#he hasn’t been in previous imaginings of mine but i think that makes more sense here

[vigilskeep]

um calenhad aeducan lore. known fondly as prince cal by the people of orzammar and also me. he’s called that after the founder of the theirin line, because after ferelden successfully rebelled against orlesian rule, orzammar was like oh fuck we’ve got to repair that relationship as if we didn’t just sit by the whole time that was happening. so there were a bunch of these kind of uh diplomatic publicity stunts happening around the time he was born. and nothing about his life has ever not been someone else’s angle

his mother was one of endrin’s lesser concubines from a lower status house, and every jealous eye turned in her direction when she bore the king a son. despite that, endrin’s queen took her and the baby under her wing. it wasn’t entirely altruistic. the queen had no sons of her own, so cal could serve instead as her “contender” for heir against trian, the son of her long-time rival, a favoured concubine called lady rosdrada. the queen also happened to be a notable warrior, a powerful reaver, who died years later on a deep roads expedition under mildly suspicious circumstances, with many blaming lady rosdrada. (she was never publicly accused but neither did the king ever marry her and allow her to rise to the queen’s vacant place, a fact bitterly resented by her faction.)

cal’s mother, who returned the queen’s protection and favour with fierce loyalty, was first among rosdrada’s accusers. furious that punishment never came, she changed almost overnight from a shy, humble woman to a politician who could in her own right engage in the life or death battle for succession, raising her son to be the fulfilment of the late queen’s ambitions. he was trained since childhood in both the ways of princely charm and the ways of a reaver warrior, all to be the vengeance of a woman whose face he sometimes struggles to remember. perhaps there was a time, as boys, when he tried to be a brother to trian despite it all, but with his mother’s teachings always in his ears and trian less bearable each year, he’s long since accepted that deadly conflict between them is inevitable. he’s never eager to be the ruthless aeducan prince, but he’s always done his duty, however ugly. he never turns down the foul-tasting reaver concoctions, or quakes when he’s sent to the deep roads. he always defends his house’s honour and makes the point in blood. anything less is death; his mother tells him so

he doesn’t truly want the throne. he just wants more than anything to have the weight of expectations off his shoulders, and to no longer dread that his mother, his second, and all who support them will pay the deadly price of his failure. he’ll jump blindly at the chance to get this fight over with—and that’s all the opportunity bhelen ever needed

[saraanzu]

bsd speculation: what’s up with this girl in bram’s flashback from 107.5, and what can we learn about her from dracula?

(prefacing this with some rambling… actual analysis starts after the readmore)

107.5 came out the same day as the s5 trailer and it was right after an exciting mersault chapter which is the vastly more popular pov and it was a whopping 9 pages - it was bound to be disliked. I won’t pretend a 9-page chapter isn’t disappointing (no idea why recent chapters have been so short - I hope they get a bit longer again when s5 is done airing?) and I think it’s fine to prefer the mersault storyline but I’ve also seen some god-awful takes about this chapter.

aya and bram aren’t side characters! they have been core to bsd’s plot ever since their introductions (in aya’s case, her re-introduction) and you can dislike them all you want but it’s objectively incorrect to claim they aren’t important to the story.

I also don’t agree with the take that 107.5 didn’t further the plot at all - obviously not a lot can happen in, again, 9 pages (that’s 1/3 the length of 107!) but aya deciding to remove bram’s sword and him actually encouraging her to do it even when he doesn’t believe it’s possible and previously told her not to is a huge turning point in the story! 107.5 certainly isn’t a favorite of mine but I will say we’ve had (slightly) longer chapters in recent months that had more exposition and setup with less plot.

I’ve seen some people worry that, because bram pictures someone who looks like aya in what’s presumably a wedding dress, bram and aya’s relationship is going in a creepy direction. I want to make it clear that no matter who this flashback girl is, even if she’s bram’s dead lover and/or aya in a previous life, I highly highly doubt that anything weird is going to happen between bram and aya. their relationship hasn’t been set up like that at all, in fact bram has parallels with aya’s father and he explicitly sees her as a child (more on that later) (look. bsd is not above using some Weird Tropes. in particular, the tanizakis and mori come to mind (and in mori’s case, it doesn’t even really function as a reference to the irl author - vitas sexualis has nothing to do with pedophillia!) but it’s important to mention that, while I wish those tropes weren’t in bsd at all because they’re unnecessary and add nothing of value to the characters, they are ultimately gags and nothing more. they don’t really set a precedent for how weird asagiri is willing to get when it comes to legitimately serious plot points.)

okay! got it all out of my system here’s the actual post

part 1: the dress

personally, when I first read 107.5, I didn’t think this girl was in a wedding dress. my initial assumption was “this must be bram’s daughter, she’s wearing some sort of tiara and bram was a nobleman”. but looking at it again, it does resemble one, and we should consider how bram’s backstory might reference dracula.

“the brides of dracula” are three seductive vampire ladies who live in count dracula’s castle and attempt to feed on jonathan harker early on in the book before being stopped by dracula, who chastises them for trying to eat harker and feeds them a human baby instead.

while they are known as dracula’s brides in pop culture and are often portrayed as such in movie adaptations, they go unnamed in the original novel and their relation to dracula is unclear. from what we see of them they refer to each other as “sisters”, although perhaps not in the literal sense. two of them have dark hair and are described as having similar facial features to dracula while the third is blonde, which may imply the third is dracula’s wife and the other two are his daughters. I imagine they’re pretty vague and mysterious on purpose, they could be dracula’s wives/sisters/daughters, or even just some vampire ladies crashing at his house.

however, I don’t think we should disregard details exclusive to adaptations of dracula and only focus on the original book when thinking about bsd. film adaptations of the book are actually more influential on dracula’s perception in pop-culture than the book itself, so it’s not unlikely that asagiri would reference elements that appeared in adaptations but not the novel.

so, because of “the brides of dracula”, I think it’s quite possible this girl is indeed a bride. she does look a bit young for it, but I’ve seen others say they think she looks older than aya, so I guess that’s subjective (and people would get married younger in bram’s time I suppose).

that doesn’t mean she has to be bram’s bride - again, the “brides” in the original novel have no explicit relation to dracula and could easily be his daughters or sisters, and I really do think her being his daughter instead makes more sense thematically.

part 2: her relation to bram

I believe bram subtly parallels aya’s father in a few ways. aya’s dad is verbally and physically abusive, and he berates aya for not being good at traditionally feminine activities. he doesn’t see her for what she is, a child, and instead expects her to be a perfect traditional woman.

right before we see this flashback, bram is surprised by aya’s age, and comments that she is “too young to even use a spinning wheel” (also a traditionally feminine activity). both of them question aya’s desire/ability to be an ally of justice but for different reasons: aya’s father finds it unladylike while bram finds it too big a task for a little girl (he is also sleepy)

I didn’t understand the point of this scene’s inclusion before, but in retrospect I think it serves as foreshadowing for bram’s flashback and demonstrates how he and aya’s father both associate aya with dead people, but this causes them to treat her differently.

aya will never live up to her father’s expectations because she can’t compete with his idealized memories of the dead. her own accomplishments are irrelevant in his eyes because she isn’t enough like the wife and daughter he lost. I suspect his grief is part of the reason he’s so horrible to her in the first place.

it’s the opposite case with bram. in his eyes aya does compare to someone who he remembers fondly, and the end of 107.5 implies that’s the very reason he’s okay with aya pulling the sword out.

I don’t necessarily see bram as a father figure to aya (to me he’s more of a weird creature who’s sort of grown fond of her after being unwillingly dragged around… but hey, who says that can’t be a dad?) but I do think it’s possible that this mystery girl was bram’s daughter in the past because of how he parallels aya’s father.

(note: she has normal human ears rather than pointy ones, but bram was turned into a vampire by his ability and wasn’t bitten or born as one, so I don’t know if he’d necessarily pass down his vampirism to his children. he also may have developed his ability after becoming a father, or his daughter could even be adopted).

part 3: her relation to aya

the most common idea I’ve seen to explain the resemblance between these two is that aya is a reincarnation of this flashback girl. introducing reincarnation out of nowhere seems a bit random even for bsd, but surprisingly this theory does have some basis.

in the movie bram stoker’s dracula (1992), the character mina harker, jonathan’s fiancé, is a reincarnation of dracula’s long-dead lover, elisabeta. dracula recognizes her as a reincarnation due to their resemblance and mina agrees to assist him, still harboring feelings and memories from her past life. it’s fairly common for dracula adaptations to portray dracula and/or mina as having romantic feelings for each other, but this isn’t really the case in the novel, and elisabeta is entirely an invention of this particular movie.

so, aya being a reincarnation of a girl bram once knew could work as a reference to this. I did say previously that I think it’s possible asagiri will reference adaptations of dracula and not just the novel, but I’m not so sure he would make something specific to one particular adaptation a major part of bram’s backstory.

personally, I’m partial to the idea that aya’s ability will be introduced soon, and her resemblance to this flashback girl may have something to do with it. (the ability idea and reincarnation idea aren’t inherently contradictory, aya’s ability could very well be reincarnation)

this theory by @jo-dieeee suggests that aya’s ability is called mirror, due to the discussion of mirrors in 107.5 and the book above.

mirror: the fiction and essays of koda aya isn’t actually a book written by irl koda, nor is it just a collection of her stories. it was written by ann sherif and discusses koda’s life and works, including some translations of her short stories in the second part. however, the existence of this book and aya emphasizing mirrors in 107.5 is quite an interesting coincidence! whether or not it’s called mirror, I’m fairly confident an ability reveal is coming up.

it’s also worth bringing up that aya’s resemblance to this mystery firl might not have a supernatural explanation at all. it could easily be an artistic choice simply made to indicate that bram is reminiscing about someone who aya reminds him of. I’m not too into the reincarnation idea myself.

[watchmegetobsessed]

SLEEPLESS

a/n: omg! it's been so long since i last wrote something for harry so it feels a bit weird but in a good way to be back. i've been spending more time offline so writing hasn't been going that fast like before, but im working on a few other stuff too! just please be patient with me, im trying my besti swear! so now enjoy this oneshot of two oblivious and stupid roommates who start sharing a bed...

pairing: Roommate!Harry x reader

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

Living with three boys has its perks but also a lot of downsides too. It’s not how you planned, you were set to move in with one of your friends from second year, but she bailed on you last minute, leaving you with no place to live when most of the houses were already taken for the next at least one year. You were bracing yourself to sleep under a bridge or something already when your heroes came along.

You went to high school with Harry Niall and Louis, but you weren’t exactly in the same friend group, just knew about each other. Then you ended up in the same Lit class freshman year with Harry and he was basically your pass into their little group. You hit it off pretty easily and you always wondered why you didn’t become friends before college. Later you had two more classes with him in the second semester and it was just all a coincidence that he found out about your living situation.

“Why don’t you move in with us?” he prompted one afternoon when you were studying together in the library.

“I’m not sharing a room with any of you, Harry,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“You wouldn’t have to. We had a fourth mate living with us but he dropped out about a month ago. You could take his bedroom.”

“Are for real? You should talk about it with the boys first, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind it. They like you too and if I’m being honest, the place could use the touch of a woman,” he smirked and you just rolled your eyes, but you were incredibly thankful for the offer.

So after talking with Niall and Louis about it and once they gave their amens on the situation, you officially moved in with the three of them.

You’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been times when you thought about choosing the bridge, living with boys is not exactly a dream. They are messy, sometimes loud and oblivious about certain things women do and need. You’ll never forget Niall’s face when you packed the shelf above the toilet with your tampons and pads. The horror in his eyes as he examined all the different sizes and types.

“But why so many? I don’t get it why you need the large ones and the mini ones too,” he huffed.

“Because I vary them according to the strength of my flow.”

“Bless you,” he scoffed and just walked away.

They tend to leave their clothes around the house and they don’t always realize when it’s time to let some fresh air into the place either. Harry has a sixth sense wanting to use the bathroom when you’re in and Louis always forgets to get rid of his spoiled food from the fridge. Tini things that surely got you thinking if it was a good idea to move in with them. But then there are times when you can’t even imagine sharing a home with anyone else than these three idiots.

The way Harry always leaves you a cup of coffee on the counter when he has an early class on mondays and wednesdays, how Niall always waits for you to get home after your night shifts at the restaurant you’ve been working at, but he always just says he was watching Supernatural on TV. You love that Louis goes out of his way to get you your favorite pastry for breakfast on sundays when he goes for his morning runs. But the absolute best is that you never feel alone or bored with these three around. Something is always happening and they make sure to involve you in everything, making you feel like part of their little pack.

Tonight is Thursday and Thursdays are movie nights in your home. It’s been a tradition since the first week and you haven’t missed any of them. Sitting on the couch at your usual spot, you laugh as Niall growls in annoyance when you suggest to watch another rom-com.

“Not again!” he protests, sitting on the floor by the coffee table you and Harry thrifted a few months ago after the previous one was broken at a smaller party held in the house.

“Why? I bet Harry would love it!” you grin, glancing at the guy in talk who is now entering the room with a big bowl of popcorn.

“Of course he would, because he is a pussy! And the two of you always team up, dragging Louis with you so I can never watch something I enjoy!” Niall whines as Harry sits next to you, not too bothered by his friend’s cries.

“Come on, I bet you enjoyed Crazy, Stupid Love last week!” you laugh, remembering how he whined for the first part, then fell asleep at the end.

“Love, if you think that was enjoyment, I wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend,” Niall scoffs and you gasp at his reply.

“Hey!” you snap at him, but can’t help laughing. This is how it always goes with you and Niall, the non-stop bickering can sometimes drive Harry and Lou insane.

“Okay, so what do you want to watch?” Harry asks, throwing some popcorn into his mouth as he gets comfortable, an arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, the other one busy with the snack in his lap.

“There is this new horror I’ve been dying to see!” Niall’s blue eyes light up right away, but you’re fast to break that shine.

“Nah, no way. I’m not watching a horror movie.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking hate them and they scare the shit out of me.”

“That’s like the whole point!” he protests, but you shake your head no again.

“What are you fighting about again?” Louis asks, walking into the room after his quick shower, the smell of his body wash filling the room for a few moments.

“I want to watch a horror movie, but Y/N is a little baby and she doesn’t want to.”

“I’m not a baby! I just don’t enjoy watching people get killed or demons sucking the life out of someone!” Niall just rolls his eyes at your response.

“But it’s always what you or Harry wants to watch, why can’t I choose just this once?”

“That’s not true, we watch movies you like too!” you retort, but Niall gives you an unimpressed look. “We watched that crime thing, that was your choice!”

“That was three months ago, Y/N,” he sighs and as you do some quick math you realize that he is right.

“Hey, he has a point. Let’s just watch what he wants this one time, yeah?” Harry curls his arm that’s been on the back of the couch around your shoulder and he pulls you to his side, squeezing you gently.

“But I hate horrors,” you pout, knowing well that it’s already kind of settled, you lost this battle.

“It’s just a movie. And if you get scared in the night, you can sleep at mine,” he offers with a wink that surely makes your heartbeat fasten a bit.

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a tiny crush on Harry, even back in high school, when you didn’t really know him. He was the cool guy, but not the douchebag type, more like the one that was nice to everyone and earned their respect and liking. Getting to know him just proved that he really is a great guy, but you figured he would never feel the same way about you. These three guys only saw you as their sister and that was in a way kinda worse than being friend zoned, but there’s nothing you can do about it, so you just decided to come to peace with your situation. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get flustered when you see him wander around the house in just his boxers or when he gets a little touchy with you, which happens a lot, because that’s just how he is. Hands on your shoulders, a little squeeze on your hips, the gentle touch of his fingers on your back, they happen all the time and they get your pulse up every time. You can only hope it’s not that noticeable.

Niall finally gets what he wants and you agree to watch that stupid horror movie. It doesn’t start off too bad, but it quickly escalates and makes you shudder every time the screen gets a little darker or the music is foreshadowing that something is about to happen.

“Jesus fuck!” you jump a little when the killer appears out of nowhere in the scene.

“You alright?” Harry asks, peeking down at you.

“I fucking hate this dude,” you mumble, rubbing your face with your hands, to get your shit together. Harry chuckles lightly next to you, his arm pulling you to his side close and you gladly sink against him, the warmth of his body giving you some comfort and a sense of safety.

Your eyes are on the screen, but your mind is dancing around how his fingers are delicately running up and down your arm, drawing circles and little shapes on your skin. It could put you to sleep easily, even with the woman screaming on the screen after seeing her husband get killed.

“Just imagine the guy with a funny mustache,” Harry murmurs, leaning closer to you so he doesn’t bother the other two guys with his comment. “Or maybe in a ridiculous outfit.”

“Like… in a onsie?” you ask, squinting your eyes at the screen.

“Could be, yeah,” he chuckles quietly. “Just imagine him running through the woods in a onsie with bunnies all over it.”

You can’t push your laughter down, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t bother the others. Harry just smirks, giving you a squeeze as you’re still melted against his side on the couch, legs pulled up to your chest, while his are spread out in front of him.

“Definitely not that scary,” you giggle and Harry hums in agreement.

“Would you mind getting a fucking room, you guys? You have two, in fact!” Niall snaps at you playfully, when you start laughing again.

“Sorry, sorry!” you clear your throat, your cheeks heating up at the comment, but luckily it’s dark enough to hide your embarrassment. Niall is always quick to make dirty jokes and tease you in a way that makes you nervous, especially when it involves Harry as well. He has made plenty of comments about you and Harry since you’ve moved in, implying that the two of you sometimes act like a couple or that you should hook up. Harry is always quick to shake them off, that’s how you know he couldn’t even take the thought seriously.

At the end of the movie you feel like it wasn’t bad, not with Harry holding you close at least.

“Will you be screaming tonight, Y/N?” Niall teases you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Either way it’s gonna be your fault.”

“I can live with that!” he laughs, bidding his goodbye before he shuts the door of his bedroom behind him.

You do your usual evening routine, get ready to bed and by the time you’re done in the bathroom all the boys have retired into their rooms. The hallway stands dark in front of you, only a tiny bit of light coming from your bedroom since you left your bedside lamp on in there, but you still can’t help the eerie feeling that washes over you. That movie didn’t sit right with you and now you have to face the aftermath of it.

Switching the lights in the bathroom off you sprint into your bedroom, pictures from the movie flashing in your mind of the killer just jumping out of nowhere. You shut the door and lean your back against it for a moment, taking a deep breath. Tonight is going to be long.

No matter how hard you try, you just can’t fall asleep. You’re way too alerted, opening your eyes at the tiniest of sounds around you, which is unfortunate, because your window is looking over the main street, unlike two other rooms in the house, that are facing the small backyard. Harry and Louis have the luck to have those rooms.

Every time you’re about to fall asleep something from the movie sneaks into your thoughts and you get scared to death. Soon, you realize you won’t be able to sleep on your own tonight.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you wonder if Harry really meant that offer that you can sleep with him or not. Part of you is convinced it was just a joke, but when you hear someone shouting down the street you push your doubts aside and you quickly find yourself making your way to Harry’s room.

You knock on the room lightly, not wanting to wake anyone else up. The last thing you need is Niall seeing you go into Harry’s room in the middle of the night.

No answer comes from inside, but you won’t just leave it at that. Opening the door you’re facing another dark room, barely making out the furniture, but you already know the route by heart. Making it to the bed your eyes finally adjust to the darkness and you can see Harry lying on his side, sleeping peacefully. Squatting down you place a hand to his shoulder and give him a tiny shake.

“Harry?” you call out quietly, but his answer is just a huff. “Harry, it’s me,” you try again, squeezing his arm. He furrows his eyebrows before slowly blinking his eyes open, finding you in his sight.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks in that groggy, low voice you love hearing in the morning so much.

“I can’t… Did you mean that I can sleep here if I’m scared?” you ask, afraid that he might just have a good laugh and send you back to your room. For a long moment, he just blinks at you before nodding his head and you feel relief washing over you.

“Sure,” he hums.

“O-okay then I’ll bring a blanket and take the floor and--”

“Shut up, you are not sleeping on the floor,” he growls, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into bed with him as he scoots over, making you space on the mattress.

It’s a bit weird at first, lying in bed with Harry, especially because it’s just queen sized, so there’s not much space between the two of you, but it seems like Harry doesn’t mind it so why should you?

Your nerves are a lot calmer with Harry next to you, but maybe it’s still because of the movie or because you’re a bit anxious about the whole situation, you just still can’t relax enough to fall asleep.

“Y/N, no one is gonna kill you here,” Harry speaks up surprising you because you thought he has already fallen back asleep.

“I know, I know,” you whisper, trying to sound convincing, but you can’t fool anyone, especially not him.

He huffs deeply and before you could realize what’s happening, Harry’s arm is curled around your waist, pulling you against him, spooning you from behind, the warmth of his body wrapping your figure almost entirely.

“If a murderer comes, they will have to fight me first, alright? Now sleep,” he mumbles against your hair, squeezing you gently. All at once, you couldn’t care about killers and dark shadows around you, because Harry was right there, holding you tight and there was nowhere you wanted to be more than right there.

You slept like a baby. Harry’s closeness kept every nightmare away from you and the morning came with ease. Harry’s phone wakes the two of you up at eight, because he has a morning class at 9.30. The two of you are completely tangled up in each other, lying on your side facing each other, Harry’s arms are wrapped around you, while yours are hugging his waist. Groaning at the sound of his alarm, he rolls to his back to reach for the phone on the nightstand and then he finally turns it off. It’s bright outside, the darkness of the night finally long gone. You’re still groggy when Harry rolls back, his arm coming back around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world and in a sense, it feels like that. But as you both slowly wake up, you realize that you might be a little too close. Slowly but surely you let go of each other, rolling to your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hope I didn’t kick you in my sleep,” you smile at him, peeking over at him, hoping to break the awkwardness of the situation.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, rubbing his eyes, before pushing himself up and off the bed. You follow him with your gaze as he steps to his dresser and grabs a pair of clean underwear. “I’ll put on a coffee while I shower, want one too?” he asks, though you know he could make one for you anyway.

“Sure, thank you,” you nod and he nods back, yawning as he walks out of the room, leaving you lying in his bed, a bit confused and kind of aching to be held by him again.

Two days pass by, everything is going as per usual, neither you nor Harry brings up that you spent the night in his bed that one particular time. Now it’s saturday and you all were planning to go out, but a sudden storm has cancelled your plans, so the evening turned into a cozy, lazy hangout instead of a wild party at some frat house.

Louis decided to work on a paper that’s due in two weeks, Niall has been relentlessly swiping on Tinder while you and Harry are spawled out on the couch, watching some shitty action movie that was on TV, since you both were too lazy to choose one and put it on. Deep down you’re a little happy you don’t have to spend the evening in a crowded, smelly house, drinking cheap alcohol.

Harry gets up from his seat to grab himself a drink just when Niall growls in annoyance.

“What is it?” you ask.

“They keep unmatching with me after we’ve talked a little!”

“Have you thought about the reason?” you smirk at him, knowing well that Niall probably isn’t the easiest to talk to, he surely takes it too far too soon.

“Well they probably don’t like that I ask them if I can go over,” he shrugs, making you laugh.

“You’d go over in the pouring rain?” Harry asks, returning to his spot on the couch. He puts his drink to the coffee table and instead of sitting into his previous position, leaning against the arm of the couch, he lies down, laying his head to your thigh, making your breath hitch for a moment.

“Of course not!” Niall rolls his eyes. “But I thought it would make them think I would do anything for them.”

“It makes you seem desperate,” Harry retorts, earning a questioning look from his friend. “What? It does!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does,” you nod in agreement. “Going over in the middle of a storm just to fuck? Sounds like you’re having a hard time finding someone.”

“Women are so fucking complicated, and for what?!” he growls, before storming off to his bedroom, like an angsty teenager, leaving you and Harry alone.

He doesn’t move, his head stays on your thigh using it as a pillow. His curls are tickling the soft skin on your thigh and you have to fight the urge to play with his hair or scratch his scalp. You stay like this for the rest of the movie and when he gets up you almost want to pull him back.

“Alright, I’m fucked, I’m gonna go to bed,” he yawns, stretching his arms out into the air as he heads into his bedroom. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Night, Harry!” you call after him as you watch his frame disappear down the hallway.

Sighing, you slide down on the couch, cursing under your breath that you’re still so hung up on Harry. You really thought that you had it under control, but lately those damn butterflies are acting up in your stomach at everything he does.

“I’m pathetic,” you mumble under your breath just as the sky rumbles outside with a blinding lightning, making you jump with a squeak. “Shit,” you huff, already knowing that falling asleep will be a pain in the ass. Again.

You’ve always hated storms, they make you think that something bad is about to happen, a tree is about to fall into the window or a lightning will blow up the building. It’s kind of stupid, you know it, but you just can’t help it.

Tossing and turning, you jump every time a lightning flashes somewhere outside and a few seconds later the thunder rips through your whole body, almost making you fall off the bed.

“Oh God,” you let out a shaky breath. You have no idea how long it is until the Storm finally stops and you’d really like to have a good night's sleep. So pushing your anxious thoughts to the side, you get out of bed and head over to Harry’s room once again.

It’s such a deja vu from a few nights ago, as you gently knock on the door you wait again, but this time you actually get an answer.

“Yeah?” you hear him call out from inside and you slowly open the door, peeking your head inside. Harry is lying in bed, his head propped up against the headboard as he is scrolling through his phone. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks, putting the phone aside as he sits up.

“I just, I-I know it’s stupid, but I was thinking… I don’t know--”

“Y/N, just tell me, alright? Come on in,” he gestures for you and you slip into the room, closing the door behind you before sitting to the edge of the bed next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep during storms…” you admit, looking into his eyes, hoping he gets the hint where you want to head with it. He stares back at you for a moment before he scoots over, lifting the covers up, giving you the green light to join him.

Relieved, you climb over to him, making yourself comfortable as he wraps the blanket over you, his arm immediately coming to cradle you, this time pulling you to his chest so your head is laid upon his shoulder, a hand gently placed onto his hard chest, probably right above where his butterfly tattoo is adorning his abdomen.

This is now easily your favorite place. Safe and tight in Harry’s arms, protected from anything and everything, like you’re in a little bubble as soon as you get on his bed.

Lightning strikes outside again and you shiver a little. Harry probably notices it, because he tightens his hold around you, as if it’s his way telling you that he is here and nothing bad is gonna happen. Eventually, you’re able to shut the outside out and only focus on Harry’s warmth, the touch of his hand on your arm and his even breathing. And then finally, you drift off to sleep.

This morning is different from the previous one you spent here. There’s no alarm since it’s Sunday, neither of you have anything in particular to do, so you wake up feeling rested, the Sun shining through his half drawn in curtains, no trace of last night’s storm can be noticed from where you’re lying in bed, the sky is as clear as ever. Sometime during the night you got tangled in a way where Harry is the one now cuddling you, his head lying on your chest, hugging you as if you were a giant teddy bear, his leg thrown between yours, lightly snoring against your sleep shirt. You can only see his mop of hair and the urge to play with them is back, but this time, you give in.

Leaving one hand on his back, you move the other one to his unruly locks, gently playing with one before you comb your fingers through it, lightly scratching his scalp. Harry hums in pleasure, shifting from his dreams back to reality, but he doesn’t move, just keeps humming as you massage his scalp.

“It’s not a good morning, it’s the best,” he mumbles groggily, making you chuckle at his words.

One of his hands is flat against your ribcage and the damned butterflies start dancing when you feel his fingers gently stroke your side as you keep playing with his curls. This feels so idyllic, as if you’ve been like this forever. You wish that was true.

Groaning as he stretches, Harry rolls to his back, making you instantly miss his body pressed against yours. He rubs his eyes, sighing deep as he blinks up at the ceiling a few times, then he turns his head to the side, looking at you.

Just when he is about to say something, outside his door it sounds like someone just broke a pile of plates and it’s followed by Niall’s usual annoyed growl. You both get out of bed to go and check what happened, not even thinking about how it might appear that you both are coming from Harry’s room in the morning.

Harry flings the door open and there is Niall, collecting pieces of a plate from the floor, his breakfast scattered down the hallway as well while he curses under his breath.

“What happened?” Harry asks, picking up a bigger piece from the plate.

“Fucking tripped,” he growls back, glancing up just for a moment, then back down, but then he processes that you’re standing behind Harry, in his room, in the morning. “What the fuck are you doing in Harry’s room?” he bluntly asks, quickly forgetting about the mess he just made.

“What?” you ask nervously, your pulse quickening in an instant. Harry stands up, seemingly not too bothered by Niall’s question.

“You slept in his room?!”

“She did,” Harry answers, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wait, are you two fucking?” Niall’s eyes widen, snapping back and forth between you and Harry.

“Just because two people sleep in the same bed, doesn’t mean they are fucking, Niall,” Harry chuckles, seemingly amused by the situation that’s got your stomach knotted. Louis’ door opens and he walks out, his hair a little messy, but already dressed, a mug halfway filled with coffee in his hand.

“Wha’s this circus out here?” he asks, looking around, his eyes scanning over the mess on the floor.

“Did you know these two are fucking?” Niall asks him and Harry lets his head drop back at his words.

“Are you?” Louis simply questions and you shake your head no.

“We are not. Y/N can’t sleep in a storm so she came over to mine.”

“Funny, she doesn’t come to me when she’s scared,” Niall scoffs.

“I never came to you because you don’t understand that sleeping together doesn’t mean sex,” you retort, though your ears are practically burning from the rising anxiety inside you.

“Wait, whoa. This wasn’t the first time you two slept together?”

“She was scared after your stupid horror movie too,” Harry shrugs.

“Wow, so are you guys a thing now or what?”

“Niall!” Harry growls and you’re not entirely sure what bothers you more. Niall’s shock and interrogation or the way Harry seems so cool and unbothered, like it’s no big deal. Maybe because for him it really isn’t, it’s only about the sleeping, nothing else, even though the cuddles are a little beyond the lines of friendship.

“What? I’m just asking the important stuff! Am I not allowed to tell dirty jokes to Y/N because you’ll cut my prick off?”

“You shouldn’t tell those anyway,” Louis chimes in and you nod in agreement.

Seeing that the conversation is just getting more and more awkward with each passing moment you decide to pull yourself out of it. Pushing yourself past Harry you mumble an excuse me before rushing back into your room, the three boys eyeing you curiously as you shut the door behind you, finally putting a physical barrier between you and them.

You shouldn’t be this offended, it’s not like any promises were made and you should have known better and not fall for him more than you already did. It was silly of you to think that there was anything more behind these nights spent curled up against each other, or when you woke up tangled and melted together. It was never what you hoped it to be.

Then and there you decide it’s better if you distanced yourself from him, or at least go back to how it was before. No bed sharing, no cuddling and preferably no bitter feelings.

It all goes well, because you have a pretty busy week after that day, you always have something to do and it’s not like you spent the night with Harry randomly, so it was evident that you stayed in your room so far.

But about a week later another storm was threatening to strike. The sky was gradually darkening all afternoon and now it’s only five o’clock, but it feels like eight. It’s Sunday, you’re quite exhausted since you were working until three. Niall was out somewhere with some of his coursemates and Louis went home for the weekend, won’t be back until Tuesday. It’s just you and Harry, who’s been sprawled out on the couch in only his sweatpants while you’re making yourself an early dinner so you can go to bed soon and have a good night’s sleep.

It doesn’t take long for the rain to start pouring, you’ve just gotten out of the shower when the first thunder rips through the place, making you gasp in fear. Harry’s head snaps around, looking in your way where you’re standing at the bathroom door, a questioning look in his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word. Ignoring his gaze, you just make your way into your bedroom, not even thinking about what could be on his mind. Is he thinking about whether you’ll ask to sleep with him again or he doesn’t care about it at all?

By the time you are ready to go to bed, the storm is fully raging outside, making your insides tremble every time you see a lightning or the thunder breaks the quietness in the house. You make one last trip to the kitchen, finding Harry leaned against the counter as he eats an apple.

“Going to bed early?” he asks as you pour yourself some water.

“Mhm,” you nod, avoiding looking at him.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure, I’m just tired,” you force a small smile onto your face just when a thunder rumbles outside, making you jump. Harry is watching you curiously and kind of expectantly, but you’re doing your best ignoring it. Instead, you just grab your water and head back to your room. “Good night.”

“Night, Y/N,” he calls after you, and you can feel his burning gaze on your back right until you close the door behind you.

Your plan to sleep a good ten hours goes right out the window. It doesn’t seem like the storm is about to calm anytime soon, so you’re stuck to suffer through it on your own. You’ll be damned to go to Harry’s, that would be an instant heart break and you just can’t take that right now. Long, torturous hours pass by with you lying awake in bed and part of you wants to go running over to Harry, but you force yourself to stay. It’s not happening tonight.

You fall asleep sometime after two in the morning when the thunder and lightning have stopped. Unfortunately, you need to wake up early in the morning, so when your phone’s alarm shakes you out of your sleep, you feel like absolute shit. Dragging yourself out of bed appears to be the hardest thing right now. As you make your way out, you are met with an all too familiar figure sitting at the small dining table, two cups of coffees in front of him, one obviously made for you.

Harry’s eyes snap up at you curiously, taking in your terrible looks as you head to the bathroom.

“Morning,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning’,” he nods in your way and though he doesn’t say anything else, you can tell he has a few thoughts about your current state.

Once you’re done with your morning business in there you join him at the table, barely able to keep your eyes open.

“Rough night?” he asks, eyes examining your face.

“Kinda.”

“The storm?”

You don’t answer, just nod your head. He remains silent, but you can feel that he is dying to ask another question.

Why didn’t you come over?

You’re glad he doesn’t actually asks you, because you wouldn’t be able to give either a normal answer or say anything without starting to cry. Instead, you just grab your coffee and head back into your bedroom to get ready for the day.

That week on Friday all four of you are invited to a party. At first you want to cancel, but some of your friends from classes will be there too and it’s been ages since you’ve been to a great party, so you decide to tag along with the boys.

For the first half of the evening you go your separate way, spending time with people you don’t actually live with and see every day. One drink follows the other, though you make sure you don’t go farther than getting tipsy. You’re not in the mood to deal with a nasty hangover in the morning.

Sometime after your third or fourth drink you run into Niall and he pulls you into their little circle that also involves Harry. When he sees that you’ve joined them, his eyes light up and goes out of his way to get next to you.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” he whines, slurring his words as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to keep you at his side. He is definitely drunk, that you’re sure of.

“It’s been just about two hours, Harry,” you roll your eyes, but can’t push your smile down. You’d be lying if you said you’re not enjoying having him so close. Your dynamic hasn’t been the same since you stopped sleeping in his bed. Not that it was such a regular activity, it only happened two times.

“But I missed you, I feel like we haven’t… haven’t talked in so long!” he huffs, knitting his eyebrows together. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks leaning closer, so your conversation can somewhat be private.

“That’s silly. Of course I haven’t!”

“But it feels like that,” he pouts with glossy eyes. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Sure,” you nod, the bitter taste of lying filling your mouth.

“Alright, cool,” he smirks and pulling closer he kisses into your hair before he engages with the rest of the group again, keeping his arm around you as if it wasn’t a big deal.

For the rest of the evening you simply don’t leave his side and not because he doesn’t let you, but because you don’t want to. Harry is not the only one missing the other, this week you’ve noticed that even though you’ve been keeping yourself busy, your thoughts always took you back to one particular, curly haired boy. Despite everything that’s been going on, he is your friend first and foremost who you love spending time with and talking about anything and everything.

Both of you are intoxicated, Harry a bit more than you, but you’re having a blast playing beerpong or ruining Niall’s chances with girls he is trying to pick up. You’re genuinely having an amazing time and it wouldn’t be the same without Harry.

Arriving back home your little group splits, everyone using the bathroom after the other and you’re the last one in line, because you always take the longest. By the time you’re finished, Louis and Niall are both locked up in their rooms, but Harry’s door is still open, some dim lighting illuminating the hallway. As you approach it, you find him throwing his dirty clothes into the hamper, but his head perks up when he sees you.

“Good night, H,” you sigh, quite tired and in need of a good sleep, but before you could head into your own bedroom, Harry grabs your wrist and pulls you into his. “What is it?”

“Sleep here,” he simply prompts, already leading you to the bed.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“I-I… I don’t--” you stutter, feeling flustered from his offer.

“Come on, you can’t say no,” he tells you, already crawling under his covers and then he holds them up as the invitation.

Taking a deep breath you follow him and make yourself comfortable in your almost usual spot. Harry’s arm falls over your waist in an instant, spooning you from behind as he hums pleased. But a few moments later he lifts his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“You know you can say no, right? I was just joking.” Looking back at him you give him a small smile. Even drunk he makes sure you aren’t doing anything you don’t want to, but how could you not want it? You’ve been aching to sleep next to him all week, especially after the last storm when you suffered alone in your room.

“I know, Harry.”

“Alright, okay,” he nods, his head dropping back to the pillow. “I missed this,” he mumbles with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

“Mm, sleeping alone sucks,” he hums and in a split second, your heart breaks.

Harry didn’t want to sleep with you, he just wanted to sleep with someone and you were the one there. It has nothing to do with you.

You want to blame him, you want it to be his fault that your chest is now aching, knowing that it truly doesn’t mean the same thing to him it does to you, but you know you can’t. It wouldn’t be fair, so once again, you’re left with a sinking heart wrapped up into Harry’s embrace that suddenly feels burning.

“Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Harry.”

When the morning comes Harry is still sleeping deep beside you, an arm thrown over your waist, puffing warm air against the side of your head with every breath he exhales. Seeing him so peaceful warms your heart, but then you realize everything that happened last night, how he only used you because you were available and not because he wanted you.

You don’t want to wait for him to wake up and face him, your emotions would surely bring the best out of you. So carefully, you unwrap yourself from his hold and sneak out of his room, back into yours.

There’s no way you can face Harry right now, so before he could wake up you leave, planning on spending the day in the library, working on your assignments, hoping the school work will take your mind off of how badly you’ve been friendzoned.

Sometime after eleven Harry actually texts you asking where you went and you just tell him you have a shitload of school stuff to deal with. He asks if he can join you, but you tell him you’re with a group of your classmates, even though you’re sitting in an almost entirely empty library. He luckily doesn’t push it and leaves you to be. Hopefully he’ll be fine when you take another step away from him for a while to get your head straight and sort your emotions out.

You get home quite late, but not late enough, apparently. Because walking into the house you find the boys clearly getting ready to watch a movie.

“Just in time!” Niall beams. “Join us, Princess!” he laughs, grabbing himself a cola from the fridge.

“Oh, no, I have some things to work on--”

“Come on, you’ve been in the library all day, you can have a break!” Louis tells you and you know you won’t be left alone, they are just so persistent.

So you join them in your usual spot, which is of course next to Harry, though you’re trying to avoid his gaze that hasn’t left you since you arrived and by now you’re certain he knows you’re avoiding him. There’s a reason why he asked you last night if you’ve been doing it lately, he is not stupid, but this is not the time to deal with it.

With your inner crisis bubbling inside you, you completely forget to ask what you’re watching. A few minutes into the movie it becomes quite clear however.

“Is this a fucking horror movie again?” you ask, snapping at Niall, who just starts laughing.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Harry will gladly let you sleep in his bed tonight,” he teases, making your whole face heat up at his comment. Harry slaps his chest before he turns to you with concern filled eyes, but you pretend like you see nothing, turning back to the screen with your jaw clenched.

You’re fucked.

The movie is a fucking shitshow and leaves you traumatized. When it’s over, you think about why didn’t you just stand up and go into your room when you realized it’s another horror. For a change, this one was filled with demons and monsters that hide in the shadows, just what you need before going to bed. In the night. In a totally dark room.

Exiting the bathroom you’re already planning on watching something lighthearted and cheerful in your room, hoping that would make you forget the movie you just saw and give you the chance to actually sleep.

Walking past Harry’s room you see that it’s still open and you catch him expectantly looking at you when you appear in the doorway as you walk down the hallway, your eyes meeting for just a split second before you disappear from his sight and shut your bedroom door without a word behind you.

No matter how many random videos you watch on YouTube, some scenes from the movie are just imprinted into your mind and they have you trembling in fear. Every shadow looks like a demon or ghost, hiding in your room, ready to haunt and kill you and you’re on the verge of actually crying. It might not be only because of the movie, more like everything else that’s been bottled up inside you, added to the fear the movie has brought to you.

Shutting your eyes closed you try to take deep breaths and for a bit it actually seems to help, but that is until you hear the door opening. It gives you an instant heart attack and you can’t keep your tears back anymore.

A whimper leaves your mouth as the door opens and you can only see a shadow entering the room, totally not recognizing Harry in the dark.

“Y/N, hey, it’s just me! It’s okay!” he quickly clears, seeing how shaken up you are. He rushes over to the bed, one hand cupping your cheek, the other one finding your hand and before you could think, you grip it hard.

“You scared the living hell out of me!” you cry out, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to check on you.”

Silence sets between the two of you that’s only momentarily broken by your shaky breaths as you try to calm yourself down.

“Why didn’t you come to mine after the movie if you were so scared?” he then asks, surprising you with how straightforward he is.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble, blinking the remaining of the tears away as Harry stares down at you intently.

“Why would you think you’d bother me? I like having you there.”

“But it’s… Doesn’t matter,” you sigh in defeat, but it just concerns him even more.

“No, tell me!”

“Harry, just go back to your room. I’ll be fine.”

“You definitely won’t and I’m not leaving until you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he protests firmly and you lose your patience to keep lying to him.

“You just wanted someone to sleep with yesterday, okay? You didn’t need me. And… I don’t want to depend on you more than I should.”

Harry stares back at you with a blank expression and you feel like this is going to be the end of your friendship. You have to come clean about your feelings and he’ll tell you that he doesn’t feel the same way. But then he speaks up and the tables turn faster than ever.

“Y/N, I wanted you to sleep with me last night. Not just anyone. You.”

“What?”

“I really thought we have been on the same page, but apparently, we’re not even in the same book,” he sighs, confusing you even more. “Wasn’t it suspicious how things have been between us lately? The way we slept, the mornings, did you think these are normal things to do?”

“I-I thought that… it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Well it did,” he replies and you breath hitches in your throat. “I was trying to take it slow, see how you’d react to everything and I thought you were feeling the same way. But then last time you didn’t come to my room when there was a storm and I thought that was your way of telling me that you want to pause whatever’s been going on.”

You’re just blinking in shock, listening to his words. This is nothing you expected.

“But then you seemed like you opened back up last night and you agreed to sleep with me, thought we were back on track, but then you were nowhere to be found in the morning, avoided me all day and now you would have rather spent the night crying here alone than to come over to me. What did I do? Just tell me, because quite frankly, I have no idea what we are doing anymore, Y/N,” he sighs, clearly tired of this insane game you’ve been playing without even knowing.

“So… you did all of this, because… you…”

“Because I like you, Y/N. But there’s a possibility it’s already way more than just a strong liking,” he admits with a soft chuckle that melts you in an instant.

“Oh god, I could cry again, but not out of fear this time,” you tell him, making him laugh as you scoot closer to him on the mattress. “I feel the same way, Harry,” you softly tell him, your hands finding the base of his neck while his hands have wandered to your waist so now he is pulling you towards him until he ends up in his lap. His face is now so close, and even in the dark, you can see the cheesy smile on his pink lips.

“You’re not saying this just to keep me here because you’re scared to be alone, right?” he asks, clearly joking, earning a wholehearted laugh from you.

“No, but I guess that would be a major benefit of it.”

“I’ll protect you from all the demons and killers under one condition,” he smirks, his face already inching closer, his nose is already touching yours.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“I get to kiss you.”

“Deal.”

You barely say this one little word, his lips are already on yours, kissing you in a way that almost knocks all the air out of your lungs. You press yourself up against him, his arms curling around you, holding you tight as if he is already protecting you from everything that scares you, though you can’t really think about the stupid horror movies now that you’re kissing Harry.

He pulls you down with himself making you lie on your back as he holds himself up above you, his lips parting from your just enough so he can look into your eyes.

“How about I kiss you every time you feel scared?” he prompts, pecking your lips gently as you pull your legs up and his hips settle between your thighs, while your hands dance down his back.

“Alright, I’m in,” you smirk at him and for a moment he just stares back at you, smiling wide, in complete awe that it’s finally happening. Then he cocks his head to the side before speaking up.

“Are you still scared?”

“Very,” you nod. “I’m shaking.”

“Good,” he grins before his lips press onto yours again.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed! 

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face.  The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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[arduadastra]

Imagine Mando fucking you with one of his weapons ugh

A/N: Anon this has been on my mind far too long and I have so MANY thoughts about this (all of them NSFW) so enjoy my feral ramblings under the cut and I'll go repent while you do.

My masterlist

18+ ONLY Warnings: Dom/Sub vibes, F!Reader, Dark!Mando, breath play and a hint of Daddy kink.

Okay so first of all, no one can tell me that 'weapons are part of my religion' mando hasn't thought about fucking someone with a blaster or the end of his pulse rifle...like it's common sense and this man has some dirty thoughts.

He definitely considered it when you came along and even more so when you first slept together but it takes him a while to find the courage (or the confidence). He's definitely not vanilla in bed, you're both keen explorers of each other's bodies but it's never anything too extreme. Then he gets the dark sabre.

You notice a change in Din almost immediately. You're not sure if it's just the loss of Grogu or the all-new responsibility on his shoulders but Din hardens. He grows distant from you for a few days, barely speaking or acknowledging your existence - all too consumed by the burn of the sabre blade. You find him often in the darkness of the ship just turning it over in his hands then quickly shutting it off when he notices you staring.

You decide to call him out on it, he comes back from a bounty hunt a little later than usual and you make a snide comment, something like 'King of Mandalore can't even keep the time?' and he's on you. You barely have time to breathe before he's pressing you into the wall and grabbing your jaw, 'And if so, is that any way to talk to a King?" You're embarrassed at how quickly you soak your panties.

Din doesn't even undress you, he rips the clothes off your body and unclips the sabre from his belt, voice lethal and low 'let me show you what else I can do with this little one. You won't be so mouthy once we're through with you.'

Since when did Din refer to the sabre as a living thing?

Din's hand travels down and grips your throat just shy of too tight and you gasp, his other resting against your mound as he slips a bare finger inside, he growls "So wet already? You like this adi'ka? Like it when I use you?"

Of course, you do. You've never seen this side to him before, he's like a whole new person and it excites you. You manage a nod, no noise making it past the grip of his hand and your hand flexes in mid-air. Din groans now and pulls the sabre closer, brushing your wet pussy with it and your head swims with the implication. This weapon is now an extension of Din, no longer a separate part, the reason so many people have died...and he wants to fuck you with it.

You let him.

When he first pushes it in he released his grip on your throat to hear you hiss, it's like he enjoys the reaction you give so you moan louder and you think back to a previous encounter when you call out to him, remembering his reaction "Daddy...please...more...I can take it."

A feral rumble erupts from deep within his chest and slams the sabre to its hilt. You weep, tears leaking from your eyes as your orgasm looms dangerously close as you plead, "I'm close, I'm so close please, please let me cum." But he denies you, using his free hand to now release his cock and sets a brutal pace of both his hand and the weapon inside you, absolutely delirious on the control he has on your body, "Good girls cum, you've been bad. Earn it or I'll leave you here like this."

You grasp his cock, moaning at how hard he is and he punches the wall beside your head as you pick up the pace, matching his own thrusts inside you and you call out to him, "Let me watch you cum, let me make you cum please, mark me Din, mark me up, make me filthy." You try something new, "My king." and it works, Din shouts your name, it rattles through his filter and thrusts up, his cum hitting your stomach in thick ropes and he punches again, this time hitting the wall so hard it vibrates your entire body.

His helmet looks up as you begin licking your fingers and he shakes it as if to clear a haze and brings his own fingers to your clit, sabre still shoving in and out. He murmurs almost incoherently as he finally brings you to the brink "Good girl. Always so good, swallowing me up, gonna make you cum. Only me, mine, mine, mine. Cum for me" and you do.

You slump against the wall, both of you breathing harshly into the emptiness of the crest and you jump as Din grazes a soft hand to your cheek as he removes the sabre from you. He says nothing as he drops the sabre to the floor, still wet from your slick and carries you to the bed.

He drops you and immediately covers you with his body, beskar and all, a comforting yet possessive claim. He uses his cape as a blanket as he rubs a hand up your back, his sudden softness a stark juxtaposition to how he destroyed you moments before.

After this, you realise Din just needs to release sometimes, like the sabre builds up to something dark within him that needs to be (quite literally) fucked out before it claims him again. You both establish a healthy pattern, one that leaves him more like himself and you pleasantly sore. He's always apologetic afterwards either through his actions or words but you never mind, as long as you have each other, you're both happy (and if sometimes you purposefully push him too far, who else would know?)

Send me something

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

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Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics. 

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had. 

*

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead. 

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat. 

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke. 

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife. 

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?” 

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

*

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye. 

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed. 

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward. 

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

[andreafmn]

I’m Not Afraid - Chapter 2

Word Count: 4,585

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ storyline.

Chapter: 2/?

A/N:  SOFT DEREK, SOFT DEREK!!!!! If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 2

5:00 am my phone read. 

It was usual for my brain to be awake at this hour. Since before I can remember it was part of the schedule I followed, everywhere I went. It was a small thing, but the sense of normalcy was a comforting friend. It made sense to follow a routine I could have anywhere. I was out of bed and into workout clothes, ready for a quick jog around the woods. 

I started off with a slow and comfortable trot before speeding up once I reached the tree-filled terrain. The smell of wet soil, the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling, the crunching of leaves under my feet was oddly comforting. There was a strange pull that came from the heart of Beacon Hills. I had lived in many places in my short lifetime but this place was different, the atmosphere was different, the people were different. One of those people was Derek Hale, the mysterious, broody, sarcastic man that had bumped his way in. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Why are you stopping?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping his mouth. 

"How did you get here? Where the hell did you come from?"

"You're not the only person who jogs in this town and this happens to be the trail I take. You know, you should work out on a trail that is closer to your house. Makes it easier to actually go back."

I looked around. Once again, I had trailed off and didn't know where I was. "Lucky for you, I have a great memory. We can finish off running and I'll instruct you back to your house."

"You know you sound like a stalker." We started to jog once again.

"How so?" 

"Well, you've only been there like two or three times and you already know the way back. Creepy!"

"Oh, come on, it means that I have a very sharp memory. Unlike you who can't seem to remember what house you live in."

"Touché."

The con and occasionally laughing at something. It felt good talking to him, almost natural. There was a supernatural attraction that I felt when I was near him, an unusual need for his closeness. Our relationship came easy, as the cliché would have it, it felt like I had known him all my life. 

We ran for about an hour and a half before we turned back. "I think it's time we went back. You have school in an hour."

"Whoa, take the stalking down a notch."

"Oh, come on, I went to that school before you, I think I know the schedule."

"Alright, grandpa. Let's head back. It's time for your breakfast smoothie and then some bingo."

"Very funny." He ruffled my hair whilst fake laughing.

"I try." We ran and ran until I came into view of the curb that led to the house. "Well, this is my exit. Would it be too much to ask for you to take me to school?"

"Not a problem. Meet you back here at 7:45?"

"That would be perfect." He kissed my cheek and left to run to where I believe was his house. My face turned red, and I ducked inside.

"Mom? Dad?" I entered the kitchen and noticed a note over a covered plate. "Left for work early. Eat your food and go to school." I read out loud.

I took my time getting ready for school. My bag was already packed, as was my lunch. A long shower and a slow breakfast were in store as I awaited Derek's black Camaro to roll into my driveway. 

"Thanks so much for the lift. I packed you some breakfast." 

"No problem and thank you." He smiled. "You know, maybe after school, I can finally give you a tour around town. So you can familiarize yourself."

"That would be wonderful." I checked my schedule. "Actually, you can pick me up an hour before school ends. I have study hall at that hour, and no one would care if I left."

"I think I can make that arrangement." He looked at me showing a perfect set of white teeth and a smile that would make anyone melt. "But wouldn't your parents know that you left school? I mean, you won't be there when they go pick you up."

"I'll just tell them Allison gave me a ride or walked home," I said thinking of more excuses I could tell my parents. Distracted by my thoughts, my hand started reaching out to the powered-off radio and I didn't notice that so did Derek's. A sharp current went up my arm as our hands make contact. We both quickly pulled away and I could feel the blood rushing to my face turning it a deep shade of red.

"Sorry, I shouldn't impose. It's your car." I spoke up, quick to start picking at the skin around my fingernails to busy my hands. Derek perceived the nervous nature of my actions and stopped my fussing by putting one of his hands over mine. 

"Don't worry it's fine. Just put the radio on whatever station you like." He smiled reassuringly and I reached to the radio and just turned it on, leaving it in the last station it had been on.

"Ugh, I absolutely dread going to school. Most of it I'm gonna forget either way."

"I'd tell you to ditch but that would be shame on me, so I won't. But think about it, this day you'll only get 7 hours of school and then you can hang out with me. Best present ever."

"Yeah, don't think so highly of yourself. Maybe I'll just wander around town until I find my way home."

"Very funny." He stopped at the drop-off zone. "This is your stop."

"Thanks again for the ride, awfully kind actions from such a sour wolf" I laughed at his scowl. "I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Looking forward to it." I exited the car and he waited till I was on the sidewalk to speed off.

"Was that Derek Hale that just dropped you off?" I turned around and was met face-to-face with Scott.

"Yeah. What's the problem?" Not that it will matter.

"You shouldn't trust him, he's bad news."

"Honestly, Scott, I understand your good intentions, but I'll sort out the wrong kind on my own terms." He looked taken aback at my response, probably thinking I would not talk back.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, but he is not a person that anyone should be with." With that, he left with worry evident on his face.

I understood that he was looking out for my "well-being”, but he didn't know me and I'm pretty sure he didn't know Derek either. Maybe that's what Derek meant when I met him. Everyone thinks he is a bad person, but he hasn't done anything wrong in my eyes.

I walked over to my locker and started exchanging my books. Closely next to me I could hear Scott talking to Allison about me and Derek, and my name should be out of his mouth. Once I finished with my locker, I slammed the door and they both stopped talking, noting my close presence. I walked past them feeling their worried stares burning my back. This was going to be a hell of a year. The only thing that could get me through it was the acquaintance relationship I have with Isaac. I did text him a bit last night but mostly helping him with homework. Lord knows he needs all the help he can get.  

We all stood around in gym class as Stiles and Erica climbed the rock wall. Everyone else had gone including Scott who mastered a great fall. Stiles appeared to have fun, but Erica would let out sounds of discomfort and shortness of breath as she climbed. At a point, she stopped. 

"Erica, are you dizzy?" Coach said. "Is it vertigo?" 

"Vertigo is the dysfunction of the vesicular system of the inner ear" Lydia stated in a mocking tone. "She's just freaking out." 

"Erica!" Coach screamed.

"coach, maybe it’s not safe. you know she's epileptic." Allison stated. How does no one care? 

"Wh-why does no one tell me this?!" Coach Finstock questioned annoyed. "Erica, just fall back, there's a mat that will catch you." 

She slowly let go of the wall and made her descent. No one seemed to care that the poor girl was shaken to the core; they all laughed.

When class was over everyone headed to their respective locker rooms to change. Something inside me kept pulling me back to the gym, so I walked back as I put on my shirt. As I opened the doors, I saw Erica fall from the wall and luckily into Scott's arms. He slowly put her on the floor as the class ran in behind us. 

"Put her on her side," I stated. 

"How did you know?" Allison whispered to Scott.

"I just felt it." He whispered back. 

After Erica had calmed, the coach called an ambulance to take her to be checked at the hospital and the day went by normally. I was currently in my "last" period. Tapping my nails in a rhythmic pattern waiting for the stupid bell to ring. Only 5 more minutes and I would be out of here. This was the first time I had done something like this. I always stick by the rules and make sure to follow all of them. My heart was racing, and my palms were sweating. In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Cue the bell. I grabbed all my things and stuffed them in my bag. I used to my advantage the fact that everyone was piled in the hallway and headed outside. Waiting for me was Derek in his black Camaro. Suddenly my heart steadied its pace and I felt relaxed.

"Hey there, rebel." He smirked at me as I entered the car and buckled my seatbelt.

"Don't make small talk. Just go." I said whilst trying to hide by burrowing in the seat. If I could I would have jumped into the trunk to avoid any hidden stares from authority figures.

"Don't tell me you've never done this before." I shook my head no and felt my face growing warmer by the second. "Aw, you're so innocent. For a big mouth that is." I slapped his arm as hard as I could.

"Don't be rude." I crossed my arms, slouched down, and pouted. He looked over at me and laughed. That made me slouch farther down.

"Oh, come on. Don't get mad." He ruffled my hair and laughed once again when I swatted his hand away. "Yeesh, feisty."

"So, where's our first pit stop?" I asked whilst looking out the window not wanting to look at his face.

"A small diner I know. Wouldn't want you to starve." He smirked. "Might make you angrier."

"I am not angry, just annoyed."

"Got some feelings hurt?" He said laughing.

"Derek, don't be rude. You will regret it."

"Oh, what could you do?"

"Is that a challenge?" He didn't answer, just laughed. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. "HELP!! This man is kidnapping me!! HELP!! Bloody he...!" 

My sentence was cut short by Derek's hand pulling me down by my jacket and onto the seat again.

"Why did you do that?" I asked innocently. I had caused the faces of a few people on the street to look at the car in horror.

"You know why! That was totally uncalled for."

"I told you that being rude was something you would regret. I'm not one to say this a lot but, I told you so." 

He tried his best to keep a tight scowl on his face but in a matter of seconds, we were laughing at my past actions.

"Whatever, we're here." He turned off the car and went to the passenger side to open the door for me. 

"Why thank you," I said and took his extended hand to pull my weight up. 

"No problem." I smiled at his goofy courtesy but as we walked inside the establishment I could feel my heart beating faster by the second. "Table for two." Derek pointed at a booth made for two people exactly. Once we had sat down a lady maybe in her late thirties approached us to take our order.

"What do you want to order today, darlings?" She gave us a warm smile as she waited for our response.

"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger with some onion rings, a stack of pancakes, and some chicken fillets, a Diet Coke, and afterward some pie, please."

"Would you like the kitchen sink with that?" I said in shock. "I think I'll just get the, ummmm, bacon cheeseburger also with some onion rings and an iced tea. Maybe add some pie afterward too."

The lady laughed a bit, nodded, and smiled at us as she turned to the kitchen to put out our order. 

"So, someone's a bit hungry. Huh, sour wolf?" I chuckled.

"Why do you call me that?" He said somewhat annoyed.

"I don't know. It just fits you."

"How?"

"Cause you're very sour and you kind of look like a wolf. Hairy face and crazy hair. I don't know how to explain it. It's just a nickname, though. If it makes you mad I can just call you something else."

"I'm not mad. Just wondering." He slouched on the seat looking less tense. "How is it that I'm usually so bad with meeting people yet with you, I just clicked?"

"I don't know. I'm just special that way."

"Very funny."

"I know! I could take up a career in comedy." He chuckled as he threw a sugar packet at me. "So, since we are getting to know each other we should know basic things about one another. Let me start. What's your favorite color?"

"Maybe black or blue. What about you?"

"Totally red and black." The waitress came with our drinks. I took a sip of my iced tea and continued with the questions. "Favorite place to be?"

"That house in the woods where we met." I gave him a weird look.

"Why there? It barely stands with a foundation. What could possibly be there?"

"It's the house I used to live in before it burnt down. My family was in there." I choked on my drink when he said this.

"Oh my gosh, Derek. I'm so sorry I brought it up. We can drop the topic."

"Don't worry about it. It happened such a long time ago it's sometimes relieving talking about it." After there was an awkward silence, so Derek cleared his throat and asked a question. "Um, and what's your favorite place to be?"

"I'm not sure. Usually, I like places more because of the people I'm with. But if I had to choose probably the woods, it's the calmest place I know. The only place where you can actually be free."

"Wow, Ms. Argent. So poetic. It touched me." He pointed at his heart. "Right here."

"Very funny, now, favorite sport?" And the game went on even when our food served. Whilst eating we kept asking each other questions and getting to know each other profoundly. This has been the first time I had ever opened up to someone. It felt strange. Letting someone know small details about yourself. Making yourself vulnerable to them. Showing them how they could break you. But this was different. I felt like I was just becoming closer to him.

"We should do that someday. I mean the thought of just leaving for a whole day, not knowing where you are going, just finding an adventure."

"Definitely. You decide when the first time." I smiled at him.

"That's a deal." He looked down at his watch. "I think it's time I take you home. Don't want your parents to worry."

"Alright. Let's go." I grabbed my bag and was about to pay my part of the check, but he wouldn't let me. He grabbed the money I left and paid completely. "I don't understand the need of being such a gentleman if this wasn't a date. Just two people hanging out."

"So, this wasn't a date?"

"You thought it was?" I thought about it. "What do you classify a date per se?"

"An outing in which two people go out and get to know each other a little bit more." What he said made sense. It had never dawned on me that this could have been anything other than just a casual outing, but not being too well versed in normal social encounters, let alone dating encounters. 

"Alright, you win. I have officially gone on my first date."

"No way. This could not have been your first date." When he saw the serious look on my face, he stopped chuckling. "I'm so sorry you had to have given you such a crappy first date. I promise I'll make up for it one day."

"Deal." We even shook on it. "Now let's get going before my parents know I'm late."

During the drive back, he pointed out different key places I should know when going around Beacon Hills as well as easier routes to these places. Although I was heavily grateful for all the useful tips, my brain could hardly remember the first route he showed me. 

When we got to my house, I noticed that my father's car was not in there. I guess they haven't arrived yet. I said goodbye to Derek and entered the house, thanking him for a lovely afternoon. I changed into workout attire and, deciding to stay home, went to the basement and started working out. After half an hour of running and half an hour of physical training, I decided it was enough and went to take a shower. I noticed that my parents weren't home yet.

"I wonder what's holding them back?" After my shower, I continued my current read of Pride and Prejudice. But something was bothering me, a thought that wouldn't leave my head.

I'm leaving once the year is over. Getting close to Derek will fuck me up once I leave. I've never had to say goodbye to anyone. I can't start now. I'll need to start avoiding him. Don't know how, but I must try.

I went downstairs to get a glass of water when I heard a knock on the door. It was Uncle Chris.

"Hey, Uncle Chris. What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for your father. Is he here?"

"No, I haven't seen him. I got here and neither mom nor dad was here. Is something wrong?"

"No. Just couldn't reach his cell. I'm sure he's fine. Have a good night, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead and left. I started to worry. What if something had happened?

So, I decided to call him. Fortunately, he picked up.

"Dad, where are you?"

"Oh, honey, I forgot to tell you. Your mom and I will be out for the rest of the week. We left some money on the first drawer of the right side of the kitchen island and if you want you can stay with your uncle."

"But Uncle Chris came by and he didn't know where you were. Does he know you left?"

"Oh, I forgot to call him. I'll do that right now. Goodnight, munchkin, go to sleep."

"Goodnight, dad. Love you."

"Love you too." I hung up the phone and went upstairs completely forgetting about the glass of water I went to drink.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the caller ID signaling that Isaac was calling.

"Hey, Isaac."

"Hey, (Y/N). Um, do you think you can pick me up?" Isaac said in between short pants.

"Sure, where are you?" I asked. He told me where he was, and I took the keys to my mother's car to look for Isaac. He looked scared and frantic when I neared the spot, he told me about. His physique also looked different. Usually, he would walk cowering but now he stood tall and seemed a bit more buff. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just, um, do you think I could stay with you tonight?"

"I guess." I started driving to my house. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, totally. Just tired." I took the hint. He didn't want to talk, and I wasn't going to press on.

At my house, I arranged the guest room and got him spare clothes to change into. He thanked me and left for the bathroom. Something was wrong. But what?

***

Three days had passed.

Three days that I had stayed in my house for my daily workout.

Three days that my phone had been buzzing with messages from Derek asking where I was.

Because three nights before I had decided to avoid Derek at all costs.

The only way to leave it all behind is if you don't associate yourself with anyone. That way you won't feel any remorse or pain once you disappear. One time when I left was when I was approximately six or seven years old, and I had to say goodbye to Allison since we were sharing a room at that time. The second time was when I had to leave Josie. After that, I started familiarizing myself with the feeling of loneliness.  It wasn't that bad once you remembered the fact that you would always see your parents when you got home, and everything would be better. Although, these days I had housed Isaac in my house, rare was the occasion that we interacted other than doing homework. Isaac would come home late in the night and quickly went to sleep. But, he stayed in my spare room for two nights and told me he had found a place to stay. He left thanking me for my hospitality.

When I finished my workout, I ran upstairs and took a shower. I changed from my stinky workout clothes to a plain white shirt and black jeans, obviously paired with my leather jacket. Once dressed I went downstairs and grabbed some cash to buy myself a muffin and a big coffee. Finally, I found the keys to my beautiful matte black Harley Fat Bob. My father had gotten me this motorcycle about two years back when he noticed I just kept crashing cars. The only thing I never crashed was his motorcycle and because he was worried I would, he bought me my own. I tend to wreck a lot of stuff. It's not intentional, I'm just clumsy at times.

I opened the door to the garage and noticed it sitting in a corner covered by a blanket. Once I took it off, I smiled. I passed my hand over the beautiful color, the smooth surface, the cold metal. It all felt familiar. A part of me. I grabbed my helmet and got on it. Once I sat my body felt relaxed, at ease. A spark of adrenaline was shot through my body when the engine came to life.

I backed up from the garage and went to the local café store. While waiting to pick up my order I noticed Derek walking in with his jogging clothes on. He still hasn't noticed me, too busy looking at the menu. When my name was called, he looked at me and called my name, but I ran out of the café with my order ignoring him.

When I got to the school everyone was staring at me. The new chick was now badass. I walked in with my backpack slung over my shoulder easing towards my locker.

"Hey there, gorgeous." I closed the locker door to see Jackson standing next to me. I rolled my eyes.

"Hi, Jackson. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering when you were free."

"Oh, well from tomorrow to never gonna happen. Get down from the cloud, buddy."

"Oh, come on, we both know you want some of this." He motioned over his body.

"Get over yourself." I scoffed.

"Babe, it doesn't hurt to try."

"I believe she's not interested, Jackson." A strawberry blonde girl appeared. Her confidence struck me like lightning, a very apparent aura of dominance radiating from within her.

"Why don't you mind your own business, Lydia. I'm talking to her, not you. You've already ruined everything else."

"Well, I think she has no business with you so why don't you scram?" With a huff and a puff, Jackson finally gave in and I turned to greet my hero, who was surprisingly accompanied by Allison.

"Thank you, so much. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"No problem. I'm Lydia, but you knew that."

"(Y/N). Argent." She motioned between Allison and me. "Cousins."

"Pleasure." Then the bell rang. "Guess I have a new best friend, (Y/N)." You guessed wrong.

I entered Mr. Harris' classroom and sat down next to Isaac and as usual Mr. Chatty Pants tried to hold a conversation from the table behind us. Seriously, how much can someone talk? I took out my notebook and started writing down everything the teacher was saying is the homework on the board. Stiles had finally gotten the hint and didn't talk to me the whole class. That was a relief. Maybe it was due to the fact he was too focused on the strawberry blonde who had saved my ass from Jackson.

The day went on quite smoothly except at lunch. It wasn't the same Erica that had fallen from the rock-climbing wall. She completely changed; a more confident walk, she was wearing makeup and tight-fitted clothing, and her hair was perfectly styled. She left the lunchroom after taking a bite off an apple seductively and Scott and Stiles followed, as did I. Curiosity had taken the best of me as to this overnight transformation.

She opened the front doors to the school and there he was. Derek Hale in his black Camaro with the biggest smirk on his face staring at Scott. When he directed his sight to me his smirk kind of fell but was brought up quickly. During that Erica had gotten inside the car and they left, together. I don't know why I was jealous because he meant nothing to me, but it broke my heart. I got nervous. I think Scott noticed because he looked at me worried.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?" I nodded rapidly and out of breath. I had no idea what was happening.

"I think you're having a panic attack." Stiles pointed out handing me an inhaler.

"I used to have panic attacks, too." I inhaled a pump and my breathing seemed to normalize. "You okay now?"

"Yeah. Thanks." I handed him the inhaler.

"No, keep it. I don't need it anymore." I said a low thanks and walked back to school to head to my next class.

I felt extremely weird the rest of the day. Why did I feel that way when I saw Erica and Derek together? It wasn't like anything was going on between us. Also, he's far too old for me. Or maybe I'm too young. I don't know. But I couldn't shake off that sour taste of jealousy that the image of them left.

I knew I wanted to stay as far away as I could from hin but at this moment there was nothing more that I wanted than to be close to him.

Tag: @lokisgoddesofpower

<- Previous

A/N: Please check out my last post about the fandoms I’ll be writing for. 

[youwontlikethisblog]

The After Math Of Their First Time.

Now in the after math we have an even more confused Armando. While Betty has had yet another dream of hers become a reality.

As I mentioned in my previous post regarding this night(Forgive Me Post) when Armando goes to drop off Betty he brings up the fact that it wasn't Betty's first time(he wasn't her first) he asks her: Beatriz , who were you with before[me]? when she stays silent and worries her mouth Armando's demeanor changes.

"There was another man in your life, right?" She stopped making eye contact with him before he asked this question and nods while swallowing hard, briefly makes eye contact and tells him:

"Yes Sir. There was someone. I had a relationship before[you]."

"Nicolas Mora?" Armando says not missing a beat nor a second. His lips sit in a tight line while he examines Betty.

"No." She says in a low voice, swallows hard and shakes her head. Since her behavior and mannerisms all go in hand with what she's saying; Armando who is a man who is good at manipulating people based on body language(not as good as Mario though) believes her. He stops staring at her, turns to look in front of him and looks to take a breath of relief. "It was somebody else but I don't like talking about that." He turns to stare at her.

"No, I don't want to make you uncomfortable either." He seems more relaxed here than he did seconds ago "Let's not talk about it anymore."

I briefly touched on the subject in the last post that Armando was jealous in this scene, however, what type of jealousy? I would like to expand on this here.

(If you haven't yet; read post Nicolas Mora Is Better Than You before you continue reading this post.)

Jealousy is a bunch of feelings summed into one: Insecurity, inadequacy, resentment, hopelessness, and/or disgust.

While Armando does feel possessive of Betty as an object, harbors feelings of animosity against Nicolas he also is jealous of not only Betty(and her "relationship" w Nic) but Nicolas. He is extremely jealous of him and not only because he is a threat in an economic level or even a romantic level but because he is a threat in all aspects.

To really understand this lets ignore what I said in the previous post about how Armando isn't the one that is actively in Betty's personal life and how he only gets glimpse of it or how Don Hermes approves of Nicolas.

Lets completely ignore that Nicolas is in Terra Moda, Betty is the owner of Eco Moda and working for Armando.

Let's pretend that Betty and Armando met one day and they established a friendship of sorts. Maybe they shopped at the same grocery store, maybe Armando and her interacted when she worked at the banks(bc she never got fired) and from there formed a friendship of sorts.

Though things were always impersonal, Betty had a small crush on Armando who went to the bank on a regular biases where they talked about money blah blah blah and Armando slowly started to wonder about Betty and her personal life and one day Armando finds out Betty has a boyfriend.

He finds out when he goes to the bank by overhearing Betty talking with a work friend about it(in this scenario we'll also be forgetting that he is extremely obsessed with perfection) and he asks her about it once their meeting is over and she tells him she doesn't have one but he ponders about this on his own and becomes paranoid about his feelings and investigates who Nicolas is by asking said work friend of Betty's about Nicolas.

He finds out Nicolas is a man desired my many women, who is relatively economically comfortable, is extremely smart and that Betty's dad, who hates everyone, approves of him and that they see each other mostly every single day and that he's always around and that she's stupidly in love with him and that Nicolas, even though he's a good looking man and who has women fawning and crazy about him is also interested in Betty so he isn't a superficial man and cares about the substance of people which means Betty is really exquisite, but that they aren't actually dating because he hasn't made a move on Betty(I combined what Mario, Bertha, and Mariana said).

What Armando knows of his feelings is that he looks forward to seeing Betty when he goes to the bank because she's always so kind and accommodating to him and communicative as well and that she's always personally helping him so they are constantly communicating and he looks forward to it. He knows that Betty is a smart woman and that she also has really wonderful qualities that he likes and because she's also so unconditional with him he thought maybe Betty liked him, that it made sense she'd be like that towards him and that it made him feel special but now he finds out that somebody else has Betty's heart.

So he decides to ask her out and they embark into this affair of sorts(We're also ignoring the sinister plan). However while he is still curious and wondering about how Betty's personal life is and how her inner world is, Betty hasn't welcomed him into it yet. Better yet Betty keeps him at arms length and though he has been somewhat honest and invited her into his personal life he still stands on the outside meanwhile Nicolas remains on the inside and he isn't leaving any time soon.

Armando begins to resent that Betty isn't letting him in while he has let her in, he begins to resent Nicolas for taking Betty away from him one way or another. He feels that he isn't as important or as special as he thought he was and this makes him insecure as a person. He begins to feel inadequate, for the first time in his life, in the romantic front.

So this night after Betty and him have finally taken their relationship to the next step he angrily asks her if Nicolas was her first.

Why do I bring this make believe up?

We're so clouded by the past actions and who Armando is in the core of it all and his complexities that I'm neglecting this important fact. Armando doesn't just view Nicolas as competition, he feels inadequate next to Nicolas and as he told Betty, he imagined and thought he'd be her first(it most likely is also that he thought no man would have slept with Betty up until he did).

It's why he repeatedly told Mario that he couldn't do that to her. He wasn't talking about not being able to physically make himself have sex with her because she's "ugly". He was talking about the morality of it. That he couldn't take something so valuable from Betty with deception, that he couldn't be the man that she gave her first experience to when he didn't love her because he knew how it would impact her, how it would hurt her when he ended the relationship and he couldn't bring himself to do that to her(however like I already pointed out, while Betty was being vulnerable Armando began to fall in love and that's what made him want to sleep with her).

So when they finally do sleep together Armando is disappointed that he isn't her first time and when he asks her about it and she confirms it, he now fears that Nicolas was her first time. He fears that Betty gave herself, her first experience to him because it means that Nicolas managed to figure his feelings out before him, that Nicolas was better than him both morally and as a man.

He wants to be part of Betty's personal life. He desires to be in her inner circle. We see this when he hears Don Hermes express himself about Nicolas. When he knows that Nicolas has dinner with her family, that he spends time inside her house. He knows what Don Hermes thinks of him[Armando] because he heard him say he'd fight him the night he hid behind their couch(Brutas! La Policía! post). It isn't just that Nicolas could be better than him now, it's Nicolas could be the one to possess something so intimate of Betty's now.

So when Betty explains that Nicolas wasn't her first time all of a sudden the resentment leaves him and he agrees to not talk about it. However Betty's behavior leaves him a lot more curious. Now this confession of Betty's leaves him picado. I imagine that he probably ponders about her first time wonders why she was so off by it, why she doesn't like talking about it. He wonders about the relationship she had before him and who that man was and how it ended. He probably wonders if Nicolas knows about it and again how Nicolas manages to hold something he desperately wants: her trust.

He respects her desire to not want to speak about it and they say goodnight.

I already talked about the argument Marcela and Armando have when he gets to the apartment in the last post but since that post was so rushed and I was like twelve hours in writing that post I just half-baked it so I'll try to briefly, but in-depth, break it down.

As Armando enters his apartment, like a guilt-free man, he plays with his dog(I'mma call this lost soldier GBNF (Gone But Not Forgotten)) and pets him, we hear Betty's monologue.

I've touched on this in previous post, specifically the Tonight A Dream Of Mine Has Come True, the way that scene and this scene are presented is to show us that what we hear Betty saying is what Armando is thinking, I explained it in detail in that post so if you haven't read it, I recommend you do :)

While Betty says "He told me that he loved me but he also proved it to me with actions." we see Armando pondering over this as he stops interacting with GBNF probably telling himself 'I told her I loved her and this time seggs was different, I was different... could I love her? Nah it's probably not that.' except that instead of being able to go into his room to mediate on the night and its events he finds Marcela on his bed.

[I talked about the parallels in my rant post and the Forgive Me post]

While Marcela is mad and Armando is pretending to care that she is and trying to defend himself he behaves towards her very differently here. The day Betty tried a new look Armando told Mario that the only thing that keeps him with Marcela, at least the only good thing about their relationship, was the seggs and that he was satisfied with it, it's why he always gave into her manipulation because even if he wasn't in the mood, even if he told her no, even when he did so out of guilt and responsibility he still got off and at least that was worth it(that's like actually really sad. He needs a therapist for another reason now, bb get you some support and help). As we know this time he plain out rejects her and doesn't allow for her to manipulate him and when she tries to he turns her down.

Marcela throws it in his face that she had been calling him but he hadn't answered the phone since they last spoke and Armando goes on to angrily explain that next time they won't agree to speak until the next day and that he'll constantly call her and report himself so she can control him like a little kid, that every five minutes he can remind her who he is and he looks so pissed and done, like emotionally just frustrated with this argument.

Yes we know Marcela has a reason to not trust him but she feeds the cycle of her own as well. It would be so easy for her to remove herself from the situation/relationship but the problem here isn't that Armando cheats and gaslights her, the problem here is that Marcela doesn't want to let go of him. She feels entitled to him and because of this entitlement she completes the circle of hell. Again I'm not saying that Armando is innocent, he's not, he's a cheating scumbag, but she knew this before they got engaged, like she knew what she was getting herself into and she still wanted in and when they got engaged she felt entitled to all of him(I talk about this in like mostly every post, for once I'd like to write something good about her lol).

Marcela then stops arguing, you can tell she feels guilty for it and reaches out to him, placing her hands on his shoulders but he moves and pulls her hands from him and steps away from her and lays on his bed while Marcela gets on her knees, beside his bed and explains that she was only worried about him, that she thought something bad had happened to him.

Unlike with Betty, who asked him if he felt ill because of the drinks, who had her arms around him(though sometimes he looked like he wanted to take them off of him) when she asked him this and he said he was fine or maybe the drinks were affecting him, Betty told him she'd make him feel better, he asked her how, she said with her kisses and bam consenting make-out town.

The parallel of this is Marcela expressing "worry" about Armando, who tells her he's fine.

"I just want to go to the bathroom wash up, get in my pijamas, and go to bed."

"No, I can't wait that long." She says and starts to kiss him and undress him but he tells her:

"Marcela, Please." he pleas.

"It doesn't matter , you're fine as you are, please." She begs him in a I guess seductive way?

However Armando has barely touched her, when she neared him he kept his hands up in the air, only has one hand on her back as if trying to pull her from him. He then stares at her, with a cold stare of rejection(I think he's thinking to himself 'did she not hear me? I said no. I said no!') and Marcela reacts offended.

"What's your problem? Do you not want to be with me? Do you want me to leave?" She asks with an angry tone and arms folded in front of her. Armando now stares at her with fear.

Which is different from when Betty asked him if he wanted to no longer be with her and go to Marcela's apartment. When she asked him if he was feeling bad, and if he wanted to drop her off home. Armando explained to her it wasn't that but it was just getting late, however at the club he not only accepted her advances but he also encouraged them(Forgive Me Post). Not only that when Armando rejected her advance inside the hotel room, Betty respected his no.

"I'm tired." He says after trying to find an excuse. His tone of voice shows fear as he talks as if he were out of breath and though he has told her this excuse before, he hadn't given her this stare of determination. He wasn't even going to give her wiggle room and when she notices this she stands up and tells him that that had never stopped him before(yeah cause you manipulated him and pushed his boundaries).

Armando doesn't allow her questioning of his manhood to keep him from staying faithful to Betty. Instead, unlike before when he just basically gave up and let Marcela convince him otherwise, he tells her that tonight it would be an impediment for him but this whole time he looks fearful and nervous.

Now the next day Betty arrived to Eco Moda with contentment and excited to see Armando(dude Wilson is always so sweet to Betty(lets ignore the first couple of ep)).

Betty saw Marcela and Armando arriving together, which we know what that implies to Betty.

So once inside of Eco Moda, after Armando told her they needed to talk, as Betty is going towards their office she sees the personification of her guilty conscious in the shape of Marcela.

What Marcela is saying to her is what Betty is telling herself, while she also tries to justify what they did. When Marcela says that last night when he was done with her she went and made love to her[Marcela] and that it could be that he is playing Betty or her but maybe them both but that she[Marcela] is the one that Armando is going to end up with.

This speaks on Betty's fears.

When she enters their office Armando is waiting for her. He starts off explaining that he knew he had told her that he'd go to his apartment and spent the night by himself but Betty interrupts him by saying: "Nonono Sir. I told you I respect that relationship, I get it." (She sure do have a funny way of showing "respect" for that relationship.

Armando then goes on to clarify that nothing happened, basically that he was truthfully only with her and that he stayed faithful to her.

But Betty tells him that he doesn't need to explain things. Armando then begs her to allow him to explain things to her. Why does he beg her?

In a past post I explained how to Armando it was so important to be able to trust Betty and to know that she didn't lie to him(Betty, My Betty! Part 2.5 post.) but ever since the night that he fought Roman and Co. things have begun to change. Armando has become a bit more attentive and in tune with Betty's needs, desires, and feelings and after last night, it is more evident here that he needs her to know that he was impecable, that he didn't lie to her or hurt her. He needed her to know that he was truthfully only with her and that he wouldn't touch Marcela or another woman after being with her because she was special to him and their first time meant a lot to him as well. He needs her trust him and believe in him.

So he begins to explain things to her, being honest and albeit dramatic(he always is when he's retelling events).

Now for the last scene of this post lets make a deep dive to Mario and Armando's conversation/ Aura Maria and Betty's conversation.

I won't really breakdown the dialogue here, instead I'll breakdown the tone and behavior from Armando and Mario.

After Mario begs him to tell him about the night Armando calls him a vieja chismosa (A woman who likes gossip) and they go off to the meeting room.

A reluctant Armando tells him he did sleep with Betty. He is stiff the entire time as he talks to Mario, showing that he is uncomfortable sharing this with him and that he doesn't, on a very different level, want to share the intimacy he shared with Betty, but he'll only share a bit of it to get him off his back and to also be able to process what happened and how he feels about it.

As Mario says that he can imagine the concentration and imagination that Armando had to have had to be able to sleep with Betty, Armando, sitting still holding his hands(showing he is trying to comfort himself or is angry, looking at the context clues the serious expression, his tone of voice and how he seems to be refraining himself it is anger what he is feeling.) grits his teeth and clenches his jaw.

He isn't only uncomfortable talking to Mario about this but he is angry at him for what he is saying and insinuating. He tries to end the conversation when Mario jokes, telling him that he answered his question, however Mario asks him how it affected him and Armando tries to explain why it affected him to begin with.

In short words Armando tells him that Betty isn't just another woman he slept(one of his models or occasional friend) with but that she is an important woman to him and because of that reason last night was important to him.

"I made love with a woman who is in love, who is truthfully in love." He says this with a tender tone, something that holds importance to him, that makes him happy, that sweetens his life. In other words something that makes him soft but also the realization of Betty's love for him and how true it is. "This doesn't welcome any jokes." He says and angrily tells Mario "So don't expect for me to act like nothing happened. Of course it affects me, my skin isn't made of iron." In another post(Tonight A Dream Of Mine Has Come True and La Arrogancia De La Niña) I explained how Armando doesn't feel comfortable when the subject revolves around Betty as a person so when Mario makes jokes and Armando tries to defend why he feels the way he does and explain himself, as well as try to understand how he feels he stops being so reluctant in the conversation but as soon as Mario starts making jokes again he stops, gets angry and shuts off.

"Okay, one second, you're telling me that you're feeling something for Betty?" Armando looks at him with furrowed eyebrows and concerned eyes and he swallows hard. One could simply assume that he is confused or even simply worried but it goes more than that. This is the exact same expression he had when Marcela was reading that poem(Don't Yell At Her! Don't You Yell At Her! post) he is anguished to tell this to Mario, to be that vulnerable with him but also, that he is worried that he has feelings for her and the implications of said feelings.

Lets rewind a few steps and look at the journey of Armando's feelings so far.

1: He begins to take notice of Betty as a loyal employee

2: He begins to blur the lines of impersonal to personal.

3: He starts to change towards the way he treats her as her boss because he cares about how Betty feels working for him(Which he didn't care about that with the rest).

4: he makes her his confidant in all aspects of his life.

5: he entrust her with his entire livelihood(trust her like no other)

6: he begins to get curious about her personal life.

7: he is forced to face the reality of why he is so "special" to her. AKA the revelation that Betty "has" a boyfriend.

8: He drunkenly confesses his feelings to Betty.

9: he soberly confesses his feelings to Betty.

10: he lives under denial of said feelings but his subconscious is stronger than he is.

11: each night he spends with Betty his emotional attraction grows until it becomes physical attraction(Which he denies).

12: He has had to learn to notice and place Betty's needs, desires, and feelings before his own and enjoys doing so.

13: he is forced to once again face his feelings of attraction towards Betty the night before.

So again, Armando does what he does best, deny.

Due to his obsession with perfection, need to control everything, and his own personal conversations that he has within himself(Why couldn't we get those? I gotta be connecting the dots here a lot) this new revelation is a hard one to swallow. Armando has never been in love and he always thought he'd fall in love with a woman that looks like Marcela, Adriana Arboleda, etc. However now it is possible that he's in love, for the first time ever or at least beginning to fall in love, with Betty, the "ugly" assistant he has, who he knows his best friend would crucify if he found out about his true feelings so Armando, pained by this, denies it and it does pain him to deny these feelings from himself which is why we get this reaction.

To throw Mario off his scent he tells him he feels remorse, and that's it(Have y'all seen that John Mulaney special where he says that when he was a kid this police officer told him to throw his wallet across the street to make robbers run the other direction to throw them off his scent so he could escape? Basically same here).

Next Aura Maria and Betty start to talk. Betty expresses her happiness and how she would have never imagined that it would be like that(she really sticking to her five star review on yelp).

In the room over Armando is telling Mario the retelling of the events the previous night. He tells him that he wasn't capable of physically having sex with Betty when she came out of the bathroom and that of course, she picked up on it and told him she understood, that she knew no man could desire her.

So did Armando sleep with Betty out of pity? Out of compassion?

When we look at the context of previous scenes the short answer is no.

The long answer is this so sit tight. That night Armando did something he'd never done before, be intimate with a woman. Betty was extremely vulnerable with him this night. She gave more of herself to him than in the physical sense. She let him in, she welcomed him into her inner dilema and fears. She moved him, deeply moved him. She gave him something he desired more than sex. She gave him her intimacy.

When he is retelling what happened, especially when it gets to the physicality, he looks up, as if reliving the moment visually in his memory. His expression is of peace and joy. He is not disgusted with the mental image he has, in fact he is pleased with it.

Mario is staring at him the entire time with eyebrows raised, wide eyes and a slight frown. Since Armando isn't staring at him(he's savoring his memory) he doesn't notice this but as soon as he stares at him Mario stops and convers his mouth. He then congratulates him and tells him that so far things sounded like they went well and he asks for more.

In the post Tonight A Dream Of Mine Has Come True I explained the comfort Mario has at asking these sorts of questions implying that both Mario and Armando don't hold back in being explicit when they talk about their conquests and one night stands so here he expects nothing less. He expects for Armando to tell him everything about Betty and what they did. He expects a word for word replay of the night but like the times before when it comes to subjects such as these, Armando shuts it down(finally a gentleman).

Mario pesters, asking who he used as a mental image, who he imagined instead of Betty.

"No inspiration used. Last night I made love to Beatriz Pinzon Solano." Armando says starting at Mario, who looks away from him, closes his eyes and convers his mouth. Armando looks down at his hand , which he's been fidgeting with, with a frown on his lips.

Armando is lying to Mario, not about who he slept with the previous night, but about his feelings and it upsets him that he can't talk this through or talk to his best friend about his feelings because he knows that Mario will just make fun of him for it. This is where we begin to see this change in Armando take shape, while before it was blurry and almost unnoticeable now it is becoming focused and recognizable.

Armando does want to talk about his feelings and he does want to understand them to some degree. Almost like there's this yearning and screaming inside of him to understand what he feels for Betty, especially after the confession he made to Betty and not only how he felt about the whole experience but because he knows, he freaking knows he treated Betty differently than any other woman before her and the fact that he didn't even desire nor want to be touched by Marcela as well disturbes him but he has no safe space or place to be able to talk about said feelings so the best thing he can do is run away from them but unlike before, this upsets him.

It's like denying himself from something he needs.

When Mario once more tries to pry any details of Betty's body Armando gets upset and tells him he doesn't understand how he managed to do that, that it was just something that came out of nowhere. Mario then asks if what is disturbing him is that fact or what it could be he feels something, but Armando tells him that he just feels guilty for it all and his conscious is killing him.

While yes this is true, he doesn't like deceiving Betty, deep down he is actually aware now that he does care for Betty and that he was both emotionally and physically satisfied with Betty. Armando is actually welcoming the understanding of his feelings while before he lived in denial of them and avoiding them, now he wants to understand them but he knows he can't do that with his best friend so he once more, like before, shuts down and gets mad at Mario.

While Betty tells Aura Maria that her boyfriend told her he loved her for the first time, Aura Maria tells her that saying it and proving it are two different things but an overjoyed Betty tells her that he not only told her he loved her but that showed it to her because he was really special and she had never imagined it would have been like that.

Both The Pervert and Aura ask the same question "Tell me how was it?"

Mario throws out synonymous for the words "hot seggs" he is wanting to know what woman was under those clothes that made him feel the way he did, Mario is strictly physical and that's it and while Armando to some point was the same, he knew that Armando also desired a stable and good relationship and to fall in love, as Armando himself told him that.

So Armando tells him she was none of that and that seggs with her was none of that.

"So then?"

"It was like..." He stops to think, looking for the right word when he finds it he smiles, again as if remembering it fondly, "sweet."

"What?" Mario murmurs. "Sweet?" he says in a disbelief tone and low voice. "A-Armando look me in the eyes." Armando does so. "It was really sweet?"

Armando pulls away from the wall he had been leaning and shifts to face him, leaning against said wall again, and after taking a deep breath begins to explain.

"Calderon, that woman is in love with me. What? did you expect for it to not be? It had to be sweet, so yes, sweet." He says explaining. His eyes brows are middle raised, slightly squinting his eyes but his features are soft, he leans against the wall while with one hand he moves in the air to explain things with the other he has it in his pocket. This indicates, roughly, an anxious attitude as well as not wanting to talk more about the subject and that he's upset to continue talking about it.

"I get that she's in love with you but were you really sweet to her too?" Armando, who turned away from him is once more leaning hard against the blinds of the window, arms folded in front of him and eyebrows middle lowers, indicating frustration.

"He was really sweet, Aura Maria. I didn't expect him to be like that. That's why I'm saying that I think he really does love me." She smiles. Aura Maria celebrates with her.

"Okayokay. So it was really sweet for the both of you." Mario raises his arms up in a "I'm innocent." manor.

"Mhm"

"Armando, you're worrying me." He places his hands inside his pockets. Armando is staring elsewhere, worrying his bottom lip with eyebrows middle lowered(almost close together) since he looks somewhat zoned out we can assume that he is in deep thought. "What happened. Talk to me." Armando turns to look at him and defeated lets out a sigh, closes his eyes and goes to sit down and starts to talk.

"I don't know, I have to clear myself. I'm going to try and be as clear as possible with you. Lets see, I-no-best said lets separate two things. One thing is that is ugly, right?(he confused about it now? I'm just joking)." Mario agrees. "And another thing would be that I hate Betty, I don't hate Betty." This time his eyebrows are pulled closer together with really squinted eyes. He is really evaluating his feelings here and making the effort to understand them. "All the contrary, I have an immense endearment for her. She is a very important woman in my life."

(ENGLISH GET A WORD EQUIVALENT TO QUIERO/QUIERE!)

"You cherish her?"(it's the best word I could find to translate this, English is so tragic tbh.)

"Of course." Armando admits, he has a look of relief washed away with panic and now he begins to deny, freaked out by his own emotions he tries to justify his feelings for something they're not. "Of course I cherish her. I cherish her-" he places a finger on his philtrum: anxiousness and hesitant to speak. "like you cherish Sara, your secretary. Yes like my dad cherish Susana his secretary. I-I think that one in life...cherishes a lot of people and the relationship that Betty and I have established is a relationship of..." He starts to fidget with his fingers worrying his bottom lip and staring off at something on the table. "of friends." he stares at Mario and with his hand, open, explains to him. "We're friends and we cherish each other a lot. Man, I start to think and Betty is a person who has always been unconditional with me, who has always been there when I've needed her. She's a person who has saved my life, who risks her life for me every day she's a person( I don't want to use the word love but English you suck so I gotta) I love a lot(he means platonically)" Mario stares at him with raised eyebrows, wide eyes and a frown. "Tell me, why wouldn't I feel that for her? Why shouldn't I feel endearment for her?"

"No, no of course. Why not?" Mario reacts slow. He is trying to "Respect" Armando's feelings even though he wants to make fun of him for it but he knows if he does that Armando will stop talking about how he feels, therefore, stop giving him intel. "Why not? It's just this is the first time I hear you say you love her."

"Because I wasn't aware of this until now!" Armando says frustrated. "Until now that I'm faci...facing Betty." He slightly furrows his brows and stares elsewhere with a shocked expression of revelation. He takes in a deep breath and places a finger in front of his lips, thinking this through. "Calderon, cherishing Betty isn't a crime, bro." Notice his tone of voice as he confesses this final part is full of emotion. This fear that he had been carrying within himself for days, weeks or even months, that he cared about Betty deeply cares but was afraid to admit this to himself much less out loud until now, he finally admits it, he finally says it out loud because he is in a desperate need to understand how he feels about her and he accepts it. He accepts that this is how he feels and that it isn't wrong for him to feel like this because she deserves it.

Armando then goes on to say that what they are doing to her is a crime. To do that to his partner in crime, who loves him and dreams of him twenty four seven and that is what is killing him.

"It should be killing you if you did it with repulsiveness but no, you did so, sweetly. Sweetie pie." he sings at the end. Armando now looks at him in disbelief and anger.

"Then how would I have done it? She's in love, how was I going to do it then?"

Mario is now out of his element, unlike in previous scenes, this time Mario is not in control of Armando so he reacts irrationally.

"Yes but you've slept with Marcela who is in love with you and so far from what I understand the hook-ups aren't so sweet." he smiles, thinking he's found footing in the situation and a way to gain control of it.

"Ah don't talk to me about Marcela now." He stands up, annoyed. "Lets not talk about that woman. Let's change topic, yeah? Last night." He slaps the chair. "When I got to my apartment she was waiting for me." He says so annoyed, again.

"No?" Mario asks "surprised".

Skip the scene with Marcela and Patsy Pats; Betty and Aura Maria are still talking in her office.

Aura Maria is telling her that now that they've slept together that she can't stop doing it and blah blah blah I'm only mentioning it because it's funny when Armando walks into the conversation and now it's him he gets a taste of jealousy like Betty did that morning when she saw Armando and Marcela getting out of his car.

The fact Armando believes this is really about Nicolas is funny but also believable. For one, as I pointed out, Armando feels insecure when it comes to Betty and Nicolas, especially now after they've sinned, fornicated if you will, no wait adulatory because he's "committed" to Marcela. Two because he knows that Nicolas spends time with Betty at her house so when Aura Maria tells her to take advantage of the moments her parents aren't looking or when he goes to the bathroom to sneak in there with him and y'know, sha-bang.

Armando rubs his hand with his thumb, indicating anxiety, however he tries to keep his composure and if y'all haven't notice Armando now isn't speaking so harshly to Betty. He is keeping the same tone he has with her whenever he is being vulnerable. As Armando leaves Betty's office after telling her that he needed some paper work, he shuts the door hard, expressing his anger as well.

Once Aura leaves and Betty goes into Armando's office, Armando throws his jealousy fit, but unlike before when he'd yell at her and question her dedication, her loyalty, her love, this time he tells her that she can do what she wants, that Nicolas belonged to her personal and intimate life(again, showing resentment for that), when Betty tries to explain what happened Armando tries to cut her off, eventually she does though. This is similar to earlier that morning.

We then see the power dynamic here, once more Armando is the one that holds the cards and Betty is supposed to do what he says, which isn't a partnership.

[THE LETTER! WHAT WAS IN THE STUPID LETTER BETTY!]

I think those the next scenes[next few episodes] are pretty self-explanatory. Armando completely forgets about the picture he has of AA in his pocket and he makes out with Betty and Betty accepts to not break up while Armando that once the big meeting is over that he'll break up with Marcela and they'll become official, now he has to learn to accept the idea that he has to learn to accept as an idea(So confusing, I know lol) of a potential future where he is open about his relationship with Betty.

The next post I'll write is one I'm really looking forward to; AA shows up to Eco Moda and my all time favorite scene that brings and ties together this theory that Armando has thought about, for a long time, about his feelings for Betty and what it means to him, AKA the night of the museum.

'Til then :)

[heniareth]

Here's that ask I promised :D Some more questions for the OC ask meme <3

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Companion they are closest to and why?

Thoughts on the Dalish?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

(These are a lot again, it is so hard to hold back xD So take your time and no pressure as always :) Just excited to get to know more about your Astala <3)

Thank you for the ask!! I had this sitting for forever, life has kept me busy, but I'm so excited to give this a go XD And to delve into some aspects of Astala that I haven't given much thought yet, so that's exciting.

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Astala's biggest flaw when it comes to relationships is her inability to let go of people. On a positive note, this trait manifests as a very strong loyalty. On the negative side, it will lead her to cry after relationships that have ended and pour over them to try and find out what went wrong. It can also put her or other people she cares about in danger; especially in her position as the de facto leader of the companions, this could quickly lead to the loss of a whole unit (aka the three companions you can take with you on missions + the Warden). Luckily, she has Morrigan and Alistair (and Sten and Zevran) who can and will point out when a course of action is likely to put them in more danger than they already are.

Companion they are closest to and why?

Ooof, this is a tough one. Ironically, the romanceable four. Alistair is practically second-in-command, even though I imagine he’d protest at the title. They work closely together and are therefore quite close. Astala admires and respects Morrigan, even when her opinions and advice goes against most things Astala believes in. She’s the kind of friend you know would hide a body for you. Leliana is a friend in the more “common” sense. She and Astala both have a thing for nice clothing, their morals are similarly aligned, and they just get along in general. And then of course there’s Zevran, who’s Astala’s love interest. Funnily enough, they both started off annoying the hell out of each other over various petty reasons, and it takes them some time to really see each other for who they are. And from that point on there’s no turning back and they fall hard.

Thoughts on the Dalish?

The Dalish are an interesting subject. Astala hadn't met any previous to the Blight (although her cousin Shianni imagined her dad, who she never knew, to be a strong Dalish warrior). So to see them live these relatively normal lives when she encountered Zathrian's clan was... odd. But on the other hand, their lives were everything but normal because they spoke elvish, worshipped the Creators, had halla and could go wherever they wanted. So the first thing Astala did when she got there was ask a metric ton of questions about everything. On the other hand, the way some of the Dalish talk about the city elves makes her sad. They have a point , the city elves would probably treat one of the Dalish similarly, and she understands the distrust in anything that so much as smells of humans; but she still finds the divide tragic. She also thinks the Dalish are a bit too proud for their own good; but then again, how else are you going to defend yourself against a world that threw an Exalted March against your forebears' homeland?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

Astala is generally biased in favour of elves, and in favour of whoever she percieves to be the underdog in a given situation. This can lead her to get duped (it hasn’t yet in my current playthrough, but it probably will at some point).

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

When in stressful situations, Astala generally tries to remain in control of it. To do so, she relies heavily on whatever companions she has at the moment and the resources available, both in the environment and on her person. She tends to try and talk things out, but also to make rash judgements, which uuuuuh can backfire (she's quick to draw her blades, for instance, and that does not exactly help to deescalate situations). She also has a tendency to just seize control. She also will give orders and will expect others to follow them. The companions look to her as a leader, so that works out fine. In Redcliffe, however, she did find that the militia men would listen to the mayor, and not to her. That was frustrating for both parties.

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Human nobles. Just the whole package. From their fondness of dogs and their dainty dances (which her father, who was a bann's servant, would describe to her and her cousins) to their pointy-ended shoes and their petty grievances (because when you have enough money to boss other people around, all your grievances are petty, right?). A surefire way to keep the younger kids entertained was to pretend to be a noble, let them play servants, and have them wreak havoc upon you as they got orders wrong on purpose and "stole" the "noble's" belongings. Afyer the Blight, that fondness to ridicule sadly wanes away and leaves mostly frustration in its wake.

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

Astala is a terribly heavy sleeper. If she dreams, she doesn't remember it come morning. She can therefore sadly not report any recurrent themes in her dreams as of now.

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Apart from the power trip in the Fade (she walked out smiling and continued to smile until Uldred turned into a pride demon), it was probably when she got her first job. She was 14 at the time and overheard some boys talking about how a merchant was expecting a big shipment and looking for new help. Up until then, she had been trying to get a job as a servant like her father, to no avail. On a whim she followed the boys, and lined up with the other hopeful candidates in front of the merchant's warehouses for a try-out (a selection process entailing an unpaid day of work). She proved herself to be strong enough to lift and carry crates, small and nimble enough to climb to where others couldn't reach, and above all she got extremely lucky. She was called back, first for one month, then for a trimester, then for one year and for another. And while Cyrion would have liked his daughter to have an easier and less dangerous job, he was proud right alongside her when she brought the first coins she had earned home.

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

I created Astala's first version (which I mentioned in this post) based on a character that was very much an ideal; strong, kind, and above all, brave and adventurous. That first heroic version then got put through all the trials and tribulations of the story, and I was very much going with my gut instinct and not with a predetermined idea of the character when I tokk her decisions. So basically, this first versions had a good chunk of my morals and priorities. After the Deep Roads, that first version started getting depth; she reacted very strongly to having to shoulder the responsability of chosing a new king for Orzammar, for Ferelden, and defeating the Archdemon. From that point on, I started exploring why that reaction might have been so strong. Astala as she is now is the product of that exploration (during which she acquired some fears and pain points she shares with me. Examples are the fear of messing up, the sometimes blind loyalty or the need to shoulder all the responsability). Bottom line: she definitely has parts that are mine, some of which she acquired over time, but she's her own person. She's not me.

---

That was a lot of fun!! Thank you so much for the ask and sorry for the delay >.< But I'm very happy I finally came around to it, I always love answering these

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Never Mess With a School Teacher

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: M 

Warnings: Violence, oh my god, the violence. Also swearing, derogatory language. Threat of violence towards kids, but no actual violence, all violence is actually centred on the adults. 

Summary: He curses himself for getting so complacent, soft, it shouldn’t be this hard to chase down a thief. The thief should never even have made it to the steps of the schoolhouse, let alone inside. Luckily for your kids, an angry school teacher is worse than a pissed off sheriff. 

Notes: Someone said they wanted angst...well, I have delivered angst and fluff, hurt and comfort in one piece. 

Archiveofourown

Generally speaking Din’s job as sheriff had been pretty quiet and tame. An easy job. Navarro did not get a lot of crime and generally speaking the only people in his cells were the few regulars at the saloon who always got a little bit too indulgent with their alcohol and then started fighting over whichever girl they’d both decided they wanted that night. He hadn’t dealt with a murder, rape or assault his whole time here. He hadn’t dealt with major crime, not even horse theft. His life had become relatively...domestic and safe, compared to his previous. He’d gone from hunting down some of the most dangerous criminals around to simply wrangling a couple of drunks on a night and the occasional robber who tried his hand at a petty crime. 

He liked to think he was a competent sheriff, that part of the reason for the quiet was that he was just that good, the truth was in a small mining town nothing much happened. So he’d never had to worry, not about Grogu or about you or about the little ones you taught or any member of town. You were as safe as you could be. Navarro was probably one of the safest places around, it made his job as sheriff a damn sight easier that’s for sure. 

“Osik! Kolar! Get over here!” Which is why he’s feeling a little more winded than he used to when he runs through the centre of town after a lousy thief waving a gun in one hand and a bag of stolen credits from the mayor’s office in the other. He can feel a stitch pulling in his side and his knees don’t feel like they used to. 

He hasn’t had to run like this in a couple months, not since moving into town and perhaps he should have been going on daily runs because he’s feeling his age all of sudden. It shouldn’t be this hard to catch up to the guy, he’s not even that fast and he runs like a donkey’s shebs, all arms flailing about and no sense of his own centre of gravity. If he could just reach him then he’d be easy to tackle to the ground. Din was at least twice his size and even with that damn cattleman revolver being waved about he’d be easy to take on. But, of course Din’s getting old and of course he’s been complacent, not been working himself as hard as he should have been. Of course he feels like he’s about to bust a lung just from running for 5 minutes. He feels older than his years all of a sudden and can’t understand how he used to chance criminals down all the time with success.

He pushes his legs even harder when he realises the direction the thief is going in, “Haar’chak!” He hasn’t sworn this much in months, but he recognises the path towards the school and it’s the middle of the day. School is in session and he wants to just grab the guy before he causes more trouble. He has images of you standing at the front of class, radiant and warm, turning to fear as the man storms in. The thought makes him try harder.

“Get you’re fucking no good ass back here! Boy, don’t make me shoot you!” He’s reaching for his gun at about the same time as the schoolhouse comes into view and Din can feel all the blood draining from his face, fear gripping his heart tighter than any lasso at the thought that you’re in there, the little ones are in there and this di’kut is about to go storming in with a goddamn gun.

“I said don’t make me shoot you!” He’s got the gun out now, his trusty pistol, not his preferred rifle, but he’d left that in the sheriff’s office in a rush after hearing yelling and a commotion he wasn’t used to. He’s never leaving it behind again he decides, this has been a wake-up call, he’s gotten lazy, complacent, too soft. This town has damn near domesticated him. He needs to keep himself in shape and his wits about him if he wants to be a decent sheriff. Maybe he’ll telegram Cara, get her to come back him up as deputy or Paz, whichever wants the quiet town life more. 

He hesitates because of his recent domestication, his increased softness of heart...because if he shoots he’ll put a bullet in your schoolhouse and he knows it could go straight through, could hit one of you inside. But, mostly because he knows how much you care about that damn schoolhouse and he can’t bring it in him to damage it knowing you’d be devastated. Paz would laugh at him if he saw him now, tell him he needed to pull his trousers up and get on with the job. He’s never been very good at that. He curses kicking a rock nearby as the thief runs straight through the schoolhouse door with you inside. 

He’s panicking, he can feel it well in his chest, clutching at his throat and he’s not sure what to do. If he storms in it’ll be a mess, little kids and you, all at risk, but if he stays outside he can’t do a damned thing. He can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling in there, probably panicking, the kids are probably scared, that’s soon confirmed by the terrified little screams he can hear. There’s a panic inside and it just swells his own until he feels like he’s choking. 

“Come out! Leave them the hell alone, boy! Do not test me!” They’re empty words because he can’t do a damned thing, but if that thief lays a hand on any of you he isn’t going to bring him in warm, he’ll be in a jail cell, cold, waiting for the coroner to come and collect him. That he’s certain of, a single hair out of place, a single bruise or mark and that man won’t be breathing for much longer. 

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

“It’s a well known fact that we’re all acted upon by a force we call gravity! Now gravity-” The door to the school slams open with a supreme force that shocks you so hard that you jump from your place at the front of the class, chalk falling from your hand in a perfect demonstration of the force you’d been discussing. The children react in an instant, jumping from their feet then all clamour towards you like a stampede of panicked animals and it is all you can do in that moment to grab the yardstick you use in mathematics and occasionally in science and hide it behind you. 

He’s wild looking, the man who storms into your school. Bulging big eyes roaming over the lot of you with a snarl, almost foaming at the mouth with aggressive energy, gun clenched tightly in one hand. He’s red in the face, huffing and puffing from running from god knows where. You can hear Din outside, he’s cursing and blinding, you can hear the panic, you can taste your own on the back of your tongue like a sour candy, like cough candy, the ones your father used to love and you used to hate so desperately. 

“Now, sir, I-”

“Shut up!” It’s in this moment you realise that you cannot deescalate this situation, this man is like a wild dog, he is ready to bite at the slightest sound or provocation and the children are your main concern.

Panic gives way to anger, that bitter resolve, that feeling of indignation at this man’s brazen act. That he felt he could come into your domain, your space, that he could threaten you and your children. That he could point a gun in their direction. It’s the gun that angers you the most, it’s not pointed at you, like any sane person would do, it’s not pointed at the one adult in the room, but at Jerome who is shaking so hard you can hear his teeth clattering together. He’s barely a boy of fourteen, not a threat in the slightest. 

You wait, wait as he takes steps closer and closer, drown out the sound of Din’s panic outside, drown out the sounds of your own children, the adrenaline making you feel like your skin is buzzing, like you’ve touched an electric circuit, but there’s no electricity in the schoolhouse at all. You’re shaking, that’s just how much energy is buzzing within you, you’re shaking like a leaf on a windy November day and you can’t physically contain it, stop it. 

When he’s mere feet from you, you lift your chin defiant and angry, mouth opening in a tirade of angry words, as you rush forward in what you’re sure would be a stupid act if you weren’t so desperate for him to ignore the children and focus on you. 

“How dare you come into my school and threaten my children!” It’s almost a scream, you’re so angry, so scared, that you don’t even think when you pull the yardstick from behind your back and swing with both hands for the hand holding the gun. It connects and for a moment he fumbles, you’re sure the gun will fall from his hands, but he catches it at the last second.

His hand comes up, “You bitch!” and clocks you across the face with the butt of his gun. One hit, hard enough for your ears to start ringing. You can feel blood drip from your lip which stings as it splits itself open, your teeth clatter together and by some miracle you stay on your feet, swaying back and forth. The children have begun to cry behind you and you can hear the sounds of roaring anger from outside. Din’s voice, clamouring louder than you’ve ever heard it. 

“You lay a hand on her and you’ll wish you never came to this town!” It’s too late for that you think, he’s already laid that hand and if Din doesn’t get to him first you’re determined to deal your own blows. 

The yardstick is ripped from your palms and you’re sure for a moment that he’ll simply throw it away, out of reach but he doesn’t. Whatever anger he is feeling boils over and the slab of wood hits you in the stomach, the ribs, the back. A hit to the face has your nose bleeding, your jaw feels like it might be broken and your only thought is ‘stay up, stay standing’. Your only relief is that the attention is on you now and not the children. 

“Nar’sheb!” You spit it out, the pronunciation is awful, but the one insult that Din had taught you tumbles from your lips, hoping to keep his attention on you, hoping the provocation gives Din some time to think, to plan. Even, if you feel like he might actually kill you, like he’s capable of it. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” 

“I said shove it, you filthy nerfherder!” It’s enough of a push for him to grab you by the front of your blouse and pull you forward, one arm coming underneath your neck, hand gripping your jaw painfully tight, especially with how broken it already feels, no doubt his fingers are going to leave bruises, while the gun is pressed to your temple. 

The fear comes back in full force this time as you hear the children crying louder at seeing you being abused, seeing a gun to your head. But you know you have to be strong because they are your children and you have to protect them, that’s your job, it’s your duty. So you’re almost relieved when he spits at you.

“Let’s go see that sheriff of yours, huh? He seems mighty concerned for you.” It relieves you because you’re beginning to move inch by inch towards the door and you know the older kids will take the younger ones out the back door, usher them quietly out of the schoolhouse and to somewhere safe. You can breathe easy because even if you die today those children are going to be safe, you’ll have done your job. The most important one. Keeping them safe. 

He sees you first, you’re blinded by the light blinking at the midday sun, but, Din? He can see you clear and bright and he has never been so angry in all his life. Your lip is busted open, blood running down your chin, staining your white blouse, there are bruises over your jaw, your nose is leaking more red and he can see by the way you carry yourself that your ribs hurt. The thief’s dirty hands are on you, one clutching your jaw so tight that he can see the indentations his fingers make even from a distance away, the other holding that damn cattleman revolver to your head. It makes him want to beat the guy black and blue, forgoing guns, just give him his bare hands and he’ll ring the guy's neck. Just let him go absolutely feral on the man, let him tear him apart. Din clenches his hand tighter around his gun, the other tightening into a fist, he widens his stance. If it is to be a fight then that’s fine, so long as you’re not in the middle of it. 

He looks scared. That’s the first thing you think when you see Din. He looks scared and angry, his gun is pointed but you know he won’t trust himself to shoot it, his brow furrowed, wet eyes, and teeth biting into his lip hard enough to bleed. He looks raging and scared and wild. This is a side of Din you have never seen, you are so used to the calm, the quiet, gentle Din. But, this Din doesn’t scare you, it fuels your fire again, that this man would make Din feel like that, that he would make this kind man scared and angry. You can feel that rage welling up, shaking you physically. He thinks you’re scared, you can tell by the laugh and little comment ‘oh don’t be scared now’, that he whispers into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, making you shy away in disgust. It crawls over your skin in a most unpleasant way. 

“Now, Sheriff, i’m going to make you an offer that I wouldn’t refuse, not if you want this pretty little thing to come out in one piece that is.” That name angers you even more, how dare he condescend you, how dare he call you that, it’s worse than being called a bitch or a cunt or any other number of derogatory names. 

You don’t even give him the chance to make his offer. You slam the pointed heel of your boot into his foot, hard as you can, before bringing an elbow back into his stomach and using what little you know about the centre of gravity to off balance him and shift him over your head and in front of you. The gun goes flying and your hands reach for the heavy metal pail you keep in front of the school house for collecting water, thanking God that you’d decided a cast iron one would do better than tin as you heft it over your head and across his face with a ringing smash and a crunch of bones. 

You stand over him, chest heaving, “You come near my children again and I will kill you, do you hear me! I’ll show you what a pretty little thing like me can do, sir!” For good measure your swing the pail down again, the man groans and far from being disgusted with your show of violence, you feel better than you have all week at knowing the threat has been dealt with.

You look up breathing heavy, blood dripping from your lip to see the children had made it outside, watching you with wide eyes, almost as wide as Din’s, but not quite. The gun is slack in his hand and he is watching you with a heat you’ve never seen before, it makes you swallow hard.

Din’s sure he’s in love. That’s what he thinks it feels like as he watches you, your chest heaving in anger, your features twisted from their usual soft and delicate countenance. This is love, this feeling like you’ve reached into his chest and grabbed his heart in your bare hand. You are the picture of a mother bear protecting her cubs and that part of him that is deeply Mandalorian cries out for you, cries out to grab you and hold you close. You are in that moment more Mandalorian than he is, mandokarla in every sense of the word. You have the spirit of a true mandalorian, the spirit of a mother, strong, brave, prepared to do what needs to be done. Undefeated. The man beneath your feet groans and it spurs him to action. 

Pulling handcuffs from the back of his belt, Din closes the gap between himself and the thief. He’s rough as he rolls the man onto his front, pulling his arms far behind his back and locking them together. He knows he’s rougher than he needs to be, but the man’s lucky. Lucky that he can’t bring himself to hurt him more with you stood there. 

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your head right now, osi’kovid. I should kill you for what you’ve done.” He means it too, he wants to just do it, but he knows it’s not right. Not when the man is incapacitated, unable to defend himself. Not when the little ones are watching on, many of their parents having made their way through town at the sound of the disturbance, clutching at the little ones with relief and shock. 

“Then why don’t you, big bad sheriff?” Din hauls him to his feet roughly, presses his mouth close to the thief’s ear not wanting the others to hear him.

“The only thing keeping you alive right now is the woman standing in front of you. If she wasn’t here I'd tear you limb from limb. You’re lucky she’s there.” He means it too. He won’t hurt him, not like this, because he knows you wouldn’t approve, because he knows no matter how angry you are you’d never be okay with him hurting an unarmed, handcuffed man. But, god if he isn’t close to snapping. All that panic has turned into anger, anger which he focuses on the man as he roughly drags him towards the cells. 

You think you weren’t supposed to hear it, the threat, but you did and it is both scary to see him like this and a mite attractive.  Your gentle sheriff is showing a harsher side than you’ve ever seen and it should shake you to your core, make you distance yourself, but it doesn’t. Did you not just show the exact same side of you? Did you not just consider beating the man to a pulp yourself? All because you loved your children, wanted them safe. You think this anger from Din is a reflection on how much he cares for you and the children, how scared he had been and it warms something inside of you. Your chest aches with a longing that you don’t understand as you watch him roughly walk the man away. 

“Are you alright, Miss!” It’s Mr Hewitt, concerned for your welfare, but you just wave him off and make your way to the children, hand clutching at your ribs. 

“I’m perfectly alright, Mr Hewitt, don’t you worry about me!” The children, for the most part are with their parents, all of whom have congregated after commotion drew their attention and word spread quickly through town. They’re crying into their mother’s skirts and their father’s trouser legs and it breaks your heart. They should never have had to witness or experience that, it should never have happened. 

“Children!” Their heads snap up instantly, ever attentive to your teacher's voice; they watch you with focused eyes even while they hiccup and sniffle. “I think we’ve earned the rest of the day off, don’t you? Go home, rest, play and I shall see you bright and early tomorrow morning!” 

Truth is you need to sit down. You can’t even begin to think about teaching right now. So sending them home seems your only option. 

Parents smile at you, wish you well, tell you to look after yourself as they escort their children home. The only little one left is Grogu who runs towards you with panicked eyes, and despite the pain you kneel on the ground in front of him. The little one wraps his arms tight around your neck before pulling back, little hands patting over your cheeks and hair, as if imitating an adult checking your injuries. It brings tears to your eye because in that moment you’re reminded of what could have happened, what could have been lost. It’s not fear for your own life that has tears falling, but fear for him, for all the little ones and their youthful innocence. 

“Cabur...cabur” It’s said to you, little hands framing your face, big brown eyes serious as he looks up at you. It isn’t a word you know, mando’a you are sure, and it’s not a word you’ve ever heard leave his lips before. A quiet child he had only recently begun to start talking and often in one or two words only. 

That’s how Din finds the two of you. You’re kneeling in the dirt, skirt stained probably beyond repair, blouse bloody, face bruised and cut. Grogu is in your lap, your arms wrapped around his little chubby body, his hands cupping your face as he says it over and over again. ‘Cabur’. Guardian. Protector. It warms him from the inside out, that his ad, his son sees you as such, that his son cares about you so much and that you care about him just the same. He has no doubt that you were prepared to die for those children and it scares him and warms him in equal measure. 

You hear his footfalls, dirt and gravel crunching under well worn boots, spurs clinking lightly as he comes to crouch next to you. Warm fingers reach out to gently graze your jaw, taking in the dark mottled bruising and deep swelling.

“What does it mean?” Wide eyes turn on him and he can’t help but smile softly at you, moustache twisting upwards at your curious nature, always so eager to learn, always wanting to engage more with the world around you. 

“Protector, guardian, cabur’ika.” You wince slightly when he presses around your nose, checking to feel if it is broken. It’s not, but it will swell and bruise along with most of your face. The blood has stood spilling from it and that reassures him that it isn't too serious. It still hurts to see you like this, to see you hurt in any way. 

“Ika?”

“Little.” He can already see your brows furrowing, lips setting into an offended scowl as you glare up at him. At the diminutive suffix, not fully understanding the nuances of mando’a yet.

“Little!”

He laughs at your offence, not because it’s funny because it does not mean what you think it means, “It’s a...a familiar term. It’s not because you’re little.” He hopes he makes sense. He doesn't call you a little protector to make fun of you or tease you, but because it shows familiarity, closeness. You are becoming part of his clan without realising it and the familiarity feels good to show. Just as when he calls Grogu, Gro’ika. 

“Oh.” The annoyance metals from your features as quickly as it came and he continues his prodding of your skin, carefully assessing your injuries. Your jaw isn’t broken, he tells you, but it is badly bruised and he tells you to talk less in class, although he gives you a look that says he understands that is unlikely to happen. A gentle finger pulls your lower lip from between your teeth, you hiss, but he’s gentle as can be when looking at the split lip. Badly split and still bleeding red over your chin and blouse. 

Din rises to his feet, offering you a hand, “Let’s get you clean up, cabur’ika”. He helps you stand, Grogu letting go and sliding from your lap to instead hold your skirt hem as the three of you walk. 

Din wraps a strong arm around your waist to help you walk, your pace is slow, careful and it takes longer than it really should to get across town to your small house. It’s not much, just 2 rooms; the main living area with your kitchen, wash basin, tub and a bedroom separated from the rest. But it is home. Cosy, he thinks, like you. It screams home, lived in, a place to live, not just rest your head. 

He eases you onto your settee, propping up pillows behind your back as he urges you to lay down. He even plumps a few in his hands like a mother hen, clucking around you as he unlaces your boots and gently pulls them off to make you more comfortable, grabbing a throw and tucking it around you. He’s filling a washbowl with water from your tap, the one luxury you have, being a plumbed-in kitchen sink. 

“Din...you don’t have to do this.” He should be dealing with paperwork, probably writing a telegraph for someone from a local prison to come and collect the man currently in the jailhouse. He shouldn’t be here with you, he has better things to do. 

“Yes. I do. Someone needs to look after you, cabur’ika.” You watch him grab salt from the side mixing it in with the water, just enough to help keep your wounds clean. Watch him decide which cloth on your countertop is the best to use. He feels the fabrics, which is too abrasive, which is softest, gentlest, before deciding on one and dropping it into the washbowl. 

Grogu is sat by your fireplace watching as his buir shifts you slightly so he can sit on the edge of the settee, washbowl placed on the ground. His fingers are gentle as they rest underneath your chin and urge you to look up at him, calloused but soft on your skin, careful of any pressure that might hurt you. 

The salt water stings, but the cloth is soft and he hushes you quietly at every hiss or groan of discomfort you make. Carefully cleaning your wounds, wiping the dirt, sweat and blood from your skin. 

“It’s okay, Cyar’ika. I’m sorry….i’m sorry.” It’s more than just a sorry for the temporary pain of cleaning your wounds, it’s more than just sorry that I am causing your wounds to sting. There is a deep pain in his voice that strikes you to your core and you shift, hands wrapping around his wrist as you sit yourself up despite the pain in your ribs. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Din. Listen to me,” you tug on the wrist, pull it towards you and hold him to your chest, urge him to look you in the eye. You can feel the guilt rolling off of him in waves, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

“You wouldn’t be like this if I was better at my job...I got complacent, lazy, I should have been able to catch him before he even got near the schoolhouse! You shouldn’t have ever been put in that position, you and the little ones…” It’s the break in his voice, the tears welling in deep brown eyes that has you wrapping your arms around his head and pulling him to rest his cheek on your chest. Rubbing circles in the back of his neck, twisting dark curls between your fingers. 

“You did everything you could. You are not at fault and I will not have you blame yourself for something you had no control over. You are a good sheriff, Din. You are so good. Please don’t blame yourself for this, darling.” You scratch careful circles into his scalp with your nails, rub soothing lines over his neck and under his jaw, whisper gentle reminders that he is the best thing to happen to this town. That he provided you with a school. That he has made this town safe. That he is not at fault for this. But, you know, deep inside you that he will carry this moment with him, that he will not forget what happened and what could have happened. This guilt will weigh heavily on him, and will follow him.

“You could have been killed. The little ones could have been hurt.” He has always been a man of emotions, quiet emotions, but emotions nonetheless. You’d known from the start that he had a protective streak, that that extended especially towards children. That the mandalorian in him, his upbringing, urged him to keep them safe as much as your own duties did.

“But they weren’t. Keeping them safe is my job, Din. Don’t add it to your worries.” But, they weren’t his responsibility. When they were in your schoolhouse they were yours. The last thing you wanted was him to take that responsibility onto his shoulders when he already had so much, that guilt. It was your responsibility to protect them and while scared and shocked, none of them had a hair out of place or a scratch on them. They were okay. 

“You could have died, cabur’ika. You could have died.” 

“I know. I know,” It hits you. Like being trampled under horse hooves and the wheels of a carriage, like the yardstick to your ribs, full force and winding as you finally understand. You could have died. You could have died. 

It is your turn to cry as your breathing becomes uneven and your mind tries to make sense of the fact you nearly died today, just doing your job, just in your schoolhouse. That there is so much you have not achieved, so little you’ve seen or done and you could have lost the chance to ever do. “Din…” You’re clutching at him, fingers digging in his back as he pulls you tighter to him. 

There is a moment where he worries that you cannot breathe, that the force of your tears will choke you in his arms and so he holds you tighter, barricades you in his arms. Walls shielding you from the world. He brings a hand to the base of your neck cupping it to tilt your head up as he presses his forehead to your own. A comforting gesture, a keldabe kiss, he wants you to feel safe again. Wants to impress upon you your importance in his life even if he is not ready to say it yet.

He can feel your breath evening out with the gesture, your lungs relaxing as his presence comforts you. It pleases him to know he can calm you. He is the only thing present in that moment, not what happened, not the wild eyes of your assailant, not the fear, not the kids, not the room around you. Just him. His warm forehead pressed into yours, gentle, but firm enough to ground you. Large hand cupping the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped entirely around you to keep you close. 

It is a little movement behind your back and two small arms wrapping around your back, unable to truly wrap around you fully that bring you back into the present. 

It’s a little voice saying ‘Cabur’ into the fabric of your blouse, little hands gripping at you, trying to soothe you that makes your heart ache in an entirely different way. You pull back from Din, enough so that you can reach around you and pull Grogu into your lap, between the two of you, shielded by you both. It should scare you, how it feels like you have your entire world on your settee, how it feels like family. It should scare you what you would do for Din, for Grogu. What you would do to keep them safe, happy, healthy. Instead it warms you, to know that you’ve found somewhere to belong that isn’t just a schoolhouse and a classroom. 

“It’s okay, Ad’ika. I’m okay. I promise.” You run a hand through his dark curls, boop him on the nose to make him smile and feel a true smile creeping on your face even if it hurts. You’re not lying either. You’re okay. You will be okay. With this little child who cares for you deeply, with his father who is always there to look after you, you know you are okay and will be okay. 

“Ori'haat,” Din says to you, lifting your eyes back to him and the soft little smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “I swear. You said you wanted to learn more.”

“Or-e-haht?” You are back to your little game. The one where he tells you a new word and you try to pronounce it, but the unfamiliar words twist wrong in your mouth, coming out butchered to his amusement. He enjoys it, you know he does. It is easy to see because his eyes always twinkle with humour and his face softens, some of the harsh lines fading away. 

“Oh-ree-haht.”

“Oh-e-haht?” You always concentrate hard and it is this fact that makes your mispronunciations cute, copikla, rather than frustrating. He does not mind you making mistakes because you try earnestly to correct them and always practice the words till you have it right. He enjoys teaching you because he enjoys hearing his language from another person, enjoys the familiarity, the homeliness of it. 

“Oh-ree-haht!” This time it’s Grogu who announciates it, loud and clear with a little grin on his sweet little face as he looks between you and his buir as if waiting for praise. 

“Very good, Gro’ika,” Din ruffles the boy’s curls before turning his eyes back to you. The boy preens under the praise, little grin growing in size as he sits between the two you. How he always manages to get it right on the first try you don’t know, you’re a little envious of the boy's knack for seemingly everything. He is a quick learner in school and out of it. 

“Oh-ree-haht?”

“Jate, good.” You smile proud of your efforts and shift a little in your seat, ribs pulling and causing you to let out a pained breath. It's going to be sometime you think before you are fully back to how you were, without pain or bruises. You have yet to look in a mirror but are sure that you look terrible.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” You extend the invitation, knowing you don’t want either of them to go just yet, even though Din probably has things he needs to do and it is selfish to ask him to stay when he has his duties to get on with. 

“You’re not making dinner, cyar’ika. I’ll make it.” He untangles himself from you, grabbing the washbowl to empty in your garden. The view of you with his son cuddled up to you makes his heart warm, even with the mottled bruising and cuts across your features. 

“Din…”

“I will not argue about this with you, i’m taking care of you and you will rest, cabur’ika.” His tone brooks no argument, demanding for the first time, truly, that you listen and do not fight him on this. You should be resting, not standing cooking dinner. You are in too much pain and he would sooner tie you to your bed then let you hurt yourself in an effort to be the hostess. 

With a heavy sigh, you conceded defeat. “Okay, but I’m not happy about it, Din Djarin.”

“I know.” He says with a smile.

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

Mando’a Translations:

Nar'sheb - contemptuous comment, like saying shove it.

K'olar! - get over here!

Cabur - guardian, protector 

Cabur’ika - lit. little guardian/protector, but the ika shows familiarity, making this more of a pet name, friendly term. 

Haar’chak - damn it

Shebs - butt, ass.

Di’kut - idiot.

Mandokarla - having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue

Osi’kovid - shithead

Ori'haat - I swear

Cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling

Jate - good

Copikla - charming, cute, typically not used for women, but for animals and children. But honestly, I think the reader wouldn’t be offended like a typical mandalorian might by being called copikla. 

Ad’ika - Little one.

[thathopelessromantic]

your hand in mine

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Rating: Teen+ (for blood/injuries and minor language) Pairing: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yagi Toshinori | All Might (EraserMight) Note: Part of the EMMB 2021

The difference a year makes

A developing relationship told in seasons

AO3: (X) Companion Playlist: (X)

Summer

My love, he caught me crying Freedom can die so hard When you have a broken heart -God in Jeans, Ryan Beatty

Shouta is determined to ignore the sounds coming through the adjoining wall to his apartment. But it’s hard. There was an adjustment period to living in the apartments on campus, to stay close to the students in case of another attack. In his old apartment, the hours he kept were so erratic he rarely, if ever, ran into his neighbors. Now he knows all of them, some to a degree he never needed to know a coworker. And aside from the occasional hero work, they kept essentially the same hours. So even through the walls of the apartment, there’s usually the buzz of life around him – friends and co-workers settling down after a long day, cooking, cleaning. There was an adjustment period to being so aware of the people around him, but he thought he had well…adjusted.

He’s reconsidering that position now.

He’d like to blame it on the neighbor in question. Yagi, All Might, made so much noise as All Might, announcing his every arrival and departure with a booming voice or the crushing of some man-made structure not meant to withstand the superpowered strength of a 225 kg giant using it as a landing pad or springboard. But Yagi Toshinori as himself, at least while alone, seemed to make up for all the noise he made as his alter ego by being eerily quiet. Shouta had gotten so accustomed to hearing silence from the apartment to his right he thought it was empty. Originally, he thought it just made sense for All Might to take it for show like all the other teachers, but actually spend his time at his real home, some lavish penthouse in the Might Tower or something equally as ridiculous and extravagant. Though now that he was retired, and essentially quirkless, that trip from Tokyo to Musutafu was probably a little harder to manage every morning. Still, it seemed silly for the previous number one hero to be slumming it in glorified student dorms with the rest of them.

But Shouta was wrong about that fact too, just as he had been with many of his assumptions about the old hero. He had spent the last few months reassessing most of his assumptions about All Might, but he tended to fall back into old habits without evidence to the contrary. When a violent crash came from the otherwise silent apartment a few weeks prior, he rushed in, assuming an intruder. Instead he found Yagi in the middle of a starkly decorated living room amongst the splintered pieces of a coffee table he had fallen through. Yagi had insisted it was an accident, and an unusual one at that, and begged him to leave the subject. Shouta agreed with little argument, helping him clean up the mess, and going back to his apartment without much fuss. But he before he even realized it, Shouta found himself listening for signs of life in the adjacent apartment after that.

Occasionally he could pick up the sound of running water or the quiet beep of an oven timer or microwave. Very rarely, a quiet radio or TV station would drift through the walls. Most of the sounds would easily get lost in the bustle of every day life between a dozen or so heroes coming and going, or could have been mistaken for someone else’s noise, so it wasn’t a surprise that Shouta had missed the fact that it came from All Might’s apartment. But once he knew to listen for it, he couldn’t seem to stop listening for it.

It wasn’t…worry, exactly, that had him keeping tabs on Yagi, but he couldn’t find another word for it. He just couldn’t stop wondering how long Yagi had lived there before he realized. Couldn’t stop thinking about how dark, how cold, how empty the apartment was when he burst in before. Shouta wouldn’t have thought he ever considered what All Might’s house might have looked like until he saw how the retired hero was living and it struck him distinctly as wrong.

The coughing he hears tonight cuts over the quiet music Yagi has playing and he wonders if he normally plays it to cover the sound of his coughs before he banishes the thought from his mind. He has a week’s worth of lessons to plan still and papers to grade and what Yagi chooses to do in his own apartment is none of his business. And he is an adult who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and doesn’t need Shouta of all people fretting over him. But all of Shouta’s logical reasons for why he should ignore the sounds coming through their shared wall can’t seem to stop him from hesitating at every harsh sound, from looking to the door and considering going over every time a coughing fit lasts more than a minute or so.

Eventually, Yagi seems to settle for the night and the coughing fits interrupt the slow music less and less. Finally able to focus on his work instead of his neighbor, Shouta lets the quiet sounds from his apartment fade into the chorus of background noise. So when, almost an hour later, there’s a new coughing fit followed by a large crack of something on the other side of the wall, Shouta is on his feet and moving to the door before he realizes what he’s doing.

He freezes in the hallway, staring at the closed door of Yagi’s apartment. No one else came to investigate the sounds, which seems strange to Shouta. It seems…impossible that no one else heard that and he knows for a fact their other neighbors on this floor are not particularly good at minding their business. But no one else comes to see what’s happening, so Shouta stands in the hall staring at the door feeling torn between an obligation to check on Yagi and a nervous, clawing sensation that makes him want to turn and never step foot back inside All Might’s apartment.

The coughing and some other muffled sounds continue through the door and eventually Shouta’s sense of obligation to help wins out because he knocks on the door, calling for All Might. No one answers.

Shouta knocks again, harder, but still after a few minutes he gets no response. Finally, he tries the handle.

The door swings open easily, unlocked.

Shouta has a lecture building in his head on the basic safety of locking your doors as he steps through the doorway. Like the last time, All Might’s apartment is dark. There’s a single pair of shoes in the entrance way that leads to the empty kitchen. The table pushed to the side of the room is identical to the one in Shouta’s apartment, but whereas his is covered in bills and homework in need of grading, All Might’s is empty. Only a single chair sits at the table meant to seat four.

Shouta steps through the kitchen into the living room, calling for All Might. He can hear someone coughing, and swearing as he gets close enough to make out the muffled talking, but still no one replies. The table Yagi had fallen through weeks before still hasn’t been replaced, so the only thing in the living room now is a large couch that looks virtually unused and Yagi’s briefcase on the floor besides it. Moonlight pours into the room from the glass balcony doors painting the room a cold blue despite the summer heat. Shouta can almost imagine the room, cold and dusty, the single piece of furniture covered in a sheet, it’s previous occupant gone, without enough of a fingerprint to even be forgotten within the space.

Shouta shakes the thought from his head and moves further into the apartment. Finally, down the hall to the two bedrooms, he sees light seeping into the hallway from the open bathroom door.

“All Might? It’s Aizawa. I heard a crash. I was just coming to-” Shouta feels the words catch in his throat as he takes in the sight before him. The laminate countertop and sink basin are broken in half, and water soaks the floor of the bathroom from a burst pipe under the sink. There is no mirror on the wall above the sink, which strikes Shouta as odd in the moment, though it is perhaps the least weird thing happening in the bathroom in that moment. All Might…Yagi stands in the middle of the room, the bottom of his pants are soaked with water. His hands, clutched in fists at his sides, are bloody, though if its from breaking the skin against the sink or from wiping at the blood dripping from his mouth, Shouta isn’t sure. The blood there is smeared across the bottom half of his face, the deep red staining his clenched teeth and seeping through the cracks in thin, dry lips that hold back his coughs. There’s a furious, wild look in his eye as the curses Yagi was spewing die on his lips and Shouta isn’t sure if he looks more ready to yell or cry.

But through all of that, it’s the bright red, gnarled scar on the side of Yagi’s chest that seems to be eating him from the inside that makes Shouta take a step back in shock. Yagi’s baggy clothes hid most of his form like this, even with his more updated wardrobe fitting him better. But the crater in his chest mangles his form. Even if he was standing up straight, if he even can fully stand straight with that much scar tissue stretched across his torso, it was obvious the scar had made his chest uneven, like it was slowly collapsing into itself, ribs and organs giving way to nothingness.

How many years had he lived like this? How many years had he worked like this?

“Aizawa,” Yagi grinds out hoarsely, the single word sounding like gravel in his abused throat.

It pulls Shouta out of his shock regardless, and he takes a few steps closer, as if they could both forget his broken composure. “I’m sorry for coming in unannounced. I heard the…crash. But there was no answer and your door was unlocked.”

Yagi stares at him for a long time and Shouta isn’t sure if it is because he doesn’t know what else to say, or just that he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

“Can I…help with anything?” Shouta finally asks.

Yagi pops his jaw a few times before he tries to speak again. “If you could…call someone…about the water…”

“Of course,” Shouta starts to pull out his cell, hoping he remembered to keep the stupid thing charged for once, when Yagi starts to speak again.

“Could you also…grab some towels…and a…a change of clothes?”

Shouta looks up but Yagi isn’t looking at him anymore. Just staring hard at the wall in front of him as if it had personally caused all of this. Shouta looks down again at the slowly-flooding room and wonders if Yagi even owns enough towels to make a difference.

“In the closet in the bedroom?” Shouta guesses.

Yagi nods once, stiffly.

Shouta takes the opportunity to flee for a moment gratefully. He calls Nezu and the maintenance number they had all been given when they moved in as he goes to the bedroom to rummage through the closet. He doesn’t turn the light on in the bedroom, he’s not sure why he doesn’t want to, maybe just to afford Yagi even a sliver more of privacy after tonight. But it doesn’t make a difference. The moon is full tonight and enough light comes through the open window to show that nothing is in the room except for an unnaturally large bed, the dark plain sheets slipping to the ground, and a bedside table covered in enough pill bottles to fill a small pharmacy.

There are only two more full-sized towels in the closet and a single hand towel, so Shouta just grabs all three. He’s not sure the clothes matter that much, so he just grabs the first pair of pants he sees that don’t look like slacks and a t-shirt.

He returns to the bathroom. The water is still steadily pouring in and there is no way the three thin towels will make much of a difference, if any. Still, Yagi takes them from him, dropping the two full-sized towels onto the ground. He uses the hand towel to wipe off his arms and chest first, though dry it doesn’t do much to help the blood that seems to be everywhere.

Uncaring of Shouta standing there, Yagi undoes the belt that keeps his jeans on his body and they drop to join the already-soaked towels and the stained lump between his legs Shouta thinks might have been his shirt. Yagi steps out of them, gingerly walking through the water until he joins Shouta in the hallway. He drops the hand towel to the ground, mopping up what water had already begun to leak out of the room. Shouta doesn’t mean to stare, but like every other part of him, Yagi’s legs are unbearably thin, nothing but skin and bone and scar tissue, the pale pink and white lines crisscrossing over his calves and thighs like a roadmap.

Yagi holds out a hand for the clothes. Shouta realizes his mistake in not looking carefully a moment later as he pulls on the jeans and dark t-shirt obviously meant for All Might’s pre-retirement body. Shouta feels an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Yagi barely blinks at the ill-fitting clothes. He wraps a fist around the waist band of the pants to keep them up and shuffles past Shouta into the dark living room.

Shouta follows hesitantly behind him. “Nezu said he would be here soon,” Shouta says as Yagi falls miserably onto the couch. He drops his head to rest on the back of the couch and sighs, exhausted. Despite his open, splayed position, Yagi’s body is still tense, coiled tight like he’s ready for a fight at any moment.

“Can I do anything else?” Shouta asks.

Yagi licks his lips. “A glass of water would be appreciated.”

Shouta nods, heading into the kitchen. He turns the light on above the stove for something to see by, but he worries the overhead light would be too harsh in this odd darkness. He finds a glass easily enough, Yagi only has things in two cupboards. He opens the fridge, but it’s empty. Not empty like Shouta’s is “empty,” as in home to just a water pitcher, some old condiments, and his latest package of jelly pouches, but completely and entirely empty. Shouta closes and opens the door again as if it would change the contents of the fridge. He opens the freezer above, just to check, but expecting more of the same. There Yagi has an ice pack and ice tray with two ice cubes left.

Shouta fills the glass at the sink and returns to the living room. Yagi’s position hasn’t changed at all, though he turns his head to watch Shouta reenter the room. He sits up to accept the glass once Shouta is closer, and at that distance Shouta can see there are cuts across his knuckles. They don’t seem to be actively bleeding any more, but they’re not a pretty sight regardless.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

Yagi takes a drink before he answers Shouta. “Under the sink in the kitchen.”

Shouta turns back around to retrieve it. He also finds a dry dish cloth in a drawer that he dampens at the sink. He’s wringing the towel out when there’s a quiet knock at the door before it swings open. Nezu stands on the other side with a plumber.

Shouta bows his head in hello. “Principal.”

“Aizawa-sensei!” Nezu replies brightly. “Thank you for being such a dutiful neighbor and checking on All Might.”

Shouta follows Nezu and the plumber back into the living room. The small principal shows the plumber to the bathroom, waving off Shouta’s offer to show them the way, before he returns and stops at the couch. His head just barely rises above Yagi’s knee as he looks at him in concern.

“How are you, Toshinori?”

Shouta freezes at the familiarity in his tone. Yagi’s expression changes ever so slightly as he looks down at Nezu.

“I’ve survived much worse than this, old friend.”

Nezu laughs off the comment, good naturedly, but the laugh sounds hollow even to Shouta. “Yes, well I suppose that’s true.” Nezu reaches over and pats Yagi’s knee. “I’ll let Aizawa-sensei here clean you up a little while I look at the damage, hm?”

He scurries off back down the hall before either hero can argue. That had been Shouta’s plan, even before Nezu announced it, but now he hesitates, frozen and staring at the old hero before him. The towel he brought drips slowly but steadily down his hand and onto the floor. He’s not sure Yagi wants his help, and normally he would prioritize the man’s injuries over his personal hang-ups in the moment, but he already feels as if he’s intruded too much into the man’s space, into his privacy.

So Yagi breaks the silence, holding out a bloodied hand towards him. “I can clean up the blood,” he offers.

“I’m not worried about a little blood,” Shouta snaps, unthinkingly. Irritated back into movement, he sets the first aid kit on the ground besides the couch and grabs Yagi’s outstretched hand. Mindful of the open wounds, he wipes at the blood furthest away first, where it dripped past his hand and down his wrist before drying in dark, cracking trails.

Yagi’s eyes glint for a moment and Shouta thinks he almost looks amused.

Shouta has to rinse out the towel twice before he’s finished with both of Yagi’s hands. The wounds on his left knuckles started bleeding again as he washed his hands, but thankfully it was a slow, sluggish bleed that didn’t go far. Satisfied with his work there, Shouta starts to drop the towel but Yagi’s hand darts out catching it before it can hit the floor. Shouta stops, surprised by the quick movement, as Yagi looks for the cleanest spot on the towel before wiping at his own face.

Shouta watches for a moment before he remembers himself and busies himself with going through the first aid kit. In comparison to the rest of Yagi’s apartment, it’s surprisingly well stocked. Yagi drops the bloodied towel uncaringly onto the couch cushion besides him as Shouta pulls out some antibiotic ointment, a gauze wrap, and some clasps.

When he looks up, Yagi is watching him curiously, like he’s still trying to figure out Shouta’s bizarre behavior. And there’s still blood around his mouth. Shouta sets the supplies aside, picking the towel back up. He steps between Yagi’s long legs, carefully holding his chin in place.

“You could just tell me I missed a spot,” Yagi reminds him quietly as Shouta wipes gently around his mouth.

“This is just more efficient,” Shouta says harshly. He tries to look only at the bottom half of Yagi’s face where there’s still blood, but he can feel his bright eyes boring into him.

Finally, Yagi says, “You haven’t asked.”

Shouta’s hand clenches around his chin, a reflex, a flinch, before he forces himself to relax. He looks up finally meeting Yagi’s eyes. The bright blue sears him in the dark. “It’s none of my business.”

“You can ask, Aizawa.” Yagi replies and it’s the use of his name that gets him. They’re All Might and Eraserhead to each other. Co-workers. That’s all they were supposed to be, ever. But Shouta’s aware Yagi’s slowly become Yagi more than he is All Might to him, and even if he leaves now, doesn’t ask any more, insists on knowing nothing else, he now knows something big about All Might that he imagines very few know. He can’t unlearn this secret, so he might as well have the whole story.

“What happened…to your side?”

“My first fight with All For One was six years ago,” Yagi starts and it takes all of Shouta’s self control not to react. Six years. “I crushed his head and damaged his body, originally I believe to an extent that he could not recover, though, obviously, I was wrong.” Yagi makes an odd, self-deprecating smile. “In return, after the fight I lost my stomach and part of my left lung, among some other irreparable damage to my respiratory system. I could still fight, but I was weakened considerably…it limited the amount of time I could use my quirk. And eventually left me like this.”

“…Why?” Shouta isn’t entirely sure what he’s asking until Yagi tilts his head and looks at him as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world.

“I’m…I was a hero. It was my job. I couldn’t retire yet.”

Shouta feels some kind of emotion welling up in his chest, choking him, as he looks at the weathered hands he’s bandaging and thinks of all they’ve done. All they did while withstanding this immense pain and loss. But he doesn’t know how to articulate that. Doesn’t know how to say thank you in a way that matters, in a way that he’ll even believe. So instead he says, “You’re an idiot.”

Yagi’s head drops back against the couch and he laughs. Not the same, booming laugh of All Might, but something somehow familiar and comforting all the same.

“Thank you, Aizawa,” Yagi says.

Shouta isn’t sure exactly what Yagi is thanking him for, but he can’t quite bring himself to ask.

X

Fall

Please don’t be afraid I will always be here I will cry your tears Share your sweet, sad fears Please don’t look away Take my hand in your hand Come and rest my dear I will always be here -Always Be Here, Ha Jin

Eri clutches tightly to Shouta, one small hand twisted in the capture weapon around his neck while the other holds the front of his jumpsuit. Her head is tucked against his shoulder, hiding her face from the world, but even through the layers of his clothes he can feel how she’s burning up. Her quirk had started acting up the night before, after a nightmare she hasn’t wanted to talk about. Shouta was able to stop it quickly enough, thankfully, but she’s been sick since he woke her from the nightmare and he’s running out of ideas for what to do.

She’s so impossibly light in his arms, and clutches so desperately to him, he can’t help but wonder how many times she had actually been held and cared for like a young child should be before she came to live with him. If she had been comforted at all the last time she was sick like this. And the thought makes him hold her a little tighter, a little closer to him.

He felt a little bad to disturb her when he picked her up and carried her from bed, but he needed help. And he couldn’t leave her alone. The hallway is quiet, most of his coworkers taking advantage of the last few hours of their weekend to relax, so he realizes it might be a long shot for someone to be home to help, but he knocks on Yagi’s door anyways.

It only takes a moment before Yagi answers. His bright greeting trails off when he sees Eri, Shouta’s own haggard appearance probably not helping matters.

“Hello, Aizawa, little Eri-chan,” Yagi says quietly.

Eri twists in his arms and for a moment, Shouta is worried this was a terrible idea. When they first met, Yagi’s size and appearance had made Eri a little nervous. She’s gotten better with him, and with people all around, but even when she hasn’t been battling a fever and a nightmare, she has bad days when everything is too strange or just too much for her to handle. But instead of getting more upset, Eri turns just enough to peek up at Yagi from behind a thick curtain of hair. She waves meekly to him once.

“She’s been sick since last night, and nothing I’ve done has gotten her fever down,” Shouta says instead of a greeting. “Could you look after her for a little while I get Recov-”

Before Shouta can finish his question, Eri’s arms tighten around him and she shakes her head, kicking weakly against him.

Yagi smiles softly, stepping back to open the door wider. “Why don’t you both come in, and I’ll see if I can’t get ahold of Recovery Girl another way.”

Yagi leads them through the kitchen to the living room. There’s an old standing record player pushed against the wall playing something soft and low. The rest of Yagi’s décor has been updated, as well. There’s a new table in the middle of the room with a cup of tea and some papers, as well as a thick book full of brightly colored tabs. The couch, where he gestures for Shouta to sit with Eri, now has a  shocking number of pillows piled on it and a few brightly colored blankets thrown over the back. Yagi makes sure they’re both comfortable, or as comfortable as they can be, before he goes to call Recovery Girl. Shouta can just barely make out the low timbre of his voice in the other room as he talks.

“Yagi is going to get a doctor to come check on you, but she’s a friend, nothing to be afraid of.” Shouta tells Eri quietly, brushing back her hair. It’s damp with sweat and sticks to her in messy clumps. “Do you remember Recovery Girl?”

After a moment, Eri nods against him.

Yagi returns before Shouta can ask something else, his phone pressed against his chest as he crouches down besides the couch. He looks between them.

“Recovery Girl wanted to know if there was anything else besides her fever?”

“Her quirk started up after a nightmare, that’s when it started. And she hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

As Shouta finishes talking, Eri signs to him. Pressed against Shouta as she is, it takes him a moment to realize what she’s trying to do.

Almost immediately after they were (pretty) sure they weren’t going to lose their jobs at U.A., Hizashi pitched a fit that sign language was still not a required part of the curriculum for hero students, protesting and appealing to school boards and other pro heroes until things changed and people saw the sense in heroes being able to communicate, not only silently with themselves if there was a need, but with any deaf, hard of hearing, or nonverbal civilians a hero might interact with during a job, and hero programs across the country slowly began adding it to the curriculum.

Shortly after Eri came to live with him fulltime, they began to teach her sign language as well, not only so that she might be able to communicate with Hizashi no matter what, but also because they quickly realized sometimes she had bad days and talking, holding full conversations was just too much for her to handle. Even just simple signs like “yes,” “no,” “food,” and “drink,” made navigating those bad days a thousand times easier.

Shouta tilts his head as she signs again, hoping to see enough of the movement to interpret for Yagi when he picks the phone back up and says, “She says her chest hurts. Aizawa said it started after a nightmare that triggered her quirk and that she hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

Shouta blinks a few times in surprise, but Yagi doesn’t acknowledge him. He nods a few times while Recovery Girl talks on the other end. Eventually, he thanks her and ends the call.

“Recovery Girl said to try and make her as comfortable as possible, and to try and get some food into her, but I don’t have any medicine safe enough for someone so young, so she’ll bring some by soon.”

“Thank you.”

Yagi smiles softly at Shouta’s quiet thanks. He rises to his feet, muttering mostly to himself, a habit Shouta is sure he’s picked up from Midoriya, about what he has on hand to help Eri feel better. He leans down to brush a comforting hand over Eri’s head. His hand is giant against her tiny body, but she leans into the touch rather than shying away. Yagi hesitates, and for a moment, Shouta thinks he’s going to get a similar, gentle touch before Yagi steps away, promising to return in a moment.

Shouta repositions himself on the couch so they can recline, but Eri still refuses to let go of him, and eventually he has to accept letting Yagi take care of them. Yagi helps replace a cooling patch on Eri’s forehead, wiping down her face and neck with a soft washcloth as best he can. He asks Eri a few times if she wants something to eat, or if anything sounds good to her, but her sleepy, subdued signing in reply doesn’t give him much of an answer. Yagi, thankfully, takes it all in stride, running another gentle hand over her back.

“That’s alright. I happen to be an expert now at making yummy things, even when food doesn’t sound good. Do you trust me?”

And for the first time in almost two days, Shouta hears Eri’s quiet voice again in a soft “yes.”

Yagi shares a triumphant smile with Shouta before he offers a pinky to Eri. “I’ll cook you something that makes you feel better in no time, okay?”

Eri reaches out to complete the pinky-promise, her tiny finger barely able to bend around his.

 Shouta doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up again. He’s disoriented for a moment, trying to remember where he is and why he isn’t in his own home. He’s used to dozing off in random places, stealing a few minutes of sleep where he can, but falling deeply, completely asleep in somewhere other than home feels...wrong. The quiet record still playing in the corner is what brings him back. Yagi’s apartment. Eri isn’t lying against his chest any more, but when he sits up, looking for her, he sees Yagi on the opposite end of the couch, the small girl cradled against his chest, fast asleep. His eyes are closed, but he rubs slow circles over her back, humming quietly along with the music, so Shouta knows he’s awake.

“How is she?”

To his credit, Yagi doesn’t startle at Shouta’s sudden question. “A little cooler.” He nods to a bowl on the table. “She managed to keep down about half a serving of porridge and some water. Chiyo…Recovery Girl just left a little while ago.”

“You could have woken me.”

“You looked like you could use some rest. I’m sure you’ve been up with her the whole time.”

Shouta doesn’t bother to acknowledge that, he’s right, of course. “I didn’t know you knew sign.”

Yagi looks away, considering. “When I was still…new, I was trying to help a young woman who was trapped, but she was deaf and couldn’t understand me, barely recognized me. I think I scared her more than I helped her at first,” he admits with a laugh. “I realized there was something I had overlooked in my drive to help people, people I had overlooked, and I wanted to rectify that.” He finally turns to look at Shouta. “I’m not fluent, I let my skills…atrophy a little these last few years, and even before I didn’t dedicate as much time as I could have. But parts of the body, pain or injuries, those were important for me to learn…and easier to remember.”

“…if you ever wanted to brush up on your skills, I could help you.”

Yagi laughs quietly. “Always the sensei, Aizawa.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I appreciate the offer. I would love to work on it more with you.”

Shouta doesn’t know why the word choice makes him feel suddenly flustered, but he has to look away, willing his quirk not to activate at his strange embarrassment.

“You’re good with her,” he says, changing the subject instead of acknowledging it.

Yagi doesn’t reply for a while and when Shouta looks to him again, he could swear it looks like the other man is blushing. Yagi’s expression is incredibly fond as he looks down at the sleeping girl, thankfully undisturbed by their conversation.

“I was worried I frightened her.”

“You did, at first.” Shouta confirms. There’s no point in beating around the bush. “She just needed time to get to know you better. To know she could trust you.”

Shouta isn’t oblivious to how easily his statement could be applied to himself and his relationship with Yagi. If Yagi’s expression is anything to go by, he’s also aware of the similarities between them, but he has the decency not to call him out on it.

X

Winter

I was a wolf, dear, apart from the pack But you answered my call in the dead of the night And told me you had my back, oh I can’t do this alone anymore Cause I’m not good on my own anymore -I Was An Island, Allison Weiss

“You know more about Midoriya’s quirk than you’re letting on.”

It’s an accusation. For that matter, it’s an accusation based on little more than a hunch. But the way Yagi freezes up, immediately, tensed like he’s deciding between fight or flight right there just about confirms all of Shouta’s suspicions. Or, at least, most of them.

“Ai-Aizawa, I didn’t see you there…” Yagi mumbles, slowly turning to face him.

Shouta crosses his arms and waits.

“Was there a…question?” Yagi asks eventually, when he can’t seem to take squirming under Shouta’s intense glare any longer.

“What is going on with Midoriya’s quirk?”

Yagi glances at something behind Shouta’s head, as if looking for an escape, but Shouta could definitely catch him if he tried to make a break for it past him, and he knows no one followed them into the lounge. Yagi wrings his hands nervously in front of him. Shouta knows he wants to go check on Midoriya, but he’s hoping that sense of urgency will speed up this conversation. It’s been a long time coming now, and Shouta is getting some answers.

“I can assure you, Aizawa, I didn’t know young Midoriya’s quirk could…or would produce something like that.”

Shouta leans against a desk. “I’m not buying it. You know something.”

Finally, Yagi seems to grow tired of being on the opposite side of the interrogation because there’s a fire in his eyes that hasn’t been there in a while, that Shouta realizes he…missed seeing there, as Yagi advances on him across the room.

“Where was this concern for him when his quirk was going out of control during the lesson today?”

Shouta brushes off the accusation. The second time Midoriya’s quirk had acted up, it was Yagi, after all, who insisted they let the students keep going. “We both know his explanation about power just overwhelming him is bullshit. We’ve seen what happens to Midoriya’s body when his quirk is overpowered and it’s not whatever that was.”

Yagi’s hands clench in fists at his sides and he looks away from Shouta, clenching his jaw. He reminds Shouta a little of the Yagi from a few months ago, the wild-eyed frustration welling up inside him to a breaking point. He’s just missing the blood and flooding bathroom.

Some part of Shouta feels a little guilty, intentionally pushing Yagi near to a breaking point, but this has been going on for far too long. Shouta had been prepared to send Midoriya home from day one, and from day one Midoriya, and Yagi, had been trying to convince him not to.

“Could it be you see the potential in Midoriya, as well?” All Might had asked Shouta after the first class training exercise, when Midoriya proved he could use his quirk without completely incapacitating himself for the rest of the fight. Shouta had wanted to brush the comment off, but the ‘as well’ echoed around in his head for days. How did All Might know anything about this one, random, incoming first-year? And why was he so invested in him? Why did he care about Shouta seeing his potential?

After that, it was impossible to miss the odd behavior between the two. They were constantly together, darting around corners and whispering in the backs of rooms, having lunch together when Midoriya should have been spending more time socializing with his classmates.

Even the other teachers began to notice something. He still remembers the first time someone had joked during a night out about the two being related. Yagi had almost choked on his drink, while Hizashi laughed, drunkenly, gleefully telling them about the conversation he had overheard from students that Todoroki apparently once accused Midoriya of being All Might’s secret lovechild.

If it was one or the other – some odd behavior or similar quirks – Shouta thinks he would be able to brush it off, put it out of his mind, but too many things keep adding up to there being a connection between the two of them. He just can’t, for the life of him, figure out what that connection is.

“I can’t help if I don’t know the whole story,” Shouta finally changes tactics, hoping he can appeal to some part of Yagi. “You’re both keeping secrets, badly, but Midoriya has been struggling with his quirk since he started at U.A. If there’s something about his quirk…” Shouta sighs, frustrated. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Silence stretches on between them. Shouta is starting to brainstorm a new approach when Yagi seems to deflate in front of him, body sagging against the desks beside them. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends of his bangs in a nervous tick.

Finally, finally, he says, “What happened at the training exercise today was a surprise to me too. I didn’t know it could happen…I…I have a theory, now, but until it happened today, I never even would have thought it was possible.”

Shouta lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relieved. “I can work with a theory.”

“I think it was someone else’s quirk.”

What?

If Midoriya had a quirk like Monoma and could somehow “borrow” other’s abilities, it could maybe explain similarities between his quirk and All Might’s power before he retired, but no one in either of the hero course classes had a quirk anything like what Midoriya had displayed today. There was no way he could have borrowed that from anyone recently. And before now, Shouta would have been out of other explanations past that. Now, he thinks about the Nomus they’ve interacted with, the…monsters made up of different quirks, and of Shirakumo and Kurogiri. And he feels a little sick to his stomach at the possible implications.

“What? How would Midoriya have someone else’s quirk? Whose quirk would he have?”

Yagi makes a complicated expression. “Someone from a long time ago.” He says.

Shouta isn’t sure if he wants to pull out his own hair or shake the older man for such an unbelievably unhelp answer.

“Yagi,” Shouta hasn’t figured out what he even wants to say yet, but just his name is enough to finally make Yagi look at him.

“Young Midoirya’s quirk is registered as ‘Super-Power’ in public records, but the true name of his quirk is ‘One for All.’ It’s a quirk that can be cultivated and passed on to someone else. And it was my quirk until I gave it to him when he was fourteen.”

Shouta is half convinced he’s in a dream. “You…gave him your quirk?”

Yagi nods. “Just as my master gave it to me before I started at U.A.”

“So before…”

“Midoriya was quirkless.”

Well that at least explained a few of his, and Bakugo’s, weird behaviors at the beginning of the year. Not everything, by any means, but enough.

Shouta realizes this is another secret he can’t unlearn, only this is one he walked into knowingly. He knew he was pushing for something serious, something to be guarded the same way Yagi hid his injury. It was the only thing that made sense, the pieces fall into place perfectly, filling all the holes in his and Midoriya’s pasts.

Shouta hates to ask the next question, he’s not sure it’s entirely relevant, but he needs all the information he can get to start making sense of things. Yagi seems to know what he wants to ask next, however, because he offers more information before Shouta can figure out how to word what he wants to say next.

“I was also quirkless before being given One for All,” Yagi admits. “I think it’s partially what enamored me to Midoriya. I saw something of myself in the young boy.”

And that’s perhaps the least surprising thing Shouta’s heard today. You’d have to be oblivious to miss the similarities between the two, even with their quirk taken out of the equation.

“So you knew what would happen to him until he gained control?”

Yagi grimaces at the question, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Not exactly. The quirk naturally has an effect on the body, because you aren’t born with adaptations to it, but it is also just a lot to handle. If you aren’t properly trained and prepared for it, it could, theoretically…blow the user’s body apart from the inside. But after my training, I had no problem accessing one hundred percent of the power. Meanwhile…well, you’ve seen what happens to young Midoriya when he uses one hundred percent, even now.”

Shouta closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few deep, calming breaths. There is still so much more information he needs about Yagi and Midoriya and their quirk, now is not the time for him to blow up over that particular detail. Later, definitely, but not now.

When he opens his eyes again, Yagi is glancing nervously between him and the clock on the wall. “Aizawa,” he says, and it half sounds like a plea. “I know you must have more questions, but-”

“You want to go check on Midoriya.” Obviously. “I’m coming with you.”

Yagi gives a wryly smile. “I thought as much.”

He leads Shouta to a private office down the hall. The door opens to reveal Midoriya and Bakugo waiting for them. Bakugo’s presence is a surprise, but if he shares the same feeling he doesn’t show it. Midoriya, on the other hand, jumps to his feet when he sees the two teachers, looking between them nervously until Yagi holds up a pacifying hand.

“It’s alright, young Midoriya. Aizawa knows now.”

Midoriya continues to react to things in ways that confuse Shouta, rather than relaxing or appearing relieved, he makes a complicated expression, wringing his hands together nervously as he retakes his seat.

Bakugo scoffs, slouching even further in his seat.

“I’m surprised it took you two dumbasses this long to ask for his help. Obviously you were hopeless on your own.”

“Yes, well…” Yagi trails off with an awkward cough, a bright blush high on his cheeks as he fusses with something on the other side of the room.

Shouta sees the two boys exchange a look on the couch, and it’s obvious if they didn’t already know, they definitely now know that Yagi was not the one doing any asking.

 It feels like hours have passed by the time they dismiss the boys back to the dorms. Shouta’s head is still spinning with all the new information he learned, and all the theories about the quirk and how it’s developing. He’s a little in awe of, and a little frightened for, Midoriya if he is already unlocking more of One for All than All Might ever did. He can’t even imagine how strong of a hero he might become, but it’s obvious, now, what a toll that kind of power, that kind of secret, took on Yagi and he’s concerned about how it might, or might already be, affecting Midoriya.

It’s quiet between them for a long time after the students have left while they both dwell on everything that had been discussed tonight.

Finally, Shouta breaks the silence. “I know you had no reason to trust me with a huge secret about yourself, but you could have come up with some kind of…lie about Midoriya, so I could have helped you both earlier.”

Yagi laughs humorlessly besides him. “I still don’t think I could have come up with a convincing enough lie, or one that you wouldn’t have seen through immediately.” He looks down at his hands. “Even then, I don’t know if I could have brought myself to come to you for help.’

Shouta’s first instinct is to ask why, but he’s not an idiot. He’s well aware he didn’t make the start of the year easy for Midoriya or Yagi.

“I know that’s shameful,” Yagi continues, quieter. “To have too much pride to ask you for help with a student-”

“Yagi,” Shouta interrupts, seriously. “There’s a lot you handled…badly, or just plain wrong, with Midoriya. But I was an asshole to you when we started working together. I made snap judgements about you. And, frankly, teaching is hard. I was clueless when I first started. I should have tried to help you more.” Shouta sighs, taking a deep breath. This apology has been a long time coming, but still it’s hard to get it all out at once. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you in the beginning, and…I’m sorry for making this harder for the both you without realizing it.”

Yagi stares at him, astonished. Obviously when this revelation first happened in the teacher’s lounge, the last thing he ever anticipated happening was Shouta apologizing. But it needed to happen the same as this secret needed to come out. They were supposed to be partners when it came to teaching this class, and it would just keep getting harder to do that with so much unsaid between them.

“I…Thank, thank you.”

Shouta has to look away, he can’t bring himself to see whatever expression accompanies such raw emotion. And he forces down the guilt that wonders why such a simple apology brings about such a reaction. It won’t do him any good to dwell on the past, he just has to do better in the future. They both do.

“What’s important now is that going forward we’ll figure these things out, together.”

Yagi nods, sounding more than a little mystified as he agrees, “Together.”

X

Spring

Oh, be here when I sleep When I dream, when the devils meet Oh, be here when I wake up When I wake up, when I wake up Whatever makes you stay Whatever makes yu smile Whatever makes you come and be with me a while -Whatever Makes You Mine, John Van Deusen

Shouta has every intention of going straight for his own dorm and passing out after his patrol. It’s late enough that Eri should be asleep and he doesn’t need to wake her just to carry her a few feet down the hall to her own room in his apartment. But as he’s swinging by the building, he can’t help but notice the light is still on in Toshinori’s room. Surprised that Toshinori would still be awake at this hour, Shouta drops down onto his balcony, peering in through the glass door. The small living room is dark and he can only make out the faintest shapes with the campus lights behind him. Shouta debates with himself for a moment before he lets himself in through the sliding door.

Eri’s coloring books and crayons are spread out across the small coffee table besides what Shouta is pretty sure are Toshinori’s unfinished grades. Part of him wishes Toshinori would encourage Eri to clean up after herself a little more, but he knows that’s a losing battle with Toshinori. They both like to see the young girl more comfortable in her living spaces, and Toshinori is too soft on her to impart any real discipline. And when Shouta thinks of the first time he saw Toshinori’s apartment, the cold, empty space that barely seemed worthy of being called a home, he understands why Toshinori waves him off of trying to clean up. “I like the mess,” Toshinori admitted once with a laugh. “It makes it feel lived in.”  

Shouta leaves the mess in the living room as it is and goes to the spare room first. Eri is fast asleep in the extra bed. Even just a twin mattress seems giant with the small girl curled up near the top of it, surrounded on all sides by pillows and stuffed animals. He recognizes a few she must have brought with her from his apartment, but the rest are ones just for Toshinori’s. The night light Toshinori got for the nights she stays over casts small stars across the room. A few of them shine against her pale hair.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Shouta continues down the hall towards Toshinori’s room. The door is cracked, an open invitation for Eri to come in if she needs something, and it leaves a sliver of light across the hallway floor. Shouta knocks on the open door, but Toshinori never replies. Confused, Shouta pushes the door open the rest of the way.

He finds Toshinori sleeping more soundly than he’s ever known the ex-hero to be in the time they’ve known each other. He's sprawled on top of the duvet, head below the pillows and one foot hanging off the bed. In a loose t-shirt and faded blue jeans, it doesn’t look remotely comfortable, and yet he looks so peaceful, Shouta is hesitant to wake him. For once his sleep doesn’t seem to be interrupted by wracking coughs or twisted nightmares.

Shouta rummages, as politely as possible, through the closet for a blanket. He drapes it carefully over Toshinori, making sure it falls over the foot hanging off the bed, and around his bare arms. Shouta swears it seems like his hands are moving on their own as he brushes Toshinori’s wild bangs away from his face.

The man beneath him stirs, and Shouta freezes, hand still curled to tuck Toshinori’s bangs behind his ear. Bright blue eyes blink open, but there’s something unfamiliar and hazy as they flit over Shouta’s face. A slow smile spills across Toshinori’s lips and it’s the softest smile Shouta’s ever seen on him.

“Shouta!” Toshinori says in a sleepy whisper that makes something in Shouta’s chest squeeze. Toshinori must still be asleep. That didn’t explain everything perhaps, like the use of his given name or that dreamy smile, but God it certainly left fewer questions for all of that than if he was awake. “What are you doing here?”

“Just giving you another blanket. Go back to sleep.” Shouta snaps quickly, pulling his hands back.

Toshinori catches his wrist before he can move too far. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he says with another one of those gut-twisting smiles. “You should rest too.”

Toshinori shifts on the mattress, not that there wasn’t already plenty of room - the bed was unreasonably large even if Toshinori’s unreasonably long body didn’t fit quite right - and tugs gently on his arm. Shouta had every intention of arguing with him on the matter, so he has absolutely no idea what possesses him to listen to Toshinori and lie down besides him.

Satisfied, and perhaps even a little smug, Toshinori pulls part of the blanket to drape over Shouta’s shoulders as well.

“Okay, go back to sleep now.” Shouta insists stiffly, already making a plan of escape for once Toshinori is unconscious again.

Instead, Toshinori reaches out, cradling Shouta’s face in one of his large hands. Shouta feels his entire body freeze, he’s not even entirely sure he’s breathing, as Toshinori touches him ever so gently. A thumb runs carefully under his eye, as if Toshinori could sweep away the bags there with a single touch.

“I know this is just a dream,” Toshinori says softly, his fingers feather light as they trace over Shouta’s skin. “But I hope the real you can feel just a little more rested for it.”

“I’m…I’m sure I will.” Shouta swallows thickly. “So don’t worry so much and sleep.”

Toshinori finally, finally, takes his hand back and Shouta can breathe a little easier. He snuggles deeper into the blanket, closing his eyes.

“Good night, Shouta.”

Shouta doesn’t dare speak again until he knows he is fully asleep. Carefully extracting himself from the blanket, he folds it back over the sleeping man on the bed.

“Good night, Toshinori.”

Shouta moves on autopilot back to his own dorm, not even fully sure of the path he takes or who he might have passed on the way. His mind is still in Toshinori’s room, in bed beside him. He lied to Toshinori. There’s absolutely no way the “real him” was getting any rest tonight. Not with the memory of his gentle touch and soft smile still fresh in his memory.

Shouta only just barely registers the whistle from behind him as he unlocks his door. Turning around, he finds Hizashi standing in his open doorway across the hall. With a teasing grin, Hizashi makes a show of looking at his (watch-less) wrist to check the time and whistling again. Hizashi is far too…awake for someone in a robe and bunny slippers at three in the morning, Shouta decides.

“Coming home so late, Shou? And in the same jumpsuit from yesterday? What were you up to, hm?”

“I’m always in the same jumpsuit.” Shouta mutters, already regretting acknowledging him.

Hizashi slides up next to him, leaning against the wall to look him in the eye. “And the late hour? The sneaking in?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Shouta still curses the day Kayama taught him that.

“I work late hours. And not all of us can make as much as noise as you do.” Shouta pushes open his door and takes a step in, hoping, despite what all prior experience has taught him, that Hizashi will take a hint.

“But you weren’t still working, were you? You were with a certain someone-”

“Go to bed, Mic.” Shouta interrupts as he feels his quirk activate, shutting his door before the blond can push any further. He can hear Hizashi’s laughter even through the closed door.

He waves at his face, willing the heat to leave his cheeks and for his stupid quirk to deactivate and stop giving him away with glowing eyes and floating hair like some damn anime character. How could he be more embarrassed being caught coming home from, what, tucking Toshinori into bed, than he would have been from an actual walk of shame?

X

Summer

 I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved mysel Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you without any strings attached -Two, Sleeping at Last

The evening air is cooling down, a reprieve from the last few sweltering summer days as Shouta steps outside the dorm. He isn’t sure when he got so good at understanding Toshinori or predicting his behavior, but he already knows where to find him when he realizes the old hero is missing after the class dinner. And sure enough, he finds him on the bench outside the dorm. The setting sun sets his light hair aglow.

Toshinori seems to hear him coming because he turns around to watch Shouta before he says anything.

“It’s not that cold out tonight, Aizawa-sensei,” Toshinori says instead of a greeting. “You can’t scold me for being out in the cold this time.”

Shouta rolls his eyes at the accusation as he approaches the bench. “Not everything out of my mouth is a scolding.”

Toshinori stares hard at him for a moment, and Shouta can’t meet his eyes when Toshinori replies, strangely quiet, with “I know.”

Toshinori shifts further down the bench, making room for Shouta to sit besides him. Silence settles between them as they sit together, watching the vibrant pink of the sky slowly be overtaken with a pale violet.

“The first time I found you out here, you told me you had decided to live again,” Shouta says, breaking the quiet between them.

“Why are you bringing that up again?” Toshinori asks, almost in a whine, turning away from Shouta for a moment as if embarrassed. It feels so long ago that they had that conversation, when they agreed to train Eri together, though its become more like co-parenting, and when they both truly bared some of their souls to each other, but Shouta remembers it all so clearly. Especially Toshinori’s first confession.

He’d seen the hints of it before, the emptiness of Toshinori’s apartment, his baggy clothes that didn’t fit his new life, the causal dismissals of himself and his health. But that confession brought all those strange quirks about the number one hero into jarring clarity, painting a coherent picture of the life he had that Shouta was willfully ignorant of before. His new dedication to life is so obvious in comparison. The person on the bench besides him is not the same one Shouta started working with a year ago.

“You seem just as serious now,” he admits. “I’m wondering what other new revelations you’ve come to.”

Shouta doesn’t expect Toshinori to reply at all, let alone clue him in on any of those new revelations if he has come to them. Toshinori doesn’t owe him anything, let alone an insight to his most intimate thoughts, but after a long moment, Toshinori takes a deep breath as if preparing for a large declaration.

Instead he looks down at his hands and says softly, “I’ve been thinking about a lot recently but I’m still confused and torn about most of it.” Toshinori pauses for a moment and Shouta knows there is so much more that isn’t being said. But he doesn’t know how to help Toshinori say it, if that’s even what he really needs from him, so he just reaches for him instead. His hand against Toshinori’s is dwarfed in a way he doesn’t think he will ever get used to. But even bony and thin as they are now, the skin scarred and knuckles crooked from repeated breaks, not unlike his student’s, those hands still feel safe to Shouta. Those hands helped him carry the weight of the world for all those years and they show the strain that weight left on him. But they are still gentle. Their touch is soft enough to wipe the tears from Eri’s cheeks after her latest nightmare. Their touch is tender enough to ruffle their students’ hair and send their worries away without leaving behind any of that weight.

Toshinori’s hands are safe, and Shouta can’t help but wonder who held them when he was young and helped make them that way. Who taught him to use such strength and gentleness in tandem.

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” Shouta finally says. “I know sometimes it feels like we have to, when the students are counting on us, nothing feels more like a failure than having to admit you don’t know, but you don’t have to have all the answers. Especially not right now, not here with me.”

Toshinori looks up from their hands. His expression is raw and open, but also incredibly soft and fond, and Shouta doesn’t feel capable enough to be on the receiving end of such a look.

“I’m still confused and torn,” Toshinori starts again, softer this time. “But one thing that I know for sure, is I’m tired of listening to my anxieties and worries. I’m tired of doing my best to ignore all the things I’ve wanted. I’ve decided I want to just follow my heart, but to do that I will have to be a little selfish, so…I’m sorry.”

Shouta thinks if anyone deserves a chance to be selfish, if anyone has earned that, it’s Toshinori. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Yagi. You can be a little selfish sometimes.”

“Then…can I love you, Shouta?”

[pridewhatpride]

omg pls talk more about GX rival shipping once the transfer students come

Dear anon, I love you for asking this of me, but I have to wonder if you want everyone who follows me to start hating me.

Long post coming up? You know it. I apologise to all Johan fans, he's great and I loved him and his deck as a child. Now I'm just salty because he's too perfect. Warning because this is a mess of unrequited feelings and it's an all around bad time if you ship anything in gx. I did mention I do not practice self care in a previous post of mine. Enjoy your pain c:

So here are my bad takes of the day, under the very handy cut!

You see, gx rivalshipping becomes a lot more complicated and angsty when the transfer students arrive. The dynamic changes. If there is a dynamic at all. I mean, imagine yourself in Manjoume's shoes. You've lowkey had a crush on this dumb guy who kind of ruined your life (but actually improved it and freed you from the restraints your family imposed on you), just to watch a handsome scandinavian dude who is a lot more muscular than you are and maybe a little bit nicer, maybe just waltz in and completely captivate said dumb guy's attention. Just when you had managed to admit your own feelings to yourself.

Johan comes in and steals the room, everybody loves him, he's good looking, charismatic, kind and has a magical exclusive shiny sparkling deck at his disposal that he uses as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't received approval Pegasus himself on top of the duel spirits. And Judai clearly can't get enough of it, because he's always seeking him out, ever since the duel they had in front of everyone, and Manjoume finds that he's really annoyed by it. He wishes he'd been chosen for the demonstration, deluding himself into believing that if he'd won, Judai would have never started caring so damn much about Johan. But a part of him knows he would have probably lost and that even if he hadn't, Judai would have not cared about the outcome at all. It's nice to think that winning a card game can solve all your problems, but, while Manjoume has only ever experienced how much losing one can mess with your life goals, he isn't stupid enough to think that winning would grant him happiness. Not anymore. No well-thought-out strategy can rid him of his bad temper and his worthless pride.

The thing is, he can't really hate Johan, because nobody can hate Johan. He's just the perfect picture of everything Manjoume isn't and, going by everyone's reaction, the fact that 'everyone is unique in their own way and worthy of love' is absolute bullshit. There clearly is an objective better one of the two and Manjoume is very aware that he isn't it. And he'd probably begrundgingly be cool with it, after all he'd accepted that Jaden was braver than him, that Asuka was emotionally stronger and more resolute, that Daichi was smarter, not to mention how much plain better than him his fomer upperclassmen were. Forget about pros like Edo, whom Judai had stood on equal grounds with. But Judai is clearly playing favourites, too, hell, he hardly even acknowledges Manjoume.

He finds himself forcibly removed from his already shaky position as rival, because now Johan is there to take it up, on top of the titles of 'best friend' and 'emotional support and crutch' and 'maybe something else I'd really rather not know'.

Manjoume just generally hates it all. He might have changed and improved himself, but there is no saving him from the fact that some people were just better. That doesn't stop him from trying. But again he finds himself pitted against Judai, the irony of his fate never giving him a moment to rest. Manipulated and turned into the enemy of those he cares about, again.

A part of him despises how good it feels to learn that Johan has gone missing, but Judai is screaming like his arms have been torn off and while he hates that it's all for Johan, he hates that Judai is in pain even more. Judai had saved him before and it's only right for him to return the favour. So he insists on helping him on his stupidly risky plan to save Johan. And it's all to get the old Judai back.

...The rest, from Manjoume's perspective is a mess. His feelings of anger stem from the hatred he harbours towards himself and the bond between Judai and Johan. He'd been trying to help, he had, he sincerely had, but everything just swirled together and the next thing he knows is that he is shouting at Judai because it suddenly made sense to guilt trip him over the fact that he'd abandoned his friends, he'd abandoned him as soon as someone better had come into the picture. And it was Judai's fault for letting them- him believe that he cared when he didn't, when he couldn't have cared less, because clearly he had one priority only and that was Johan. They had come to help and it still wasn't being appreciated.

Disappearing is a relief, for a moment, but then he finds himself in another hellish place and he can't help but think that it's retribution for being so upset over something that has nothing to do with him. That's right. It's his own fault for making Judai, his only real friend (aside from Fubuki, sorry for breaking the immersion, but I love Fubuki), carry the burden of the stupid hopes that came with his feelings. Judai has no fault. Johan has no fault. It's his own for desiring something that would always be out of reach.

As he is tortured by his own thoughts and regrets in the other dimension, Manjoume silently wishes his words meant nothing to Judai, that he'd be spared the pain of betrayal. He wishes Judai can achieve his goal.

When Shou appears to him, he knows there is no time to waste. If he is alive, the others are, too. Judai would want to know that they are safe. So he asks Shou to carry his message, along with his good luck wish. He hopes it's enough to make up for his mistakes.

Next thing he knows, they are back at DA, Judai is nowhere to be seen. Manjoume mourns the loss of his first and only friend and curses himself for tarnishing that memory. (Judai's return and season 4 would be too much to cover, this was only Manjoume's pov and I might as well just rewrite the entire show at this point.)

So what about Judai?

I personally want to believe that he genuinely does like Manjoume at some point. But as much as it pains me to admit it, season 3 just wrote Manjoume off from the list of main characters and relegated him to 'he's your funny comic relief, nobody really gives a shit about what he thinks or feels, so why should you, the spectator who has grown to love him, care at all? Also here's his sticker that confirms that Judai going after Johan makes him really angry for some reason, make of that what you will c:' (fuck the writing staff, I'm not even sorry).

Judai is so clearly smitten with Johan. It seems to me that his refusal to accept Manjoume's help that one time on the cliff shows that Judai doesn't really understand the way Jun operates. He probably labeled him as just someone else who counted on him to be saved. And sure, Manjoume is saved by Judai in multiple occasions, but he doesn't ever really... ask for it? Or more importantly expect it. He doesn't get himself into situations he can't handle because Judai can save him anyways, the trouble just kind of happens at him and more often than not he's only involved by accident, because he happens to be close to Judai.

The problem still stands, as season 3 starts, Judai is very much burdened by everyone's expectations and Johan is a breath of fresh air and the only one Judai actually considers a friend and an equal. It's heartbreaking that he felt that alone.

They get their gay 'have we met somewhere before moment', they duel gaily, they homoerotically tell eachother how admirable the other is, they shamelessly flirt and whoohoo Judai has an unofficial boyfriend and who can blame him for concentrating on him along with wanting to escape the pressure his former gang unknowingly laid on him.

But yeah, Judai in season 3 has a one track mind and it's hard not to see it as romantic. Does he know it is? Maybe? I honestly don't know. I feel like Johan is the one of the two who is aware of the implications of their interactions. Which also kind of brings me to say... does Johan think that all of Judai's friends are horrible people? Because he never once comments on how Judai distances himself from them once he arrives. He probably thinks they were never good friends in the first place.

Judai probably excuses his attentions towards Johan with the fact that they are alike because they can see spirits, but then he rememebers that so can Manjoume and maybe he feels guilty for a second, but Johan cracks a joke and Judai laughs and thinks to himself that Manjoume is probably happy to have the peace and quiet he so often claimed to want.

Like... I think a part of him would get that tightness in his chest because it's like he's betrayed someone, but he knows he hasn't, because there isn't any actual mutual agreement he's going against. So he lets himself fall deeper into the comfort of Johan's presence. Johan is, to Judai, the ideal person. He is exactly who Judai wants to become. Judai admires him very deeply and strives to be more like him, but he falls gradually into despair as he learns, once Johan is gone, that no, he can't be like him, because Johan is so much better than him, and if he doesn't get him back soon he might even forget what he was like in the first place. Johan can't be erased, can't be forgotten. And Judai feels like he's vanishing already, so he throws himself into a wild interdimensional manhunt to save his hopes for the future.

Turns out that wanting to do good doens't always result in a good outcome. That's what Judai learns when Manjoume lashes out at him just seconds before disappearing. Along with the others, too. Judai doesn't even have the brain power to compute that some people are still there, that he can still save someone, because he realised then that he had focused so much on Johan that he'd completely overlooked the fact that while his friends relied on him a little too much, they hadn't meant any harm. And if he'd just told them, maybe they would have been fine, they could've cooperated- but Manjoume had told him that he was a traitor, that he'd doomed them with his irrational behaviour.

Manjoume's last words to him had been spoken with hatred and Judai realised only then that he had misread him entirely. He lets despair and self hatred take over as he realises that if he had managed to hurt the ones he cared about so easily, discarding them for the new good thing, he could just keep doing that. And it would stop hurting, eventually.

I like to think that Manjoume really does have an impact on the awakening of the Supreme King. Yeah, I know he only turns once Johan's death is mentioned, I know. I just suffer from abandonment issues and can't stand that Manjoume dying in front of him is more impactful to Judai than a guy who literally can't be trusted saying "Joke's on you, the one you're looking for is in another castle already dead."

So yeah. That's the angsty overview.

TL;DR Johan is an Adonis, Judai is smitten and Manjoume is very very heartbroken. But actually so is Judai. Because while being with Johan feels right, there's someone whose absence feels wrong, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it and everything goes to shit. All around a bad time for everyone and they'll have a lot of talking to do once they properly reconcile after graduation.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Five ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pariring: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3418

Warnings: Tw gaslighting 

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Thanks for the love on the last chapter! Happy Monday :)

My cloak is dry in the morning, thank goodness. I cozy up in it the first chance I have, grateful for the thick material that I complained about only a few days prior. I help Rumil tack his horse and then mount. He lets me steer the beast again, insisting that I need more practice. Before we set out from camp, Haldir circles his horse around to face the five of us.

“We have gone north far enough. Now, we head west. Stay sharp as we near the mountains. If you see or hear something that causes concern or even seems remotely unsettling, say something.” Murmurs of solemn agreement run through the group.

Briefly, Haldir’s eyes lock with mine. I raise an eyebrow, silently reminding him of my question from last night. He nods once, almost imperceptibly, then turns his horse. I urge my own to follow, and vaguely realize I don’t even know its name.

“Hey, Rumil?” I turn over my shoulder to glance at him, then face back to the road. I really shouldn’t look anywhere other than the path.

“Yes?”

“I never asked—what’s the horse’s name?”

Rumil snorts, patting his horse affectionately on the side. “You never asked his name because you don’t like him.”

I sputter at the accusation. “Wha—no! I don’t mind the horse—it’s fine!”

“But you don’t like the horse,” he teases, grinning broadly.

I huff, gathering as much dignity as I can. “I just don’t enjoy the height of the horse, nor the fact that he throws me around. I don’t mind the horse itself.”

My companions chuckle indulgently and Baranor gives me a playfully exasperated sigh. “Well, if he won’t tell you, I will. The horse’s name is Roch.”

“Roch,” I repeat, turning the unfamiliar name awkwardly around my tongue. “That’s not a name I recognize. Does it mean anything or was it just something you liked?”

My question is met with snickers.

I furrow my eyebrows, looking around at my friends. “What?” Then, I see the pointed looks Orophin gives the horse, and realization begins to dawn. I twist in my seat to glare unbelievingly at Rumil. “Tell me you did not name your horse, ‘Horse!’”

Pink tints Rumil’s cheeks. “I was practically an elfling when I named him!”

Orophin howls with laughter. “Do not make excuses, brother, you were fully of age!”

“Barely,” Rumil defends, voice squeaking with indignation.

This, of course, makes us all laugh even harder.

“Well then, giddyup Horse the horse.” I take a hand from the reins to pat Horse’s shoulder, then right myself once more. I spare a quick glance to Alex, who hasn’t said a word all morning, and find him glaring over Baranor’s shoulder.

He still doesn’t trust them.

You shouldn’t, either, a voice reminds me.

Pushing that thought aside, I squeeze Roch once more, encouraging him to keep pace with the group.

{***}

Exhausted from days of travel and the weather yesterday, the horses can’t manage much more than a trot for long. I can tell this frustrates my companions, but they give the horses the rest they need—Haldir eventually calling for us to slow to a walk. I take the opportunity to slide off Roch’s back and walk by myself, giving my muscles a bit of a break. Alex soon follows suit, limping slightly.

I hurry to catch up to him. “How’s your leg?”

“Healing, I think. Baranor says not to let it get dirty again and I should be fine. It’s not my leg that’s bothering me—it’s my ass! Horseback riding is no joke.”

I giggle, reaching my arms overhead as I walk. “Right! My first day here I was practically hobbled over. It does get better, though. Just keep walking and stretching when you have the chance.”

He tilts his head, giving me a sidelong look. “So, how long have you been here?”

I shrug. “Same as you, I think, based on when you say you woke up. I…” I sigh, not sure how long he’ll let me talk about our situation before he shuts me down. “I’m sorry you had to wander by yourself for a few days. It must have been scary. I know how lucky I was to have help right away.”

“It was scary.” He moves to slide his hands into his pockets, then realizes his leggings don’t have any. He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest instead. “But what I can’t figure out is why they separated us?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Well, obviously we had to be taken together. Given what we can remember, we’re really close friends. It makes no sense for our kidnappers to take us both randomly—it must have been an effort to get us together. Maybe we were traveling? Or maybe a mutual friend of ours is wealthy, and the kidnappers are trying to pull a double ransom? But regardless of why they took us, why didn’t they keep us together? Did I fall out of the car or something? Or did the police catch on and they were forced to dump us in different places to slow the cops down?”

I look at him from the corner of my eye. He’s not going to like what I’m about to say. But the differences between us and the others, the wide and unfamiliar world we find ourselves in, the new constellations…it’s getting too much to ignore. “Alex…my gut says we weren’t kidnapped.”

He whirls to face me, a slightly wild look in his eye. “What, then? Do you think we came here and got hit over the head willingly?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I—I just think that maybe…well, if we’re both here, then we can pretty much rule out a head injury or drugs or something causing our imaginations to run wild in the same way at the same time…And there’s no evidence we were kidnapped—I mean, look at who we’re traveling with. If they wanted, they could easily tie us up and throw us over the horses, but instead they’re teaching us and sharing their supplies with us. They stopped to help. And, I mean, with all that exists in space…there’s a whole universe out there…is it crazy to believe that maybe something like this is possible? That we’re in a different world?”

He’s shaking his head vehemently before I’ve even finished speaking. “Cosima, please tell me you’re smarter than that. There’s no such thing as other worlds! Where’s the evidence that this place isn’t on Earth? Huh? Logically, it has to be a kidnapping or a drugging, or maybe even some conspiracy to run experiments on us.”

“Evidence!” I bark a humorless laugh, not at all appreciating his condescending tone. “Okay, how about the armor and the landscape and the fact that our companions have pointed ears and way better senses then we do. How about the constellations that I’ve never seen before in my life? There are no cell towers, no skyscrapers — I haven’t seen train tracks or cars. Even if we were just in an isolated area of Earth, I feel like we would have heard a plane by now! Alex, there is nothing consistent with the world we know.”

He quickens his pace, fists clenching in frustration. “But we don’t have our full memories—maybe the world we remember isn’t all of it. Maybe this stuff is perfectly normal!”

“And maybe it isn’t,” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Come on, why are you quick to dismiss taking the people who saved our lives at face value?”

“You are too trusting, Cosima! You always have been—too trusting and too naive and it’s going to get you into trouble. It already has!” His voice has risen well above polite volume and, though they could probably hear us all along due to their enhanced senses, I see four heads tilt in our direction.

Alex notices, too. He steps forward, gripping my arm and pulling me to a stop. I suck in a breath. He realizes the force behind his grip and pulls his hand away, giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry. But you have to understand—now is not the time to be friendly and accepting. I may not remember much, but I do know that I’ve always looked out for you. You know that, don’t you? So why would now be any different?”

I eye him warily, contemplating his words.

And he’s right.

In every memory I have of him, he’s nothing but kind to me, looking out for me however he can. At one point, we were inseparable. I must have trusted him then.

So perhaps I should trust him now.

He sees the shift in my resolve and knows he’s hit his mark. He draws in close once again but makes no move to touch me. “Cosi…” My eyes snap to his with the nickname and the unexpected surge of warmth that comes with it. He smiles softly. “I’m willing to bet that back home, we have people missing us. It’s our duty to do everything we can to get back to them. Don’t let yourself be deceived or distracted.”

The sound of hooves touching the ground gets nearer and I look up in time to feel the puff of warm air as Haldir’s horse exhales on top of my head. Haldir sits high, chest plate glinting in the sun and casting a bit of a glare on his face. I have to squint to see him properly. “Is everything alright?”

Both he and Alex look to me, waiting for my answer. I shift under their gazes.“Yeah.”

Haldir nods once. “Good. Keep walking or get back on a horse. We cannot lose any more time than we already have.” He turns and rides away, resuming his spot leading the group. Alex gives me a fortifying nod then signals to Baranor, pulling himself atop the mighty steed. Rumil speeds up Roch to catch up to me—he had fallen behind, watching our backs as the group became more spread out due to mine and Alex’s argument. How can I not trust him?

Rumil extends a hand down to me. “Coming up?”

But Alex is right. Somewhere, I must have a family, friends too, and I need to do all that I can to get back to them. Real or not, I cannot get sucked into this world that has both frightened and enchanted me for too long.

So, I shake my head, keeping my eyes low to the ground so no one will see how much this decision costs me. Because despite knowing that it’s the choice I have to make, it hurts me to shun my new friends. “No. I want to keep walking.”

And, for the remainder of the day, I stay on my feet, traveling alone.

{***}

I’m grateful when Haldir asks me to clean the horses’ tack. It’s a little more complicated than I anticipated, so I must concentrate, and I’m thankful for anything that can occupy my mind.

I have not felt normal since my conversation with Alex.

Every look or kind word from one of these new friends sends a wave of guilt through me, and, by nightfall, I have a stomachache. I cannot look Rumil in the eye, nor Baranor, and Haldir and Orophin mostly ignore me anyway, so maybe I’ve already ruined my relationships with them. Then, I have to wonder, is that good or bad? If they are as troubling as Alex says, then it’s good that they don’t like me. It makes my job of staying away from them easier. But if they’re as everything in me screams they are—strange, impossible, but good, then I’m a terrible person for pushing them away.

I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know whose word to take at face value. I cannot even rely on myself, as my memories are so incomplete. And, as Alex said, I do have a habit of trusting people right away. My perception of these men might be skewed just because they’ve shown me common decency. But then that begs the question…could my perception of Alex also be skewed?

I try to force the thought from my mind, concentrating even harder on eliminating every speck of dust from the leather and metal of the tack. Eventually, Orophin comes to get me, saying that it’s getting late and well past time to rest and eat dinner. I reluctantly put away my task.

He leads me nearer to the small fire and the camp that’s gathered around it. To my surprise, we have meat tonight—someone caught a hare and cooked it over the fire. Orophin crosses his legs on the ground, sitting between his two brothers, which means that only Baranor is on watch tonight.

I hover uncertainly at the edge of the group. Is it even right to sit with them, knowing that I’m questioning their character? This reminder of Alex makes me realize that he’s not here. I’m about to ask where he is—surely Haldir wouldn’t put him on watch—when I hear his voice.

“Cosima?”

I tilt my head towards the sound, seeing that he’s set up under a tree. I guess I’ll go join him, then. I turn back to the men lounging by the fire, all of whom look up at me expectantly. I swallow, shifting on my feet. “Um, I’m actually going to stay over there with Alex tonight. See you in the morning.” I give a half-wave and turn, but Rumil’s call brings me back.

“Here, at least take a bedroll.”

I shake my head, my stomachache intensifying. I can’t take any more of their kindness. “It’s fine, thank you though.”

He stands, extending the mat towards me. “No, really, it’s no trouble. We all are—”

“I said I didn’t want it, Rumil.”

He freezes at the harshness in my tone, the venom in my words, and I feel absolutely awful. He looks so shocked, like he has no idea where the sudden anger came from…he didn’t deserve it. He quickly morphs his expression into one of indifference and shrugs. The action is stilted and unnatural looking. “Suit yourself. Come back if you change your mind.”

I feel each of their eyes boring into my back as I turn away from them to walk towards Alex. Ohhh, I was so mean. They must hate me now. Rumil didn’t deserve that.

Alex greets me with a smile, so at odds with the turmoil raging within me. I sit, leaning my back against the tree. The main camp is well within my eyesight, and Orophin and Haldir stare at me. Rumil avoids my gaze, intently reorganizing his pack. Haldir catches my eye and raises a stern eyebrow, looking pointedly to his youngest brother and then back at me.

I feel a little nauseous.

I turn my gaze away, as well as my back, lying down and curling up facing the tree. “Goodnight.”

I hear the surprise in Alex’s voice. “You don’t want dinner? There’s meat tonight.”

“No.” Again, sharpness creeps into my tone. Regret twists in my stomach. I don’t feel okay. I don’t feel right at all. The tears come, and I curl further into myself, trying my best to hide the noise and the shaking. I don’t want them to know because they’re kind and they’ll try to make me feel better.

I don’t deserve to be comforted.

And, given how I feel, how the grief and indecision and anxiety tear me apart, I’m not sure they could even help.

{***}

Everyone pretty much gives me a wide berth in the morning. Even Alex, who doesn’t stray far from my side, doesn’t try to talk to me. I do my chores in silence, not feeling very social. The horses had grazed a bit during the night, though not far from Baranor’s watchful eye, and I climb over the hill to join them in the valley. Roch, used to me by now, trots up to meet me, nuzzling at my hands in the hope that I’ve brought him food. This makes me feel even worse, as I hadn’t thought to bring him a snack.

“Sorry, Horse.” I reach up to pet his nose, then let my fingers tangle in his mane, examining the braids Rumil put there.

“It’s not safe to be out here on your own.”

Though the voice is quiet, I start, not having heard Haldir come up on my left.

I take a few breaths to calm my racing heart. “The others do this all the time.”

Haldir exhales contemplatively, taking Roch’s muzzle in his hands and brushing his thumb over the soft hairs there. “The others are extensively skilled in battle and are aware of their surroundings. You are a human with no weapons who just let me sneak up on her.”

I click my tongue, playing for time. He’s got me there. “When you say ‘extensively skilled’…how extensive are you talking?”

He smiles almost indulgently. “Thousands of years.”

I gulp and renew my efforts brushing through Roch’s mane. I cannot wrap my mind around such a long time, nor reconcile it with Haldir’s smooth face. “So…that would make you…?”

“Three thousand, six hundred and thirty five years old.”

I exhale, leaning forward into Roch’s mane.

“Are you alright?”

I twist my head to see a small amount of humor dance in his eyes, and I let my exasperation be known. “That’s impossible. There’s no way someone can be over three thousand years old.”

He shrugs, calling for his own horse, Faervel, to join us. “Impossible for a human, maybe, but elves are made to live eternal lives. You and your friend are still new to this world, but you will soon catch on to its workings. Keep your eyes open—there is much to learn.”

At the mention of Alex, I purse my lips, turning my focus back to Roch. I work the bit into his mouth and try to persuade him to lower his head so I can throw the bridle over. He doesn’t budge, leaving me to contemplate the merits of jumping to accomplish my task. After a moment, a pale hand and a worn blue tunic come into my view. I step to the side, allowing Haldir and his height to finish tacking the horse. When he’s done, he turns to me, still holding the reins in his hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Uh oh. I try to match his unaffected air. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He raises an eyebrow. There’s no judgement in his eyes, but he stares into mine like he’s systematically assessing every though I’ve ever had, every decision I’ve ever made, and determining the clarity with which I will make decisions in the future. I fight the urge to look away, feeling my cheeks go hot.

“You snapped at Rumil and cried most of the night.”

“Ugh,” I close my eyes, turning my head from his scrutiny. I take a beat, trying to push away the onslaught of embarrassment. “I didn’t know you guys heard that.”

“The exchange with Rumil happened in front of everybody.”

“The crying, I mean,” I interject, holding up a hand to stop him from continuing. I hate this. I hate the way his eyes burn into mine, trying to lure me into a vulnerable conversation. I feel myself tensing up. I try to force my shoulders to fall from their spot bunched up by my neck. “It’s nothing.”

He stares me down for a moment, not even bothering to disguise the fact that he doesn’t believe me. But finally, he nods, evidently letting it go. He hands me Roch’s reins. “I expect we will reach the mountains either this evening or tomorrow morning. The closer we get, the more dangerous our journey becomes. I understand you are sensitive, but you must clear your mind and focus on the journey. You can deal with your feelings once we reach Imladris.” With that, he takes the reins of Faervel and jerks his head, beckoning me to follow him.

I huff, starting after him, completely incensed. What did he just say? “I am not sensitive!”

He throws a wry smile over his shoulder. “Forgive me, you obviously took my comment quite well.”

Grumbling, I pull Roch with me and stomp after Haldir. Maybe I won’t miss his friendship.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are the best :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there. 

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[cheri-translates]

[CN] Fireworks Event - Shaw

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

This contains important references to Shaw’s Summer Night Date and his Aftertaste ASMR!

Previous section: here

3rd Anniversary Masterlist: here 

Prior to the Carnival, there were questions posed in the Go See You feature which affects which scenario the player sees during the Fireworks Event:

Question 1: If you had to pick, which amusement park attraction do you like the most?

Option A: Something more exhilarating - the Super Splash.

Option B: Attractions like the 4D theatre would be very interesting!

Option C: If it’s with you, the small mine wagons!

-

Question 2: “A perfect day”? Tell me about it.

Option A: You listening to me for the entire day.

Option B: Receiving the present I want most.

--

[ Prologue ]

Although the golden glow of sunset descends quietly, the liveliness of the amusement doesn’t reduce by one bit.

Shaw: It’s almost time to head over. 

MC: What? 

Seeing my puzzled expression, Shaw frowns, then reaches out to flick my forehead.

Shaw: You’ve already forgotten what you said yourself?

[ Option A: Something more exhilarating - the Super Splash. ]

When we arrive at our destination, we happen to make it just in time for the final ride of the “Super Splash” attraction.

Unexpectedly, he remembered the answer I gave to him a few days earlier. A smile involuntarily surfaces on my lips. 

However, when we board the boat, I realise that Shaw isn’t really that excited. 

MC: ...why don’t you look excited at all? Don't you like such exhilarating rides?

Shaw: What’s so exhilarating about getting drenched? If you like it, you can report to me daily. I can help you experience it every day.

MC: There’s no need for that...

While saying this, I open the raincoat in my hands, but see that there’s a very large hole at the top.

MC: Oh no, my raincoat is broken!

At this moment, the staff member has already walked over to us, preparing to press down on the safety bars. 

Shaw: Hold on. 

Shaw signals that he should wait, then smoothly removes his raincoat, covering it over me. 

Shaw: Wear it properly.

MC: But you...

Shaw: There are no ‘but’s. I don’t want to see how silly you’ll look sneezing in front of me later.

Along with the low grunts of the machinery, the boat makes its gradual ascent. Shaw crosses his arms over his chest, seated unperturbedly.

MC: Why don’t you wear my raincoat? It could shield you from some of the water.

Shaw: No need. I’ll get drenched anyway.

Faint light illuminates our faces. The boat has already reached the opening of the cave. I refuse to give in, handing him the raincoat. 

MC: ...you really aren’t going to cover yourself?

Shaw: Nope.

With his words, the boat dives vertically. A sense of weightlessness overcomes me instantly, and the surrounding water floats around us like mist. In the midst of the misty rain, I reach out with both my arms, pulling Shaw tightly to myself. 

Shaw’s eyes widen slightly. As compared to the vertically falling boat, the scene before him seems to leave him even more in shock.

Perhaps he hasn’t even noticed that the corners of his lips have curled upwards, akin to the vague rainbows underneath the misty rain.

After getting off the boat, I look at Shaw excitedly. 

MC: Wasn’t it even more interesting than imagined? You had a great time, didn’t you!

Shaw casts a glance at me, releasing a soft “hmph”.

Shaw: It was all right. But it was pretty sudden...

MC: What? 

Shaw: Nothing much.

Rain gradually patters down, which is a little special for a winter day.

Although I tried my best to cover him earlier, there are still numerous areas where he got drenched.

Water droplets pelt onto Shaw’s fringe, which make his pretty golden coloured eyes all the more bright.

MC: This rain came so abruptly...

Shaw: Forget about it. It’d stop after a while. Where do you plan to go next?

--

[ Option B: Attractions like the 4D theatre would be very interesting! ]

Because of the carnival event, the 4D theatre has also prepared all sorts of movies for visitors to choose from. 

Unexpectedly, he remembered the answer I gave to him a few days earlier. A smile involuntarily surfaces on my lips. 

MC: Shaw, what kind of movie do you want to watch?

Shaw: It’s fine as long as it’s interesting.

MC: What kind of a request is that... mm, what about this comedy?

Shaw: Looks pretty boring. 

MC: A horror film?

Shaw: I’m not afraid.

Shaw suddenly reaches out to the screen with a finger, and points at the name of a film.

Shaw: This one doesn't look bad. 

MC: “Speed” ...have you watched it before?

Shaw: Nope.

Shaw shrugs, as though it’s a natural thing.

Shaw: The name isn’t bad.

Since I don’t have an opinion, we end up selecting the movie which Shaw thinks has a pretty good name.

Perhaps because it’s too hardcore for couples, there aren’t many people in the viewing hall.

The edited film very quickly enters its climax. On the screen, the protagonist is blocked by the antagonist at the intersection. In the next second, a punch heads squarely towards his face--

MC: !

I suddenly feel someone “hitting” my shoulder.

Scanning my surroundings, I don’t see anyone around. As such, I tug at Shaw’s sleeve, speaking softly--

MC: Watch the movie properly.

Shaw: ?

Shaw furrows his brows slightly, lacking understanding.

I ignore him, whipping my head around to continue watching the movie. However, in less than half a minute, someone “hits” me again from the back.

MC: ...

Turning my head, I reach out to whack the person next to me.

MC: [softly] Is it really that fun? Pay attention.

Shaw fixes his eyes on me for a while. Then, he suddenly leans in closer, grabbing my wrist.

The light from the screen illuminates his face. I can sense his unsuppressed gaze, and I feel inexplicably nervous.

MC: ...what is it?

He doesn’t respond, but simply draws even closer, his warm breath falling on my ear--

Shaw: [softly] Are you a fool?

After saying this, he tugs my hand, placing it on the back of the chair. A wave of tremors occur in a second.

He swings the hand he’s holding onto tightly. Even after shooting him an apologetic gaze, he doesn’t loosen his grip.

Shaw: Hmph.

After the movie ends, we stand at the entrance of the theatre. I smile at Shaw, a little embarrassed.

MC: ...hehe, I was wrong for accusing you earlier.

Shaw: Oh? So how do you plan to make up for it?

--

[ Option C: If it’s with you, the small mine wagons! ]

A light breeze blows my hair up. The relatively slow-moving small mine wagons courses along the mountain range, moving into the ore mine shimmering with jewels.

Unexpectedly, he remembered the answer I gave to him a few days earlier. A smile involuntarily surfaces on my lips.

Shaw: You’re smiling so happily. Looks like you’ve finally found an attraction suited for you.

A teasing voice drifts to my ear.

Turning my head, I see that Shaw is leaning against the chair of the small mine wagon, and the entire image looks like a strange fit.

MC: Pfft...

Shaw: What’s so funny?

MC: I thought you’d be vehemently against this.

Shaw: Why?

MC: After all, these types of attractions are really boring to you, aren’t they?

Shaw: It is pretty boring.

Shaw pauses, then he continues.

Shaw: But after getting to know you, we’ve done so many boring things together. Not just this.

The cooling wind lifts his fringe up gently. Although he said that it’s boring, Shaw’s face reveals a relaxed and pure smile.

The mine car gradually climbs to the highest spot. A tender emotion follows suit, bubbling upwards from my heart. Just as I’m about to say something, a shrill cry suddenly comes from behind us.

Visitor: Waaa-----!!!

After a short silence, Shaw and I can’t help but laugh. He leans over, sticking close to my ear.

Shaw: Hey. When you on the U-shaped rollercoaster earlier, did you want to scream like that too?

MC: Of course not!

Shaw: Oh?

Capturing a hint of playfulness in Shaw’s eyes, there’s a stirring in my heart, and I clear my throat--

MC: It was so scary--

Shaw is stunned for a moment. With a laugh, he responds.

Shaw: You’re so lame--

We laugh while looking at each other, feeling an indescribable carefreeness and relaxation. As such, I summon my strength, and scream loudly.

MC: Shaw, you’re even more lame--

I fail to notice that the small mine wagons are currently passing by a ravine. The ravine is open and spacious, and echos are given extra effect.

"Shaw, you’re even more lame--”, "Shaw, you’re even more lame--”, "Shaw, you’re even more lame...”

Shaw: ...

MC: ...

The entire ravine echoes with my voice.

After we get off the small mine wagon, I try to placate Shaw by shooting him a smile.

MC: Sorry, I didn’t think my voice would be so loud...

Shaw looks at me angrily, then bends his finger to tap on my head.

Shaw: In that case, how do you plan to make it up to me?

[ PART TWO PROLOGUE ]

After pondering for a moment, I feel apologetic, taking out a map from my bag, and shooting him a secret smile.

Following the map, I bring Shaw to a veranda.

As the fireworks display is about to begin, visitors have all rushed to the plaza, and this place doesn’t have many people. 

Shaw: Why did you bring me here? 

MC: You don’t really like liveliness, do you? There are few people here, it’s quiet, and it’s a good place to view the fireworks. 

I wave the map in front of him in satisfaction.

MC: I did quite a lot of homework and found this ideal spot. How is it? Do you feel a little touched?

Shaw doesn’t say anything, simply looking at me quietly. After a short pause, his eyebrows suddenly arch upwards.

Shaw: Hey, do you still remember the other question I asked you?

[ Option A: You listening to me for the entire day. ]

After a few seconds of recollection, I nod. 

MC: You were talking about what counts as “a perfect day”, right? Back then, my answer was that I hoped you’d listen to me for the entire day.

Shaw: That’s right. But a day is definitely not possible. I’ll give you thirty seconds to think about it, and you can make me do anything.

I blink, a little dumbfounded. 

Shaw: From now, the countdown will begin--

MC: W-wait! Isn’t this too sudden?

Shaw: I don’t think so. Twenty-five seconds left.

MC: Let me think about it!

Shaw: Rejected. Twenty-three seconds. 

MC: You... I want you to...

Shaw: Twenty seconds. 

MC: ...stop counting!!

While Shaw does the countdown, time passes quickly. By the time he finishes counting, I have yet to decide on what he should do.

In the end, I release a sigh.

MC: ...forget it.

Shaw: Six... hm?

His voice halts.

MC: I think you're pretty good the way you are right now.

I pause, looking at him seriously.

MC: Very infuriating at times, but very straightforward, and very frank. There’s nothing special I want you to do. If I have to say something, it’d be for you to remain the way you are right now. 

Shaw is stunned for a moment. His eyes are fixed on me. After a moment, he suddenly lowers his head and laughs. 

I’m not sure which sentence tickled him, and I look at him with mild confusion.

Shaw: Have I ever told you that you’re really very interesting sometimes? 

MC: ...only sometimes?

Although I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, I can’t help but smile when I see him laughing so heartily.

Gradually, he has his fill of laughter. As he looks at me, his voice brings with it a smile and certainty.

Shaw: I think you’re pretty good the way you are too. I quite like it.

My heart seems to be tugged by something. Shaw looks at me and chuckles softly.

Shaw: I’ll agree to it. The other request you said offhandedly, I’ll agree to it too.

MC: What?

Shaw: Mull over it yourself.

--

[ Option B: Receiving the present I want most. ]

Looking at him, I respond after a moment.

MC: I even thought you forgot about it. 

A few days ago, Shaw asked me what counts as “a perfect day”. Back then, my response as “receiving the present I want most”.

MC: But seeing that you’re empty-handed and didn’t even bring a bag, it looks like you didn’t prepare a present.

Shaw: How did you know I didn’t prepare anything? Not bringing a bag doesn’t mean I came empty-handed.

He whips out his phone from his pocket. Seconds after giving it a few taps, I feel the phone in my bag vibrating.

I tap on the screen, and see that Shaw has sent me a message - he’s shared an album with me. 

MC: “Cherish life, stay away from late nights”...what’s this?

Shaw: An album for insomnia I prepared for you.

Seeing that I'm slightly baffled, a hint of a smile flashes across Shaw’s eyes.

Shaw: Doesn’t everyone want good health? 

MC: ...you’re not wrong. But I think the words “stay away from late nights” don’t carry much persuasive power when they’re from you.

Shaw: Exactly. Don’t stay up late so often. Don’t learn from me. 

Curious, I tap on the album, and discover that its filled with jazz, blues, classics, and all sorts of songs.

MC: So you don’t just listen to rock...

Shaw: What kind of strange misunderstandings do you have about me?

I scroll to the bottom, and notice a few familiar rock songs - I see them often on Shaw’s MP4. 

MC: Pfft, isn’t this an album for insomnia? 

Shaw: Mm. If you really can’t sleep, then you might as well not sleep.

MC: Thank you. I quite like this present.

I nod sincerely, shooting him a smile.

MC: I came across a saying once. “Through a persons’ playlist, you can understand him even more.” In that case, when I finish listening to all the songs in this album, does it mean I’ll have a better understanding of you?

He looks at me, the corners of his lips rising slowly. The night is behind him, as though he’s a part of this present.

Shaw: You could give it a try.

“Bang--” A firework suddenly blooms in the sky, and we look towards the sound.

[ PART TWO ENDING ]

The resplendent fireworks seem to brighten the entire night. In the gorgeous flowing lights, that colour I had chosen is especially outstanding.

[ FIREWORKS ]

-

Shaw: Don’t you think watching the fireworks like this is pretty boring?

MC: In that case, how does one make it more interesting? 

Shaw: You’ve got to add background music.

He takes out an MP4 from his pocket, and a pair of earpieces are suddenly stuffed into my ears.

The world quietens down in an instant, but I can still vaguely hear the fireworks.

Shaw presses the ‘play’ button, and a melody slowly flows into the earpieces--

This is the song I wrote based on his demo the other time. It’s just that the music has become even fuller, and the melody is much more complete. 

This song, which he had originally given up on, has now integrated the styles of two people, leaving a mark belonging to us. 

The night wind brushes my cheeks. A certain corner in the depths of my heart seems to be filled incrementally by this foreign yet familiar melody.

All of a sudden, Shaw moves his lips, as though he’s saying something.

Just as I plan to remove the earpieces to hear him properly, he reaches out to clasp his hands over mine. 

Light from the fireworks descend on his parting and closing lips. The sound waves from the earpieces convey his words to me clearly.

Shaw looks at the girl blinking at him in bewilderment, and he laughs. 

Shaw knows the contents of what he recorded a few days ago, and also knows that right now, she can’t hear his voice. 

He calculates the timing. The sounds coming from the earpieces seem to grab her attention. Rarely nervous, he clears his throat and starts speaking.

Shaw: [in the earpieces] Come to think of it, there are some things I want to tell you. 

Shaw: I know you can’t hear this, but there are still some things I want to tell you. 

Shaw: [in the earpieces] A year has gone by. You’re still so troublesome, and always love going against me. 

Shaw: I’ll admit - in this year, life has become more interesting than before.

Shaw: [in the earpieces] It seems like on these types of days, people say some things symbolically.

Shaw: Although it sounds cliche, since you treat these days seriously, I have to reluctantly say some things.

Shaw: [in the earpieces] I know what you’re anticipating. But I won’t say it.

Shaw: Listen properly. I'm only going to say this once, so cherish it.

A firework explodes in the air. Along with the drum-like beats, his words strike my heart--

Shaw: [in the earpieces] Definitely not. 

Shaw: Happy anniversary. This is just our beginning.

[ellstersmash]

the same thing

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Mason x Theo West Rating: M (sexual content, FTB) Words: 1,455 [read on Ao3]

mason and theo talk about feelings. haha jk... unless??

-

He slept over again.

Not on purpose, of course. It just happened. But it sure seems like it’s been just happening more and more often lately. Another new habit, he figures. No big deal. Besides, his own room may be more comfortable—the mattress and the colors and the smells and the quiet all far more to his liking—but waking up here does come with one incredible perk.

Mason turns his shirt right-side-out and tugs it on, eyes drawn to the seam Theo had torn open last night in her haste to get the thing off him.

“Sorry about that,” she croaks out, her voice gone all raspy from a few hours' disuse—though overuse is just as likely a culprit, if his memories of the previous evening can be trusted.

He takes in the sight of her stretched out unceremoniously on her bed with the early morning sun behind her. Even dulled by the curtains it makes her hair glow a sort of rose gold, and she hasn't been awake long enough to smooth it back or to arrange herself temptingly around the sheets—a fact that pleases Mason. She's fucking perfect like this.

Hell, stick her in a museum right up with all those old paintings, and he might let Nate drag him along once in a while. Might even do the dragging.

“No, you're not,” he says.

In lieu of a rebuttal she flashes him a cheeky grin and stretches. Sits up on her elbows then all the way up to watch him dress, rubbing her eyes and gathering the duvet up to her chest.

“You know, you could uh… leave a change of clothes here. I guess.” She frowns deeply and looks away as her words trail off. “If you want to.”

“Hard to resist such an enthusiastic offer.”

“Well it's so cliché.” She smacks her hands onto the bed in frustration. “It sounds like a whole big thing, and that's not what I— I'm not— I mean if you’re going to— Ah, shit.”

Mason raises an eyebrow at her, waiting while she collects her apparently complicated thoughts on the subject. The subject she brought up in the first place.

At last, Theo huffs. “It's practical.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

A lightness breaks through the frown still carved into her brow as she shrugs and says, “Just trying to save you the walk of shame. Because I’m nice like that.”

Mason smirks. “Oh sweetheart, I am so far from ashamed of what we do here. Thanks for looking out for my reputation, though.”

“Hey, it is impossible to get stains out of those things.” She starts off teasing, but gives a heavy sigh. “Trust me.”

The way her expression falters has Mason wondering if she speaks from experience, but before he can ask about it, a thought occurs to him—along with an entirely different question. It’s one he's never needed answered before, but now it makes his heart thud uncomfortably inside his chest.

“Theo,” he begins, voice calm but less detached than he’d like. “Are you ashamed?”

“What?” Theo’s eyes go wide in genuine surprise and she scrambles to her feet to close the gap between them, catching a toe in the sheets and nearly tripping in the process. Her hands slide onto his ribs and settle on his waist. “Of y— of this? No! God, M, no. Why would you ask that?”

If she wants an answer, he's screwed because he doesn’t have a good one. Anyone else, any other encounter, and he wouldn’t give a damn how they felt about it. Never has before. They want to be embarrassed that’s their shit, not his.

She is one of them now, though. Part of the team. A friend, and he’s never done this with a friend before. And like Nate said, she'll be sticking around. Only makes sense to want her not to regret it, not to make it awkward later on, not to cause tension with the others.

Yeah. Explains a lot, really.

Mason nods, satisfied, as his hands meet her warm bare skin. “Just had to make sure.”

Theo sighs and melts into the touch. “I should never have made the stupid offer. Forget I asked.”

“It's a little domestic for us, anyway.” Mason lets his gaze drift gently down the curves of her naked body. The scent of human food is creeping in from some other apartment, but it’s not so bad when she’s this near, smelling like… well, like her. Her pulse begins to pound in his ears, and by the time he makes it back up to her face, it bears an expression so heated it makes his breath catch.

“Way too domestic,” she whispers, swaying almost imperceptibly.

“Wouldn't want the neighbors to get the wrong impression.”

“Exactly.”

He skims the back of his fingers along her collarbone and up the side of her neck, then clenches his fist into her hair and soaks up the way she shivers with pleasure. “On the other hand,” he says, pulling gently to tilt her head back, “a change of clothes could be practical for other reasons.”

Theo hums in question and he dips his head low to whisper in her ear.

“Imagine how creative we could be if we didn't have to worry about your clothes or mine.”

When his lips meet her pulse point she arches into him with a shuddery breath. “Consider me convinced.”

Mason smiles into her skin. “It was your idea.”

“Right, right.” She waves one hand dismissively in the air before it joins the other in attempting to undo his morning’s work. “Course it was.”

Then she retreats to give him a stern look and a strict finger. “But to reiterate, this is purely a functional arrangement.”

She’s at least partly joking but he doesn’t have the patience for it right now. He wants her to focus on his shirt so he doesn't have to take over. Then he can take her back to bed and find out how hoarse her voice can get.

Maybe make her lose it entirely.

“Agreed,” and he cups her breast, brushing the pad of his thumb over the peaked nipple. The moan she bites her lip to muffle is a good start.

“I mean it.” With Mason’s encouragement, Theo manages to tug his shirt off again—more carefully than the last time—before her hands drag down his chest and abdomen. “Don't you go catching feelings for me.” Her nose wrinkles at the word even as her fingers work loose the top button of his jeans. “Dirty little things.”

“No kidding. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not since I turned seven.” She giggles alone at her own glum joke, then looks up at him through her lashes and draws her lower lip between her teeth. “I'll tell you what I would kiss with it though…”

A growl escapes him at the suggestion. He’s been half hard since she first laid her hands on him and the warmth currently spreading up toward his stomach is only intensifying. “Actions speak louder than words, sweetheart.”

“Good point.”

In one smooth movement that has his attention fixed, Theo wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head up to his—but her lips stop just shy of his own. Mason relishes the anticipation. Lets her stretch it out as long as she wants, for once welcoming the wash of sensations: the warmth she radiates, the achingly slow circles she traces on his spine, the caress of her thumb in the rough stubble on his jaw, the smell of sweat and arousal and the perfume she wore yesterday, the dissonant flutters of their heartbeats, and the spark in her eyes as the sun catches on the blue.

Finally, finally she kisses him, but it’s only the lightest press of her lips before the tip of her nose drags along his. She leaves another there, just as gentle as the first. One more at the top of his cheek, brushing against his eyelashes, and it’s not at all what he expected. Not what he thought he wanted, but—

Better somehow.

Mason swallows hard. Wants to speak, to say something that might shove off the weight of all that tenderness, but before he has the chance, she captures his lips again. Maybe she knows what he’s thinking or maybe she’s thinking the same thing. Doesn’t matter; the urgency in it has his mind back on the right track.

The slightest pressure at the back of her thighs and she clings tight to let him lift her, wraps her legs around his waist, and peppers soft hungry kisses wherever she can reach as he walks them back to bed.

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid - Chapter 3

Word Count: 3,195

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ storyline.

Chapter: 3/?

Warnings:  brief mention of attempted suicide

A/N: If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 3

"Time!" Mr. Harris looked up from his watch. "If you catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal."

I looked down at my beaker and saw a horrible concoction of half crystal and half goo. Thanks to Stiles, my last partner of this weird-ass rotation the chemistry teacher had us partake in. Yet even though I didn't get with Stiles that well I was relieved that he was my partner. Isaac had been completely insufferable these last few days and I couldn't handle that.

"Now this part of the experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy. You can eat it." I was bummed that I couldn't eat mine and I guess Lydia noticed.

"Hey, (Y/N), we can share mine. Don't frown." I smiled at her and she returned it.

After Lydia gave me half her rock crystal, Scott just stood up and screamed our names to stop, and everyone else just stared at us. We both turned and gave the boy a weird stare before diverging our attention back to the candy. After clinking our candies against the other, we savored the sweet treat.

Allison's POV

"Derek is outside waiting for (Y/N) and Lydia," Scott said.

"Waiting to kill them?"

"If he thinks one of them is the Kanima, then yes. Especially after what happened at the pool."

"It's not Lydia."

"Stiles, she didn't pass the test, man. Nothing happened."

"No, it can't be her."

"Well, it's not (Y/N) either."

"Well, it could be her."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" What the hell was his problem?

"Well, we have no idea who she is, and she hasn't really proven to be a good person. And the attacks did start after she first arrived at Beacon Hills."

"You don't know her, I do. Believe me, it's not her. I've known her my whole life. I think I would have noticed her turning into a killing lizard and I don't think I would be here to tell you. So, we can cross her out." We both sighed. "But it doesn't matter because Derek thinks it's one of them. So, either we can convince him that he's wrong or we've got to figure out a way to protect them."

"Well, I don't think he's gonna do anything here. Not at school." Scott stepped in.

"What about after school?" I asked and he sighed. "What if we can prove that Derek's wrong?"

"By three o'clock?"

"There can be something in the bestiary."

"Oh, you mean the 900-page book written in Archaic Latin that none of us can read? Good luck with that." Seriously Stiles, not helping. At least I was trying.

"Actually, I think there might be someone who can translate," I said thinking about our guidance counselor.

"Uh, I can talk to Derek maybe convince him to give us a chance to prove it's not either of them or... But if anything happens you guys let me handle it, okay?"

"What does that mean?"

"You can't heal like I do." I stared at him. I wasn't a defenseless baby. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

"I can protect myself." I took the crossbow out of my bag. He said nothing. "What? Did something else happen?"

"I just don't want you getting hurt. Seriously, if anything goes wrong you call me, okay?! I don't care if your dad finds out. Call or text, scream or yell; whatever, I'll find you as fast as I can." He stared straight into my eyes.

"We have until three."

He turned to leave until my crossbow went off. "Ooh." Scott quickly turned around and caught the arrow.

"Aah. Sorry." Stiles handed me the crossbow. "Sorry. Sensed a trigger on that."

Scott's POV

Currently, Stiles was on Lydia's and (Y/N)'s trail, and I was on the field with Boyd trying to find Derek.

"I wanna talk to Derek."

"Talk to me."

"I don't wanna fight."

"Good. Cause I'm twice the size of you" I looked up to find it true.

"True. Really, really true." He smirked. "But you wanna know what I think? I'm twice as fast." I smirked back and tackled him to the ground. Once we stood up, Derek appeared by our side.

"She failed the test." His face held his iconic scowl, and his arms were crossed.

"Yeah, but that doesn't prove anything. Lydia's different."

"I know. At night she turns into a homicidal walking snake."

"I'm not gonna let you kill her."

"Who said I was gonna do it?" I looked back to the school and realized Erica and Isaac were still back in the building. I tried to run towards it, but Boyd threw me down. "I don't know why you think you have to protect everyone now, Scott. But even so, Lydia has killed people and she's gonna do it again. And next time it's gonna be one of us."

"What if you're wrong? For all we know it could also be (Y/N). She didn't pass either, and how is it a coincidence that the attacks started after she arrived?" For a second I could have sworn there was a sign of desperation and worry in his face. But as quick as I blinked the look was gone.

"Lydia was bitten by an alpha. It's her."

"You saw that thing up close. You know it's not like us."

"But it is! We're all shapeshifters. You don't know what you're dealing with. It happens rarely and it happens for a reason."

"What reason?"

"Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are." He gave me his hand and helped me up. "Even Stiles calls her cold-blooded."

"Well, what if she's immune? What if she has something else inside of her that makes her immune to the bite which is why she didn't get paralyzed."

"No one's immune. We've never seen it or heard of it. It's n... It's never happened." He argued.

"What about Jackson?" He looked away. "That's why you tested him, isn't it? Because you gave him what he wanted, didn't you?"

"Scott..."

"You said the bite either kills you or turns you. You were probably hoping that he would die. But nothing happened, right? You have no idea why do you?"

"No." Derek's jaw clenched and I knew I struck a never, so I pressured on buying more time.

"I have a theory. That she's immune and that somehow, she passed it on to Jackson. You know I'm right."

"No!

"You can NOT do this!"

"Look, I can't let her live! You should've known that."

"I was hoping I could convince you but then, I wasn't counting on it." He looked at me frazzled as to what I meant, I just smirked.

(Y/N)'s POV

Being stuck with Stiles and Lydia in the library is torture, an experiment I did not want to know the result of. Actually, just Stiles. Ever since Chemistry he had been on our trail like a lost puppy. Lydia and I had a project to work with, and he was just in the way. He was acting so weird and fidgety, more than usual.

"Hey, Allison. What are you doing here?" Lydia said looking behind her.

"Oh nothing, just wondering if you wanted to get together for a study group."

"Sure, that would actually maybe let the tension leave this group," I said and as we were leaving, Jackson joined.

"Study group? I'm coming with."

"Great." We left through the back door of the library, lord knows why, and we were walking at top speed.

"If we're doing a study group why don't we just stay in the library?" Lydia said. I was asking myself the same thing but since everyone else had stood up, I just followed.

"Because we're meeting up with somebody else."

"Why don't they just meet us at the library?" I asked.

"Oh, that would have been a great idea! Too late."

"Okay, hold on..." Lydia started saying but Jackson stopped her by grabbing her arm.

"Lydia, shut up and walk." Jerk.

We all got inside of Stile's jeep since he thought it would be faster that way because we were already late. It was an awkward ride to what I learned was Scott's house. No one said much except for the casual groan or scoff coming from Lydia.

"If we're meeting at Scott's house, where's Scott?" Lydia asked.

"Meeting us here. I think. I hope." Stiles said as he led us up to the front steps and into Scott's house.

Once inside he closed every single lock there was on the door. My reaction was involuntary as I stared at the slim boy in front of me as if he was another worldly creature.

"Uh, there's been a few break-ins in the neighborhood." He then put a chair on the doorknob and now Lydia joined in the stare. "And a murder. Yeah, it was bad."

"Lydia, follow me. I need to talk to you for a minute." Jackson spoke up.

"Seriously, what is going on with everyone?" Lydia said exasperated.

"Actually, I've been thinking the same thing. What the hell is going on?" I asked once Jackon and Lydia were out of sight.

"Nothing. Like we said it's just a study group." Stiles answered and I crossed my arms against my chest. Groveling for an answer seemed completely futile in this situation.

Allison's POV

"You know what, (Y/N). Why don't you go into the kitchen and help yourself to anything or go upstairs and lay down? I think Scott will take a while."

"O-kay?" She headed upstairs with an audible sigh and I motioned to Stiles to give me his phone to dial Scott.

"Hey, it's me. You need to get here. Quick." I looked outside and saw Derek and his pack waiting. I looked at the phone after Scott hung up and started dialing my dad's number.

"What are you doing?"

"I think... I think I have to call my dad."

"But if he finds you here, you and Scott..."

"I know." I stared at him. "What are we supposed to do? They're not here to scare us, okay, they're here to kill Lydia... Or, or even (Y/N)." We stood in silence and I debated on whether if it would be a good idea to call my father. If I did my relationship with Scott would be completely and truly over and if I didn't there could be a chance I would be down a friend or even a cousin.

"I've got an idea." I looked at a nervous Stiles. "Shoot one of them."

"Are you serious?"

"We told Scott we could protect ourselves. So, let's do it, at least give it a shot, right?" I debated for a moment.

"Okay." I don't think I sounded too confident.

"Look, they don't think we're gonna fight, so one of them gets hit, I guarantee they'll take off. So just shoot one of them." His reasoning made sense. I looked outside.

"Which one?"

"Um, Derek, preferably in the head."

"Stiles, if Scott can catch an arrow, Derek definitely can."

"Okay, ah, just shoot one of the other three."

"You mean two?"

"I mean three." Quickly he moved the curtains aside and looked outside to check on the pack. "Where's Isaac?" Without being able to think I was attacked and thrown to the ground and so was Stiles. I don't know how but Isaac found a way in.

(Y/N)'s POV

I was laying down on the bed of what I hoped was a guest room, scrolling through my phone when I heard a crash downstairs. I guess Lydia heard it too because when I looked outside the hallway, there she was. We moved slowly and carefully. After, I started to hear snarling and crashing.

"What's happening?" Lydia cried and I half hugged her as reassurance.

"Get back. Someone's trying to break in, okay? Go." Allison appeared from around the corner.

"I can help," I said.

"Stay." We didn't move. "Guys, go!" We both ran back to the room she was with Jackson and closed the door. Yet, Jackson was nowhere in sight.

"Jackson?!" Lydia screamed and we made our way to the bathroom locking the door.

"Who are you calling?" I asked Lydia as she took out her phone.

"Hi, I-I need the police. Th-there's someone trying to break in." She turned off the light and I heard the door outside slam.

"Stiles! It's here!" Allison screamed. What the hell was IT? Then the door crashed down. Lydia started squirming so I engulfed her in a hug and tried my best to calm her nerves.

"We're gonna be alright." But honestly, I was just as scared. Once silence was the only thing surrounding us, I checked the room. "Okay, I think it's gone. We'll go out slowly."

She nodded and followed me out of the bathroom and later out of the room. We made our way calmly down the hallway and the stairs. That's when I heard the worst screech ever and it was not human. We both ran outside to see what had made such an awful sound and were met by Derek, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Scott, Stiles, and Allison. What the hell were they all doing here, and why were Erica and Isaac limp on the floor?

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"It's Jackson," Scott said. What could that possibly mean?

After everyone had calmed down, Stiles took us back to the school to look for our abandoned cars. As I made my way to my bike, Allison stopped me. Claiming that she was too worried about my safety. Not having the energy to fight, I obliged and got into her car alongside Lydia, who was still a bit shaken from the events.

"I need you to promise that you both won't say anything about what just happened." Allison staged the statement as a request but it was clearly a command.

"I promise not to say anything about what just happened if you could tell me what the HELL just happened," Lydia said, exasperated.

"I'm with Lydia on that one."

"It's kinda complicated." Allison sighed.

"How about you start with why Derek was there?" I spoke. "And Isaac and all of those kids from school?"

"Or where Jackson went or what is wrong with Erica?" She looked down. "Need to come up with a possible lie?"

"Part of the reason I am asking is because Scott and I aren't supposed to be seeing each other, okay?" Seriously? That's your excuse "So it's better if you just keep what you know to yourselves."

"Fine. I'll keep what I know about you and your boyfriend, which is nothing, to myself." Lydia started to get out, but Allison held her back.

"Hey, he's not just my boyfriend, you get that right?"

"Let me go." The strawberry blonde spat.

"Just for one second, please try and remember. "

"Remember what?!" Lydia turned.

"Remember what it feels like. All those times in school when you see him standing in the hall and you cannot breathe until you're with him or those times in class when you can't stop looking at the clock because you know that he is standing right out there, waiting for you. Don't you remember what that's like?"

"No."

"What do you mean no? You've had boyfriends."

"Not like that." She closed the door and left. Allison stared at her until she had reached the door to her house before starting the car back up.

"I know you're lying. This has nothing to do with your relationship with Scott. Maybe like five percent but when you look at the whole picture it's not. So, why don't you actually tell me the truth or I swear I will get out of this car."

"We're moving."

"Doesn't mean I won't jump out."

"What do you want me to say?!"

"The truth. Just tell me why the hell everyone has been acting so weird?"

"You're one to talk." She scoffed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You! Ever since you've arrived you have pushed everyone away, even though all they have been is nice to you. You're alienating yourself for no reason."

"No reason?! How about the fact that I don't want to grow attached to anyone because I know that once the year ends, I'm gone? It has been like that for almost ten fucking years. Allison, you have only had to move about three times in your life, maybe four. I have been moving every single year since I was eight years old. Don't you think that it doesn't hurt to leave behind people you have grown to love and won't see again, possibly forever?"

"I didn't think..." she sighed.

"Exactly, you didn't think because you don't understand. The last time I grew close to someone, I had to say goodbye and you know what happened?" She shook her head no. "She was bullied into attempting suicide. I did that."

"Are you talking about Josie?" I nodded, roughly wiping away the tears that had spilled. "That wasn't your fault. It was tragic but there was nothing you could have done. You didn't do it."

"I did. She was alone because I left, and I couldn't protect her. She won't even answer my messages. Now, I don't associate myself with people so I don't have to care about what happens to them. That way it doesn't hurt once I leave."

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I didn't know you felt that way. But don't push me away. I will always be a constant in your life. I'm your cousin, I will always be with you." She hugged me and wiped away any other tears left. "I love you but get out."

"Dude, you just ruined the moment."

"No, I mean we're at your house and I have to get home. I love you." She smiled and I got out of the car. Before I could say anything else, she sped off. She knew there was a conversation still lingering and she was trying to avoid it. I just hoped I didn't have to explain myself to anyone else.

I entered the empty house, making sure all the doors were locked, and made my way up the stairs. Opening my bedroom door, Brody jumped off my bed and onto me, slathering my face with kisses.

"Hey, buddy. I missed you too," I laughed. Being near him instantly calmed me and helped me feel more at ease after the night I had.

I changed into my pajamas, too tired to shower, and cuddled with Brody on my bed. Talking about my past always made me tense. I tried my best to stray away from the topic and reveal as little as possible as I could, but it always found a way to be uncovered. As hard as I tried it was the dark cloud that would always follow me around. All I could do was avoid the whole thing as much as I could and hope they didn't bring it up again.

With Brody's warmth next to me, I quickly nodded off to sleep and melted the stress of the day.

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