telling him, feeling like phantom hands were crushing his heart at the confusion Tony felt with the vestiges of sleep still clinging to him

Slowly, his movements deliberate and careful, Tony shuffled forward, placing his cheek on Loki’s outstretched palm, taking a deep, shaking breath.

Stephen didn’t believe himself to be the vengeful type, that was much more Loki’s characteristic, but he could feel the crushing feeling in his chest transforming into fury. Terror hid behind Tony’s doe eyes as they glimmered with tears, pain etched in the deep crevasses of his face.

He didn’t want Tony to talk about the nightmares. He would listen if that’s what Tony wanted, they both would, for however long it took for the fear to fade, but he was afraid that if Tony talked about them it would give the nightmares a will of their own, which would affect his mood and happiness for the days to come.

Stephen didn’t want that to happen, didn’t want the betrayal to keep its claws in Tony. He’d come so far, and he deserved to feel safe.

‘I have something that might help,’ Stephen said softly, the words shimmering around the three of them, banishing the pain and reminding them all that here, in the safety of the Sanctum, there was only the three of them.

Slipping into bed beside Loki, Stephen held his hand out, a book falling into his palm via magic. Tony looked up curiously, allowing Loki to coax him closer, his gaze still darting about to make sure he was safe before he allowed himself to settle, his body tense and rigid.

Stephen settled on his back, using magic to hold the book aloft and cleared his throat. It had been a secret Tony had uttered, years ago, about how Jarvis used to read to him when he had bad dreams as a child, when he couldn’t sleep.

When Howard ignored him.

Then, when he’d become an orphan and created his AI JARVIS, Tony had asked him to continue that comfort when things had gotten bad in his life. During the nights following his return from Afghanistan, JARVIS had read to him while he tinkered in the workshop, just so he didn’t have to hear the silence pressing around him, his demons invading his rational thought.

‘“Where's Papa going with that ax?” said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast. “Out to the hoghouse,” replied Mrs. Arable. “Some pigs were born last night.”’

Stephen wasn’t sure if Loki knew Charlotte’s Web was a children’s story, but he knew Loki would remember the title of Tony’s favorite story, and he glanced down to see green eyes reading ahead of where Stephen was narrating, eager to absorb any information he could about a childhood comfort of Tony’s.

He felt Loki’s leg twine with his under the covers, Tony’s hand stretching over to rest on Stephen’s hip, his hand sporadically twitching. With Stephen’s voice, Loki’s warmth and the blanket of his childhood memories, Tony’s fear of his nightmare, his hurt of the betrayal began to fade.

When Stephen heard Tony’s snores, he stopped, looking down at where he was content in Loki’s hold.

‘Keep going. I am interested to see if this Wilbur is able to save his life with the help of his new friend,’ Loki whispered, the back of his head resting in the crook of Stephen’s elbow as he waited.

‘You just want to hear me talking,’ Stephen laughed.

‘That too. I don’t remember the last time you read. Go on, before he starts to stir, I believe your voice will keep him calm.’

[ginkgomoon]

Hello there! I hope everything is going well with you. (・∀・)

I have some questions. In CH 30 & 32 the Time Observer mentioned about the "price being too heavy/dear" & he mentioned that he never expected for Victor to choose that method to prevent the crisis. I was wondering what price is he talking about & what's "the method" he mentioned? & Victor collapsing in CH 32 was not from hitting the bullet I believe. What exactly happened there?

Also...I don't know the details but I think I saw it somewhere that Victor goes through different timelines & dimensions for 10000 years in the later part of the story...? I remember reading it in a R&S that every time he crosses a dimension he'd experience soul crushing pain... The mere thought of doing it for so long honestly made me feel traumatized. I was hoping you could give me some insights as to what exactly he was doing.

I hope I'm not bothering you with tons of questions & they made sense. Thanks a lot in advance! Have a good day! <3

Hello!!

Thank you, you too! :)

I hope I helped answered your questions here. It's quite long, so enjoy the read!

I did Victor’s Time Observer analysis and I’ll be heavily referencing that post to help answer this particular ask. Big thank you to @cheri-cheri and @ey8508 for help clarifying some of my thoughts concerning Victor this chapter! Spoilers down below! ⏱

“With great power comes great responsibility.” -The Peter Parker Principle

We all know Victor bears great power, but also with that comes great responsibility. He is the sole individual who has the will and power to alter time and space, however this develops drastic consequences to his health and to history- all for his love for MC.

Victor doesn’t care about this price- he is more concerned with whether he can prevent the death of the girl in every unpredictable future.

“The person who can save the world… is not me, but her. As for myself, I know my ending line and how much pain I can bear better than anyone. I would rather take such a risk.” -Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets

Chapter 30-6

Victor is seen to be flanked by bodyguards on Adagio Street. Moments later, in a pure white space, we see the Time Observer addressing Victor.

I stood in the centre of the street, looking hesitantly around, but I was unable to spot that familiar figure.

In the dead of the night, from the distant horizon, there seemed to come the sound of a mechanical little violin.

In a boundless, pure white space, the music would be at time peaceful and solemn, and at others somber and mournful. After the final note, that pair of tightly-closed eyes opened.

The Time Observer looked at Victor, neither showing surprise.

That pale white hand brushed lightly over the violin strings, and his gravelly voice spoke up with the pluck of the string.

TO: “The natural rules of operations no longer supply. This world… in memory is a turbulent past and in imagination, there is no serene future. She should have stayed in that world. Her return was a mistake.”

Victor: “If you’re still here that means we still have a chance.”

TO: “A chance that comes at such a heavy cost. Is it really worth it? You will soon understand, in some things, you are doomed to helplessness. Try with all your might, and yet, it remains out of reach.”

Victor: “I won’t let her die again. No matter when."

This will foreshadow future events such as in Chapter 32, where Victor shows a demonstration of this.

Chapter 32-6

Amidst the scattering glass shards, I saw a number of bullets flying towards me.

Only one thought ran through my mind.

Am I going to die?

Chapter 32-8

In the darkness, a crack suddenly splits open, and a blinding light appears, obscuring my sight. My heartbeat practically came to a standstill, the pain I expected never came. The blinding light disappeared, instantaneously replaced by darkness.

Time seemed to pause for a second.

The pitch black bullets, the fractured glass, the car in mid-air…

And then it fell all heavily to the ground.

And in this moment, Victor challenged “fate”, or rather, the “natural rules of operations”, stated by the Time Observer.

I reached out and grabbed the black clothing fluttering before me. Even my voice was trembling.

MC: “Victor…”

I looked in a daze at the man before me, at those fierce eyes beneath his wind-blown hair.

He was looking back at me, as if trying to etch me into his eyes with his deep gaze. But there was another emotion hidden within as well.

After confirming he was unharmed, I let out a sigh, then looked anxiously into his eyes.

MC: “What are you doing here?”

Victor: “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

But this time, his voice was flat.

MC: “I’m sorry… but I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not unaware of the danger… I must simply stay and stop them.”

I hastily wanted to get Victor out of danger, but his feet were planted firmly. I looked up, to get a look at his expression.

His voice was steady, stopping me in my tracks.

Victor: “I see.”

MC: “You really believe I can stop them?”

Victor: “I said before, even if you don't trust yourself, always trust me. I won’t do anything I'm not sure I can handle. Go what you think needs to be done.”

He patted the back of my head lightly, with a hint of tremor in his voice. He didn’t ask me or stop me, as if he already knew the choice I’d made.

So, while the STF agents and runaway Evolvers were battling, MC was literally going to die at that moment. But Victor enters- using his Evol to stop time, ultimately stopping the bullets and MC’s death.

I whirled around, hoping to catch sight of him.

MC: “Victor!”

I wanted to tell him I’d done it, that I really had prevented this crisis.

A faint worry floated up in my chest. What about Victor?

Medic: “Someone, come quick! There’s another person here!”

I turned and hurried to the end of the bridge.

I then quickly found him.

Ringed by a crowd of people, there he was, the person I would recognise anywhere.

It was…

I halted my steps for a moment, then ran to him without hesitation.

I broke into a panic.

Chapter 32-10

Victor… What happened to him??

I pushed the crowd aside and frantically ran to him.

His face was pallid, eyes squeezed shut, his hair plastered messily to his forehead with sweat. I grasped his hand, unable to believe how icy cold it felt to the touch.

MC: "How could you… Why did you…”

Just then, those eyes shut with pain cracked open. He pursed his lips and then coughed violently, blood started trickling out. Even like that, he still chuckled weakly.

Victor: “I used to think… that your problem was that you thought you could control fate all by yourself. Stubborn, self-reliant, in over your head. Whenever anyone tried to tell you anything, no matter what they said, it was always in one ear and out the other.”

Although it sounded a little weak, his voice was unusually calm, and didn’t really even pause or halt. Almost if, if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again.

Victor: “But I really did learn a little something from you. You are the thing unto yourself, so only know the best what your values and decisions should be. No one can guide you. And just like I can’t hold you back, you also can’t change this decision that I’ve made. Don’t ask why, this time, just let me say my piece.”

His voice grew weaker, but he managed to lift his right hand and place it over mine.

I clasped his hand, and a feeling of suspense and dread came over me like I'd never felt before.

MC: “I know… I know… You don’t have to say more.”

He was afraid of something, but not because his life was slipping away. It was more like… something would happen.

Victor closed his eyes, completely exhausted. I squeezed his hand tighter, as if trying to hang on to those remnants of warmth.

You have to make it through this.

A man standing by the riverside swiped his hand through the fog, swiped his hand through the fog, stirring it up into an erratic vortex.

Zero: “Did he actually…”

TO: Like I said before, he is the most suitable candidate.”

Zero: “But he refused to help us open the Door of Return.”

TO: “Perhaps it’s only temporary, and he’ll change his mind. I didn’t imagine he’d choose this method for preventing this crisis. Too bad… the price was so dear.”

After Victor saves MC from death, she finds him on the ground- pale and in terrible pain. Throughout Victor’s time with MC, we slowly see the influence he has on her- and the influence she has on him. He tells her that while she shoulders everything on her own and never listens to anyone, she did teach him things in the process. With her love and kindness, she strives to defy “nature's course” and saves worlds. Literally.

You were correct, Victor didn’t suffer injuries from the bullets because he stopped them just in time but Victor is overusing his Evol, and it’s gradually taking a toll on his body. Even back before MC crossed over to the Winter World, Victor was trying to find other alternative ways for MC to live and not sacrifice herself. Unfortunately, there were none. He did also suffer immense pain whenever he time traveled, especially when it led to his time travel pocket watch cracking and breaking in the end.

Victor would normally be practical and very principled in how he executes his plans, but this time around, it was him. This- he- was the plan. That's it. This is similar to how Victor opened a time rift to send MC away in Chapter 18- to somewhere and sometime in space. He waited for her to come back with the help of the Time Observers to confirm her safety. Only someone with his powerful Evol could do that, otherwise they’d risk losing consciousness in the “Time Rift”.

Additionally, he held onto that hope that MC could and would be saved in the end, like how he tried to find her for 17 years after the orphanage incident, not knowing whether she was dead or alive. Victor wants to wield that control, denying “helplessness” and “winning all the bets” he had with MC prior to her “death” in Chapter 18. Victor stated that if she couldn’t trust herself, then she should trust him and his decisions to protect her. Even if it’s detrimental to his health. Life-threatening, even. Because in the end, Victor knows he will always win. He just does.

And since he knows that he won’t be able to stop MC from doing what she wants, we now see him fully embracing then acting upon it. He accepts that she’s her own person and he has grown to have so much faith in her, seeing how she successfully survived Winter World then coming back home safe. It’s almost like- “okay. It’s you and me against the world”.

On the sidelines, Time observer and ZERO both observe, surprised that Victor will pay such a high price to avoid MC’s death from occurring- with the risk of his own. Could they have lost their most powerful time Evolver from this incident?

Though, we shouldn’t be surprised that the Time Observers think that Victor would be so foolish to use his Evol up to the point where it would actually kill him just to save MC. It's literally in their name- “Observers''- they haven’t and aren’t even allowed to actively participate in the events that happened in Loveland, let alone the different histories and worlds that existed, other than claiming to “correct it” by influencing other people who can. They don’t appear to have this kind of empathy in understanding Victor and why he wants to save MC’s life, or how important she is to him.

“You misunderstand. We never alter, we are correctors of history. We want you to join us, your power’s scope of influence has already surpassed the dimension of this current world. Before you are rejected by it…”

Victor: “I will not leave this world.”

“Even if you’ve seen the future of what is all to pass?”

Victor: “No matter what happens, the person I’m seeking for is right here.” -Black Curtain: Chapter 6

Also taken from my Time Observer Analysis-

Since Victor’s Evol is strong and has the capability to do more than “observe” like the Time Observers, he is the one who is deemed the most suitable and more responsible for “grasping the time in the past and the future”. Ever since STF found out about Victor’s Evol, they wanted him to cooperate with them too. Every time he stops time, certain surrounding energy and space changes.

The organisation also entertains the idea of fate, and how things should be refused to be changed. Since they have “seen the future of how the world ends”, they want Victor to cooperate with them in making it stop. Nobody can rewrite the ending among them, except him. Victor refuses to join because he doesn’t adhere to this idea.

“QUEEN’s return has brought unexpected consequences; the entire collapse of the world is ahead of schedule. The world’s line has come to an end, no matter through time or space, we can no longer interfere in this world.” Was there a difference in letting each world go to the end alone to close all the world lines in the future directly? Although we found a breakthrough, this situation really caused us a lot of headaches: she who should not have survived and she should not have been sent to other worlds. As a result, it would seriously interfere and disrupt the timeline. No one had done it before, and no one except Victor could do it.

In disbelief, we weighed it and threw the olive branch- as long as he is willing to cooperate, we will help him find her. As decisive as he was to refuse a few times before, this time he had promised me without thinking. And for a moment, I didn’t know if his decisiveness was good or bad. -Chapter 33-34 Rumours and Secrets

Victor "travelling ten-thousand years in the future" was mentioned in his Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets. The Space and Time Administration (who the Time Observers were under) could "repair his abilities", after he stopped the bullets from hitting MC. He would have to stay there for the Space and Time Administration's time duration of ten-thousand years. Victor accepts. (BIG THANKS TO @cheri-cheri FOR CORRECTING ME LAST MINUTE WITH THIS ONE, YOU AMAZING HUMAN!!)

[twstdreams]

The Draught of Sleeping Death ask was so interesting (and kinda angsty but in a good way!)! Could I please request a part 2 for when their crush actually wakes up after? Thank you! (btw i reread the request and you kinda forgot Jack so if you could plz add both of his reactions to when they drink it and when they wake up i’d appreciate it!)

Please reach out to your local crisis line if you experience any suicidal ideation like wanting to put yourself into a coma!

Here is the previous part! I decided to make scenarios that ended being a bit more difficult than I expected, but I’m pretty happy with it. I hope no one is out of character. Here is some more bittersweet moments and angst! 

Warning: Suicidal and suicidal-esque ideation, attempted comatose state via potion, poor mental health, long post

Ruggie Bucchi

He waits and waits. Your chest continues to rise and fall as any person would. Each moment is excruciating. Even if you had amnesia and forgot all about him, that would be okay as long as you opened your eyes. Suddenly, you sneeze. Ruggie throws his arms around you. He almost wants to laugh. Of course, you wake up sneezing, not fluttering eyes or a gentle smile but a sneeze. 

“Ruggie?” you call out his name gently, surprised to find yourself in his fierce embrace with him clinging onto you so tightly. You ask what’s wrong and he explains your predicament.

“What?!” you shriek, wide-eyed and jaw open. You must have messed up your potion or drank the one wrong because all you wanted was something to give you restful sleep, not a permanent coma. 

“Tch, I can’t believe you drank something so dangerous!” Ruggie chides you for being so careless, making a mental note to take care of you to ensure something like this never happened again. He gently pokes your cheek as if to punish you, but the way you respond with a pout fills him with more relief than he cares to admit. Only the conscious can react after all.

“Wait, does... doesn’t that mean you’re my true love?” you murmur. Soon enough both of your cheeks are painted a blush to rival sunsets in the Afterglow Savannah but a smile worms its way onto your face.

“I’m glad it’s you.” You both share the same sentiment. You pepper his face with butterfly kisses while teasing him about being your knight in shining armour. Each peck helps soothe his heart and reaffirm that you are indeed alive and well.

Leona Kingscholar

His tail waves back and forth as he impatiently waits for any signs of consciousness. It feels like the universe is getting back at him, telling Leona that it’s his turn to wait. The more time passes, the more he wants to curse at the world. It gave him nothing. Not the crown, not the understanding of his family, not the adoration of his people, and now it wouldn’t even let him have you. He stares at the window, unable to bear looking at your body any longer. Almost as if he looked away, he wouldn’t have to accept the possibility that you would remain in an eternal slumber.

“Leona?” your voice croaks and he whips around so fast you’re surprised his neck doesn’t hurt.

“It’s you? You love me?” you ask but you’re met with a grimace from Leona. He knows you know. And since you know that true love’s kiss is the only way to break the spell, it meant you purposefully drank the potion.

“Why?” It’s not a roar. It’s not a demand. It’s barely a question. It’s a whisper to the wind but requires an answer nonetheless.

“I just...I just wanted the pain to end,” you reply, voice cracking halfway through, “It was so much. Too much.” Tears begin welling in your eyes. Just remembering your desolate state when you drank the potion out of sheer desperation threatens to spiral your fragile stability.

“Do I look weak? Dumb?” Leona murmurs. You think it’s supposed to come out as annoyed but his words are too thick with emotion to disguise his sadness.

“No? That’s not what I... What?” You can’t understand what he’s saying and the tears begin to fall down freely from your face. 

“Then, you should share it with me,” he says firmly while sitting down beside you on the bed.

“It?” you repeat while sniffling.

“Anything, everything,” Leona pauses as if carefully considering his words. He suddenly pulls you into a hug, placing your head against his chest. To your surprise, his heart is hammering and you know you’re the cause.

“Your pain, your struggles,” the words are lodged in his throat and Leona struggles not to clam up. He hates being vulnerable, he despises leaving his heart out in the open, practically begging to be stabbed. But he knows that’s what contributed to this mess in the first place. And it hurts. Your eyes are brimming with tears that he caused. So he forges on even if his words are gruff, “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Promise?” 

“Yeah.” He kisses your forehead to affirm his answer. And then you hold him tightly and cry freely. Your burdens are still heavy and there are some battles you know Leona cannot fight for you. However, you find comfort in his embrace and in the knowledge that he will hold your hand through all the trials. 

Kalim Al Asim

“Hey, hey are you awake?” he asks desperately. You have to wake up. How else are you supposed to go on magic carpet rides with him? Didn’t you say you were excited for Bean day? Weren’t you excited to try out that new cake from the café downtown?

He calls out your name again and again while giving your shoulder a little shake. When your eyes begin to open, Kalim throws himself at you. Tears fall freely from his eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re awake!” It’s a mess as he alternates between sobs and exclamations of happiness. You barely have time to react and pat him on the back.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” you reassure softly. It’s not exactly ideal to have Kalim crying but you’re happy to know he cares so much.

“You know, I’m your true love, right?” he asks, staring you into your eyes with his ruby ones. The bold declaration makes you blush but you nod anyway, “So depend on me okay? I’m here for whatever you need! Anytime! Anywhere! If you’re ever worried, we can sing and dance our troubles away!”

“And if singing and dancing aren’t enough?” Your question doesn’t come from a place of malice but Kalim is silent for a moment while digesting your words.

“Then we can eat, or go on a magic carpet ride!” he responds with confidence, “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try something else! I won’t give up until you smile!” Tears streak his cheeks, his outfit is a mess, yet you believe him anyway. He brings a shaky grin to your lips.

“Okay.” You give your tear-stained lover a soft kiss. “We’re in this together.”

A couple days pass and yet Kalim asks nothing about the incidence. He simply reminds you that he is here whenever you need and that he adores you. You keep waiting for the inevitable interrogation but it never comes.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about what happened?” you inquire one day while on a carpet ride, knowing that your words will only reach Kalim’s ears and no one else’s.

“I want to.” He answers so quickly that you’re caught off guard, but his next words steal your breath away. “I was going to ask, but I didn’t want to make you sad. I know that... that you were really sad and suffering. And that every time someone brings it up, your smile goes away.” 

He hums out loud while trying to parse together a sentence to express his feelings. Kalim doesn’t want to be oblivious to your feelings and risk destroying this relationship. He wants to do better this time. He wants to be better.

“I ... I don’t know how to ask without hurting you. So, you can just tell me when you’re ready and I’ll listen!” You feel so much relief. You embrace him in a tight hug and murmur words of thanks.

Jamil Viper

There’s a war in Jamil’s heart. Hope dangerously swells within it, wishing that you would wake up. Doubt creeps on the edges, whispering about how his flimsy feelings wouldn’t shake you from the coma’s grasp. He doesn’t know which half is right and the wait is antagonizing.

Your fingers twitch and he calls out your name softly. He wants you to wake up so badly, he can’t even deny it. The amount of emotion eating away at him is unbearable yet it would all be worth it if you only opened your eyes. You who listened. You who understood. You who offered a hand when asked. You who respected his space. You who lit up with a smile whenever he offered you a dish. You who always insisted on cleaning the dishes as payment. You who would drop by with a thermos of tea or a cup of water to make sure he was taking care of himself too. You, whose name is etched in his heart, even if he has trouble admitting it aloud.

Your hand lightly squeezes his own and he intertwines his fingers with yours. He’s never found hand-holding so comforting until now. You’re tired but you try to bring a feeble grin to your face for his sake.

Jamil has so many questions but he starts with the most important one, “How are you feeling?” Your lips press tightly together and you tear your eyes away from his gaze. He squeezes your hand a little but says nothing else.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice wobbles but your words are sincere. His thumb traces circles in the back of your palm, allowing you the decision to continue or not.

“I...” Words are so hard, but you want him to know. Jamil came to your side, didn’t he? He is your true love, isn’t he? You gulp a bit and allow yourself some time to gather courage.

“I, I wanted control. I hate feeling like I can’t control anything. Like this is the only way I can decide for myself, and ...” But words fail you as tears begin falling from your eyes. It’s too much. You can’t decide if you hate yourself or the world more. 

Your words cause his chest to feel tight. Oh he knows, he knows. The desperation, the fear, the anger, the hatred, all emotions that are familiar to him. There is nothing more soul-crushing than to lose control over your own life.

Jamil stays silent, unwilling to offer up empty promises and words laced with pity. Instead, he kisses your tears away. It’s unusually tender, but rather than risk the wrong words, Jamil decides to let actions speak for themselves. He lets each soft peck convey his love, his presence, his commitment. And slowly but surely, your waterfall of tears decreases to a trickle and then nothing at all. 

Jack Howl

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!

It’s the only thing he can think of as he stares at your resting form. Jack has never felt so powerless before. No matter how much he trains, it won’t amount to anything because it’s not a magical skill that will bring you back. It’s true love. True love’s kiss. The one thing he doubts he can give you. The one thing no one has managed to give you.

His eyes widen as he hears your breathing begin to increase. Your slow steady pace starts to quicken and his own heart is hammering in his chest. Are you waking up? Jack kneels beside your bed and watches expectantly. Your eyes open to meet your golden ones. Your arms reach out to him tentatively, wondering if he’s merely an illusion. To your surprise, strong arms embrace your body and his hair tickles your skin.

“Jack,” you call out softly and the twitch of his tail lets you know he heard you. However, he says nothing. You expect a couple swift and blunt statements about your idiotic actions but they never come. Instead, with your bodies pressed together, you can feel him tremble. It’s faint, but he’s more shaken than you’ve ever seen Jack. Angry, indignant, confident, embarrassed, and righteous were all emotions you’d seen Jack wear but this was the first time you’d seen him so unsure about someone else. 

“Thank you,” you add, unsure what other sentiments you should share. You worry declarations of any feeling deeper than gratitude will end the moment and Jack will shirk away at such strong emotions. You tighten your grip, hoping at least you can relish in this hug and the comfort it brings.

Jack loosens his hold so he can look straight into your eyes. His gaze is so intense that you want to avert your own yet find yourself unable to do anything but look back. Your name leaves his lips, soft but firm and undeniable. You nod slightly and wait for him to continue.

“I ... you ... that is,” Jack clenches his jaw but pushes forward past his uncertainties and lingering cowardice, “You ... You give me purpose.” You let out a gasp. Jack knows it’s dangerous to attach purpose to someone else, to give them so much power over himself. He’s always wanted to be a man with a true core purpose and your slumber made him realize that it was you. When you were under that spell, he fell apart and that’s why he’s so sure. 

The weight of his words is not lost on you. It’s nothing short of a confession of love that makes your eyes shine with unshed tears. You’re amazed at the depth of his feelings and how far you two have come.

“I love you.” Your words are simple and clear, delivered with a sincere smile. Even though Jack knows this, you are his true love after all, it still manages to make him blush. You let out a small laugh but before Jack can retort, you seal his lips with a kiss.

[scummy-writes]

Offset Beginnings

Throughout his life, Arthur had believed that there had to be at least some strain of truth when it came to the occult, whether through a vague promise of ‘magic’ or trying to find whatever possible science it boiled down into. That being said, he’d never thought he would get such an up close and personal taste of its existence. 

     Slowly, he touched the pads of his fingers to his face, tracing the curve of his cheek. Seeing was believing, yet his mind still couldn’t process the youthful body he had just recently been blessed with. Despite standing in front of the immaculately polished mirror left in his room, Arthur found himself gripping the vanity in disbelief, breath shallowing.

Of course. Being born anew had to have some sort of catch, didn’t it? Unless this was a new form of lucid nightmare, his deathbed granting a new experience to torture him even through his last breath. But…

That coppery taste on his tongue still lingered. Despite past dreams, Arthur was never one to have a sense of taste within them. And the pain when Le Comte had bitten him…

He dropped his head, poorly attempting to switch his focus onto his lungs as his nails found purchase in the wood.

Moments ago he had finished meeting the other residents of the mansion, faces completely new to him yet the names he had heard brought more fear into the possibility of this all being another trick of the mind. 

A deep inhale, and he made up his mind, shoving himself away from the mirror to numbly grasp his coat and head back out the door. If his mind was set on plaguing him with bastardized ‘blessings’, then he was determined to fight back by drowning in his sorrows. 

---------

The grooves in the counter were surely etching themselves into his skin, but Arthur couldn’t be bothered to care, mind elsewhere as his eyes barely focused on the glass in front of him. If he squints, he can make out a face under the mess of hair in the warped reflection, and he groans, turning to thump his head against his forearm. He’s sure he hears a muffled question, the tap of a glass by his head. He can’t bring himself to attempt deciphering whatever was said.

He inhales, his chest feeling a steady burn as he shakily sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. Staying firm in the present is harder with alcohol muddling his reason, though that’s his own fault, isn’t it? Every drink he slugged back in hopes of forgetting his earlier woes pit against him, memories playing back as he remembers his reflection, the same face that haunted him late at night.

There’s another voice, deeper this time, that accompanies a weight on Arthur’s shoulder. Curious, given the lack of sensation in his arms or fingers at the moment. He attempts to shrug it off, a flash of annoyance going through him.

“Tch. Trying to help you, you...” 

The voice muffles as Arthur finally turns to face it, some curse slipping out before he recognizes the flash of brown fabric, his own hand reaching out to grasp without much thought following. 

There’s a pisspoor attempt to say Theo’s name, the sound coming out slurred even to Arthur’s ears. A groan slips out next, his arm dropping as his grip slacks.

Despite the clear inability to verbally communicate, Theo still seems to recognize what he was getting at; sitting down on the stool beside him with a grumble.

“Just how much did you drink?”

He wants to laugh at the worried question, how it doesn’t match the man’s expression, how it's the first time in years anyone has asked him that. He supposes some sort of dopey smile crosses his face at the scoff Theo gives him.

When was the last time someone showed him an ounce of pity? Le Comte didn’t count, given he was nearly convinced the man was reviving them out of a sense of misplaced guilt, nor was Arthur ever deserving of it, not since…

There’s a grumble that comes out as his world begins to spin. He catches how Theo’s eyes widen before Arthur closes his eyes, feeling his body tip into something softer than the counter. Was it Theo? There’s a gruff mumble coming after him as someone attempts to right him, but Arthur’s well past the point to move without stumbling over immediately.

The thought to apologize comes along as he says something, the words mingling with memories of Trevor and the others catching up to him. For Theo’s sake he does try to stay lucid a moment longer, just to ease the weight he’s pushing onto the man, but the next breath he gives seems to drain him, sending him tumbling into unconsciousness.

---------

Ugh. 

As soon as he registers warmth creeping along his face, the sharp stab of a headache follows immediately, forcing a groan out as he pats around him blindly. He fumbles with the blanket he’s wound up in, finding a way to tug it over his head to block out the sunlight filtering in through his window.

It takes him a moment to open his eyes, feeling the spinning from last night trying to return along with his coherency.

Who in the hell pushed open the curtains? He was positive that they were shut when he left…

Arthur’s brows furrow as last night starts to come back to him, piecing together the flashes of brown fabric he had seen along with the gruff voice of-

“Theo,” The name comes out as a curse, “You bloody devil.” 

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It takes him longer than he likes to withstand the small act of just getting up, head pounding all the while. He manages to stumble over to his window and tug the curtains closed, allowing himself to prop up against the vanity, eyes avoiding the mirror attached as he plots the day ahead with a firm plan to steer clear of Theo; else who knew what embarrassing conversation that would spark.

But God’s always been a right bastard, hasn’t he? Once he peels off yesterday’s clothes and steps into a cleaner set, he’s out the door, only to nearly smack right into the man.

“Ah…”

Damn and blast.

Their eyes meet for just a moment, before Arthur’s running a hand through his hair and dodging Theo’s gaze.

“Listen, about last night…”

His unspoken beg to spare him the details of his foolishness seems to come true, as Theo interrupts him with a scoff.

“There’s nothing about last night.”

“Huh?”

“What? You think I remember any of the nonsense you spouted? I was too busy deciding to bring you back here or to toss you into the Seine.” Arthur bites back a quipp, and all Theo does is check his watch with a tsk, echoing the one out of many from the night before. “I have to go to the gallery, I don’t have the time to spare for this.”

When he walks past in a determined tread, Arthur half expects the man to bump into him in annoyance. He’d certainly deserve it and more, knowing fully well what a mess he had to have been to drag back here. 

He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh at the fact that someone so brusque was willing to spare a sorry sap like him. And for what reason? Perhaps the new lad to the mansion always went through this, and Arthur was just being given the easy treatment for now, until his feet- or fangs -settled.

With another scoff towards himself, he turns off towards the direction of the kitchen, planning for a cup of coffee and, admittedly, a way to offer buying a round for Theo- without getting the drink thrown back in his face.

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This. Has been a draft since July, so if anything sounds off I'm sorry haha

The second half of this pulls from that Drunk from your Love(?) Collection event, where theres a brief story about Theo finding the thot conked out at the bar, thought it seemed fitting to change that to the first night Arthur was brought back and Suffering at the age he was made to look like. (Even thought canon says otherwise haha)

Masterlist | Writing Server | Isaac Week | Ikevamp Server

[emy-loves-you]

Have Your Name (And Your Back) Chapter 7

Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8

Summary: Prince stops by to ask a few questions, and Patton's fears have been confirmed. Or have they?

Warnings:  discussions of beating, taking away food and clothes, and other serious topics. Also mentions bruises and aftermath of a traumatic event, along with a lot of negative self-talk from Patton

After his first day of lessons with Logic, Patton's first few days at the manor weren’t very interesting. Even though he didn’t have any chores or much that he needed to do, his life had quickly developed into a simple schedule to follow. He would start his day each morning by getting up early and taking a long bath. Then he would get a new outfit from his closet and twirl around in it for a few minutes before settling down on his bed. He would then grab Logic's notebook and they would go over whatever chapters Logic had assigned the day before. After that was breakfast with Prince, along with that delicious jam that was quickly becoming Patton's favorite food. Then he would practice either math or English writing. After that Logic would assign him some chapters to read on Fae rules and customs. Prince would end the lesson with lunch and Patton usually took a nap afterward. He would then read over the chapters until dinner, and after that he would change into pajamas and go to bed. It was boring sometimes, especially in the hours between his nap and dinner when it only took an hour or two to read his chapters. He was used to always having something to do, and he could only sleep for so many hours before that became boring as well. He tended to spend that time rereading earlier chapters, since it tended to make Logic happy and made Patton feel useful.

Things were already beginning to change, however.

It started almost 2 weeks after Patton’s arrival. He had just finished eating lunch with Prince (well more like he ate and Prince read his book. Did fairies not need to eat or did he just eat at a different time? He’d have to find a way to ask Logic about that later) and was being escorted back to his room. Patton had expected Prince to say farewell before leaving him to his own devices until dinner. Instead, he stood in the doorway and rubbed his neck, appearing… nervous?

Patton tilted his head to the side, trying not to let his own nervousness show as he silently watched. What could make Prince nervous? Prince was never nervous. The thought made the pit in Patton’s stomach worsen with every second.

Eventually, Prince cleared his throat and looked up at him. “May I come in, Heart? There are quite a few things I’d like to discuss with you.” Patton nodded shakily and his Fairy Godfather quickly stepped into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Patton was nervously shifting from foot to foot but Prince didn’t seem to notice, instead carefully observing the room around him. “Has Logic been teaching you about Fae culture?”

Patton nodded, bouncing on his toes. “I’ve been learning a lot about negotiation magic and what the most common types are from a human’s per...pers…”

Prince chuckled and Patton jumped, startled. “Perspective?”

He giggled, trying to hide his nervousness. “Yeah, that!”

Prince smiled softly, his gaze turning back to the empty room. “Has he taught you how to properly defend yourself yet?”

His smile fell. “Well, not yet. He says he wants to wait until I can write well in English before teaching me, so I can actually respond to his questions.” He looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling queasy as he tensed up. This was a test, wasn’t it? It was a test and I failed. He had wondered why Prince didn’t make him clean or cook. He was good at it, Prince had even complimented him on how clean Hart Manor was the first time they met! Patton had assumed it was just because he had magic instead, so Patton’s skill set was rendered useless. He knew why now. The expectations set on him weren’t to cook and clean. They were to learn as much as possible and defend himself against fairies. And Patton had failed his expectations.

It had been so long since Patton had last been punished, he’d almost forgotten the terror he always felt leading up to it. The ice that traveled through his veins, making his muscles stiff and his mind run on a loop. All he could do was sit there and wonder how he would be punished, hope that he would be able to keep his clothes and bed and bath. Maybe if he was lucky Prince would use his fire magic to heal him after his punishment. It probably wouldn’t happen, but at least he could hope-

“Patton, breathe!” Patton’s eyes snapped up to meet Prince’s gaze, gulping down air as his mind cleared slightly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been hyperventilating. When the black spots in his vision went away and he was finally able to focus, he turned his attention over to his Fairy Godfather’s panicked yet sheepish expression. “My apologies, Heart. You couldn’t breathe properly and you couldn’t seem to see or hear me, so I did what I had to do to calm you down.” He raised his hand and Patton flinched, waiting for pain. There was a moment of tense silence, and Patton barely suppressed another flinch when Prince broke it with a whisper. “Oh Heart. I will never purposefully hurt you like that. Don’t you remember me telling you that?”

Patton blinked quickly as he tried to focus on Prince’s shoes, tears blurring his vision. He didn’t speak up, not wanting to upset his caretaker. A part of Patton knew that Prince would never hurt him, that he didn’t want to cause him harm. But after years of knowing that he was worthless, of being beaten everyday for not meeting standards, it ingrained the idea that he had to be perfect. And he had thought that he was doing it well. He didn’t have any physical chores, but Prince seemed to relax when Patton smiled and twirled around, so he assumed he was meeting his expectations. But he wasn’t. He was dumb and couldn’t even do simple tasks like reading and writing! Maybe the little voice in his head was right and he should be punished-

Patton shook his head, letting in a shuddering breath. Those bad thoughts were wrong! He didn’t deserve it! He deserved to be happy and loved, just like Prince said. But Prince doesn’t deserve me. He deserves a better godson, not some broken kid who can’t even hold a conversation without breaking down-

‘Just because you have bad thoughts doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken.’ Patton forced more air into his lungs, trying to clear his head while he remembered what the Duke had told him on his first day here. He had seen some of Patton’s punishments, and he’s said that Patton didn’t deserve them. That had to count for something, right? Two different people telling him that he didn’t deserve to be punished?

Patton let out a shuddering breath. “I-” His voice cracked and he flinched, but forced the next few words out before Prince could worry more. “I know. I trust you. It’s just… I feel…” He groaned and flopped back on the bed. “Words are hard.”

His fairy godfather chuckled, easing back to lay down next to him. “Words can be such a fickle thing, can’t they?” They laid there in silence for a few minutes before he spoke up again. “Can you tell me why you started panicking?”

Patton starred at his ceiling, the twinkling fairy lights calming his nerves. “I could…”

Prince made an odd sound, and Patton couldn’t tell if it sounded humorous or irritated, or maybe something else. “Alright, will you tell me why you panicked, Hart?”

Patton sighed, the long sleeves of his shirt getting bunched up in his tight grip. “...Promise me you won’t be upset?”

He felt Prince shift next to him, probably to look over at him, but Patton couldn’t tell as he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t bear to see his fairy godfather’s face right now. There was a moment of silence, and Patton was sure that he would refuse to promise, or ask why he wanted a promise out of him in the first place. Patton had read a few chapters ahead to please Logic, and he had read about how much promises mean to the Fae. A promise wasn’t as powerful as an oath or vow, but it was still nothing to scoff at. When you promised something to a fairy- or, in turn, if a fairy promised something to you- it couldn’t be broken easily. Not without the person who made the promise suffering some form of consequence. Oh, why did Patton have to be so greedy, asking for something that he knew meant so much to the Fae? He opened his mouth to apologize.

“I promise.”

“I’m sor- wait, what?” Patton looked over at his fairy godfather, who was staring at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm.

Prince maintained eye contact as he took a deep breath, steeling himself as he spoke. “I promise that whatever you say next will not make me upset with you.”

Patton shuddered as he felt the promise wash over him, fueled by his fairy godfather’s magic. It seeped into his skin and made his insides all warm and fuzzy, like a warm hug etched into his very soul. It gave him a feeling of safety and support that gave him the confidence to continue. “I’ve been wondering why you didn’t want me to cook or clean, and at first I thought it was because you could do it better with your magic. But now I think I know why.” He carefully wrapped his arms around his middle, belatedly hoping that Prince didn’t notice the movement as he shielded his sides. Even though it had been almost 2 weeks, the bruises on his legs and sides from where Lord Hart kicked him were still there, the marks appearing like smears of jam against his skin. They still hurt often, and he just thinking about them made his sides throb. “My par- Lord and Lady Hart, they expected me to cook and clean for them. And when I didn’t meet their standards, I got punished. You don’t expect me to cook and clean. You expect me to learn all that I can about the Fae from Logic. And I should know more now, but I’ve been struggling with writing in English. Logic’s explanations leave me all dizzy and confused. Not that it’s his fault, please don’t be mad at him! I just struggle to understand what he means sometimes, and it’s hard to ask questions when you can’t speak or write to them.” He felt his sides ache in reminder as to what would come next. “I know you said you wouldn’t hurt me, but I also know that there’s more than one way to be punished, and that I’d rather get smacked than lose what you’ve already given me. The baths, the food, the clothes… they’re more than what I could ever hope for. And I know I don’t deserve it, but could you use your fire magic on me afterwards? It feels really nice and makes the hurt go away.”

Prince stayed silent the entire time, periodically clenching and unclenching his jaw as Patton spoke. When he finished, his fairy godfather took a deep breath, nearly growling as he spoke. “I wish to go downstairs and break those monsters down piece-by-piece until they’re left begging for death. The only reason I haven’t already done so is because the laws of Fae won’t let me.” His hand reached up to touch Patton and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, Heart.” Patton nearly flinched again, this time at how utterly broken his fairy godfather sounded. Prince’s hand cupped his cheek and Patton shuddered at the touch, nearly sobbing at the heat (he couldn’t even tell if the heat came from Prince’s skin or his own, but it still burned in just the right way). “Look at me please.” Patton shuddered and forced his eyes open, tears blurring his vision. His fairy godfather was smiling at him, his eyes watering as he spoke. “There’s those adorable blue eyes.” His expression suddenly turned… sad? “Patton, I swear that as your godfather, I will never purposefully deprive you of common necessities. That means I will never take away your clothes, bed, bath, food, or anything else that you may need. I also swear that I will never touch you with the intention of harming you.”

Patton bit back a gasp as the magic sunk into his skin, validating his oath. Earlier, his promise had been comfortably warm, like your blankets when you first wake up. This, however, felt like he was literally on fire. Every part of him tingled with an intense heat that somehow didn’t hurt. It made him feel more protected than he had ever felt in his entire life, and Patton embraced the feeling like a moth would an open flame.

When he was finally able to focus beyond the new heat running through his veins, Prince continued. “Let me make this clear, Heart: there are no expectations beyond trying your best. And even if there were expectations, you wouldn’t be punished for not completing them. Instead, we would sit down and discuss what you struggled with before trying again.If you’re trying your best and still can’t understand the material, it’s not your fault but ours. And I want you to know just how proud I am of you. You’ve been through so much in so little time, and you’ve still managed to defy any expectations that I could ever imagine placing upon you. You are amazing, and smart, and brave, and so, so kind.”

Patton let out a sob at that, and Prince gently pulled him into a hug, slowly so Patton had plenty of time to back out if he wanted. Patton all but collapsed into the warmth, sobbing uncontrollably. When was the last time that someone had said they were proud of Patton? Had anyone ever been proud of him before now? He didn’t know, but one thing was for certain; his fairy godfather was proud of HIM. And that was enough to bring in a new wave of tears as he clung to his godfather’s chest.

Eventually, the heat became too much for the touch-starved boy, and he weakly pressed against his godfather’s chest. Prince immediately let go and Patton scooted back to his previous spot on his bed. “Now,” Prince began, “I came here to discuss something, but I understand if you’d like to wait until tomorrow before we talk about anything else.” Patton shook his head and Prince smiled softly. “Alright. I had already suspected that you were struggling with reading and writing in English. When I was younger I also struggled with it, and I also know that it’s extremely difficult without help. And while Logic can help you somewhat, he isn’t here to physically talk to you or see what you’re doing. So, I was wondering if you wanted me to help you. I would take over your English studies everyday after lunch, and after we finished I would help you with the verbal side of fairy magic.”

Patton stared for a moment in shock before looking away, blushing slightly. “You don’t have to do all of this.”

Prince chuckled. “But I want to. I want to help you learn as much as possible, so one day you can explore this manor on your own instead of staying in your room all day.” He gestured to the room around them. “There was something else that I would like to discuss with you. I was wondering if you’d like any new furniture for your room. A desk for writing, a reading chair, anything you could think of? I’m afraid I tend to think on the extravagant side, so whatever I come up with might overwhelm you.” Patton opened his mouth but Prince beat him to it. “And before you say it, I know I don’t have to give you this stuff, but I want to. And trust me when I say that there’s nothing you could come up with that’s out of the realm of possibility.”

Patton bit his lip as he thought about it. Should he ask for it? He looked up at Prince’s encouraging smile and pushed the words out. “You can see my thoughts, right? With your magic? The Duke told me that he could see my bad thoughts while you could see my good ones.”

Prince chuckled softly. “That’s an oversimplified way to put it, but yes. If I wanted to, I could read your thoughts. But I don’t do it unless I have your permission.”

He looked away, another blush forming. “Well, a few months ago I saw this really pretty desk at the market. I couldn’t touch it or anything because then I would get in trouble, but I’m pretty sure I remember what it looks like. Can you use your magic to take a look at it?”

He nodded. “I can, but I’ll need to touch you in order to see it clearly. Just a finger to your temple should do.” Patton nodded and closed his eyes, feeling a finger against his head a few moments later. His skin burned and itched with oversensitivity but he ignored it, instead focusing on the memory. It had been a short but wide wooden desk, with drawers on each side to hold stuff. It was a pretty off-white color, and the place where your legs went had a pale blue cloth in place for Patton to hide behind (that last part might’ve been subconsciously added, but Prince didn’t need to know that).

When Prince pulled away Patton yawned, utterly exhausted. When he saw Prince’s worried look he was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, this isn’t boring I promise! I just usually take a nap right after lunch.”

Prince frowned. “Why didn’t you say so? I could’ve waited until afterwards to talk to you.” Patton shrugged and he sighed. “Well, go ahead and get some rest now. We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow afternoon. Just call my name after you’ve read whatever Logic’s assigned to you and I’ll appear to start teaching you. And Heart?” Patton looked up, already starting to fall asleep. “If you ever feel unsafe around one of us, don’t hesitate to speak up. Even if you think you deserve it, bring it up to someone first. You have me and my brother, and when you master writing you can talk to Logic too. Just don’t let yourself hurt for our sake, alright?” Patton nodded and he smiled softly. “Thank you. I’ll let you rest now. Goodnight Heart.” Patton couldn’t respond, already drifting off to dreamland.

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