#he gets home all full and ur like 'we need to get rid of it' which means EATING IT!!!!!

[theloveinc]

omg.. deku getting a belly bc of ur food wahh <33 listen i cannot cook like AT ALL even tho i try so hard grr anyways thinking abt being married to him and slowly making progress in your cooking that when he starts getting his tummy you have this sudden realization that you've gotten sm better and it makes you so motivated to cook more and experiment and try different recipes and deku is like "? where did this come from?" but doesn't complain bc he gets to eat more of your delicious food and gets to see you happy <33333333

YES this is exactly it... and it's not like I don't think Deku can cook, it's just... he doesn't have time all that much to really do anything more than throw something random together if he's alone and needs to eat.

So I can imagine the whole thing starts when you use your interest in cooking to begin making bentos and lunch boxes for him to have at work instead of going out all the time or simply just starving (can you imagine, before all this, maybe even when you're still dating, the little dip he gets in his abdomen from a hollow stomach. You're all freaked out because he's not eating enough and hasn't been and he's just *shrug :)* lmaooo)... and eventually it just escalates into you including whole tupperwares of new things that you've made for him to try that he can never say no to🥺

WHICH NOT ONLY LEADS TO your happiness and his improved health, but also a nice bulky lil belly for you to caress when you're both in bed👅 head on his chest hand on his soft and hairy tummy while you fall asleep, I yam going to CRY.

[malfoyfarms]

She Loved You (extended)

JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Word Count: 721

Warnings:none

A/n: part two you’ve all been waiting for; side note @softboystarkey i saw ur user on the list and fangirled, ily

The moment John B had seen the familiar scrawl on the outside of a large manilla envelope, he called everyone over to read it. So here the group sat, sitting on the deck as JB pulled the papers out. 

“JJ this one’s specifically for you.” He started to hand it to the boy, but he was cut off.

“No, read it aloud. I won’t be able to get through it.”

So that’s what John B did. He started to narrate his best friend’s words. 

J, 

I really truly hope this letter gets to you. I didn’t want to put a return address on the envelope because I still can’t come home. I do, though, have something very important to tell you. 

For starters, I am safe. I have a roof over my head, a job, and maybe just one friend. I hope you and our gang of bandits are doing alright. I hope JB has forgiven me, because I fucking miss my older brother. It’s taking me longer to detach from you than I thought it would, mostly because you were my whole world. But also because I couldn’t stay away from the ocean. You and the sea are slowly becoming two separate entities, even if I see your eyes every time I look out my bedroom window. 

I hope you found happiness. I hope you are with Kie, giving her all the smiles, hugs and affection that only you could muster. If not her, I hope someone is receiving all the love you have to give. In our time growing up, the two of us have seen many marriages fail (I mean we were both raised by single fathers), and many survive. Miserably survive. That was also why I left. I didn’t want us to end up like either. 

The day you told me how you felt about Kiara had been one of the worst days of my life, and hearing you tell me you wanted another girl wasn’t even the worst thing. About two hours before I met you at the bluffs I took a test. And it was positive. Your pull out game fucking sucks. But so does my ability to take birth control apparently. 

John B stopped reading, as Sarah uttered a “shut the fuck up,” and JJ was paling by the second.

I was terrified, then over the moon, then shattered. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay with me because I was pregnant, we’ve seen how that plays out time and time again. I thought about getting rid of it completely, then maybe adoption. Once I heard your confession later that day I knew I had to keep it, so I could have a little bit of you no matter what happened. 

What I’m trying to say is you have a daughter. She was born on October 17th, healthy and happy. Her name is Quincie, Quincie Jay. She’s so beautiful, JJ. She has your blonde hair, my dark eyes, and loves to test the limits. Quincie loves the water. And the beach. Especially the sand. 

I’m coming home soon. I never want to keep her from you, I just wanted to let your universe work itself out before she made an entrance (and boy was it grand). She needs her dad, her two uncles, her two aunts and she needs to learn how to be a cockroach like the rest of us. I want you in her life, she needs to experience love from a Maybank boy. I added a picture to the bottom of the envelope so you could see her. 

All my love, 

Y/n (& QJ)

John B shook the package and a 4x6 photo of both Y/n and Quincie fell out. Y/n had eyes so full of love for her daughter, they were shining so bright the group barely noticed her now darker hair, free of charms, thread and braids, or the lack of her freckles. Quincie Jay on the other hand, she was laughing, her mouth was open, and Y/n was right. She looked like JJ with her mother’s eyes. His girls looked so lovely. 

The group was frantic trying to take a peek at the baby girl in the photo. But all JJ could think about was that his girls were coming home. 

@eddiemunsonhero___ @lilacreader7 @gengen64 @123anonymous123456 @solargazes @Taintedxkisses @shamelessatoru @folkorelover888 @taurusvic @nadinenoa02 @softboystarkey @VOIDRANBOO @Tvdnmf @blueray222 @simp4holland @onehellofabisexual @idli-dosa @byycassie @bokutosmeatythigh

[immeasurablesaladagere]

ur doing gods work for the house md agere community we salute u 🫡 can we please get a little!chase fic w/ cg!wilson ?

Lil Chase, my beloved. Little content warning for Chase's backstory and his feelings about it, this one's a bit angsty, but happy ending with cg Wilson fluff to make the medicine go down :)

*pats head of Chase* This kid can fit so many mommy issues.

-----

Word Count: 1983

Summery: Wilson gets a call from Chase after-hours. He needs a pickup from a bar after his regression is triggered by something that reminds him of his past, and he's unable to get himself home.

-----

Just as Wilson was about to sit down on the couch to enjoy a night of pizza, beer, and watching the game, his phone rang. He groaned. So close.

“Popular with the babes, are we?.” House said, mouth full of pizza and distracted by football.

“It’s probably work. I can’t just have one night to myself, can I?” He grumbled, fishing his phone out from his coat pocket. He liked to keep it out of sight when he was off work, but it always came back to haunt him anyway.

“Cancer babes then, even better.”

“Cancer babes? God, you’re terrible.” It amazed him sometimes just how often House came up with new ways to violate the most basic forms of decency. After over a decade of friendship he figured he would be desensitized to it by now. As much as he wanted to let the phone ring out, he knew that if it was the hospital he needed to pick up, so he answered it. “Hello, this is James Wilson?”

The other end of the line was filled with background noise. “Hey Wilson, it’s Chase.”

Huh. Chase wasn’t working that night, as far as he knew, and it didn’t sound like he was in the hospital. Maybe it wasn’t a work call after all? 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you looking for House?” He didn’t think he remembered House’s phone going off, but maybe he had put it on do-not-disturb to avoid talking to people. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Uh… No, not— Well, kind of. I um… Could you pick me up from the bar?” Chase’s voice was strange and unsteady, almost lost to the noise that Wilson now knew was rowdy-bar ambiance. Wilson’s confusion must have shown on his face, because House raised a curious eyebrow at him from the couch.

“Who is it?”

Chase, he mouthed silently. “I… guess so? Can’t you call a taxi?”

There was a bit of shuffling before he responded. “No.” He didn’t elaborate any further.

“And why not?”

“Because I…” Chase made a choked sound that sounded almost like a whine, “Because I’m kinda regressing and I-I can’t—“ His voice was wavering, “I just need to go home. Please.”

Oh. There was no way Chase would choose to regress in a bar which meant it had been triggered somehow, and a bar was probably the worst place Chase could be if he was little.

“Oh yeah, okay. Okay. I’ll come get you.” He grabbed his coat and tugged it on, “Are you in a safe place right now?”

“…Think so, I’m in a booth by myself. I wanna go home.”

“I know you do, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Which bar?”

“Milly’s.”

It wasn’t far. He could probably get there in twenty minutes, maybe fifteen if he drove quickly. “Okay. Stay where you are, I’ll come find you. Try to stay big until I get there, alright?”

“Okay…”

He hung up and grabbed his keys from the bowl on the entry table. 

House paused the TV. “One of the ducklings?” He asked with a knowing look.

“Something set Chase off and he’s regressed at a bar. I’m going to pick him up.” He tugged on his shoes.

“And let me guess, we’re babysitting tonight, then?”

“I’m not just going to leave him at his apartment by himself, House.”

House nodded and stood up, grabbing the unopened beer bottles with his free hand. “I didn’t think you would. I’ll get rid of these, go get the kid.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

-

He managed to make it to Milly’s without a speeding ticket. It was a Friday night, so he wasn’t surprised to see that that bar was packed, overflowing out the front doors as drunk college students stumbled in and out. He could hear the obnoxiously loud music from outside, and air inside was stuffy and smelled like weed. He sure was a long way from his partying days… God he felt old. He pushed his way to the back of the bar, scanning for Chase until he eventually he spotted his blonde hair tucked into the corner of one of the furthest booths where the crowd had thinned to old men drinking alone.

Chase didn’t look great. He was hunched over and looking around anxiously, but he also didn’t look entirely present. Something had obviously scared him, but he would have to wait to find out what.

Wilson approached the booth slowly. “Chase?” He had to shout to overpower the volume of the bar, but he tried to make it as unthreatening as possible.

The second Chase recognized him, he shot up out of his seat and instantly latched onto his jacket sleeve. “Wanna go.” He said urgently. 

He refused to make eye contact, staring hard at the floor, and he clung to Wilson’s back the entire walk back out to the car. It took some light prompting to get him to let go, but once he did Wilson guided him into the passenger seat and buckled him in before getting in himself.

It was painfully silent as they pulled away from the bar and started back towards his and House’s apartment. Wilson’s mind was whirring with questions and possible scenarios that could’ve lead Chase to this. It was unsettling to see a little who was usually happy and sweet reduced to staring blankly out the passenger window. But Chase would talk if he was ready, he reminded himself.

After a few minutes Chase seemed to rouse slightly, taking notice of their surroundings. “Where are we going?” He asked quietly. His voice was high-pitched and soft, a tell-tale sign that he was regressed completely.

“I’m taking you back to mine and House’s place. We’re going to look after you tonight, is that alright?”

“Don’t have to, I’ll be okay.” Chase muttered, looking uncomfortable. It was better than staring off into the void.

“I know you will, but it would make me feel better if you stayed with us.” 

Chase seemed to consider this, then shrugged slightly and tucked his knees up to his chest in the seat. “Okay.”

Wilson didn’t have the heart to tell him not to sit like that, so he just let him be. He was about to turn on the radio when Chase spoke again.

“…She looked like Mum.” 

Wilson winced. “Who did, buddy?”

“A lady at the bar. She looked like Mum.” Chase sniffled.

Well, there was his answer. Chase hadn’t disclosed every detail of his past to him and House, but he knew that his mother was a neglectful alcoholic for most of his life. It made sense that seeing someone that looked like her getting drunk at the bar would upset him.

Wilson reached across the centre console and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, rubbing small, comforting circles as best he could while keeping his eyes on the road. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t like not knowing what to say. Between him and House, it was his job to be good at the “emotional, mushy side”, as House would so-lovingly call it. He was good at comfort, he was good at kind words and fixing boo-boos, but when it came to this… 

“I’m sorry, Robbie...” 

They stayed like that until they drove into the parking lot, and then Chase kept a firm grip on his jacket until they got up to the apartment.

“We’re back!” Wilson called, shutting the door.

House hobbled out from the living room carrying a stack of folded pyjamas with a stuffed dog balanced on top like it was sitting, both from the bin of supplies they kept for situations like this one, and held it out to Chase. “Here. Go change and come back, we’ll find you a movie to watch or something.”

Chase hesitantly took them and silently shuffled off to the bathroom.

“So, what’s wrong with him? Kiddie usually only looks that miserable when he’s an adult.”

Wilson rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “He saw a drunk woman in the bar who looked like his mom, apparently.” He said in a hushed voice, “You should’ve seen him earlier, he was just staring off at nothing.”

He walked to the living room and threw his jacket over the back of the armchair, and to his surprise, the living room was completely different than when he’d left. The alcohol was gone, but it was also slightly cleaner. A small stack of children’s movie DVD’s sat on the coffee table, and there was a small pile of snacks beside them. “Huh. I didn’t think you were so proactive.”

House gasped in mock-offence and sat on the couch. “How dare you? I take my roll as part-time babysitter very seriously.”

“Sure.” 

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a green sippy cup from the cupboard, filling it up with water from the sink. He wasn’t sure how much alcohol Chase had before he called, and even if he didn’t seem drunk a cup of water wouldn’t hurt. When he came back to the living room Chase was sitting on the end of the couch opposite House, wearing the pyjamas and holding the stuffed dog tightly to his chest. Aw.

Wilson handed him the sippy cup and sat down in between them, sifting through the stack of movies. “So, what are we watching?”

“I was just about to ask that myself.” House said, “We have Finding Nemo, all of the Toy Story’s, Lilo and Stitch—“

“Lilo and Stitch.” Chase cut him off, grabbing the case and pushing it into Wilson’s hands, “Can we watch it, please?”

Wilson smiled. “Sure.”

His his credit, Chase made it more than halfway through the movie before he began to doze off, slowly drooping to lean against Wilson. He gently took the sippy cup away before it could spill water all over the couch, and with his hands now free, Chase wrapped both arms back around his dog and nuzzled into it.

“I think someone’s sleepy, don’t you, House?”

House shook his head. “No I’m fine, thanks. Him on the other hand…”

Chase didn’t object at all. His eyes were closed, and as much as it pained him, Wilson knew he would have to get up now if he wanted to sleep in his own bed tonight. He carefully got up and guided Chase to lay down. He only fussed for a moment until Wilson draped a blanket over him, and he settled.

They all had work the next morning and when they all got up, he had no idea if Chase would want to talk about what happened. He probably wouldn’t; Chase was only slightly less emotionally repressed than House was when he was big, but if by some chance he did, Wilson would be there to listen. “Goodnight, Robbie.”

“Mm… G’night, mummy.” Chase mumbled, and with that, he was dead to the world.

Wilson gaped. He was frozen solid, afraid that moving would somehow disturb the moment or make Chase realize what he just said and freak out. Did he really just..?

“Ouch. Well, I guess we know who the favourite is.” House whispered, with a stupid amused smirk on his face. “Mummy Wilson, huh? It’s got a nice ring to it I guess.”

“Did he mean to—? When he wakes up tomorrow he’s…” Wilson trailed off. He was caught between being overjoyed that Chase had put so much trust in him as a caregiver to give him such a deeply important name, and bemoaning that it had to be Mummy of all things. Sweet, innocent Chase had just sentenced him to a lifetime of “Mummy-Wilson” jokes, and somehow his chest was still full of butterflies.

“He’s gonna die of embarrassment? Oh yeah.” House snickered, then yawned, limping off to his room. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Mummy.”

“You’re an ass.”

[schizowitchic]

thing my mum is currently mad about: that i am not helping with the housework (ive literally been home all day with a migraine and period cramps so bad i can barely stand, as well as being exhausted bordering on sleep deprived from exams for the past week).

massive vent under the cut that goes super off topic.

tw for fatphobia and mild ableism and mentions of suicidality and poor mental health

like be more mad at my siblings who are not ill and perfectly capable of helping? before he left (hes away for the weekend) my dad was like "make sure to help ur mum this evening since im away so i cant" like hello? im literally ill at the moment. i get that my mum is super stressed and tired as well but like. right now. im literally physically ill. ive had almost ten full blown panic attacks in the past week.

ALSO ive tidied and hoovered my room, i collected wood from the shed in the garden from the fire, and changed all the hand towels over to clean ones so it's not like ive done nothing at all. ive emptied and refilled the dishwasher as well. plus whenever she's said "can you get this for me" ive gotten up to get it for her.

furthermore she hasn't asked us to do specific tasks so like. i have no idea what needs doing. im always available to do stuff if im directly asked (bc it's not like i can refuse without getting complained at all evening) so idk how im meant to telepathically know what house work she wants us to be doing. and even when we do help she always complains that we dont do it in the right way but never tells us what to do just complain about how incompetent we are

like im gonna be honest i just end up feeling less motivated to keep even my own room tidy. and that im constantly never enough for her. bc even when im sure ive done all the things i should. theres always something else i shouldve known how to do, or that bc ive never done it before that somehow erases that ive made process

for example she's always on at me about shaving and washing my face and etc. and like. im mentally ill. it is such a struggle to get up and get clean each day. and i was super proud of the fact that i now manage to clean my face at least once a day every day now. but that's not enough for her is it "you should be washing your face twice a day". and i was like "but surely one is better than the none it was before" and she just gave me a look like i was being ridiculous. and she's always on at me about shaving hair from my legs, getting rid of hair on my face and my back. i never was selfconscious about my appearance until she said i would be bullied for having hair, until she used the words "rolls of fat" to describe my stomach, until she said the slight bulges on the back of a dress were unflattering and would make people bully me, until she said that i needed to lose weight and exercise more. (for context on how ridiculously fatphobic this is. im skinny. i have high metabolism. but that's not enough for her)

the worst part is that she has no idea how harmful this stuff is. she thinks this is how to show she cares. that she's doing it for us. to the point where i feel bad putting this rant out onto the internet where like 5 people will see it. but then. just bc i know she loves me doesnr mean i feel like im loved.

like. im not even allowed to be tired or stressed without her saying how her job is so much worse so she has it so much worse (not like she witnessed my mental breakdown aged 15 not like she's accompanied me to mental health appointments for anxiety). we both had covid at the same time and whenever i was like "damn i feel like shit" well guess who felt like even more shit? and she always says how we get more days off if we're sick and it's like. you control how many sick days you have. plus she'll complain about how she never gets to rest and stuff but like i see her resting???? and also. im expected to still help out if we've gone on a long hike all day (i have severe joint pain) but im meant to be able to continue past that and not let it stop me

also neither her or my dad will say the word autism. it's always "neurodivergent" "neurodiverse" (why i not always a fan of "neurodivergent traits are x") they won't tell my siblings i cant discuss my pending diagnosis with them in front of my siblings like it's some bad thing that needs to be hidden. bro its just autism.

idk my main issue is that she complains about how i sit around on my phone/reading and it's like. well. do you even know how much i have to distract myself to stay alive. but she's really fucking annoying when she's concerned for my wellbeing (like toxic positivity. meditate do yoga solve all your problems type shit). lmao whatever whatever im going to uni this year

[lunaekalenda]

Sooo, I saw someone else do this, and I really loved the idea. Since ur my fav writer👀 (*winkwink), I would absolutely die of happiness if you did an aot boys househusband headcannons. Idc which aot boys as long as Reiner is in it (fr tho he's the most househusband material 😩).

aaAAA i feel honored, thank you so much!! i hope you like it <3!!!! o(≧∇≦o)

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

❁ shingeki boys!

❁ eren, armin, reiner, jean, connie, levi, porco, niccolo

❁ little implied mentions of sexual themes 

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

eren:

- he tries his best, don’t judge him.

- if you’re out for more than a week, he’ll die of hunger.

- “honey how am i supposed to cook pasta?”

- “just put it in boiled water.”

- it wasn’t that difficult, but he left it in water for too much time while playing some video games and it is now a mass.

- he stays by your side while you cook, watching it cautiously, but he ends having you against the kitchen island.

- “Eren, i’m cooking, please.”

- his mouth bitting your ear playfully.

- “i’ll be satisfied just with you, no need of food.”

- usually he orders a pizza after that because the food ended being a mess.

- “Eren Jaeger, the next time you distract me from cooking...”

- but, he cleans really well.

- he’s really constant and he keeps doing it until it shines.

- he usually cleans while you work, and he leaves the automatic vacuum working before leaving for his work,

- but, once he puts his headphones on and connects online with his friends...

- his desk is a huge mess, full of energetic drinks’ cans and empty packs of snacks. he cleans it once he’s finished playing, but sometimes he forgets,

- he’s waiting for you on the couch when you arrive late, dressed with his shorts and with his hair tied in a man-bun.

- “i was waiting for you, i missed you so much today...”

armin:

- he’s really clean because he doesn’t mess or mess up things, so you can have the house organized.

- he only makes a mess when he's studying for important exams.

- a lot of books on his desk and around his chair. A lot of papers with appointments.

- "just leave this, i promise i’ll clean it once my exam is done!"

- he cleans it, unless he arrives really tired from the exam, then he goes to sleep automatically.

- when he's alone, he cleans the pets' houses and gets rid of their furr

- also takes naps with his cat while waiting for you.

- he’s really good at ironing, he’s really fast at it.

- his shirts are always impeccable. 

- he’s also trying to learn how to cook.

- trying.

- “i made breakfast but i think i burned the pancakes”

reiner:

- he's a huge man and he seems clumsy, but no

- he's incredibly good at tasks.

- he wakes up early, even earlier than you, to prepare you a bath and breakfast for you two.

- “Rein, you don’t have to do this, you can sleep until your work hour”

- his work has night turns, but he shakes his head and keeps doing it for you.

- when you try to wake up early to do the same for him, he’s already awake, pulling you closer to him again.

- “why were you up so early.” he says , his sleepy voice caressing your ears when he speaks. 

- he’s also really clean, and it is not new, Bertholdt says he was like that when they shared a flat.

- his breakfasts are the best of the world: strawberry smoothies and fruits salad with fluffy pancakes.

- when he has free day, he likes to buy little things that remind you to him when he walks with the dog.

- “I bought you this chocolate lip balm because you said your lips are getting hurt because of the cold.”

- he also loves kids so much. he wants to have a family. 

- “just imagine a little girl waking us up at morning to accompany her to school.”

jean:

- he's so clingy he would do tasks just to be next to you.

- like, doing the laundry in the washing machine room, so small for two people, and be really near to you...

- and at the same time, he wants to show you he deserves to be your husband.

- he works a lot just to show you he can be your husband and the daddy of your children.

- "look babe, try my spaghetti"

- they were actually good, if he cooked a little bit more he will master it for sure.

- "imagine if we make here a garden with a couple swings for our babies?"

- he started working o a cute garden for you two spend the summer days out.

- he put white roses and pink dahlias, and a table with a couple chairs.

- he also put some lights for the night, to power them on and be a even more incredible garden.

- he also proposed to you under this lights.

connie:

- he lazy

- he just wants to watch tv, eat and sleep.

- but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do tasks.

- not a lot of them, but he does.

- like he does, but not all of them.

- “i don’t know how to use the washing machine.”

- “then mop the floor.”

- “but that’s so boring, baby please...”

- when he goes to the supermarket, he buys cups of instant ramen and sodas.

- “Connie we need real food to survive. We can’t eat everyday instant ramen and cola.”

- “but you look the color of the lettuce and i don’t know why, so imagine i take a poisoned lettuce because i didn’t analyze the color and we both die”

levi:

- he cleans the house in deep every two days. 

- he also keeps it organized.

- actually the thought of having kids bewitches him but scares him, just thinking about all the toys in every part of the house.

- he’s a really clean man, and you also clean up the house while he works.

- he likes to spoil you with his acts, like preparing you bubble baths, helping you to sew your clothes and making you braids.

- fortunately, your bathtub is big enough for the two of you bathing together.

- he likes to caress your waist and torso quietly, just the sound of water and your quite breaths.

- his hands on you makes your skin feel electricity.

- he enjoys that moments of privacy and intimacy.

- also drying your hair when you’re about to go to sleep.

- "if you sleep with it wet you'll catch a cold, dummy"

porco:

- he usually avoided the chores, but when you moved with him, he started to pay more attention to what he had to do.

- he’s more fixed on the way your hands take his clothes than on the things he has to do to wash them.

- “i’m paying attention!!”

- his excuses are always that you're a distraction for him.

- "but you're so gorgeous... i need you. now."

- "porco it's the fifth time you say that today..."

- "and not the last."

- you can't say no because you're as needy for him as he is for you, but you try to hide it.

- at the end, he needs help for all the tasks.

niccolo:

- he cooks sooo well

- every time you arrive home, he’s cooking something.

- pizza, seafood, cakes...

- the house always smell so nice...

- you don’t know how to cook that well, but you help him cleaning all the things he uses for his plates.

- and you help him giving him what he needs.

- “could you pass me that knife, please?”

- his hands always touches yours when he takes the knife

[ssamie]

epilogue. “your girlfriend’s kinda hot”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide and suggestive themes + dirty jokes

masterlist.          suicide freak!

"hey uh, welcome to my stream i guess" he said as he spared the camera a quick glance "im not really playing tonight because an incident has recently occurred in this household" kenma said with a tired sigh 

nobody else knew it, but the said 'incident' was y/n accidentally setting half of their living room on fire 

the reason? apparently, she wanted to try burning herself to death in the furnace. obviously, it didn't work. and all that's left from that is more shit for kenma to clean up and a trip to yosano-san. 

kenma is stressed. and y/n is still alive. both of them are facing problems. 

"can you please wear a maid outfit- no."

kenma shook his head as he continued playing, glancing at the chat once in a while to read the veiwers' questions and comments

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: how about cat ears?! 

user: ^^ cATBOY CATBOY CATBOY 

user: u suck at this game wtf

kuroo.tetsu: hey kenma ;) 

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"first of all, i do not suck at minecraft thank you very much" kenma scoffed 

"second of all, go away kuroo. im still mad at you" 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: LMFAOOO kuroo what did u do?? 💀💀

user: he probably broke kenma's pc 

user: PLSS he's the one kenma’s throwing shade at on twitter 

kuroo.tetsu: STOP THE SLANDER 😔✋🏼

user: rooster head lookin ass 

user: ^^ NOT THE HAIR 

kuroo.testsu: 😃😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma sighed as he continued building a cute little cottage. he was currently vibing, just building y/n a cute cottage for her to probably burn later on. 

and he decided it would be nice to go on stream since his oh-so-lovely girlfriend was still out for work. 

ah yes, kenma has somehow kept y/n alive all those years. 

barely. 

hence why his phone was being bombarded with messages from her, all of which being blurry selfies. 

the photos had her sporting a huge grin while atsushi panicked in the background. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: ayo, ur phone's blowing up 

user: do you have a girlfriend? 

user: KODZUKEN LET ME SUCK UR TOES 😋😋🤩

user: ^ ayo chill 😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma simply ignored them and continued on with his task. all was going well until a loud slam was heard. his cat-like eyes widened as he heard a familiar voice singing from downstairs, it was undoubtedly y/n. 

kenma chuckled nervously and muted his mic. 

but of course, cute dumb catboy didn't actually mute his mic. haha <3

he ignored all the questions in the chat, all of them being  speculations that he has a girlfriend. which he does, but they simply did not need to know that <3

"kenma~" she yelled out "i have a surprise for you!!" she said, followed by menacing giggles. 

kenma glanced at the camera before hopping off his gaming chair and peeking his head out of the door. 

"y/n, im streaming!! stay down there!" he yelled out in panic 

"aw, you're playing hard to get aren't ya?" she chuckled 

kenma deadpanned as he saw her limping up the stairs, with her bandages torn and unravelled, same with her clothes. he didn't really think much of it since this is usually how she comes home. 

its most likely just due to work and/or another suicide attempt.

"so, kenma.. you'll never know what just happened to me today" she started off with a goofy grin 

"im streaming, atleast let me turn it off first-" 

she paid no mind to him as she peeled off her ruined coat and pointed to her poorly bandaged stomach

"i got stabbed!" 

"you got what?!"

kenma furrowed his brows as he immediately rushed over to his side, cradling her face and waist as he inspected her injuries

"are you okay, kitten?" he asked worriedly 

"yep, apparently it wasnt deep enough to be fatal" she sighed dejectedly 

"please don't be sad about that." kenma groaned "can you undress?" 

"ara ara~ whats this?" she cooed "you're getting real bold, kenma" she smirked at him 

she unbuttoned her shirt and started pulling down on her skirt "but since you asked so nicely-" 

kenma simply sighed and shook his head. "i was gonna prepare you a bath but now im considering leaving you here to die" 

"but the second option would've been better though" she smiled at him 

"oh my fucking god." 

kozume kenma. (22)

╰─▸ university student, stock trader, pro-gamer, youtuber, ceo of bouncing ball lpt. 

╰─▸ y/n's struggling boyfriend. definitely needs a pay after all he's been through.

╰─▸ currently panicking because his girlfriend got stabbed.

l/n y/n. (22)

╰─▸ operative/member of the armed detective agency. 

╰─▸ kenma's girlfriend. kinda dumb, very hot to compensate for it. still hasn't died yet. 

╰─▸ currently bleeding and wounded. also hoping for severe blood loss.

"kenma, did you know" she mused in a teasing tone "lack of sleep and too much stress could possibly lead to poor memory and lack of awareness" 

kenma looked up at her with a look of confusion. he was currently kneeled down before her while she was sat on the bed as he cleaned her wound up with a damp towel. 

"why are you telling me this?" he asked 

"i just thought it probably applied to you" she snickered 

"why? i didnt forget anything-" 

he cut himself off with a huge intake of air. he slowly turned his head to look at the screen which still had his stream going on. to make it worse, the camera was on and they were both clearly in the camera's field of view. 

to make things worse worse, his mic was on the whole time and the live chat was in shambles. 

"i hate it here" he sighed 

kenma laid his head on her lap as he continued on patching her up, honestly not caring that this whole scene was being recorded for thousands or millions of people to see. 

"well, atleast the internet could finally see my beauty before i die" she laughed 

she ran her fingers through kenma's hair as he grumbled under his breath. kenma was a pretty private person. he made sure not to overshare, given his current 'influencer' status. and he was planning on keeping his relationship a secret, though it seems he can't do that anymore. 

"might as well say hi" she shrugged 

so of course, she then decided to walk up to the camera looking utterly dishevelled and roughed up. 

for context, the newly wrapped bandages around her stomach was being stained already by a crimson red hue and it was only getting worse the more she moved, undoubtedly messing up her wound. 

"hi, im kenma's girlfriend and if i see you flirting with him i will make you regret it" she grinned 

"y/n!" kenma groaned from the bed "you're close to dying right now, turn the stream off" 

ignoring him, she proceeded to read the veiwers' comments, laughing at some of them while she joked around. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: heLLO?!?! 

user: GE HAS A GIRLFRIEND NOOO

user: bruh, did i just hear that right? were you fuckin stabbed? 

user: ur kinda hot tho

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma furrowed his brows as he reluctantly walked up behind her, reading the comments with varying reactions 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: well damn, hot bloody girl comes in and suddenly im lesbian

user: kenma looks so done

kuroo.tetsu: hi y/n ;) 

user: HER NAME IS Y/N

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"jesus christ shut up, kuroo" kenma grumbled out with a sigh 

"yup! yup! im y/n, and no, i am not a criminal. i swear." she shook her head 

"i got an injury from my job, that's all." she cleared up 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: tangina nyo sana ol

user: MSKAKAKKA

user: THIS IS LOWKEY ICONIC

user: time to scratch another gamer boy off my possible bf list 😔

user: girl wtf happened to u

user: that's wack bro 🚶‍♀️

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"great question, random person from the internet!" she beamed "see, what happened was.." 

"i went on a certain mission and got severely injured. though, when i called for help nobody responded" she said 

kenma furrowed his brows at her words. "why didn't anybody respond?" he asked. she sighed and fiddled with her torn bandages, pouting her lips as she does so. 

"well, when i told them that i was finally on death's door, all they said to me was 'congratulations!' and all that.." she said "what's your take on that, hm?" she asked kenma 

"im not surprised" he said 

she grinned at his words and leaned in for a kiss. "you're so mean to me, kenma~" she whined 

she licked her lips as she held his blushing face in her hands, she nuzzled their noses as she leaned in closer to him. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

kuroo.tetsu: oh shit 😳

user: we all know where this is heading ;) 

user: sana ol talaga punyemas 

user: AYO CHILL 

user: why we goin so fuckin fasstttt 😳

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma hastily turned the camera off as soon as y/n's lips touched his. 

"kitten, were still- hmph-" 

he was only silenced as she slipped her tongue in his mouth, smirking lightly as she ran her fingers through his hair 

"thanks babe." she said as she pulled away, giving him a soft peck on his cheek and a nod "anyways.." she hummed as she turned the camera on once again 

she looked through the chat while kenma slaps his face to get rid of his blush. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: ur fuckin freaky 

kuroo.tetsu: oya oya 😼😼

user: MS MAAM I JUST MET U AND I LOVE U ALREADY WJABSJSJJS

user: not me blushing chiiilllleeeeee 🏃‍♀️

user: KENMA IS FLUSTERED

kuroo.tetsu: kenma, i didnt expect this from u 😼

user: im so fucking JEALOUS GRR😡

user: girl r u bleeding rn 😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

upon reading a certain comment, she subconsciously grazed her fingers against her bandaged wound. her eyes slightly widening as she felt a concerning amount of wetness seeping through

she glanced at kenma who was still calming himself down and inspected her wound 

"oh my.." she muttered, though she couldn't help but let a smile slip through 

so like any normal person would do, she simply ignored her bleeding wound and the fact that she was getting a bit lightheaded. haha <3

"anyways, let's answer some questions!" she beamed 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: what's ur full name

user: what's ur job miss girl 

user: are you possibly looking for a gf, because i am more 

than willing to take the spot 🚶‍♀️

user: how did you meet?? 

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"alright, those are all very nice questions" she chuckled. kenma, who's now calmed down, sat down beside her to look at the chat. 

"first, im l/n y/n" she mused "nice to meet ya" 

"second im a detective! mhm, im cooler than your fathers" 

"third, it depends, belladonna" she cooed as she sent the camera flirty smirk "are you perhaps willing to join me in a double suicide?" 

"oh god.." kenma grumbled. he pouted at her and shook his head in disapproval. "don't flirt with random girls" he whined 

"why not?" 

"uh- because i am your beloved boyfriend, is that not good enough of a reason??" 

"... anyways, we met at a cafe way back in high school" she said with a smile "also, i asked him to join me on a double suicide" she said 

she was smiling and nodding as if it was the most normal thing in the world, all while kenma nods along 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: wtf are u okay 🗿

kuroo.tetsu: teenage romance 🤩

user: cute ❤️

user: im concerned ❤️

user: ur a detective?? cool

user: LMAOO I'LL GO ON A DOUBLE SEWER SLIDE 

WITH U MOMMY 😩😩😋

user: ^^ SAME 😩

user: CHOKE ME WITH THOSE BANDAGES MOMMAE 😩

user: u r still bleeding 🚶‍♀️        

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma was simply glaring at the chat as more compliments and flirtatious comments came flowing in, all of which were directed to his girlfriend. 

"this is why i didn't wanna let people know about you.." kenma grumbled 

"aww, why not?" she asked with a playful pout 

"people are flirting with you." he sighed "also, stop asking for my girlfriend's onlyfans! she doesn't even have one!" he snarled

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: LMAOO CATBOY IS ANGRY 😩

user: y/n-senpai spit on me 😡😡

user: drop the onlyfans 

user: chupapi munyanyo 😩

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"anyways, i'd hate to ruin the mood" she chimed in with a sluggish giggle "but im so wet kenma" she whined out 

a menacing smirk was etched on her lips as kenma spluttered in response, a bright red hue covering his face almost instantly as he faced her with widened eyes 

"y-y/n! why would you say that?!" he whisper shouted 

"cuz i am" she whined out as she grabbed his hand and trailed it down her abdomen 

she faced the camera and gave them a shit-eating grin as kenma mumbled out incoherent words 

"y/n we should-" he cut himself off as he felt the concerning amount of blood drip down his whole arm 

kenma's face paled as he looked up to see her smiling like a kid in a candy store, completely unbothered. 

"y/n, you idiot! why didn't you tell me!" kenma exclaimed 

"um- my girlfriend is bleeding. excessively. so uh- bye i guess" it was all he said before hastily ending his stream and turning off his computer. 

"y/n, let's get you to a hospital" he said as he reached down to carry her away. though she simply slapped his hands off and closed her eyes. 

"nope. this is my time, kenma. don't ruin it for me" she said 

"you're fucking dying!!" 

"well, would you like to join me?" 

"no"

"damn." she muttered in response 

"so...wanna fuck?" she asked sheepishly 

"for the love of god-" 

this was so messy :/

[forrests-waterfall]

Hello ! I’d like to request a CG Technoblade and little Tommy 3-5 , if that’s okay! (No pressure to do it :) )

Maybe Tommy is sick and him and tech are home and he wants attention, hes not little at first but he is grumpy and all shouty and being big man Tommy because he’s sick and angry about it but he’s also a bit out of it and can’t do things on his own , Tech just teases him by treating him like a kid and calling him a big baby and saying stuff like “aww is the baby grumpy” giving him head pats not letting him do stuff because “he’s a grumpy baby” and he needs help to do it n because of this Tommy ends up slipping and asking for “techie” and techno ends up full on looking after him , tucking him in , giving him a sippy , medicine (yuck) , a stuffie maybe, if ur okay w pet names could I suggest little one and piglet

Although please have as much creative liberty (think that’s the right word) with it because I think it’ll be more fun that way!

Anyway thank you so much if you do write this up but if not that’s also totally okay! Have a good week !

Little!Tommy and CG!Technoblade

A / N ;; This is so cute!!! I tried to write it according to DSMP!Techno’s house so hopefully this sounds a bit right! (Also sorry if it’s weirdly written, I’m still getting used to writing oneshots again as I took a long break ^^;;. It’s also kinda short so, apologies!! Also author doesn’t know how to write the skipping process pfft. And sorry if this is kind of, yucky bad pfft)

CW ;; Mentions of being sick

Etc ;; Not proof read

Tommy felt awful, to say the least.

He had woken up in a sweat from being over heated, his eyes itched, and his nose was all clogged up. The teen had tried to ignore it and go back into his somewhat peaceful sleep but, it hadn't worked. His mind couldn't help but focus on the new found sickness he had been experiencing.

Acknowledging the fact he couldn't go back to bed, he pushed the remaining covers he had on, onto the floor. He stretched his arms behind his back, more or less stalling him getting out of his comfortable bed. Groaning, he rubbed his right eye and pushed himself up.

Thinking of what to do, he decided on bothering Techno. He wouldn’t admit but Techno made him feel better whenever he was sick or upset. Whether it was by making stupid sarcastic jokes or just a comforting silence, the hybrid always made the teen feel some type of comfort.

Tommy climbed up the latter, with each step a squeaking noise made sure to alert the other person in the house that someone was climbing up or down. That always bothered Tommy, but he didn’t care enough to fix the annoying sound. Or figure out how for that matter.

Once to the level he wanted, the teen hopped off the wooden structure and onto the floor.

Techno looked up as the other’s shoes made a sound against the floorboards. “Hullo” The hybrid greeted the other, then continued on working with his brewing stand. Tommy let out a quick exhale as a soft laugh at the other’s usual greeting.

“Hey big man” the blonde’s voice obviously sounded exhausted, which was very different from his normal tone. The piglin hybrid noticed but decided not to question it at first. Maybe the other was just tired.

Tommy walked over to the older and looked at the potions he was working on. “Workin on some nerd shit again?” Techno plopped a spider eye into a bit of liquid. “Nerd stuff that you tend to use—which is why I’m making more in the first place- yes” he placed the glass bottle underneath a set of tubes that would put another substance into the mixture.

The teen rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, he didn’t really like the feeling of them being by his side all the time.

Silence went over the two, Techno focusing on his potions and Tommy watching him. This tended to happen a lot when the two were home alone. Thought it wasn’t always a bad thing, neither really minded the quiet. At least Tommy didn’t sometimes.

The hybrid was still thinking about how calm Tommy was being, or how tired he sounded. It was out of character for the teen. Though maybe he was just overthinking it. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t still curious about it.

“You alright? You seem err-tired to say the least” he finally questioned, not sure if he’d get an actual answer or just Tommy yelling about how he was fine. “I’m fine, I’m a-“ at very bad timing, Tommy proceeded to let out a couple coughs into his elbow.

The older stopped messing with the potions and raised an eyebrow. “You seemed to have sold yourself out there-“ “my throat just felt weird!” The teen tried to refute against the hybrid, though didn’t work as he went into a small fit of coughing once more.

“Yeah, you don’t seem very ‘fine’” Techno air quoted with his fingers. “I am!!” The other crossed his arms again, stepping away from Techno.

Tommy huffed as he sat on top of a wooden desk where a couple of old books sat. “Shut up” “I didn’t say anything, T-“ “you thought something!” Techno decided it would be pointless to continue the back and forth.

“You’re being very grumpy for someone that’s okay” The blonde let out a small “Tch” as he looked away from the hybrid.

Techno was and wasn’t one for teasing others, but he saw the opportunity and decided to take it. “You’re being such a grumpy baby, Toms” he stated as he ruffled the teen’s hair. Tommy shook his head after Techno took his hand away.

The blonde felt himself slipping into his headspace at such a short sentence. The nickname that the hybrid used made Tommy feel small, and Techno was somewhat aware of that. Techno knew the other hadn’t regressed in a couple days (to his knowledge) and figured this would help. Especially since Tommy felt sick.

“‘M not!” Tommy argued as he stuck his tongue out at Techno. The hybrid let out a small chuckle, “awww, Is the baby grumpy?” Techno moved some of Tommy’s bangs away from his eyes, he could tell they were bothering the younger.

Tommy, now fully in his headspace let out a small sigh. He stuck his arms out and made grabby hands towards the taller. “Techie” techno smiled at the nickname the little gave him, “you want me to carry you?” Techno could care less if the other was sick, it was just them two. Plus he didn’t get sick much anyway.

The blonde gave a simple nod, with that Techno picked him up and place him on the side of his waist. Tommy laid his head against the hybrid’s shoulder, once Techno knew Tommy was comfortable and safe, he climbed down the latter.

The piglin had to make sure 𝖳𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗒 was securely on him with each step, as he didn’t want Tommy to wiggle out and fall.

“Alright piglet, I’m gonna set you on your bed okay? Then I have to leave to get some stuff, but I’ll be right back” Tommy nodded, “okay Techie”

The hybrid placed the younger onto his bed and put the covers over his legs, not knowing if he would be too over heated.

He placed his hand on Tommy’s forehead to see if he was hot, sighing he took his hand away. He was kind of hot but, not too bad.

Techno left to get some stuff from upstairs and came back rather quickly. He balanced a sippy cup, two different drinks, and some red medicine he found in a cabinet.

“Do you want milk or juice, little one?” Tommy pointed at the Apple juice carton as Techno nodded. He put the stuff down and screwed off the cap of the sippy cup, immediately pouring the liquid into tie empty bottle.

He put the lid back on and handed it to Tommy. “Don’t drink that yet, I know you’re going to hate it but you have to take medicine. And I want you to have something to wash it down with” the little pouted, Tommy hated medicine, big or little.

Techno poured the medicine into a small plastic cup that had small markings of measurements on it. When there was enough he put the medicine down and handed the small clear cup to the other. Tommy refused to take it, why would he want to drink something gross?

“Yuck” “I know I know. How about this” Techno began an offer, “if you take this, we can watch whatever movie you want tomorrow while eating snacks you want” Tommy seemed to think about it for a second, before he nodded excitedly. He took the medicine and quickly swallowed the nasty substance.

He proceeded to drink his apple juice to get rid of the awful taste that was in his mouth. The medicine Techno had tasted horrible.

“Good job piglet. Thank you for taking the medicine” the hybrid ruffled with Tommy’s hair like earlier, messing it up a bit. Techno did a quick look around of Tommy’s room before asking, “do you know where your stuffie is?”

The little pointed towards a chest he had in the corner of his room, “is in there. Made him his own bed w’th blankets” he smiled, seeming proud of himself. “Well why don’t we take him out for a bit? I’m sure he’ll wanna see you”

Tommy agreed as the other opened the chest and took the black and white cow stuffie out. It was one of Tommy’s favorite stuffies, he fed it, talked to it, and basically did everything with it. So if anything would make Tommy feel better, it’d be this.

Techno handed the stuffie over to the blonde as he took it in his hands and hugged it. “T’ank you!” Techno returned a soft smile, “alright well, I’m going to go back upstairs. Call me if you-“ “noo!” Tommy pouted.

He wanted Techno to stay. The other made him feel better and forget about whatever sickness he picked up. If he left, then Tommy would feel awful if he was left alone.

“You want me to stay?” Techno raised an eyebrow, usually Tommy was okay if the hybrid had to go do some work for a bit. Though right now, Tommy felt quite the opposite. “Stay, p’ease” he hugged onto his cow stuffie tighter as he looked at the other.

“Fine fine, I’ll stay piglet. If you promise to go to sleep” Tommy agreed and Techno got underneath the blankets along with the little. Techno ran his fingers softly through the blondes hair. He was aware of how much this calmed Tommy down, Tommy would ask and ask for Techno to play with his hair when he was little. It was oddly comforting to the other.

“Night night, little one”

“Ni Ni, Techie”

[passable-talent]

hey roe! i love ur work! could i request a zuko x reader where the reader and the zuko have history and they meet at the boiling rock because the reader was imprisoned (either during the invasion or at the catacombs or whatever you think works) and there's a lot of angst and it ends with a kiss or something? tysm!!!

tysm!!!! It means a lot

but u gotta think bigger anon,,, boiling rock was full of firebenders... how abt a childhood friend who defected long, long ago, and zuko could’ve never known? hmm....

in watching the boiling rock for this ask I realize that the bois get into guard uniforms and hide their clothes on the beach. so like,,, did these two dumbasses just strip on the beach and b like “hey yeah bro this is cool”. they think nothing through. HOW DID THEY EVEN GET THE GUARD UNIFORMS IN THE FIRST PLACE-

Sitting in a Boiling Rock cell wasn’t exactly one of Zuko’s top ten moments, but it sure wasn’t one of his lowest, either. He’d been tossed into a singular cell that as of yet didn’t even have a bed, the door shut in his face.

There came three quick knocks on the metal wall beside him, and he walked closer to it, curious.

“I heard you got thrown in for impersonating a guard,” came a voice on the other side, and Zuko regarded it with a healthy amount of susipicion.

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” said the voice, a little laugh following their words.

“What did you do?” asked Zuko, surprised that the voice sounded young, almost as young as himself, if he had to guess.

“Oh, I defected a long time ago. They weren’t too happy with my methods.” Zuko didn’t answer for a moment, and the person in the cell beside him took that as an opportunity to continue asking questions. “Seems like the warden wanted to punish you especially, putting you down here with this lot. Any idea why?”

“I dated his niece,” Zuko answered, his tone definitive, almost as though this information was obvious. There came a pause from the voice, and Zuko wondered what about this information was shocking. It wouldn’t be common knowledge who the warden’s niece is, would it? He thought that that would be safe information to reveal, without revealing his identity.

“Hey, how old are you?” The prisoner asked, breaking their silence. Zuko briefly considered, but decided not to lie.

“Uh, sixteen, why?”

“Zuko?” Zuko froze, and fixed his stare to the wall as though he could see through it if he glared hard enough.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s Y/N,” the voice said, and finally Zuko realized why the voice had seemed so young.

Y/N had been his friend, from academy, back before Zuko had turned twelve. Y/N was one year above him, but was a prodigy, studying under High General Bujing as young as ten years old. They were a dedicated student and a master of strategy as early as twelve- but disappeared at thirteen, never to be heard from again.

At least, by the young prince, whose father decided that telling the prince that his closest friend had attempted assassination on one of the high generals would fill the already ‘weak’ prince’s mind with ‘insubordinate ideals’.

And yet here they were.

“Y/N?” Zuko breathed, lifting his hand and pressing it to the metal, astonished. He had assumed that you were dead. “How are you here?”

“How am I here? I’m a criminal and a traitor, that’s obvious, how are you here?”

“Apparently I’m also a criminal and a traitor,” Zuko answered, and you laughed.

The assignment for the day was mopping, down in one of the lower rooms of the prison. You knew where to go, and yet the moment those doors opened you rounded the walls and hugged Zuko tightly.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” you whispered, and when you pulled away you noticed his scar. Gingerly you reached your hand upward, lightly laying your fingers against the skin, then resting the palm of your hand onto his face to fully cup his jaw.

“I knew that you’d been banished, but...” you trailed off, and slipped your hand around to the back of his neck to pull him into a tight hug.

“I wish I could’ve been there to save you,” you whispered, holding onto him. His arms wrapped around you in return, for just a moment, until a few guards shouted at the two of you to move along. Still, he walked beside you.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and you looked sideways at him.

“I knew your father was horrible, I knew the nation was horrible, that’s why I left it. But to do that to you, I...” you trailed off, and shrugged. “I guess I tell myself I should’ve brought you with me when I left.” His response was minimal, but you noticed it, the way he seemed intrigued by the thought, and slightly saddened that it hadn’t happened.

You had known of Suki, but you hadn’t formally met her until now. She was kind, and understood why another teenager was roped into the daring escape.

Sokka, on the other hand, wasn’t so pleased.

“Sokka, come on. Y/N has a better understanding of Fire Nation military strategy than anyone, even me.” Suki raised an eyebrow in your direction, to which you responded with a shrug. “We need them on our team.”

“The more we try to break out, the easier we’ll be caught. We can’t risk it.” You weren’t going to argue in your favor- in fact, the opposite.

“I’ve been in here for four years. I’m used to it, I’ll be fine,” you assured Zuko, but he shook his head. He grabbed Sokka by the shoulder and pulled him away, but underestimated your ability to eavesdrop.

“Look, we didn’t come here planning to break out Suki, but we are. Y/N is the same, for me, as Suki is to you. Okay?” Your eyes widened as you glanced to Suki, but she hadn’t caught it, and didn’t understand your surprise.

“Okay, fine,” Sokka said, breaking from Zuko’s grasp. He took a moment to ensure no one was around to listen. “I think I’ve got an escape plan.”

You’d stuck by Zuko when you were young, and you’d stick by him now, as traitors to your nation. Even if it meant giving up your only escape plan. He was loyal to Sokka, and you would be too, so you stayed behind, and bided your time, waiting for your next opportunity. Even if it meant listening to Mai scold Zuko through the walls. Sokka came to you with a new plan, though you had a sneaking suspicion you were the last of the group that he told, and when it came time to fight Azula on the gondola, you were one of the first to climb to the roof.

“Ah, Y/N, an old familiar face,” the princess said as she landed, taking in the sight of you and Zuko, side by side. “How quaint. An old traitor, and a new traitor. I’m ever so curious, Y/N, how you can claim to have any morality at all, betraying your nation twice now. Wasn’t it your own mentor you tried to kill?” You reacted in rage, and shot the first plume of fire.

The ride to the western air temple was a long one, filled as it was with jubilation, victory, and reunions. Zuko spent much of it trying to decide how to ask you in more detail about your past. You hadn’t said much to him about it, and he’d never been told, but Azula seemed to know well what had happened.

He didn’t want to push, but he wanted to know.

“Your mentor was General Bujing, right?” He asked, sitting beside you in the metal airship.

“Yeah,” you answered, your tone noncommittal.

“He was the general I stood up to. When I got banished.” Your gaze went to the young prince, and you realized just how little you knew about his past, since you left the fire nation. You also realized his tactic- to get you to share, he would share. You decided to cut him a break, and do it yourself.

You started with what he already knew.

“I lost my parents to the war when I was six. So I was sent to the academy, where they recognized my talent and rewarded me with apprenticeships and a home. Still, General Bujing was the closest I had to a parent.” You paused, and looked toward the front of the ship, where you could see clouds.

“But as I got older, and he put more questionable battle strategies on my exams, I began to see him not as a parent but as a person. And what I saw was, I assume, what you saw. Someone ruthless and angry, who didn’t believe in human life, or didn’t value it.” Zuko didn’t stop you, or interrupt. He merely listened.

“I was scared. And so I did reading, on what the Fire Nation was before Sozin, and what I saw was so much better than what I was raised in. I knew i couldn’t change much, but what I could do was get rid of an old General who would do the worst sort of things.” You looked down at your hands.

“It didn’t work. I was thirteen, of course it didn’t. But instead of killing me, he...” you trailed off, and turned your gaze away from Zuko.

“I was going to kill him, because I thought there wasn’t any good in him. And then he let me go. He spared me.” Zuko’s eyes widened, as what he knew of General Bujing, the man who would sacrifice a brigade of soldiers, did not seem to line up with what you were describing.

“I was arrested anyway, of course, but I thought for sure he’d kill me. He didn’t even challenge me to an Agni Kai. I still don’t...” you trailed off, and let your head thump back against the metal wall. “I still don’t understand.”

“People are complicated,” Zuko struggled out, seemingly trying to conjure some good-ol’-uncle-Iroh advice.

“Yeah,” you said with a breathless chuckle, and scooted a bit closer to him. “It’s good to see you again,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his. It was an odd situation to be in, because you’d last seen him when you were thirteen, and he twelve. But you knew, from what you overheard, that he felt something more for you. Something akin to Sokka and Suki, who you had noticed were clearly an explicitly romantic couple. Because of it you felt it appropriate to notice how much he’d... grown. He was older, now, and his hair was nice, and his cheekbones high, his jawline defined, not to mention an obviously master firebender. You envied that talent, as the only bending you had was leftover from your training, that ended at thirteen.

“It’s good to see you too,” he said, which you barely heard over your thoughts. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, as obviously Mai was a very fresh wound, but you knew his feelings were there, and wanted in subtle ways to make him realize that his choices were accepted, welcomed, to you.

You wondered if he was having similar thoughts, noticing how you’d changed since he last saw you.

The moon was high by the time the airship docked at the western air temple. You’d fallen asleep on the metal floor (you’ve slept in worse places), and Zuko decided to wake you up so that you could move to one of the bedrooms up high in the temple.

He crouched beside you, and nudged your shoulder. When that didn’t rouse you, he sat down, deciding to take a moment to study your sleeping face. He brushed back some of your hair from your face, silent in his appreciation.

He’d wake you up. In a minute.

For now, he wanted to lean down, and kiss your forehead.

When he pulled away, he noticed your eyes were open. A smile spread to your lips, and you pushed back your tiredness to respond to the moment in front of you.

“Want to try again, now that I’m awake?”

-🦌 Roe

[hardtchill]

Been trying to filter out the discourse lately and just wanted to get ur thoughts on what I kinda arrived at:

Roster age aside vlatkos coaching during the olys was sketchy af. Jill didn’t invest much in the next gen and yeeted after all her success and left this mess of a depth pool. The way I see it (coaching and tactics aside just the roster stuff) he already knows what the vets can give and I’m sure they’ll be called up in the upcoming rosters given form and fitness which some of them really do need to find again. But while he can and has time, he’s trying to figure out the younger player mix he can depend on ASAP. He has to take some vets simply cos the experience and if fitness levels are g the skill gap and production levels between Tobin Christen pinoe and say like Lynn Williams and some of the younger ones (not full 90 for some) is still there. So there’s got to be compromise. Also locker room chemistry all that good stuff.

Idk if it’s like new fans or something but are we also forgetting that early 2017 post olys was ass.

I don't think Vlatko had a good tournament in the Olympics, some of his decisions were definitely off. But at this point i'm willing to write that off as not knowing what on earth to do with the roster he inherited and trying to figure out in very limited time how to go for gold. In the end it clearly didn't work out and tactics wise you can hold Vlatko responsible for that, but it's not he had much choice regarding the roster.

2023 should be a more balanced roster, but to do so he has to get these youngins ready which is just always a messy process. I think the main difference with 2017 is that Vlatko doesn't seem to making a few players the bad guys while taking none of the responsibility himself. Jill just picked a few players and blamed everything on them and then got rid of them pretending like she did everything right.

Honestly though, the US is not my favorite for the world cup title, even if Vlatko manages to get a balanced roster together (which is very much a challenge still).

But yes, 2017 was so much worse. Like Vlatko is making completely logical decisions in leaving the vets home for this camp. People are just being dramatic af because their faves weren't called up.

[ggreactionsandscenarios]

Hiii I hope ur doing well ! 🥰 can I ask for prompt 21 with Heejin? Thank you!! Have an amazing day <3

Heejin x Reader

Prompt n°21 : Artist

“Let me paint you in all those places you want to visit ?”

France, Lyon

Ah Paris ! That's what most people would say while visiting France for the first time but not you.

When offered the opportunity to go to France for a week you didn't wanted to be one of the typical tourist, so you decided to go to the newly considered second best city in the world, Lyon.

To be honest you didn't ever heard about Lyon before this magazine talked about it. Everybody just rather talk about Paris, the city of love. You learned that Lyon was for a long time a more important city then Paris, the fact that people only knew about Paris nowadays was unfair.

You were decided to change that, 

You had just arrived in the city and even though you were tired, you wanted to make the most of your time here. You settled to go to the hotel you were staying in before going for a walk around town.

Fast enough you got to the starting point of your visit, The Bellecour square with its famous statue representing King Louis XIV on his horse. He actually only came to Lyon once and he decided to own this square just because he felt like it, ‘what a King’ you thought when you learned the story behind this place.

No wonder he got beheaded.

However it was only the start of your visit, you went up on the Republic’s street, a well known street, appreciated for her numerous clothing’s stores. Contrary to those people looking for new clothes to spend money on, you were looking for something else.

Yet you had a hard time finding it, the street you were looking for, seemed not to be anywhere. Your foreigner self didn’t wanted to ask someone so you settled on looking where it was once you’ll get back at the hotel and go there only the day after. Not finding this street made you stop your tour, prefering to go rest for the next day to come, you had a lot to see and no time to waist.

As soon as you woke up the next day, you got breakfast and went straight for the hidden street. This time you had a map and were ready to see the famous "Passage de l'Argue". The street wasn't actually that famous, most people didn't really knew about its history but you had the chance to have had a online visit on the plane.

The documentary wasn't that good pretty boring actually but when they talked about this street, they explained how it had been first mentioned on a map of the 18th century and had never completly disappeared even when people destroyed it. The people at the time seemed to be attached to this street, they rebuild it over and over again until it became what it was today, a street full of luxurious shops and art galleries.

That's what brought you here in the first place, not shops but art. Of course there were museums in Lyon but as much as you loved them, they were often full of people and regulated with a limited time.

Here you had all the time in the world and not a single soul around because of the bad weather. Well that's what you thought until someone grabbed forcefully one of the painting you were looking at, off the wall where it was exhibited.

You brows furrowed, the girl in question didn't seemed to work in the gallery and you were wondering if she had the right to do that.

"Excuse me ? I don't think you're allowed to put it down."

When you pat the stranger's shoulder, she looked back at you angrily.

"I'm not stealing it if that's what you think I'm doing."

You took sometimes to observe her before answering, seeing how she had gloves over her hands and paint on her white shirt. For sure she was an artist but why would an artist and maybe the one who did the painting in the first would want to get it back ?

"And what exactly are you doing then ?"

She proceeded to put the painting in a tote bag before facing you completely and answering.

"Getting back what was stolen from me."

So she did made the painting, you thought.

"Isn't it good that you're painting is in an art gallery though ?"

The way she rolled her eyes and sighed showed you how she was annoyed to have to explain anything to a stranger but she chose to do it anyway. She probably didn't wanted you to call the police or tell anybody else.

She took a glance over her shoulder before looking at you again.

"Can we like get out of here before I'll tell you ?"

You probably shouldn't have agreed but for some reasons, that girl looked like an honest person and you couldn't help but trust her. 

“Lead the way, stranger.”

“Heejin.”

“Then lead the way, Heejin.”

As said, she led you towards a small bench in a small park nearby. There you two sat and she was finally able to explain you her terrible story. She told you about how she was due to give the gallery two paintings a week for a year and how lately she couldn’t beecause she was facing a uninspired time right now. She wasn’t able to paint so they took paintings that she didn’t anted to expose anyway.

Listening to Heejin, you knew you had to do something, you had to help her. 

“Did you get back all the paintings they stole ?”

Heejin thought for a moment before noding.

“But they’ll take them back, won’t they ?”

“Then help me find inspiration again before they do.”

You were stunned, someone you barely knew wanted you to help her in the most abstract way ever existing.”

“How do I do that ?”

“Let me paint you in all those places you want to visit ?”

You were hesitating but what were you risking anyway, it was a win-win situation, she’ll get her paintings and you’ll have a private guide of the city. 

That’s how Heejin and you started to spend all your days together and soon enough it wasn’t just a win-win situation anymore that brought you to see her but rather a need. 

She brought you to the nicest places of Lyon, you had visited more historical places than ever before and enjoyed every seconds of it.

Today was your last day together, since your flight was planned for tomorrow. Heejin gave you rendez-vous at a parc near what french people call ‘Croix-Rousse’ which was the name of the montaigne. Heejin was waiting for you on the bench, facing the horizon.

“Hey, did you wait for me long ?”

She turned her head to you, smiling.

“Toute ma vie...”

You frown, Heejin rarely talked french, mostly because she knew you couldn’t understand it.

“What does it mean ?”

“It means that don’t want to let you go.”

“Heejin, we already talked about this....”

You did talked about it a few days before but Heejin didn’t tell you how much it was breaking her heart to have to let you go. She grew attached to you, you spent all your time together of course she did. But most importantly you gave her back inspiration when nothing could.

It was hard for her to let you go and hard for you to leave.

That night after the memorable afternoon Heejin gave you, she brought you back to your hotel and runaway before you could say goodbye.

You almost didn’t took your plane the day after feeling too sad, you wished you had had proper goodbyes before parting away but she decided to let you go on your own.

Back home, your life had became pointless, no one was there to tell you about that painter who ate paint or about that curious drawing of a girl spiting flowers. You were feeling worst than ever, Heejin wasn’t responding at any of your texts and you believed it was because she found someone else after two months it was probable.

A knock on the door force you to leave the couch that became your bed since you returned. Opening the door, you got blinded by the light that had left your room since a long time and it took you some time before recognizing who was at the door.

“I must be dreaming..”

Heejin chuckled before putting in a tight hug.

“I knew you dream of me.”

Realization hit you like a truck.

“Ho..HOW ?! Why are you here ?”

“My contract with the gallery expired two weeks ago, I had to quarantine for a week but here I am now. Thought you could get rid of me ? I don’t think so.”

Hey here is the request, hope you’ll like it. Thanks for taking this prompt by the way, did you think it would be like that ? Did you thought about something else ? Tell me while giving me feedback. -Ael

[urmomification]

SWAG ANOTHER DREAM SMP AU FIC IDEA THAT ILL NEVER WRITE POG

this is a very long post please im so sorry my brain it just

(tw for like slight possession n shit)

(sorry its all jumbled i write all of these in discord to my friend and copy paste them here please if u have questions ask me im always willing to talk abt this shit please it haunts me)

(context: i saw a tiktok abt the hc that both dream and techno are gods of some sort bc theyre mentioned in the tales of the smp by karl a time traveller and my brain just ran w it)

going back to the techno and dream are gods thing right so dream is a vessel for the god dream xd (??? work in progress youll know what im talking about at some point its really funny tho uve def seen clips of it) and he was possessed?? by the god after the server started (when he started going from super friendly with everyone to control/power hungry) when he started sacrificing everything for power so no one could have power over him? that was the god making him do it bc the god was terrified of not being in control since theyd lost it all to techno in their past. thats why we never see dream and techno fight and why we see dream extend help and support to him at times as well as respecting his boundaries and such bc theyre scared of techno (again w the best of 10 duel reference, techno killed the god in a past life which is why the god has been forced to use a human vessel to get anything done on the mortal plane) but when something that powerful spends pretty much any amount of time in something mortal and mundane like a person, the host body starts to change (hence the mask) i like to think that the god would be akin to that of a biblically correct angel?? like the ones w multiple eyes n shit yk so after time things start to happen to normal dreams body he gets extra sets of eyes and he gets taller and overall his body seems just Too Small for whatevers inside of him and thats why he (hc) started wearing the mask in the first place he knew something was wrong w him but he didnt want anyone to know even tho they would most likely help him he was ashamed that he was different in the first place so he started wearing the mask once the other eyes showed up. and i think that the god would talk to dream similarly to how technos voices work yk? except its just the one voice instead of many many small ones. and again with the mask thing when he lost to tommy and they took him in, part of his mask broke to the point where u could see just a bit of the right side of his face but enough to see that it Wasnt Right there were two eyes where there shouldve been one and spots on his cheeks bright enough to resemble stars and where the color of his pupil should have been is just a sickeningly neon green with nothing else behind it. so they let him keep the mask even tho they already know something is wrong but it clearly makes him Very Distressed when asked to remove the mask or told to give it up. blah blah blah god harassing its host bc it got them caught and thrown in a prison and dream goes ever so slightly insane having to share a mind and body with a literal ancient god w a vendetta against everything hes built whos forced him to sacrifice everything he loved and cared for out of fear yk the usual prison shit and then techno comes a long and breaks him out or whatever but on their way back to his house he drops a really cryptic line abt how 'its nice to see an old friend again' and 'i thought i got rid of u for good last time' and dream is just ???? what are u talking about?? weve never been friends and youve never gotten rid of me? what. until techno spins around and just 'im not talking to you im talking to the thing inside u' or whatever and dreams eyes flash some brilliant gold or sumn and boom this is ur fellow god speaking how may i help you and dream xd (that feels so wrong to say but) and techno bond or well ig just talk abt how the past centuries have gone and ig while xd is fronting (??? i think itd kinda be like DID in a sense w multiple people being able to front yk?) dream is in a sort of semi conscious state but still hears everything going on around his own body until hes thrown back into the drivers seat (i think that xd would only be able to front for short periods of time due to the vessel n shit that makes sense right) and hes so confused someone please help him hes just a dude who happened to get possessed by a god someone help him so when they finally get back to technos house he sits dream down and explains the best he can without literally melting dreams brain. which would also play into the 'technoblade never dies' bc hes. literally a god. mortals cant kill him unless they have idk some sort of super weapon idk and blah blah blah xd gets what they want and finally has the ability to leave finally leaving dream literally the shell of a man with no home friends materials or anything with techno to basically take care of him until he reaches some semblance of stability again (which would take ages, realistically (wdym realistically) going from normal, to a god sharing a body with you and speaking in you brain living as a single being together and hearing their thoughts, to back to normal but with all the memories of what you did and what they made you do and also no more god speaking in ur head it would take a hot sec to recover from) so he lives with techno (whos, not to mention, another god) for a while until he can fend for himself again and after a good year or so passes and no one hears from dream they start to look for him and see what happened bc he went from the biggest threat on the server to just. gone. no one knows where he went after whatever he did and they want closure. is he dead?? who knows. so george and sap set out looking for him and decide to ask techno for help since hes good w directions n shit also he was the last person to see dream alive so he might have an idea of where he is and they walk up to his house and knock on his door and techno opens it and just stares at them he knows who they are, dreams talked about them before but hes never met them really so he talks to them, getting through the polite hellos how are yous before sap finally asks 'do you know what happened to dream? no one knows where he went and we just want closure' techno huffs and tells them to wait there he (this is the basement door im using his arctic tundra house in my head) goes down the ladder to the second basement, they can hear him talking to multiple people (ranboo phil dream) but cant tell who everyone is before coming back up the ladder, back to the door. he tells them to wait outside he needs to get something first (its dream hes getting dream) theyre standing out by carls stable when the door creaks open and dream steps out looking around for who the fuck could possibly be looking for them he betrayed everyone and most people thought he was dead who could possibly be here asking for himself and not ranboo or philza and when he steps out, his green hoodie (memento made by ranboo to help him cope w the loss of the voice in his head) catching the morning light off the snow and he was happy and then he saw them standing by the house hed grown to call home at least for now he breaks. he missed them so so much it hurt. he never expected to see them ever again much less them come looking to see him but hes scared he realizes he doesnt know what to say there is nothing to say he fucked them all over he ruined everything and then hes being hugged. they missed him too. they dont forgive him jsut yet but they missed him and thats enough for him right now. the three of them stand there just being in each others presences and techno creaks the door open to make sure they arent trying to kill each other and sighs and leans against the frame smiling. hes happy again and thats the best he can do for him. he invites them all in and offers to explain everything to them to try and ease the blame off of dream bc in all honesty it was his fault but xd made it far far worse that it should have been (a bit late but foot note abt xd i think that they would be an idle god until someone w intense feelings of powerlessness and insecurity like awoke them from their techno induced slumber and inhabited dream to help him fulfill his desires for power and control) and by the time he and dream are finished its late at night and sap and george are ??? so u were possessed by a god who techno killed centuries ago in a duel and it amplified ur feelings of insecurity and ur thirst for control to the point of isolating urself from us and destroying everything everyone cared abt?? also technos an ancient god who lusts for bloodshed but also makes turtle farms in his free time?? are we getting this right????? and techno and dream are just yea thats abt it glad this all made sense then they all go to bed (its a small house dream has a lil shack like ranboos and sap and george somehow slept over there for the night) and in the morning sap and george leave again but promise to come back, they still arent ready to forgive and forget bc even tho it wasnt all his fault his emotions getting away from him is what caused this all in the first place so they do need time to process now that they know he isnt dead and dream continues to live near techno in almost full independence and eventually moves back with his friends even tho many still hate him. hes happy and for now thats enough. another foot note; even after xd leaves his being, he still has the extra eyes, glowy freckles n is xtra tall n shit that cant just be reversed but now that hes himself again these things take their tolls on human bodies so i think hed have something at least similar to arthritis bc of how his bones were literally manipulated bc of how strong ethereal magic or whatever is. so he would still wear the broken mask but he takes it off now and is ok with it being off hes working on getting better now that hes himself again and everyone living w/by techno is helping him with that. also i think that he would get blinks of xd's memories like from when techno was killing them and have sumn like ptsd panic attacks from it and techno feels super guilty abt it but theres literally nothing he can do except apologize and after the first few times dream stopped him from apologizing bc it is his fault but he didnt do it to him so it doesnt matter to dream at least and they live in pretty much harmony until dream finally moves back in w george and sap the end. he also started wearing the mask in the first place bc of the extra eyes but he played it off as being uncomfortable around new people and not wanting them to know what he looked like until he trusted them (bc that literally makes sense irl how funky is that) so sap and george never pushed him and when they caught him without it on on the rare occasion they wouldnt pressure him to leave it off or anything even tho they already knew what he looked like (when they respect ur boundaries </3) they just assumed that it was insecurity (it was but also mans had like 3 eyes so) and just left him alone

[delicrieux]

Omg I loved the last one shot you wrote with the reader being in the resistance base and taking care of Kylo! I would love to see another part for it and see what will happen when the reader discovers the truth of who he is.

OMG ur one shot with kylo and him being injured i absolutely adore it and need a continuation !! ur writing is amazing too !!

thank u everyone for ur kind words and support 🥺🧡 u be asking i be giving . i mean .... prepare for some angst? yes? 8k words baby. also, same goes as always, if u want a continuation let me know ! xx

tags ( i wasnt able to tag some people!:( ): @taina-eny -- @shesakillerkween -- @leilei-draws -- @mitsuhkai -- @olivebolivee -- @fav-fan-fic -- @punxataniunderworld

requests are open! | masterlist | part 1.

Long tendrils of smoke rise slowly, spiraling into a clear, starry sky. Jet fuel ignited by a match; angry, red sparks glittering in the dark. It’s hot. Though it’s not the familiar, comforting heat of the wilderness, of the jungle you live in, nor is it the scratchy, dry heat of the deserts you grew up surrounded by. This heat is different, molding, tangible and felt deep within you. It spreads, achingly almost. Shortness of breath, of thought; the world is too quick, too fleeting for you to catch up and everything spins so wonderfully. Desire; the world is wax dripping from your fingers; red dots, red hues, bright orange flames. But that desire twists, rags your body and grows to...

Rage. It hits you in waves and you tremble. Violent shivers and horror; anger fueled by such uncontrollable passion that it goes beyond you, reaching for something, for anything to grasp onto. It destroys. It destroys everything around you. It’s a machine coming from within you; the small specter of purity now devoured by such hate directed at no one in particular that you come undone — nothing left, not even you. Just anger and power — a combination of the most terrible kind.

But this rage is not your own. It’s borrowed. Adapted to you. Fitted perfectly for your flesh, yet still a foreign entity latched onto your bones, no, this goes deeper, latched onto whatever makes you — you.

It is so easy to slip into it that it hardly registers. That raw energy within you twists and burns and you want to hurt someone because you are so hurt that you feel like you might die. One life to save yours; then, however many should follow, anything to keep that pain at bay. You don’t consider it much, you don’t have the capacity to. Blisters; it feels like you’re standing on the surface of a sun.

Where did this anger come from? Who deformed you so horribly? There’s a pull — a gentle tug that feels like a caress from a lover — that wants to turn you back; to purge the rage, the red, the dark, and bring you back into the light. But the pain stays, persistent, at home within you. It’s trying to tell you something. To make you understand. To make you feel what he feels.

And then—

You fall out of bed, breathless and terrified and soaked head to toe in cold sweat. You scramble away from your bed in blind panic, trembling and pressing your back against the icy wall of your bedroom. Your heart beats like a wild drum; your pulse is loud and violent in your ears. You raise your hands to touch your face, to grasp onto reality, to make sure that you are still you. A sigh of relief escapes you and all your energy with it. You slump, cast your head down in shame. You had never felt so... Strongly. You had felt anger, grief, passion— but never so visceral, never so raw. It terrifies you that you are even capable of feeling so, in a dream or not.

Whatever it was that had possessed you had left you feeling hollow. Numb. All your strength had been wasted in destruction of dream worlds that were, up till now, mostly pleasant. Whatever it was you don’t want it to return, ever. The pain was too much. The hate too real. And the potential of that power... Frightening beyond compare.

Your room is bathed in pleasant morning light - dawn is always beautiful and silent. You had slept for possibly only a few hours. You get up, your knees cracking from the weight of your body. Using the wall for support you decide to get ready. You will not sleep. You cannot. The carnal fear of the darkness behind your lashes is reminiscent of that of a child seeing scary shapes in the night.

You’re early to breakfast, though the cafeteria is already festering with life. You give a few waves to your colleagues, offer a few tired smiles when they chirp “Morning, Seven!”. With your tray full you stride to your table, noting that one seat is already occupied — July. He regards you with cold indifference, quietly drinking his coffee. If he is surprised to see you up so early, he does not show it.

Suddenly you hate the silence. The stiffness. The cafeteria echoes with snippets of chatter and laughs yet your table is a crypt — stale and uncomfortable. You can’t be alone with your thoughts. They still don’t feel like your own.

“Hello,” is your lame attempt at conversation. July grumbles something, chewing on his food, “decided get an early start today.” You explain yourself, not that you need to, but you feel better letting him believe this lie and yourself, too. “Taking pointers from you.” You add, taking a sip of water. It feels like a blade going down your throat. You hadn’t even noticed how parched you had been.

“Great,” July mumbles, “congratulations. You’re finally taking this seriously.”

“I’ve always taken this seriously.” You bite back, “War is no trifling matter.”

He snorts, “Could have fooled me.”

You don’t like his tone. Then again, it is your fault for engaging him in the first place. No one to blame but yourself.

In an attempt at casualness, you shrug, “You are still mad at me for not getting rid of our guest, aren’t you?” You don’t say his name. July would find it suspicious. You don’t dare share it. It was a secret passed on to you as a show of trust. You can���t break it, not even among friends.

A frown pulls on his face, cool, steel eyes locking yours, “You’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He is not the enemy.” You reply coolly, chest heaving with controlled frustration, “I conducted the interview. I did what we had all agreed on. I relayed the results and you were part of that discussion as well, if you had forgotten already. No threat was detected.”

“At the time.” He says hotly, setting his cup down harsher than intended. It echoes, a cracking, unpleasant sound, “There was no threat at the time.”

The wild flame in his eyes takes you aback. He had always been paranoid and it mostly never had any backing to it. But now he speaks with conviction; grits his words and laces them with honesty. He knows something. Something you don’t.

You sit up straight, swallowing down your concern before it reaches your face. “Elaborate.”

He looks away suddenly, irritated, scowling almost. Familiar tendrils of anger slither around your throat and your grit your teeth. You know better than this, better than arguing with him, better than stooping to his level of mindless shouting. It takes all of your willpower just to keep your mouth shut.

“Ah— Someone stepped out of bed on the wrong foot, as it seems.” Q’s pleasant voice chirps as they promptly plop down beside you, “Seven. July. Do hope the arguing will at least wait till lunch.”

“Fat chance!” Vendetta grins, sitting beside July and dropping her tray on the table with a silent click, “Look at them.” She snickers, “I know who’s fighting who at combat training today.”

“Perfect timing, you two.” You blur, your eyes drilling into July’s profile, not once wavering, “July just said something interesting about our guest.” The temperature, the warmth your two friends brought with them, seems to drop as their laughter abruptly cuts off, “In fact, he was almost insistent that our only patient in the Medical Wing is a threat. Know anything about it?” You finish quietly. You almost expect exasperated stares, surprised faces, hisses of “What?!” and “July, not this again...”. But nothing changes. Nothing comes. Just quiet admission. First blossoms of guilt.

You had always assumed that if your group of four would ever break into three it would be July as the odd man out. Not for any particular fault of his, but out of pure convenience. Vendetta is charismatic; Q is adaptable; you are compassionate. July is, despite his brilliance, almost deliberately difficult. The three of you fit like puzzle pieces, harmonious. You never withhold information from them, never needed to. The four of your share everything, no detail left behind.

Though it seems that your observation was paltry. They share looks and you realize that it’s no longer a quartet but rather a triad. You are left to sink or swim on your own.

“Seven, we...” Vendetta starts, thoughtful, gentle; her hand reaches for your own across the table but you pull it away and she stills, disappointed, “We...” She glances around, “We were going to tell you, but...We...”

“—Had no proof.” Q mutters bitterly, their face uncharacteristically blank, “Besides, of course, the mystery of his past, his sudden appearance, his... Unpleasant behavior.” They squeeze out the last part with a sour little smile.

“Seven, please, listen to me.” V tries to catch your attention, yet you stubbornly stare into your plate of food, “There is just...Something not right with him. It’s like this inching in my chest, I...I think I heard him...talking in his sleep again. Something about a base, but I-” At this you look up at her, and her face crumbles into a soft frown. “I would never lie to you, you must believe me. I just--“ She sighs, frustrated, “I just don’t know what, but something is wrong. I can feel it.”

“I told you not to trust him,” July states, “I said it since you—“ He points accusingly in your direction, “decided to drag him in.” He scoffs, “Should have left him to die.”

Something cracks within you. Something that sounds close to a ceramic cup shattering on linoleum. It spills over like hot liquid all over you, scalding. You pull your chair back suddenly. It’s a knee jerk reaction that halts the chatter and the laughter and the mindless bits of gossip as all eyes turn to you. You say nothing. Just stare. The unspoken “How dare you” fizzling at the tip of your tongue that now feels too big for your mouth. Your muscles cramp up; dull pain in your upper arms, your legs, your chest. You’re trembling again, eyes wide, dry, stinging.

“July.” Q hisses, “Even if we feel something amiss, he is still a person.”

You remember it clearly — the evening you met July. He wore a hard shell, scarred from life before finding the base, before finding a purpose. He was hard to approach and those who dared to glance at him withered away into the shadows. But you saw a glimmer of hope, of light; saw something in a man that has been wronged and has done wrong and now wants to devote his life to protect. He regarded you with the same cold stare, measuring you, challenging you to turn away like everyone else. But you invited him. You were the one that said that the Resistance is happy to have you. You were the one to offer him a seat by your table, Vendetta chirping and blushing and cooing once he joined. And even if he stayed silent through the conversation, you knew that he was glad to be here. Glad to find companionship. Glad to be among those who too want only one thing: to help.

Then came Q, a year later. A group that was equal amounts tough as it was tender was formed. A group of leaders. Nothing ever felt so right as to sit among them.

Now you feel like you’re drowning.

“You’ve changed.” You rasp, boring into July’s eyes. He does not back down, he never does.

“So have you.” He says evenly, “I have never seen you as irritated as I have this week. It’s affecting you. He’s affecting you.” If you did not know any better, you would say there’s a note of worry in his voice. But you always know better. It’s pity.

You decide that you hate him. You decide that you will never be able to look at him the same way, with the same distant respect, with solidarity. You hate him and you hate that he’s right. You have changed. Everyone has. You aren’t the scared, naive girl that ran away from home in hopes of finding something greater. Greater as in friendships; greater as in happiness. It was never about riches or fame or any other form of empty opulence. You wanted to help because you knew how it feels like to be helpless. And perhaps this week had been the most trying: you had been sleeping little, tossing and turning all night, staying up past dawn as to not draw any suspicion. Had been hitting harder than necessary in training. Had been less lively in conversation. You were one of the best because you needed to be in order to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was the source from which you drew your strength. But now that had shifted subtly in wanting to win. Wanting something for yourself. You always offer everything to the world, why can’t it give you something in return?

“That’s enough, July.” Q mutters calmly, their hand landing on your shoulder, a warm, comforting gesture that fills you to the brim with sadness. “You had said enough.”

You exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to collect your thoughts. Honesty had always been your policy. Honesty is the currency of your group. You are fighters, but you are also diplomats. Vulnerability is the price of compassion.

“I feel responsible.” You finally say, “For him.” You clarify, “I brought him here. I enlisted you to help and share our resources. He is my responsibility. And if you feel that he is unfit to be here, or that he threatens our values in any way, I shall make sure to deal with him accordingly and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions should it come to it.” You finish dryly.

“He’s not your responsibility, Seven.” Vendetta mutters, “He’s ours. We’re a team. A family.” Q squeezes your shoulder, silently agreeing with her words. Her lips slowly rise into a loving smile, “And we’re worried about you. You seem tired. Let me bring him food today.” She suggests gently, “I can keep him company. That or, I know Michel is dying for a chance to talk to him.”

“You don’t have to carry this weight alone.” Q says, “A little break can’t hurt, can it?” He glances at July, “Once our heads are cooled...We’ll discuss this in detail at dinner. No stone left unturned. If the decision is unanimous, we bring it to the Commander. All in favor?”

“Aye.” Vendetta chimes. You nod stiffly. All eyes fall on July.

“You already know what I think.” He mumbles, “But very well. We meet at twilight.”

.

The day is long. Hours pass in a slow daze and exhaustion nearly crushes by the time a little over two hours is left till dinner. Dread grows and fester; it’s hard to breathe, and the humid air is constricting. You can’t help but feel how different things had been barely a week ago, and how rapidly and uncontrollably they have changed. It should be just another day in stolen paradise; just another day in the line of days before you are, as the rest, called into the main base. Finally ready. You had felt ready. Now you feel uncertain to the brink of madness. How easily your friends had turned... How easily you had been turned. But despite their concerns you fail to see any hidden evil in the man now know to you as Ben.

But perhaps that’s the point. Evil rejoices in the presence of naivety.

You feel him before you actually see him. It’s a sort of warning bell; a presence carried by the wind. You turn your head slightly, wiping away beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. You’re on the porch, in the same spot you had found Ben brooding last night. His footsteps are quick and heavy and his hand latches onto your upper arm, yanking you to face him.

“Where were you?” His question is demanding and a twinge of anger burns in his hazel eyes. All thoughts rush out your head with that; you stare dumbfounded, your lips parting to speak but the words sizzle and die on the tip of your tongue. His face contorts, the prominent anger shifting to confusion, “Have they been keeping you away from me?”

An astute observation. Eerily correct.

“What? No!” You say quickly, shrugging out of his hold and crossing your arms over your chest in pretend casualness, “Just been busy today! Lot’s of shipments, new training regime, yada yada...” He traces your face carefully for a lie, but whether he catches it or not you can’t tell. “How... How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He states coldly, irritation dripping in his tone. His brows knit into a frown and he looks away, peers into the wilderness. Pensive. Something lays heavy on his mind and all your intuition born last night evaporates. Nothing. No whispers. Not even a slither of familiarity. The connection you felt had been cut like a thread with scissors.

Is he actively pretending yesterday did not happen? The thought sounds plausible: he’s volatile and prideful, after all. “What are you doing up and about?” You inquire, matching his cool tone.

He exhales through his nose sharply, “Can you take me to the place you found me?”

You blink. He looks at you, expectant. “I...Sure.” You relent under his stare, “Yea, I... Follow me.”

Silence from his part. His lips are shut tightly as he follows after you into the maze of tall trees. Birdsong; buzz of insects; dangerous hums and hisses from creatures hidden in the bushes. The sun is merely a kaleidoscope of shapes seeping through the branches and leaves. The heat intensifies. You feel a prickling in your spine -- he’s watching you intently. His guard is up and so is yours. After everything you had heard today confusion is the only palpable emotion you can name. Can he see it, you wonder. Can he tell that the tension in your shoulders is because of him. You trust him, at the very least, you thought you did. But now he’s luring you into seclusion.

Or are you luring him? You could have said no. Or you could have agreed and went to fetch your blaster just in case. But you didn’t. Obeyed blindly without question. He is not the authority here, you are. 

“That woman brought me breakfast today.” He says coldly. You tilt your head to him, inclining him to continue. That woman. Vendetta.He doesn’t continue. It’s almost like he’s complaining. 

“Yes, I asked her to.” You say softly, “I told you already I was busy.”

“You didn’t look busy.” He counters hotly.

“Ben.” You say sternly, stopping, turning to him fully to catch his gaze. He’s so much taller than you that it’s difficult to not be intimidated, “My world does not revolve around you.” He gulps at your words, glaring, “And her name is Vendetta. The least you could do is remember that.” 

You continue the trek forward. He’s silent, moody. You focus on not tripping on roots and stray branches; focus on keeping your balance once passing through small slivers of ground between sudden drops to the caves bellow. 

Finally, a clearing. Water flows and twists like a serpent, glimmering in sunlight, splashing joyously. The river is long and wide and there is no bridge connecting the two sides, just piles of slippery stones. It’s a challenge getting past it, yet you did so almost every other day. The beauty of untamed nature cannot be compared to anything, and getting lost in it is liberating.

You hop on the first rock, then the second. The water is loud; the current is strong and it splashes your feet.

“Are you angry with me?” He asks silently. You jump and feel the knot in your throat tighten. You wobble and your arms stretch wide to keep balance and you promptly still.

“No, Ben, I’m not angry.” You admit, a bit breathless, but don’t elaborate any further. You are not sure if you’re telling the truth or not. You don’t want to think about it.

“Did you really find me so far out?” He continues questioning.

“Yes.” You mumble, “Why? Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I never said that.”

“But you thought about it.”

“Oh, so you can read my mind now?”

“It’s not that difficult to tell what you’re thinking, you know.” You state sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You still. A flare of anger rises from your chest to your throat and it take everything you have to control the frustrated sigh from escaping. Your hands ball into fists. Sweat drips from your forehead. With a dry mouth you turn to him, careful of your footing, finding him closer than you expected and just as irritated as you. His brows are kit into a frown, lips turned downward, chest heaving. A soft breeze kisses your heating cheeks, your shoulders, ruffles his dark hair.

“Exactly what you think it means,” You snap, “you’re always angry, always displeased, ordering everyone around, assaulting” You stress the word, “ or berating if something doesn’t go your way. Being secretive and malicious and just when I think I’m starting to understand you, you demand and demand and I literally can’t say anything or else you’ll be upset and then who knows what you’ll do.” You rant, “And all I wanted, all we wanted, was to help you. But you-” You jab your finger into his chest; an action eerily similar to what July did to you this morning, “-you treat us like we’re your servants. Can’t even bother to remember the name of the doctor that had been taking care of you all week. We could’ve left you to die.”

He grabs your wrist, squeezing tightly, pulling it away from his chest, “I never asked for your help.” He growls.

“But you got it anyway,” You retort, voice dripping with venom, “though I suppose you’re too arrogant to even say thank you. You spoiled, selfish, inconsiderate prick-”

“You don’t know me.” He seethes.

“I know everything I need to know about you.” 

He falters for a second, something akin to disappointment flashing in his eyes but it’s gone before you can name it, “You do?” He sounds smug, in a cold, displeased way, “Ah, you do.” His grip loosens and you yank your wrist from his hold, fire raging in your chest. What a condescending look.

You’re so heated that you feel like you might cry. Now you see what July, what Q, what Vendetta see when they look at him - a malevolent, resentful asshole. How could he have fooled you? Was it the pretty eyes and the confused puppy-like stare? His sharp handsome features? Low voice, pleasant when whispered? All a font. You feel ill. Tarnished in some subtle but irreversible way. You don’t want to take him anywhere, you just want him to leave. A part of you wants to run away and leave him stranded, or push him into the water and watch satisfied as the current carried him away.

You genuinely believed you had formed some sort of a connection, as silly as that sounds. You hadn’t known him for long, but what you felt was real and it was special. But this is not the same man that did not let go of your hand, that did not want to left alone in the rain. 

You shake your head, “You make me sick.”

He has no reply to that. He looks away, almost ashamed, and you turn back to the stones you stand on, the slippery rock unstable under your feet. The sky lights up with first shades of pink. Twilight is approaching. 

The sooner you take him there and back the sooner you can request him to be escorted out of the premises, taken where he needs to go. And then this will all be over. He will be nothing but an unpleasant memory. The thought does not make you feel any better, rather it makes you feel hollow, like a balloon, acutely aware of the emptiness within you.

You continue forward in ill-tempered steps. You just want this to be over. His presence clings to you like second skin. Electricity at your fingertips, coursing through your veins, settling in your bones. You cannot shake it, cannot shake the hurt and the discomfort and-

You slip. For a heartbeat there’s only looming dread but before you can touch the water strong arms envelope you and keep you in place. You feel him breathing behind you, his chest rising and hitting your back. He sets you down back on the rocks, letting go only after you’re out of harms way. His arms drop and the heat with them. Wordless, you continue forward, not sparing him the satisfaction of a thank you.

.

You suppose wishing for an uneventful journey is unrealistic; trekking through the dense, suffocating undergrowth, fighting through the heavy, still air, all the while a million wild souls observe and track you and wonder are you here to hunt or be hunted. The colors, deep evergreen and rich brown, mute once the sun is is orange and halfway down. Not far now, not far at all. That idea was the only thing keeping you from crumbling into the dirt. But today is not your day, nor his. Everything always happens for a reason, even if that reason is simply bad luck.

You had been lost in your head, and he lost in the maze of looming trees. He’s unfamiliar with the territory - you were his guiding star, ushering him to where he needs to go. But you were too absorbed; too preoccupied with your blossoming hurt, with the near obsessive need to feel it whole so you could never forgive him and not feel an ounce of it once he goes back to his damned life outside your base. But the jungle is an obstacle course that demands attention and worship. Each step careful, each parting of leaves intentional and gentle. It either allows you to advance, or it does not.

You have no one to blame but yourself. No one to curse at for the forming bruises and muddy skin. No one to yell at for the stabbing pain at your rib cage, and no one to shun because of one fatal mistake. A misstep. A confusion of left and right. The fall was instant and painful and long. 

Birds gawk and spill into the violet sky like ink. You lay in the dirt, your body aching with each intake of breath. Water roars; small droplets from the waterfall sprinkle on you and you wonder just how far down had you fallen. The clearing is unfamiliar to you, but right now everything is. Ben groans beside you; you see him sit up slowly out of the corner of your eye. He pushes his hair out of his face and exhales. You can’t move. You forgot how to.

You feel cold. Something hot and sticky runs down the side of your temple, pulsing down your jaw.

“...Seven?” His voice is rough and rushed and he instantly falls by your side, his hands cradling your face, “Hey. Seven, can you hear me...?”

You remember the leaf covered ground giving out; remember falling into darkness and hitting your back harshly on the steep decline and skidding through sharp rocks and branches; remember suddenly being plunged into icy water and spat out into the air before tumbling to the ground and smacking your head into something hard and blurry.

His fingers gently wipe away the dirt from your face, “Hey, you with me...?” He calls gently, his voice silent, seeping with worry. Through your haze and confusion your find his eyes - such a pretty hazel, now darker in the shade - and manage to squeeze out a painful, crooked smile.

“...Hi.” You whisper, almost voiceless. He cracks a smile, but his lower lip quivers.

“Hi.” He mutters, “Are you okay? Can you sit?”

You try to move but it proves to be too difficult. Noticing your struggle and sluggish movements, he gently eases you into a sitting position, his hold strong but not forceful, not even an echo to what it had been on the rocks. Your head spins, too heavy, buzzing. You gingerly lay it on his shoulder. Water laps by your feet. You are dripping from head to toe. The breeze makes you shiver, and he carefully wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pushing strands of wet hair from your face.

“Do you know where we are...?”

“The jungle.”

You somehow sense he doesn’t appreciate your sarcasm.

“You’re hurt.” He laments. Weakly, you clasp onto his arm and slowly pull away from his shoulder. You’re so close your noses brush. You can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. You see worry in his eyes. You feel a twinge of life light up in your chest.

“I’m okay.” You mutter, even if it is obvious that you are not. 

“I’m sorry...” He utters, his eyes, half-lit and tender, pouring into your soul. His fingers brush your cheek, trembling lightly, lastly settling on the side of your jaw, “I’m sorry,” He repeats in a breath, “This is all my fault.”

Your heart spurs to life; the same pleasant buzz of energy flows back into you in forms of butterflies. The aching relents, the sharp pain in your side easing as if soothed by a cold touch. Your hazy vision sharpens and for a moment you can see everything in its minute detail, before all goes back to normal. The pulsing in your head stops, blood drying by your temple. You blink a few times, your brows knitting into a frown, lips parting to intake a slow breath. Your hand reaches to graze his cheek.

It’s back. What ever this fragile, beautiful thing is, it has returned to you.

“Who...are you?”

Vendetta had been right, there is something different about him, but perhaps not in the way she had intended.

“I’m Ben.” He says softly, “Just Ben.”

“No...” You observe him, “You are not.”

You feel a pull in your chest, as if you were a moon beckoned by his gravity, “How do you do it?” You ask, not quite certain what you’re referring to. A thousand questions swim in your mind and you shut your eyes, trying to focus on just one. But he still pulls you in, somehow, and gently you rest your forehead on his, each simple touch sparking a feeling of this is right and this is how it should be. Like a current of a river taking you where you need to be.

“I’m not doing anything.” He admits softly against your lips with an ache in the back of his throat.

Your eyes pry open, “Liar.” is all you say with quiet disappointment.

You untangle yourself from him and rise onto your feet, swaying a bit and he hurriedly jumps to aid you but you hold out your hand to stop him. His arms fall by his sides. The roar of the water momentarily absorbs you completely. It’s dark glimmer makes your stomach drop. You look up. The sky is already budding with stars, the last light dying by the horizon.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to return to the base now.” You mutter, a shiver crawling down your spine. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, leaving no bend and curve obscured to his watchful eye. But it doesn’t bother you, at least not as much as it should, “Before we lose light completely.”

He nods solemnly. “Why did you want to see where I found you?” You ask, knowing he will not deny you an answer. It’s that feeling, that connection, open communication that leaves him vulnerable to your prodding.

He glances away from your prying stare, his jaw locked tight. Your chest swells as you regard him — a picture of divine loneliness. You almost fall pray to it, to those whispers, to those instincts that urge you to rush to his side and comfort him. He sighs heavily, his shoulders falling. “I wanted to see if you would go with me.”

“What?” You sputter, eyes wide in disbelief, “Why?”

“Because I want you to join me.” He seems to find his voice, the first uncertain notes glossing over with purpose, “To leave with me.” The corner of his lips quirk into a half-smile, “Have you ever seen the snow?”

“No...” You admit, taking a step back, “No, I haven’t. The Rebels need me. I don’t want to leave.” You finish quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s more of a comforting motion rather than a defensive one.

“But you agreed to go with me today.” He says.

“Because you asked.” You counter.

“Then I’m asking again.” He extends his hand in an offering, “Come with me.”

You stare at it, your instincts urging you to take it. But you don’t know what entails going with him; you don’t know about his life and what sort of deal you would be signing by lacing your fingers with his. A part of you wants to agree — the part which you desperately try to explain, but cannot — and the other reminds you of duty. Of your mission. It reminds you of everything you will be unable to do if you take it.

.

He watches you, half worried and half irked as you stare at his hand with distant eyes. He can’t read your mind, can’t hear snippets of your brooding thoughts, but he knows you’re considering his offer, and he knows that this is all a charade which will end in his victory. He knows you will accept — it is now impossible for you two to be apart, the consequences of that severe enough to burn out a star.

But you’re guarded. Your mind sits behind a wall that can’t tear down — he’s not close enough, and you won’t let him. It is most likely an unconscious effort, a shield of some sort that your untamed energy had built in order to protect you from the likes of him. He likes that. He always enjoyed a challenge: everyone always danced around him and to find someone actually worthy of his attention is a rare sight on its own. That being said, he could invade your mind, could hurt you, could force you to spill all of your secrets in one breath. But he won’t. He wants you to come to him by your own volition. He wants you to allow him into your mind because you want him to see and feel and hear everything that’s hidden behind those pretty eyes and tender smile. Therefore he will not be forceful or rough; instead he will open your eyes - sway you, offer you something for your kindness, because he cannot fathom the fact that some things in life have no price. But he knows that you will join him - sooner or later matters little in the grand scheme of things.

Though, it is his fault he is so terribly impatient.

It’s frustrating to think that the Force would connect him to you out of everyone in the universe. That must be why he’s feeling this tightness in his chest, this, if he wasn’t so prideful to admit it, fear festering inside him — you’re a member of the Resistance that is not only Force sensitive, but also now linked to him. If the Rebels should become aware of this sensitive information, there is no telling what they would do. In the First Order you would be hailed like royalty; showered with praise and opulence and given authority to do as you please, given the life so many in your base believe he has. But the Resistance would not be as kind, if they would be kind at all - they would use you, abuse you, transform you into a weapon or a helpless little lure. Because they would know he would come looking for you. He is now destined to always look for you; destined to follow you across the galaxy and back if it meant you standing by his side in the final battle. They would change you into something unrecognizable. The safest side is his, and his shadow is the only place you’d find solace. He could train you. Protect you. Allow you to harvest the power that is capable of so many beautiful, terrible things.

He knew you were Force sensitive when he first laid eyes on you — the silence was confusing and heavenly and at the same time oddly irritating. Everyone else was an open book full with loud, useless mussing, overloaded with trifling information of which the only value he found was the exact coordinates of your base. He could return any time he wished and destroy everything in a slow, arduous way that would break you down and rebuild you, make you see that he is doing you a favor if you were so stubborn that it would come to that: you had saved his life, and now he is trying to save yours. And despite your proclamation that you can tell what he’s thinking, he finds great difficulty understanding you. Kindness is alien to him. Kindness had been ripped out of him by betrayal and replaced by hate. It is the only real emotion, and the only source of his strength. If only he could tear you away from those people you call friends, then you could finally understand. 

But knowing you had the Force dormant within you wasn’t enough, he needed to test you, needed to know just how far your powers went.

He didn’t expect it. To be connected. It wasn’t until you touched hands did he feel your happiness as his own.

Though it’s unstable, your connection. Wild emotions sometimes ebb and flow and pass one person to the other. And he, too, in moments of surprised vulnerability forgot to keep himself tempered and in control. His anger, hatred, all things wretched and deformed have slipped into your dreams and your day to day life. A part of him, now permanently a part of you. It felt like he finally found something he had been unknowingly searching for — a missing piece of him that has returned to make him whole. Without you, he would feel like carved bark, a half-finished project incapable of reaching its full potential. To let you go is not an option anymore. 

Stronger together, he reminds himself in a scolding tone. He is not supposed to care about you, rather of what’s in you — raw, untamed power, a well of untapped potential. You are his half, and he is yours. You are connected by the Force, and there is nothing else to it. Cannot be anything else. 

The human shell is hardly his point of interest.

.

“No,” You say, taking a small step back from him, from his offer, from the temptation, and casting your gaze down into the gleaming water, “no, I can’t go with you. I have to stay here.”

You don’t dare to look at him and see just what expression he is wearing, though you guess he’s not too happy by your rejection. You cheeks heat uncomfortably - his gesture was noble yet crafted so carefully that you suspect an ulterior motive behind it. You can’t throw your life away, not before you understand what’s actually going on between you. You clear your throat awkwardly, sparing a blank look at the swaying trees and trying to think of the best route to return home, “Come on.” You utter, “We shouldn’t be standing around here. Not safe.” You add silently.

Though you can’t help yourself. You spare a glance at him and freeze up -- it looks like you slapped him, his eyes wide with hurt and pale face blotching red. He slowly retracts his hand, his motion stiff and mechanic as if he does not know what to do with it if he’s not holding yours. It feels cold again, and you are fairly certain it has nothing to do with the lukewarm water dripping from your clothes.

Snow. You see it in quick flashes -- a white, hazy storm -- that fulls you to the brim with dread. What was it that Vendetta had said? A base somewhere existing in his memories, a place he will return to, a place where he wants to take you. A palace hidden in the snow.

July, in all his brutality, was right: you had been fraternizing with the enemy. Ilum, the planet of frost and snow and home to the Starkiller Base of the First Order. And someone from that same Order had offered you to come with.

It’s a different kind of pain -- you’d prefer the headaches after a day of mental gymnastics, the dull pain of muscles after training, the sharp stabs of a sprained ankle, the pulses and red flashes of an open wound. Anything would be better than this winter in your soul. You feel tired, in an incurable, empty way. As if you lost a half of something integral that you will never have again. Love can bloom only so much before it withers.

You turn away from him and approach the trees, not entirely certain if he’s following you or not. You feel like you’re a cloud in the sky, heavy with rain and thunder but unable to release it. The capacity for that had been robbed from you. He, you realize, is the first person in the line of people that you won’t be able to save. He’s going where you can’t follow. He’s another chess piece on the board that is this war - and one day you will face him among blood and slaughter. 

It is hard to believe that mere minutes ago he had been cotton on your fingers, almost destroyed by longing he can’t explain. 

Ben...To you the name is now forever cursed.

.

It is night when you return to your room, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind you on the alabaster floor. You collapse onto your bed, your head heavy thoughts, each more confusing and cumbersome than the last. Your agreed meeting at twilight was completely forgotten after the tumble. Somewhere half-way through the jungle you recalled that your friends might be missing you.

The door to your room slides open and you look up - Q. They watch you for a silent moment, assessing the damage: messy hair, dirtied linen clothes, blood dried on your cheek, tired, deep eyes that face the world without truly seeing anything. They clear their throat, giving you a smile, “When we noticed your absence and the absence of our esteemed guest,” They start, their voice even, diplomatic, perfectly neutral, “it is suffice to say we were frightened that you had been lured to a trap. Fallen to an early grave.” They approach you easily, taking a seat beside you and landing a hand on your knee, “Though, fall you certainly did from what I can tell.” They finish with a note of amusement.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, “He wanted to see the place where I found him and we got lost.” You explain, sparing the details. They accept your answer, even if it’s full of holes. “Did the meeting commence?”

“After we unanimously decided that you aren’t stupid enough to get yourself killed.” They huffed, “V was especially eager to send out a search party. I must admit that I was, too, swayed by the idea. July, however, as always, shot us down. Had more faith in you than us. For that, I apologize.” They pause, pensive, “But you care little for that, I suppose. You want to know what we decided.”

“Yes.”

“Your vote still counts, Seven. And if you want, we can call a-”

“No.” You cut them off sadly, “No, I agree with your decision, whatever that decision might be.”

“Then first thing tomorrow morning he will be taken to the nearest station,” They say softly, “and released from our care.”

You think you could feel sorrow if you were not so exhausted - right now the only thing you want is to shut your eyes and forget the world exists entirely. You nod stiffly, replaying the dream you had this morning. Flames like hands grasping for the sky, chaos and wind and blood -- but the smoke dies down eventually, and now you stand in the aftermath. There is nothing left, just ash.

They tap your knee once for good measure and stand up, sparing you a rueful glance.

“I may not know exactly what your, ah...situation is, per se,” Q utters, “but know that if you ever wish to share it, you can come to me. Or any of us. Even July. He may be tough, but he still cares about you. In the only way he knows how.” They stand there for a beat, waiting for you to say something, anything really, but you don’t. “Goodnight, Seven.” 

Q leaves and the door shuts and you wonder if today had been real or a factitious, terrible nightmare. Perhaps you never woke up, perhaps you are still sleeping restlessly, trapped, unable to open your eyes and look at the sun with a smile while saying, “It was just a dream.”. The pain had passed leaving nothing behind. The night is dark and endless and the bleak light of your bedroom illuminates your surroundings without an ounce of warmth. Still silence, suffocating air. This blanket of loneliness lays heavy on your shoulders before it all piles and piles and--

You, laying in bed, shivering, tears crawling down your cheeks and lips red from biting, and Ben, in the Medical Wing, heaving, watching the broken glass bottles glimmering on the floor, supplies smashed, sheets thrown about haphazardly in sudden rage, feel the same scorch of heartbreak.  

.

hope you liked it!

.

[nat-roman0ff]

all i want for christmas is us

all i want for christmas is us

an entry for @saintlymendes​ secret santa

for: nicole (@tell-me-when-ur-ready​)

-

words: 2,092 warnings: some swearing, angst, and cavity inducing fluff (it is christmas after all)

-

 Shawn looks down again at his phone, scrolling through the photos. Happy. Warm. Holiday season. Ice skating at his favorite park, kissing under the mistletoe, and posing in the matching pajamas his mum had bought for the entire family. A smile creeps up on his face and then disappears just when he starts to feel its warmth. 

 Last Christmas. 

 Last Christmas the photos were taken. Last Christmas they were happy. Last Christmas she had said yes to marrying him. 

 Now the photos just served as painful reminders of his current reality. Sitting alone in his half empty condo. He couldn’t bare to replace the things she took, just in case she decided to come back.

Odds and ends mostly; an end table she purchased at an antique store and lugged eight blocks back home on a hot August weekend, an ottoman where the two would sit on the floor across from each other and play cards all night over a bottle of her favorite red wine, an entirely empty wall that used to make up her vinyl collection. The half empty condo matched his half empty heart.

 Shawn locks and drops his phone to his chest with a thud, opting for the sting of its weight on his sternum over the stinging of his broken heartstrings. He still hadn’t cleaned up the red wine stain from the carpet when she spilled it last Christmas. Getting rid of that was the last bit of her still around and, well, he needed to still hold onto something. 

 Karen’s rung three times at this point. She knew it was going to be a hard day for him, insisted he spend the night Christmas Eve but Shawn declined and instead drank himself stupid until three in the morning and passed out on the living room floor next to her red wine stain.

 He thought about calling her, wishing her a Happy Christmas, or anything just to hear her voice. It hadn’t been a messy breakup, at least at first. She said it was too much too soon and the constant pressure from the outside world was starting to seep through their happy little bubble. 

 Time. It was always time that she needed. But after she returned the ring, the weeks faded into months and when he saw that first picture come up on his timeline he knew that their time had run out. 

 It was innocent enough; someone he knew through mutual friends but could never remember his name. Smiling, with her lips pressed against his cheek. 

 She was with someone else. 

 He blacked out that night, somewhere in the middle of a world tour in a foreign city and woke up the next morning by Brian dumping a glass of water on his head. He cried for a day and a half straight and then again when he had to tell his mum. 

 Time.

 Everyone said it was all he’d need to get over her; the love of his life. He’d known it from a very young age, before the fame, before they’d ever exchanged a wayward glance at each other. He knew she was going to be the one for him, for the rest of his life. 

 Until she wasn’t.

 Write about it. Was his first thought. Write until your fingers bleed and there’s nothing left in your head. Write out every memory, every feeling, every ounce of pain that courses through your God forsaken veins and then you’ll be rid of her. But Shawn couldn’t write. He couldn’t put down a single fucking word in the six months since she left. He just couldn’t describe it; there was no way to put into words how he was feeling, nothing that did it justice, nothing that captured the pathetic sadness that lingered in his bones about her.

 -

 It’s half past two when Karen finally got ahold of him. He’d lost track looking at photos, letting his memories replay on the walls of his condo over and over again. He watches the two of them dance in the kitchen at midnight and make love on the living room floor in the morning, wrapped up in each other’s arms. If he was miserable at home on Christmas, he was going to be even worse at his parent’s house. 

 Everything was the same as it was last year when Shawn finally walks through the front door of his parent’s home, right down to the smells. Except she’s not there. There’s a small box in the spot where the ring box sat last year on the tree and Shawn tries to blink away the onset of tears that threaten to come through. He wonders which cousin is getting engaged this year.

 Asshole stole my idea.

 “Everything alright, darling?” Karen asks in only that mum way. She knows it’s not. It hasn’t been for a while. 

 Shawn nods his head, “yeah, fine. Just...you know. I knew today would be hard.” 

 Karen smiles, “I know, honey. But they day’s not over yet,” she says with a wink.

 Something in Shawn’s heart flutters.

 “C’mon,” she starts, “let’s go open presents.” 

 -

 An hour and two bags full of wrapping paper later the Mendes’ family is nearly finished unwrapping gifts. Shawn’s eyes glance over to the box sitting snugly on the tree branch. No one has reached for it yet, and as things are winding down he can’t help but stare at it, wanting to know the contents. It’s slightly larger than a ring box, but not enough to put anything substantial in it. 

 “There’s one more for you,” Manny points to the tree. 

 Shawn looks at the box and back to his father and he nods. Standing, he goes to the tree and opens the box with shaky hands. There’s a folded up piece of paper inside and he immediately recognizes her handwriting and that stupid gold pen he always hated. It smeared the edges of her letters, he never thought it would end up being something he missed. Shawn can feel the heat of his family watching him as he reads;

 Shawn,

 It’s been too long since we last spoke and I suppose I owe you a lot. See, time is a funny thing. It feels the most fleeting when you have none of it left and the most crippling when you’re looking down the barrel of forever. I needed time on my own, I needed time with other people. I needed to know that what we had was what my forever was meant to look like and to do that I needed to find out a little more about myself. So, as it turns out I actually DO like cucumbers, riding motorcycles, and being alone. But I still hate tomatoes, unicorns (don’t ask) and being away from you. I’m sorry for the pain that I’ve caused you. I know there’s never going to be a way I can take that away or make it up to you, but I want you to know just how sorry I am.

 Meet me tonight at 6 where we had our first date (yes, the first-first one, not the second-first one, you’ll know what I’m talking about).

 Love, Nicole

 His ears are ringing when he looks up - eyes immediately checking the clock on the wall behind him: 5:55. 

 “Fuck - I gotta go!” 

 Shawn runs to grab his shoes and jacket. It’s faster if he runs, he thinks. It’s not far and his car is packed in with his relatives in the driveway and it would take ten minutes just for everyone to move out of the way. He sets off as the snow starts to pick up, slipping and sliding against the sidewalk pavement, breath coming out in foggy puffs. 

 He runs to the park by the high school. It’s not far, and he thinks he can make it in time. His cheeks are frozen, and snowflakes keep getting stuck in his lashes but Shawn just runs to her. When he rounds the corner to cross he sees her there, sitting on that same old dingy swing set that has somehow (despite looked rotted for at least the last twenty years) has never broken. She’s bundled up in her winter coat, looking down at her boots absentmindedly drawing pictures in the snow with the tip of her shoe. 

 The park had been their halfway point when they were kids; perfectly in the middle of each house when they didn’t want to worry about being around parents. It had been here that they had their first date in sixth grade; a picnic of PB&J’s that ended in an unforecasted rainstorm. She didn’t mind, and they splashed and danced in the puddles and went home a dirty sopping mess and he was sure that was the exact moment he fell in love with her. Even though he wasn’t sure what that meant yet. As all things do when you’re twelve, the relationship ended just as quick as it started and it wasn’t until six years later that things actually became serious.

 But that’s another story for another day.

 He’s not sure what to say when he approaches her. His chest is frozen from heaving in the frigid air and she just looks up from the swing and stares. He’s not sure it was possible for her to get more beautiful, but she somehow managed to. Her cheeks were pinked like his, her hair sprinkled with tiny snowflakes. 

 “I know how much we both love grand romantic gestures,” she laughs.

 Fuck, he never thought he’d hear that laugh again and it literally warms his chest to. 

 “Nicole I -” 

 “Shawn I’m sorry,” she starts, “I have no way to ever make up what I did to you. I just...I got really fucking scared. You’re the only person I’ve ever been with and that terrified me. I didn’t know what it was like to be young and single or do something by myself. So I had to be alone -” 

 “What about that guy? The one you posted a picture with?” Shawn says.

 Nicole slaps her forehead with her palm, “Shawn, Joe is my friend.” 

 He sucks in a breath of air, “oh.” 

 “There was never anyone else,” she pats the empty swing next to her, “there’s never going to be anyone else.”

 Shawn sits beside her, it feels good to be this close again; to see all the little things about her up close that made her, her. All the little things he failed to appreciate before she had gone. 

 “So what does this mean now?” He asks. 

 Nicole reaches for his frozen hand and holds it in her gloved one, “I hope it means you still have that ring -” 

 Before she can finish Shawn pulls the chain of her swing towards him to bring her closer, and kisses her. Her lips are cold and chapped but so are his and there’s a brilliant warmth of familiarity that his bones recognize and he melts into her, wrapping an arm around her middle and holding on like his life depends on it. 

 (It does)

 “So how did you even pull this off? Shawn asks when he pulls away. 

 Nicole smiles, “Karen helped me.” 

 He snorts, “I knew it.”

 The park is so silent Shawn swears he can hear the snowflakes hit the ground, trapped in their own personal snow globe. They sit quiet for a moment, and Shawn is still trying to process what just happened. He can feel her still lingering on his lips; the same sickly sweet lip gloss she always wore. 

 “Do you want to go home?” He asks, looking at her through snow flake lined lashes. 

 Nicole nods, “I’d really love that.” 

 Shawn threads his fingers through hers and they walk hand in hand back to the Mendes household. He feels the gold circular piece of metal against his chest. He’s worn it there for so long he’s forgotten he has it. 

 He stops them in the middle of the sidewalk and bends down onto one knee onto the snow, reaching under his shirt and jacket to snap the engagement ring off the chain he wore around his neck. 

 “Will you marry me...again?” 

 Nicole nods frantically, “yes! Now get up before your jeans get wet.”

 Shawn stands and pulls her into a kiss, threading his fingers through her hair until the both of them are out of breath. 

 “Hey Shawn,” she starts, lips still ghosting against his, “Merry Christmas.” 

 He smiles so hard it hurts his cheeks, “Merry Christmas, my love.”

[vanchlo]

The Assistant /Chapter Twenty-Six, “Old Faces”

Catch up on reading or start from the beginning HERE! :-)

Thanks for reading! c:

                                SNEAKY PEEK TIMEEEEEEEEE!!!

Something inside of my chest falls and for the first time in weeks, my thoughts are flooded with her. And I’m worrying about her, missing her, and wanting to hear her voice. I’m feeling all of the things and thoughts I’ve done such a great job at suppressing for the last few weeks.

Because before, only the alcohol could, but I couldn’t do that anymore. I knew she’d be disappointed. And once that thought wormed its way into my brain, I couldn’t entertain it for more than a minute. And so I dumped out the bottles and threw them in the bin.

Now, I feel myself fill with regret at that because once again I want to drown the feelings.

Because I’m hurting thinking about all of the hurt and pain she’s feeling.

“Awww, my little baby on her first day of school!” 

“Oh, would you stop?” I groan in annoyance. But I can’t get rid of the smile pinching my cheeks. 

“You’re looking like a lawyer already, Boops!” Skye comments as I stop in front of her at the island. She sets down her Winnie the Pooh mug and just smiles at me. It’s a rare occurrence. “And don’t you start saying that I can’t call you that. I’d say it’s rather fitting for a day like this.”

“Fine. Only today you can call me that old nickname that’s been dead for decades,” I reply before looking down at my outfit. “I’m not too overdressed, am I?”

“No, I think you look very nice. And you should dress to impress, they say.”

“Mmmmhmm,” I respond, flattening the patterned long-sleeve blouse I wear. Black jeggings cover my lower half. 

“Are you excited?” Skye’s question hits me as I reach for a glass from the cupboard. I watch the golden orange juice splash into it. 

“Yeah, I really am. I know I’ve already been down this road, but I feel so much more confident and excited this time around.”

“Well that says something,” she replies and I nod at her answer. The slice of bread sinks into the toaster as I set down the jar of jam with my other hand.  

I grab a plate and scoop the rest of the scrambled eggs onto it that Skye left for me. “I’m dying a girl’s hair rainbow today, so there’s my big bang,” she comments enthusiastically with her sky-blue eyes twinkling. I smile at the excitement in her voice.

It finally looks like we’ve found our callings, I think to myself. A second later, I almost cringe at myself, but at the same time, I’m grateful for the happy thought. 

“So most of your classes are online?” 

“Yeah, but I have this one that I have to go on campus for. It’s one of the important ones,” I reply before a bite of scrambled eggs passes my lips. 

Ding! 

Dragging my phone across the counter, I look at my lit-up screen. A new text appears on my screen to join the others. 

Asher:

Good luck on your 1st day back!!! Hoping everything goes well and you get nice teachers!!! Take deep breaths!!! Dont forget to tell me how it went :) 

Sophie (Boss):

Wishing you a great first day back, Becky! We’re all so proud of you and we can’t wait to see the great things you do! Good luck! 

Robbie:

Proud of u for going back Ree. Keep ur chin up. I cant wait 2 hear all about it. Excited 2 hang out with u and dad this weekend back home. Love u sis. 

Daddy:

Happy 1st day of school 2 my big 25 year old! I hope ur 1st day back is gr8 Boops. Good luck! Take ur time & ask ?s. Call when u get home. I want 2 hear how it went. Love u! xoxo

A smile creases my cheeks as I read the words. I hear his familiar voice inside of my head, and warmth radiates through my chest. It makes me ache for one of his hugs and forehead kisses. I swipe right on my Dad’s text and click on the space to enter my own text. 

Thanks so much, Dad! I’m really excited, but nervous. I feel like people might know I’m the dropout… But luckily I only have only one face-to-face class, and the rest are online. I hope that you are feeling better. Let me know if you need anything. I can’t wait to see you this weekend! Love you, Daddy! Xoxoxoxo

The lecture hall is smaller than I remember, and less run down. Hmmm, maybe my experience is actually going to help me to not be so afraid and intimidated, I think to myself. After walking up several stairs, I choose an empty table in the middle of the hall. Students mill around talking and checking online course content and Snapchat. Their chatter fills my ears as I set down my violet backpack and sit down. I place my laptop in front of me, along with a fresh notebook, my planner, and my little bag of pens and pencils. As I boot up my new laptop, the seats around me fill up. It’s not long before the professor takes a seat at the table at the front. His graying hair is tied into a short pony at the back of his head. The class quiets down at his arrival, but there aren’t many of us in the cohort. Around 50 or so. 

Looking up behind his horn-rimmed glasses, a smile sparks behind his thick gray beard. “Oh, don’t mind me. We still have a couple of minutes until class starts, and I’m sure this bloody computer will take that and longer to start up,” he quips, and my classmates and I reply with laughter. “If everybody’s here, we can at least start with introductions. Shall we?”

“I’m Professor Alcott and I’ll be your guide for Criminal Law this semester. It’s great to see a group of smiling faces eager to dive into the nastier side of law. I practiced full-time for around 25 years until I arrived at this university. I thought I’d like to guide young minds into the law world, and so here I am. I still practice occasionally when I’m not teaching. It fulfills my craving to be back in the courtroom when I’m not in the classroom. Now, who would like to go next?”

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

+

“It sounds like your first day couldn’t have gone better, Boops.”

“Yeah, I actually think you’re right, Dad,” I reply, sinking lower into the welcoming sheets of my bed. 

“You don’t have to say it like I’m not usually right,” my dad jokes back with a weak laugh. My smile falls at that, wondering if I’ve ever heard a hearty chuckle absent from his voice.

“I-I’m not, don’t worry . . Are you feeling any better, or are you still having those um pains you were talking about?” I ask tentatively, worry and care sewn into my words. 

“I’m okay. They come and go,” he replies softly with few words. 

“Are you going to go to the doctor like I’ve been begging you?”

“Yes, Becky. I have an appointment for tomorrow morning. Just like I promised

you,” he replies with emphasis in his words. I try to find the fear in his words. But either he’s doing a great job of masking it, or it’s simply not there. 

“But you cancelled the last one, Dad.”

“I didn’t mean to cancel it, Becky,” he sighs. “I made it and found it got in the way of work. I forgot to reschedule it. I’m sorry.”

“I know, Dad. I just want you to get looked at. I don’t want something to be wrong,” I say quietly, feeling the fear creep up my throat. But I try my hardest to push it back down, because I can’t let it in. I can’t worry about my Dad anymore than I already am. I have school now and my job. I just can’t. 

“I know, sweetie, and neither do I. Everything’s going to be fine, my love. You needn’t worry,” my dad tells me in his soothing deep voice. The same voice that lulled me to sleep with bedtime stories, explained maths homework to me whilst I cried in frustration, and told me it was okay when I dropped out of law school. He’s always been there to tell me it’s going to be okay, and now I know I need to be the one telling him it’s going to be okay. 

I just hope that I’m telling him the truth. 

+

Madley looks just the same. But it doesn’t. 

New shops have opened up. Old ones have closed down. New developments have sprung up. Patches of woods have been cut down. The city park has a new playset instead of the one I grew up on. My former primary school has a new addition. Roads were redone. New ones were made. 

I made the drive easily, knowing it like the back of my hand by now. 

But at the same time, it’s hard. Because I have this off feeling sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach. And I can’t name it, or make it go away. It’s been there all morning, and I can’t figure out how to get it to go away. 

It grows as my footsteps sound on the sidewalk leading to the front door of the house I grew up in. Shoots of grass inch through new cracks in the cement. The daffodils wilt against the steps leading to the front door. 

The feeling in my gut flares, making me stop. I take a second to look harder. The cream paint that’s defined my childhood home is peeling in places. The grass hasn’t been cut in a while. I can’t remember the last time I saw it long, and not neatly cut. Patches of prematurely fallen leaves scatter the usually clean walkway. The glass window panes on the top half of the door are smudged and dirty. I don’t get another second to look harder, because the front door opens and a smile waits for me. 

Perhaps my favorite one. 

“Hi, baby girl,” my dad coos, letting go of the door. It creaks before closing as I watch my dad pad down the steps and wrap me in a hug. 

I exhale into my dad’s chest clad in one of his typical Nike jumpers. Letting go of my suitcase, my arms find their way around him by instinct. 

“How was your trip?” he asks in his deep voice. His scruffy cheek falls onto the top of my head, and he holds me against his chest.  

“Good, thanks. The usual,” I reply. I squeeze him and try not to notice how my arms go around him easier than the last time. I just try to find comfort in his familiar smell of the same laundry detergent he’s used for 30 years. 

“Good. Robbie just got here. I’m finishing up lunch right now, it’s almost ready,” he informs me. 

“Oh no, don’t leave Robbie around food cooking on an open flame,” I joke, feeling one of his large hands comb through the hair at the top of my head. 

He laughs and mine echoes his. But I’m afraid that they’re both forced. Dad releases me from the cocoon-like hug, but not before planting a kiss on my forehead. The same kind of kiss he’s given me since the day I was born. Always the forehead. 

“We better hustle then,” he quips, stepping to the side to pick up my violet suitcase. I smile at him and he mirrors it as he holds the door open for me. 

“I think something’s burning!” I hear Robbie exclaim in a confused tone. 

“How do you even survive on your own?” I answer, toeing off my shoes in the entryway. I push them to the side with my foot to sit on the red rug. Beside Dad’s white Nikes green from mowing the lawn. Robbie’s black vans. 

“On microwavable ramen, hot pockets, cereal, and chicken nuggets. Duh,” Robbie replies, garnishing an eye roll from me. But he can’t see it. 

The same brown plaid couch stares back at me a few feet away in the living room. My dad sets my suitcase down by the wooden stairs a few steps in front of me. 

“You just stir it, you goon!” my dad tells Robbie, padding through the living room in his classic Levi jeans. “Did I teach you nothing when it came to cooking, or did you tune out that day?”

A Chelsea vs. Arsenal game plays softly on the telly. But its only viewer is the In-Fisherman magazine sloppily laid on the couch. 

“No, I’m pretty sure I was stoned that day,” Robbie replies softly with a wry chuckle. My dad sighs and clucks his tongue at my brother. 

“Any day now, Ree!” Robbie shouts to me. But I hardly hear him, because my thoughts are wound up in the uncharacteristic pill bottles I see on the side table. And the brochures that I can’t make out from this distance. I recognize a few as take-away. One has lots of words that I can’t read, but it makes my heart shrink regardless. 

“Hey, everything alright?” 

I look up and watch Robbie walk into the room. His pale skin the same shade as mine peeks out from the trendy holes in his blue jeans. He pushes his black button-down aside to pocket his hands. A familiar Marvel shirt peeks out from underneath. 

Swallowing, my lips part, “Did Dad tell you what the doctor said?” I ask nervously, keeping my volume low so only he hears. 

“No,” Robbie responds quietly. And I hear it in his voice. Because it’s the same thing I just heard in mine. 

“Rob,” I mumble, looking him in the eyes. I feel something pass between us, and somehow I know that he’s thinking the same thing as me. 

I look up at the ceiling, trying to will the tears away, but it never works. Because I’ve tried it so many times in the last few days as I worried why my dad didn’t tell me what his doctor said on Tuesday. 

“Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you lot go and wash up?” my dad announces, and I nod automatically. But I know I can’t go upstairs and wash my hands in the sink that I have for the last 20 years. And that my dad does every day. 

Before I know it, the fall sunshine is welcoming me back. I don’t hear the door close with a metallic smack. All I hear are soft footsteps and the sound of sobs leaving my lips. I blink and feel Robbie’s arms go around me. 

“I’m scared, too,” he confesses, tears choking his words that echo my silent ones. 

“I’m so afraid that he is, too,” I reveal into his neck that soon grows slick with my tears. 

“Did you notice how he looks?” Robbie asks into the crown of my head, his lips moving against my hair. I feel his warm tears meet my scalp. 

“Mmmhmm. He’s so pale. And he’s lost weight.”

“Yeah, and he tries not to show it, but he’s tired,” Robbie adds in. His chest shakes underneath me and I hear him hiccup from the crying. “I dunno if he’ll even eat. It looks like he hasn’t been recently. There’s like nothing in the fridge, Ree. We need to buy him groceries. It looks like he hasn’t left the house in days.”

All I can do is nod, and I do. Because the tears are too thick, and what am I even supposed to say? How do I put these terrible feelings into words, much less ones that make sense? 

“I know, Ree, I know,” Robbie coos soothingly.

But somehow it brings me comfort to know that Robbie is feeling all of the same things and having all of the same thoughts as me. Stupid twin intuition or not, I just know. And at the same time, it makes my heart squeeze harder in pain. 

“Kids, come on!” We hear our dad call from inside the house. 

I leave Robbie’s arms and find his tear stricken face looking down at the ground. I brush the hair out of his eyes; the hair the same dark chocolate color as mine. His eyes the same ice blue as my own meet mine painfully. I swipe my finger under them to catch the tears. His fingers wrap around my hand and give it a squeeze. 

“Let’s go eat lunch with our dad,” he mumbles, his voice still shaky. 

I nod and squeeze it back. The same hand I’ve been holding ever since before I was born. 

My partner in crime for life. 

My twin. 

“Go and splash cold water on your face, it’ll help. You can always say that I splashed soap in your eye.”

“Yeah, and how’s that going to sound if that happened to both of us?” he questions, pulling me by the hand into the house with a laugh. I make sure to close the door quietly before following him up the staircase. The sound of our dad’s whistling carries up the stairs and to my ears. 

I savor it. 

I never want to forget the first music I ever heard, and the one that never fails to calm me. Next to his soothing voice. 

My daddy.

+

 The rest of our day was better, but worrying about my dad was always at the back of everything. Silent, yet nagging. It interrupted all of the moments. 

The laughing over a plate of home-cooked food. 

The jokes and stories that passed the time of washing dishes. 

The traditional walk around the block. 

Our visit to the local library’s book sale. 

Dad’s usual drive around town filling us in on everything we’ve missed. 

So and so died. 

She had a kid. 

They got married. 

They’re building this there. 

That bloke went to jail. 

It disrupted watching reruns of Doctor Who on BBC. 

It returned after a cozy mid-day nap at dad’s elbow, strong as before. 

It nagged at the back of my head when the phone would ring. 

It sat in the circles of Robbie’s eyes when they locked with mine. 

It filled the empty spaces between our conversations. 

That question sat at the back of my head and in the pit of my stomach all day. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask it. Because I couldn’t confront the possibility of hearing the answer I dreaded most. 

“Boy, you make one good pizza, baby girl,” my dad smiles as he stretches his arms to the ceiling. 

I nod, slapping an automatic smile on my face. It doesn’t stay long when my eyes carry over to his plate holding the third slice he couldn’t eat. Another detail I noticed that’s unlike him. Because I can’t stop noticing them, and each one hurts more than the last. 

Before I can stop it like all of the other times, my vision grows blurry. I feel my throat take after it and I couldn’t swallow if I tried. I lift my eyes over to Robbie across the small kitchen table, and it takes a second. But he feels me looking at him and hesitantly makes eye contact with me. He nods after a second. Watching the tears fill his eyes makes the first one fall from mine. 

I sniffle out of habit and see my dad turn to look at me out of the corner of his eye. That parent hearing, that intuition. Heat rises to my cheeks and I hear my name leave his lips. Then he turns to look at Robbie and sighs. 

“Dad, I can’t pretend anymore. I’m sorry, but I can’t. We can’t,” I say, my voice breaking at the beginning and staying that way. Tears shadow all of my words, and they only grow worse when I feel Robbie grab my hand under the table. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay because we know that it isn’t,” I finish, finally taking the next dreaded step. I look my father in the eyes and find in them the answer I’ve been searching for all day long. 

His ice-blue eyes, the same color as mine and Robbie’s, stare back at me. They too are full of unspent tears, but it doesn’t last long. Soon they are falling down his cheeks stubbly with graying hair. His long, tan fingers comb through his hair the same shade as that of the hair on his children’s heads. Gray streaks speckled throughout fall from his fingers when he lets go. He clenches his hand into a fist that hits the table. Dad stares it before he lets it relax. 

Looking back up, my heart lurches when his eyes reconnect with mine. Because I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. 

“I have prostate cancer . . Stage 2. That’s all they know right now.” 

Dropping Robbie’s hand, the kitchen chair moves back with a whine. I put one foot in front of the other before my hand is opening the door. My resolve falls when I reach the last cement step, and my legs can’t go any further. My butt lands on the step and I fall into myself. I feel the tears spill from my eyes and coat the legs of my jeans. Loud sobs leave my lips as my entire body shudders with each one. 

No. No. No. No. No 

No, not my daddy. 

Why my daddy?

Why my daddy who had to put up with an awful wife for years?

Why my daddy who gave his children everything they wanted?

Why my daddy who gave so much to everybody else?

He gave so much and did so much and this happens to him. 

No. Not him. It has to be some mistake. 

I can’t lose my daddy. 

I lost my grandpa and then Harry. 

I can’t lose another person I love. 

I can’t imagine not hearing his voice on the other side of the phone. Or not getting his hugs that seem to fix everything. Or hearing his whistling or god awful singing. 

I can’t live without my dad. 

Sniffling, my fingers search blindly for my phone. Finding it in my back pocket, I turn my head slightly to look through blurry eyes. Unlocking it, I press on the app I look for. My fingers race across the screen with each number. Then, the name inside of my head shows up on the screen. 

Harry 

My thumb wavers over the phone icon. I swallow and feel another tear hit my cheek. How is it that I haven’t heard your voice or seen your face in almost 9 months, and yet it���s the only one I want right now? 

I close my eyes and feel my forehead return to my knees. Pressing a button, my phone locks with a clicking sound. My arms wrap around my knees pulled to my chest, and I feel every tear. And every thought. 

Until minutes later when a pair of arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me into their chest. I let my head fall onto them as it shakes with a sob. And then another pair of arms wrap around us. I feel a kiss to my forehead before the stubbly cheek tickles the top of my head. 

“I’m not going anywhere, kids. I s-still need to see you lot get married. I need to watch you kick ass and become a lawyer. And walk Ree down the aisle, and make sure Bee names his firstborn son after me,” my dad cries, pulling his two children into the confines of his trembling chest. Robbie and I laugh, and our dad’s weak one echoes our own. “I’m gonna fight this. I might need your help, but I’m not giving up that easily. Your old man’s not a woosy.”

Laughs surround our tears as I hold onto my dad and my brother. A large part of my small world. 

“I’m not going anywhere, dad,” Robbie gets out with tear-soaked words. 

“And neither am I, daddy,” I echo, nuzzling my head into the crook of his neck. 

I peek my eyes open and find Robbie on the other side of my knees. His head is lying on dad’s other shoulder. He reaches a hand across and intertwines his free hand with the one not wrapped around our dad. Unspoken words pass between us. After a few seconds, I know that the words we just spoke we promised to not just our dad, but to each other. 

We ask questions and he answers. He’s known for only a day or two. The appointment last Tuesday was for a checkup like he said. They were able to do the biopsy later in the day. We cry into each other, feeling the same fear and pain. Uncertainties sit in the air between us as the sun sets behind the oak trees in front of us. The scene in front of me couldn’t look any different from a night of my childhood. 

More than anything, I wish I could go back to one of those days. Ice lollies on the front steps sitting on dad’s jiggling knee. Him trying to get me to laugh. By his fingers tickling my ribs. His face contorting into funny faces. Or his imitations of characters I watched on the telly. His wrinkles and gray hairs gone. As well as his cute little beer belly. Mom calling for me to get in the bath with Robbie from inside the house. The Rolling Stones playing on the radio inside. Sounds of neighbor kids mingling with the music, as well as dogs barking. But we stay there and watch the shades of the rainbow paint the sky. 

Although I know that I can’t go back, I let myself sit in that safe memory for a moment longer. Because sitting on my dad’s strong, tan knee in that 4-year old moment, everything was okay. And I want to enjoy that for a few minutes longer before I have to return to reality. Before I have to start living in a reality where things won’t be okay for a while, because my daddy isn’t okay. And because of that, neither am I. 

I don’t know when I will be again. 

+

My footsteps echo on the tile floor. Each one makes a sound with its own name, like in the Dr. Seuss books my mum would read to me when I was a kid. 

Plop. 

Klopp. 

Dopp. 

“Would you bloody leave already? I’m sick of seeing your bleeding face,” a voice quips from behind me. 

I turn to find Myles following me. He titters with a smirk covering his stubbly face. 

“Oh, would ya shuddup?” I return with a shake of my head, combing my fingers through my hair, but not much hair greets them. 

“I thought you were done putting in these late nights,” he comments, his steps echoing my own now. 

Pushing open the door to the supply room, I step up to the copier. “Nah, I still have sum stuff t’ finish up. Gotta prep fer my case that starts Monday,” I answer him, punching in my code on the touch screen. 

A long ‘ah’ leaves his lips as he rummages in something behind me. Probably knicking some more of the nice pens before they’re gone. 

“Well, I’m not a workaholic like you, so I’m leaving work before 5 on a Friday,” he tells me, assuming that I care. I chuckle, shaking my head at his pompous words. The copier sounds back at me, and takes the paper away with a woosh. “Please don’t bloody sleep here again. I don’t wanna have to hear complaints from the cleaning staff. And I don’t wanna have to pay you more than I have to.” 

“I pay meself, ya cheeky bastard,” I scoff, turning to find him grinning as he stands with a foot out the door. 

But his smile falls and along with it comes a squeeze on the arm from him. “Really, Hare, if you need to sleepover here I don’t mind. I know it wasn’t a nice joke . . I’m glad to see you’re doing better, though. Meaning, not as many empty bottles in your bin,” Myles continues softly. My amused expression falls when the seriousness arrives in his tone. “Yeah, I noticed ‘em, mate. Glad they’re not there anymore. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Keep at it.” 

All I know to do is nod. He returns it and I watch the back of his blonde head walk away. I sigh, picking up the stack of papers waiting on the tray. I grab the original and rummage in the drawers until I find a binder clip. I fasten the papers together as I take my time walking back to my office. It’s even a little quieter than a few minutes ago. When I glance at my watch, I see why. It’s 5 o’clock on the dot. 

Myles is gone. 

Amelia is too. 

Mick’s office door is dark and closed. 

So is Rory’s, to no surprise, because he probably went out for drinks with My. 

Rose is still working hard behind her closed door that classical music trickles out of. 

Pete nods at me as I pass him in the hallway with an empty mug. Probably on his way for a refill. 

But another person is still here. I see him before he sees me, but when he does I follow him to the shiny metal sliding doors. 

“Ya aren’t anxious t’ get a start on yer weekend like e’rybody else? Or did somethin’ in IT break an’ ya gotta fix it?” I ask, stepping onto the elevator. 

“Not really. It’s supposed to rain all weekend, so what’s the fun in that?” Asher replies, stabbing a random button. By now, I know the drill. 

Push a random button and we have that long to talk. 

About her. 

“Good ol’ Fall rainstorms,” I comment, and he nods silently. 

I hum a tune as the elevator dings with each floor we pass. And he doesn’t say a word, and yet neither do I. Because the point of these secret meetings is for him to talk. And for the most part, I just listen. It’s a silent understanding by now, or so I think. 

“Yer makin’ me nervous not sayin’ anythin’,” I say, trying to laugh and offset the awkwardness. But it doesn’t help. And neither does the distraught look on his face when he meets my eyes. 

“I need to tell you something,” he confesses quietly. 

“Well ya, tha’s kinda tha whole point o’ these secret elevator meetin’s,” I smile, trying again to liven up the atmosphere. But he doesn’t smile, or crack a joke. 

The smile I was toting around falls, and my mind swarms with thoughts. 

Scary ones. 

Worrying ones. 

Questions. 

Worst-case scenarios. 

“Asher, i-is Becks okay? Did something happen?” I hurry, the words tumbling from my lips. 

“Yeah, she’s okay, Harry. I guess you could say that.”

“Well, ‘s she hurt? Did she get inna accident? Break a bone? What ‘s it?” I ask, question after question spilling out. 

“No, none of that,” he answers, shaking his head emphatically. “She’s fine, physically.”

“Then what?!” I continue, prodding him for answers that he won’t give up. 

But the last part of what he says gets me. It hints at what he’s about to say, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. It doesn’t pull a relieved sigh from my lips like I wish it could, but it’s not like that. 

When the gleaming metal doors slide open on the first floor, nobody is waiting there. Asher doesn’t give me time to look if anybody is coming, because he presses another button. Now, I know it’s serious. Pushed another button for extra time. Something happened. 

“Asher-.”

“She called me crying last night,” he begins. His voice is quiet and he sounds like he’s trying to keep the emotions out of it, but they’re heard in every word. “Her dad found out he has prostate cancer, and she’s a mess. I dunno how to help her, or if you could either. But I just hate seeing her in pain and upset,” he reveals, the words loaded and dark. 

I feel my back hit the railing on the wall, but I didn’t know that I was backing up into it. Something inside of my chest falls and for the first time in weeks, my thoughts are flooded with her. And I’m worrying about her, missing her, and wanting to hear her voice. I’m feeling all of the things and thoughts I’ve done such a great job at suppressing for the last few weeks. 

Because before, only the alcohol could, but I couldn’t do that anymore. I knew she’d be disappointed. And once that thought wormed its way into my brain, I couldn’t entertain it for more than a minute. And so I dumped out the bottles and threw them in the bin. 

Now, I feel myself fill with regret at that because once again I want to drown the feelings. 

Because I’m hurting thinking about all of the hurt and pain she’s feeling. 

“Yeah, I know whatcha mean,” is all I can say, because how the fuck do I put these thoughts into proper words? “Did she say anythin’ else ‘bout his diagnosis? Stages? Surgery? Chemo?”

“It’s still early, she doesn’t know a lot yet. I guess nobody does. He only just told her and Robbie last weekend. She’s trying to figure out how to rearrange her life to help take care of him,” Asher explains. I nod because that’s what you do when you don’t know what to say. 

I don’t get a chance to ask any more questions, because the doors slide open again. A red-headed gentleman steps off 17 and I decide to step on. Looking over my shoulder, I meet eyes with Asher. “Thank you, Asher . . I mean it.” 

He nods and I return it before turning around and walking back to my office. Goodbyes past between Rose and I, her long blonde curls dancing on her shoulders. Thunder clouds boom overhead and seconds later, I hear the rain begin falling onto the skylights. It makes the sounds from another Dr. Seuss book. 

Splatt.

Boom!

Dibble Dibble. 

Dopp Dopp. 

Country music pours from Pete’s office, bringing a confused smile to my face. But it only stays for a second, because my thoughts return to Becky. I sigh, twisting open my office door. I stop in my tracks when I hear my Fleetwood Mac ringtone filling my office. 

But it stops, and only then do my feet awake. Rushing over to my desk, I drop the stack of copies next to my computer. Forgetting them and working on prep work for my case, I shuffle through the mess on my desk. I lift up papers. Move books. Toss pens aside. Rearrange folders and pads of paper. And then I find it. The screen is black as it’s cupped in my hand. 

But in a matter of seconds, I awaken it and see who I missed a call from. The breath in my lungs stills and my breathing halts. My ass hits my chair with a sigh, and I wheel around to face the window. Angry storm clouds await me as rain falls hard against the foggy class. Tapping my temple with my finger, my thumb sits inches away from the screen. I debate whether to call the person back or not. 

Why would I? 

How can I? 

Should I?

I don’t have to decide, because the voice of Stevie Nicks spills from my phone’s speakers. And the image of that person’s face fills my screen. Their smile. Their magical eyes. Without hesitation, I slide my thumb across the screen. And press it to my ear. 

“Hullo?” I say slowly, barely loud enough to hear myself. Because I can’t believe it.

“Harry?” the voice replies. A question frames their familiar accent, but something else does too. Thick tears. 

“Becks . . are ya okay, love?”

[mistymark]

the one with the annotations.

dong sicheng x reader // 3.7k words // masterlist // send requests here

summary; in which sicheng keeps writing in the books at the library and it should be obvious but that’s,,, not,,, allowed???

warnings: none its just fluff, theres some humour if u like,, squint

requested; yes :D - “Enemies to lovers 👀 with sicheng? Love your writing btw 💕” from anon

notes; based on this prompt: ”You’ve got to stop returning books full of corrections and spiteful comments in red pen bc I can’t stop reading them and my boss gives me disapproving glares when I laugh at the funny ones

ohhhhh boi

so while you were at uni you had a part time job at the library

because surprise surprise as a lit major you like books

shocker there

you always tried to work the late shifts, closing up and doing the returns

just because it was easy and relaxing organising and restacking the books

but soon you wished you took the earlier shifts

because of dong sicheng

not to be dramatic but

your long rival

he started coming to the library to borrow books

because that’s kind of the point of a library

but he ended up liking the environment for studying

and would stay there for hours just to study

and you’d admire his hardworking nature

if he left on time, that is

you would do the rounds ten minutes before closing

just to tell everyone like

‘hey, we’ll be closing in around ten minutes if you want to begin packing up’

but this bitch

would nEVER PACK UP ON TIME

you’d end up standing at his table with your bag and the keys in your hand

tapping on the wood to try and get his attention

and him slowly packing up afterwards

even tho he kNOWS you want to go home

‘you’re just as slow as you were in kindergarten hey?’

and he’d be so furious

‘you know you cheated’

‘I don’t remember any such thing’

and maybe you did maybe you didn’t

you were like four years old

as if you’d remember a race you won when you were that age

he just rolls his eyes and leaves as you lock the doors

you leave in the other direction

happily leaving him behind

but he stops by every Monday Tuesday and Thursday night to study

which are the days you work as well

he acts like it’s just part of his schedule 

but he worked out if he came in on Wednesday’s he didn’t have the opportunity to annoy you

and honestly?

annoying you at the end of your shift and after a long session of studying was the highlight of his night

but he keeps borrowing books

and you’re like

whatever

until he borrows this new book you’ve been wanting to read for ages

and you were low-key so bitter

this lil bitch has no way of knowing you wanted that book but somehow he does and that’s the only reason he’s borrowed it

even though,, he literally had no idea lmao

tbh u probably would have wanted to talk to him about the books he reads bc u have very similar taste

okay the same taste

but he’s such an asshole ur like nah fam

anyways he returns it after a week

boy reads fast ok

and when he goes to drop it in the returns box

you just take it from his hand and scan it under your name straight away

and put it under the desk so no one else can borrow it

and when there’s a lull in the work at the library

you reach under the table for the book and rifle through it

and you notice a few pencil marks

and upon further inspection you realise they’re comments referencing certain parts of the book

and you do nOT stand for vandalism

but some of them are fuckin hilarious not gonna lie

on the page you just happened to open

you can see there’s a comment beside a passage of text depicting a fight scene

‘this would kill someone wtf’

and u laugh and wonder who had done this

like the book had only been out for a little while

and u finish it in just less than a week

bc u read a lot during your shifts

probably a lot more than you should tbh

and seriously the comments made the book better

you hadn’t laughed so hard at random commentary so much

like the words were exactly what you were thinking

you couldnt help it

while ur putting some of the books back in the middle of your shift

!!!! you see another book that u might like !!! 

not to judge a book by its cover butttttttt

it looks like ur type oop-

and after flipping through it

to get an idea of font size and chapter length cause ur a whole nerd like that

u see it ALSO has pencil markings

in the borders and underlining sentences

and without even thinking u borrow it

just to read the funny comments again

and ur boss comes up to you during your shift and is like

‘have you seen someone’s been writing in the books? look at this’

and thrusts a book in ur face

and ur like ??????? okay chill I’ll look

and u read the writing she’s pointing at

the familiar loopy handwriting adorning the page

and it says ‘I hope she throws her drink in his face’

when u read the paragraph for context

u realise it’s a confession scene

a few lines down the mystery person has written ‘called it.’

and u can’t help but laugh

like come on that was funny

but ur boss doesn’t agree

she just asks you to find out who’s doing it so they can be suspended from the library

or charged with vandalism

or something

she wants vengeance

u roll ur eyes and go to one of the staff computers

scrolling through the lists of borrowers for that specific book

and it’s a fuckin library that book has been borrowed a loT

2031 times ???????????????

you almost fall of your chair tbh

then someone clears their throat in front of u

and u immediately apologise as u try and get the right tab up to process the borrower’s book

but once u look at the person in front of u

you wish you hadn’t been so nice

sicheng stands in front of you

a grin on his face as he hands you another book

smug bitch is so happy he startled u

‘looking at porn on the library computer, yn?’

u laugh

‘I’m not u in 8th grade’

he glares at you as he takes his book and goes back to his desk to continue studying

u were soooo hoping he’d leave

even tho u kinda enjoyed looking at him

like dude was hot okay

what were u supposed to do????

ur actual job????

please.

so he stays

and when it’s ten minutes til closing

u go and let everyone know

and u stop at sichengs table

and he’s writing out notes or something

idk it’s not like u care anyway lol

but he’s lowkey frustrated bc he keeps messing up this one goddamn formula

so he erases it

and that’s when u catch a glimpse of his handwriting

and bruh am I high or is that the exact same handwriting as in the books

I mean he has borrowed a few of the books

and he’s into that genre

not that you've checked out his borrowed list or anything

basically ur having this whole conversation with yourself in your head

bc ur cool like that

and he’s like ????? why this bitch standing over my shoulder and watching me write out this equation

until he’s like ‘what are u doing’

and ur like !!!!! oh hi !!! sorry I was busy listening to the voices in my head lmao xD

jk jk

‘have u been writing in the books’

and suddenly he’s super shy

and he has this massive grin

and he’s like ‘no’

bitch we know it was u stfu

u roll ur eyes and ur like ‘its not funny my boss wants you to be suspended’

he squints at you

‘how do you even know it was me’

and then:

‘DO YOU HAVE E V I D E N C E’

and u cross your arms

like a badass bitch

and ur like ‘I have plenty of evidence actually’

‘for one, youve borrowed all the books that have been found with writing’

‘and your handwriting matches’

subconsciously he covers his notebook with his arm to hide his handwriting

and he's like ‘why are u telling me this’

you're taken aback by the question tbh

like ?????? to be a good person ??????

idk u fuckwit just wanted to warn you

‘thought you'd want to know’

and he just turns back to his book

and you shrug and walk away like ok get suspended then see if I care

but u do :((

but as you walk away hes like

‘wait’

‘Im gonna be suspended??’

and u nod like ye that's what I just said but ok

‘like I cant borrow or I cant come in at all?’

u don't know tbh

‘both I think?’

and suddenly there's panic in his eyes

another person walks past u and thanks u

and u mindlessly tell them to have a good night as they leave

everyone has left

except sicheng of course

that beautiful son of a-

wait why did u say beautiful

‘what can I do to nOT get suspended??’

and u shrug bc idk dude not my problem

but then u think about it

‘I mean if u get rid of the evidence theres no way u can be suspended, right?’

and he seems so happy at the thought

‘would you help me? please?’

and ur sooooooo skeptical

‘depends. what do u want to me to do?’

‘I mean I need access to the books so’

‘yeah ill let u in and out’

‘I can't exactly just erase the markings when people could be watching’

and that's exactly how you end up sitting in the library with dong sicheng at 11pm at night rifling through books to find odd pencil markings to erase

it wasnt that hard

u just got his record up

*snorts* ‘you borrowed ‘how to talk to girls’ when we were thirteen’

and he just rolled his eyes and marched to the computer like ‘you can see my record I deserve to see yours’

and ur like NOOOOOO nononononono

but later

‘you've read all the light-fighter novels??’

he looks at you from where hes searching for one of the books on the list, an eyebrow raised

‘yeah why’

‘dude,, I loved those books’

and he smiles a little

‘thats where I started marking the books tbh, every time I read it id add a little cross in the corner of the cover bc I read it so often’

part of u is a little impressed

the other is annoyed at how similar your taste in books is

but the first part keeps asking why u hate him so much

other than the staying late and the snarky comments

which you actually find kinda funny-

anyways

once you've gathered up a few of the books

like at least ten each

you sit on the floor of the childrens section

beanbags sprawled out beneath you as u read through some of the books

most of them you've read before

and every time you giggle at something hes written his smile gets a little bigger

but of course youre looking at the book so you dont notice

and he keeps his head down

‘is it bad that im hungry’

you lift your head from the book to look at sicheng

hes not even reading anymore hes just lounging back on the beanbags

and maybe he'd been watching u read

watching as the smile on your face grew wider at his commentary

‘I didnt see you leave tonight. have u eaten?’

you furrow your brows in thought, trying to recall having seen him leave

‘you been watching me, y/n?’

‘have you been eating, sicheng?’

and there's something about the way you say his name that makes his heart jump

his voice is soft as he looks at you in the dark

‘no’

you focus back on the book in front of you

‘finish whatever book youre on and we’ll call it a night’

‘what, you wanna go eat?’ 

you cant tell if hes just surprised or if hes hopeful

or something else

‘no but I do want to sleep’

you laugh and he forces a laugh too

you dont notice the difference

when you've returned all the books

he meets you at the front door as you grab the book you'd been reading that shift

hes just standing by the door on his phone

and maybe its bc ur tired or maybe its just him

but u cant help thinking

Jesus Christ this boy is attractive

and okay maybe u had a crush on him a few years ago

but hey! you were eleven what could u do

the crush still lasted like two years tho lmao

but u shoulder your bag and open the door for him

making sure to lock it carefully

and he walks with you in the direction of your apartment

and ur like oh u live this way too?

and hes like nah

but what kind of boy would he be if he didnt accompany home

like christ y/n u could be h u r t out here at this time of night

but you just smile at him bc wow thats ??? actually ??? kinda sweet

‘who are u and what have u done with dong sicheng’

and there goes his heart again

he just nudges u with his elbow 

and u laugh at him and continue on ur way

when u get to ur building he thanks u for ur help in the most polite way possible

and u can kind of see that hes actually rlly nice ??? how ???

but hes back at the library the next day

and of course he comes up to the counter as soon as he spots you

sneaking around a few desks so u dont hear him come up behind you to whisper ‘BOO!’ in your ear

you jump like three feet in the air and spin around to tell him to get out from behind the desk

‘I dont see a nametag on u that means u have to be on THAT side of the desk thank u very much’

‘didnt realise your name tag said bitch on it geeeez y/n ://’

and u just fix him with a glare once hes finally on the right side

‘are u borrowing a book or not’

‘nuP’

he leans on the desk

his eyes staring straight into yours

‘just wanted to ask if u were able to stay back tonight’

you roll ur eyes

you'd barely gotten any sleep last night

but the look of concern on his face when he realises youre hesitating makes you nod

‘of course,, wouldnt want my least favourite person to get kicked out’

‘I always knew you had a soft spot for me’

you roll ur eyes aGAiN

‘go bother someone else’

‘oh is the hot librarian in?’

you push him away from the desk

but he doesnt miss the faint smile on ur lips

‘sicheng dont make me give you $100 in overdue book fees’

he sticks his hands up at the threat, his eyes wide

‘no. please. ill do anything’

when u raise an eyebrow at him, he just grabs the book you'd been reading (and not yet borrowed) and walks away

and he winks too

u have to stop your heart from beating out of its chest

and later

its 8pm and the library is officially closing

and for the past three hours you'd been walking to sicheng’s desk and subtly been trying to steal your book back

but every single time hes seen you coming

and pulled the book under the desk or into his lap

away from your grabbing hands

every. single. time.

you tap your foot impatiently at him when its time to continue ur undercover project

and he smiles down at his notebook when he hears u huff in annoyance at him

he dramatically looks up at you

‘do you need something?!’

‘do you want to get suspended?!’

he narrows his eyes at you but stands up anyway

he carefully puts his things in his bag and takes the list of books from your hands

a few of them are already crossed out as having been checked and erased

but theres still a lot to go

it takes you almost three weeks to finally get to the last day

and it had been the same thing every time;

sicheng took forever to pack up

you'd eventually find about ten books each

sit in the children’s section

laugh and chat about your lives while you went through the books

tease each other

and when you'd finished,

he'd walk you home

every single time

without fail

it became a habit that on the Tuesdays he'd stop by on his way to his morning class to drop coffee off for you

because he'd kept you up the night before

and it became easy to lose track of time with sicheng

he was just so engaging

there was no part of you that felt bored or uncomfortable with him

yeah he was annoying and infuriating

but his good book taste made up for it

and his annotations in the margins of the books too

‘is this the last of them?’

he squints down at the page again, counting the books on the table again

its the third time hes counted

‘surely ive read more than this’

‘not from this library ://’

you blow your hair out from your face and look down at the pile

‘you know, I think my manager is starting to get really suspicious of me’

‘why’ he looks up briefly from his book to read your face

but you try and remain calm

‘well she only told me about the markings right. and now theyre disappearing’

he looks at you like ?????

‘well she knows ive been closing up late... I think she thinks I did it’

he laughs ‘you? has she met you?’

you pout and throw a pillow at him

‘HEY! what's that supposed to mean :((’

‘it means ive never met someone who's so protective over books as you’

you think about it, chewing ur bottom lip

‘lets just finish this’

‘do u want to get food after’

he surprises you with the sudden question

and the slight nervousness thats evident on his face really makes you want to say yes

but you have a class tomorrow

and you always try and finish up here earlier on a Thursday night

‘cant :((’

he nods and goes back to readng

theres silence for a while

but you find it comfortable

sicheng on the other hand, feels as though hes just been shot down

like

you just turned down his date

you've kinda noticed hes more reserved now

quiet

but rlly hes just kind of embarrassed

until u say something that gives him hope

‘I,, uh, I dont have plans tomorrow night’

and ngl boy is stunned

‘just if u wanted to go see a movie or something idk’

now its ur turn to be embarrassed

u hope ur hair is hiding ur face as u look back down at the book in ur lap bc no doubt ur blushing

but sicheng is just staring at you

and

before even saying anything

he leans over the gap between you

with all the books

and hovers in front of your face

ur so shocked and ur heart is beating way too hard and fast and ur breathing is too quick to be normal are you having an attack I dont know-

and then he leans forward a little bit more

and his lips meet yours

and suddenly its like a fireworks display went off inside you

and then its almost midnight on a Thursday night and ur sitting in the children's section of your workplace in the beanbags with sicheng cupping ur face and kissing you

he just really needed to kiss you

like more than he needed air

and when u finally pull back

he loves how breathless you are

how you have to fight to keep the smile off your face

how you stare at him with wide eyes

‘so its a date then?’

you blush even redder

and nod

‘ye its a date :))’

but for the next fifteen minutes you sit in stunned silence together

small smiles playing on your faces

until u look at your watch and ur like

‘shit sicheng I have to go’

and his eyes widen bc holy crap u were supposed to leave like half an hour ago

so u both sprint around the library trying to put all the books back

and he meets you at the door again after you've grabbed the keys and made sure everything that needed to be locked was,,, u know,, locked

and when ur walkign to the door again

hes on his phone

u cant see but hes texting his friends about what happened lmao what a softie

and when u walk out together

without thinking he grabs your hand

and u walk home

hand in hand

after midnight

he clears his throat

‘so uh,, when actually is our date’

‘my last class ends at 5-’

‘so 5 it is’

‘are u sure??’

he nods happily

and he presses a gentle kiss to ur forehead when u get to ur doorstep

‘ill see u tomorrow’

but the next day

when u come out of your last class

a little giddy

a little too excited

and see him leaning against one of the stone pillars

effortlessly handsome

you feel your heart flip

and maybe ur just tired or maybe its him

but hes really attractive

like really really attractive

its actually just that youre in love with him

he doesnt see you coming

too focused on something on his phone

but he definitely sees you when you push his hand out to the side and step onto ur toes to kiss him

and u can feel him smile a little as he kisses you back

‘ready for that date?’

‘yeah, where are we going’

‘so I was thinking we could go to the libra- HEY! dont hit me I was j o k i n g y/n jesus christ’

[deniigi]

Hey idk how many asks ur getting but I hope ur not being bombarded or anything. If u could, would u write a scene where jack loses little!matt cuz oops Matt just ran off during errands. He runs into various NYC heroes/vigilantes and in the end Matt has them all trailing him as they try to find jack together. Meanwhile jack panics and anxiety.

This got long and definitely wasn’t quite what you were thinking of, but I think it’s still pretty okay.

I’m putting the 2nd half under the cut since it’s so long (sorry mobile folks)

—

There was a huge fanfare in the streets; some guy with money was apparently strolling through the Kitchen and folks had come out to stare back at him when he started eyeing up their buildings, as was their way. Santiago’s was helping this by leaving a couple of folding tables outside the restaurant doors with ‘Make Peace Not Weapons’ fliers on it next to a couple of flats of eggs.

What was to be done with said eggs was not stated. People around here just knew.

None of that had ever been Jack’s bag, honestly. He was busy. Politics had always been background noise to his daily scrounging and scraping and really, this crowd was going to be the death of him.

He caught Rudy and the others crowded around the doorway of the gym and scream-asked over the noise of the crowd gathering around the edges of the streets if they’d seen Matt.

No, they hadn’t. He wasn’t out playing with Rudy’s kids; they were at their grandmother’s.

Rudy told him to try the church’s playground. A lot of the local kids had climbed up on the fence over there to watch the protest.

Aigh.

Matty knew better than to go that far without asking, but Jack went anyways.

Normally, he’d be panicking, but these were the streets that Matt grew up in; that he himself had grown up in. Th folks lining the pavement here knew him and his kid. They’d keep an eye out and make sure Matt didn’t get kidnapped or anything like that.

He got to the church and saw that Grace was standing outside, shaking her head at all the kids lining the top of the fence. He made wide gestures to catch her attention. She met him at the front of the church with a frown.

“No, he’s not here,” she said. “I saw him go past, though, with the McKenzies’ girl. They’re alright. They went and found a football, the two of them.”

Ahhhhh.

That was 100% Mrs. Green’s doing. She’d had a yard sale for her kids’ shit the other day. Jack had seen a couple of basketballs and footballs in among the stuff. She must not have gotten rid of all of it.

Grace waved him in the direction of the green lot the next street up. It was where most of the neighborhood children spent their time—in the daytime, playing and in the nighttime, for the older ones, experimenting.

Jack struggled through the crowd that way but got caught up in a mass of jeering and jostling when Mr. Moneybags, Whoever finally got out of his car.

Are you serious, y’all?

He called over folks to move, that he was after his fuckin’ kid, and they tried as best as they could to let him back.

Finally, blessedly, he stumbled back out on to the pavement and blew out a breath. Then headed off towards the park.

Sure enough, Matt was there, holding a football that was way too big for him with Perry, the MacKenzies’ girl. They’d evidently been playing the first-grade equivalent of tackle football, if Jack was reading the color in their faces and the dried grass all over them right.

He started that way and was so preoccupied with planning out the conversation he and Matt were about to have that he didn’t hear the folks shouting behind him. Matt saw him and perked up. He handed off the football and met Jack at the water fountain in the middle of their paths. He knew he was in trouble.

Jack put his hands on his hips to emphasize it and was validated at the guilty dropped eyes he got in return.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “That’s what I thought. Come on, then. You know what comes next.”

Matt scowled and dropped his face, mumbling out excuses.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” Jack said.

Matt pouted.

“Hey, you’re in the way,” a new voice said. Jack stood up straight and glared over his shoulder.

“You got the whole pavement, asshole. Go around,” he snapped.

And the next thing he knew, there was a man in a suit manhandling him off the concrete onto the grass.

“You need to move,” the guy growled.

Oh hell no. Not in this neighborhood, pal.

Jack shoved him back; the guy wasn’t prepared for that, it would seem. He fell back right on his ass and stared up, stunned.

“Who do you think you are?” the man babbled, struggling up. He had some kind of thing in his ear, like a secret service man.

Jack huffed at him and went back to collect Matt. They evidently couldn’t have this discussion here.

“HEY. I’m talking to you.”

The second the hand hit his shoulder, time fast-forwarded and Jack came back to himself with the dude with a bloody hand slapped over his face and a fucking roaring crowd of neighbors all around him.

Oh, shit.

“Shit,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” the asshole snarled, ripping his hand away from his mouth to reveal a split lip. “You come out here to assault one of Tony Stark’s bodyguards, huh? You one of these fuckin’ low lives who think they own this city? Hit me again, pal. We’ll see who’s the real winner in the court of law, huh?”

Woah.

Hey, now. Jack had just been trying to apologize.

“FUCK ‘IM UP, JACKIE,” Someone shrieked from the middle of the crowd in the street.

“Jackie? Your name’s Jackie? Jackie what? Full name and address, asshole, give it to me,” the suit demanded.

This.

Was not excellent.

“Listen man,” Jack said as calmly as the roiling, bubbling heat in his chest would allow. “I’m just trying to pick up my kid, alright? So why don’t you fuck off and we both pretend like none of this ever happened?”

The suit scoffed.

“Sure,” he jeered, “Yeah, you pick up your little bitch and clear out. Why don’t we do just that?”

Um.

Oof.

Mm.

“Daddy?”

MMF.

Jack could not break this man in half in front of his son.

He could not make this man beg for mercy in front of his son.

No. That wasn’t true. He could. But he wouldn’t. He had an example to set.

“Yo, what’s going on here? Will, is everything alright?”

The suit suddenly broke eye contact with Jack and turned to a short dude dressed in an obnoxious hoodie and flip flops.

“Everything is just fine, Mr. Stark,” he said, all prim and proper. “This guy’s just impeding the walkway.”

Mr. Stark—fuck, that explained a lot—had to be around Jack’s age. He had dark eyelashes and was probably pretty in other parts of the city. But here? Nah, a pretty man was a working man and this guy, for all his unshaven jaw and tousled hair, was not it.

“Alright, so move, man,” Stark said towards Jack. “It’s public property. You don’t own it.”

“You don’t either,” Jack pointed out to another uproar in the crowd.

Stark chewed on his tongue and chuckled.

He held his hands up.

“That’s fair,” he said. “Leave it, Will. He’s not bothering anyone.”

Will the Suit blustered all over.

“He’s assaulted me, sir,” he said, pointing at his lip. “Not to mention, he’s obviously out here to rile up the crowd.”

“I’m just out here to pick up my son,” Jack snapped.

“So pick him up and get out of the fuckin’ way already,” Will growled.

Ho, ho, motherfucker.

Jack did not move. He held the guy’s eye.

“Daddy.” Matt’s little hands found their way to his wrist.

He was scared. And the thought sent another ripple of heat through Jack’s body.

This was their neighborhood. This was Matt’s home. Jack’s home. And he wouldn’t be treated like shit in it. He wouldn’t teach Matt to bow his head to people with more money.

“You heard your kid,” Will the suit said, “Good to know the next generation here’s got some kinda brains in their heads. Lay off.”

“You ain’t better than us,” Jack spat. He stood up tall and breathed slow. “None of you. This is our city, not yours. So get the fuck out. We don’t need your fuckin’ money, Stark.” He twisted his head to make direct eye contact with this man and his tousled hair and eyelashes.

This wasn’t about some shithead in a suit anymore.

Stark tipped his own face slowly to the side.

“You got guts,” he said. “But honestly, man, you all actually could use my money. You got holes in your shirt, friend. You think—”

“We’d rather have a park than a store we can’t afford to buy from,” Jack said.

“So shop somewhere else,” Stark replied with wide hands. “But this isn’t about a store, you know. This is about an office; a whole five floors of new jobs—”

“Yeah, as janitors,” A gal with a sign on her shoulder said, squirming out of the crowd. “As service people to the rich lapdogs you drag in here to do your business for you.”

“You’d have new patrons for your fine establishments,” Stark said calmly to her.

“Oh sure, I bet they’d flock here, yeah,” the gal drawled. “Them and their pretty white families, with all their pretty, GAP clothes. And you know what they’d do, Stark? They’d start complaining about the quality of our ‘fine establishments.’ They’d start demanding shit we can’t afford, to the point where we’d have to find ways to afford ‘em, just so that we could make an honest living—and by then, our own moms and neighbors wouldn’t be able afford to pay for our so-called fine services.”

“So they would go somewhere else, and you would still be making a profit,” Stark reasoned.

“I should be able to do laundry at the laundromat closest to my house,” the gal pointed out to a chorus of support. “It’s not about money. It’s about community.”

Stark huffed.

“And what a community it is,” he said sarcastically. “You got this guy out here, punching people on the streets ‘cause he can’t keep his kid under control, you got used needles on every corner, trash piling up in the gutters—you call that ‘community?’”

“I call it poverty,” the woman said.

“Business and investment will help alleviate—”

“Mr. Stark,” the woman interrupted, “For all them brains in your head, you sure aren’t good at thinking. Or listening. So why don’t you just take a moment for the next minute and practice. Just listen. Look at me—really look, sir.”

Stark did, but he made it real clear that he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart.

“If you really cared about poverty,” the gal said slowly, “You and all your war money and all your millionaire and billionaire friends would fund community programs. Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t need new businesses, Mr. Stark. We have plenty of our own. What we need are services. Better services. More services. We need people who want to help us as people. Not clients. Not customers. As a community of human beings. And until you really, truly understand what that means, you and your friends aren’t welcome here in Hell’s Kitchen. So, sir, what do you say?”

The crowd fell silent. Jack lifted his chin and stared down at Stark around it just in case he or his security detail got any ideas.

Stark glanced up at him, then back at the woman and then, for the briefest second, at Matt barely peeking out from behind Jack’s hip.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, I see that we’re not welcome here,” he said. “Perhaps we can table this discussion for now due to community concerns, which I’m sure we can overcome in the future. What do you say, Miss?”

“Mrs,” the woman corrected. “I say you’re welcome to try as many times as you want.”

Stark looked her over and scoffed.

“Oh, I will,” he said, “I got this little thing called ‘spite’ in me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman said peacefully.

Stark didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. He puffed himself up and told his guards that he was ready to go. This visit was not worth extending.

The crowd parted to let him and his suits through and was more or less quiet as they all watched him get in his fancy car and drive away.

Jack felt the tension in his shoulders settled down. He stroked a hand over Matt’s hair.

“Thanks for the rescue, Bess,” he said.

Bess beamed up at him.

“Anytime, Jackie,” she said. “Anytime.”

—

AHEM.

Bess Mahoney was Hell’s Kitchen’s main superhero before DD. Thank you and good night.