#i was sorting through all my life possessions for two weeks straight and barely kept any of it

[solidsnakepenis]

sorry men it turns out i might not be a wanted man

[needleandhammer]

Fruition

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader

Word Count: 6216

Summary: You're the Governor's daughter and you've caught the eye of Boston's most eligible bachelor.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex. P in v. Reader's first time having sex. Cunnilingus. Dub con. Possessive!Ransom. Sort of Dark!Ransom. Historically inaccurate. Slight breeding kink. 18+ only!

A/N: Period au. I kept the time period and nobility ranking real vague because I'm not about to research and actually world-build a mashed 19th century American colonies and Victorian period au :D It's not quite as dark!Ransom as I had intended, mostly soft. Inspired by Bridgerton, yes. And the amazing debauchery of @stargazingfangirl18 for their Soft Dark 5k challenge. Congrats and thank you for such amazing stories!

Yet another season of balls, picnics, and courtship.

“Have you heard the news? The young Drysdale is to be named heir to the Thrombey estates.”

“That makes him heir to both Thrombey and Drysdale legacies.”

“Do you think he’s in search of a wife?”

“It’s Drysdale we’re talking about. The only thing he’s in search of is someone to warm his bed for one night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. All that inheritance must require a wife to keep in order.”

“I wouldn’t mind warming his bed even for one night.”

“Shh! That’s scandalous!”

You heard your name and looked up to see your friend Vincenza approach. “Have you heard? Drysdale is to be—“

“Must I endure an entire evening of talk about that boorish man?”

She giggled at your complaint. “But it’s the talk of the city. Lord Thrombey has replaced his own son with his grandson as heir. And…” She glanced around, leaning close to you to whisper. “I heard that the transfer of inheritance was all due to Drysdale’s uncle’s inability to produce a child.”

Your brow folded, unsure whether such a decision was fair. “Well it’s not our business, Vinnie.”

“But that’s the thing!” Her whisper grew breathless with excitement. “It’s all of our business. Well, those of us not determined to narrow our marriage choices in the name of love.” She shook her head at you with good nature. “If Drysdale is to produce an heir, he needs a wife! It’s certain that all the available ladies of Boston will be trying to earn his favor.”

You sighed as Vinnie hooked her arm around your elbow, both of you weaving slowly through the ballroom.

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to this, hearing gossip about the infamous Drysdale son, the eldest grandson to the retired Lord Thrombey. How such a noble scholar could be related to the notorious heartbreaker sometimes stretched your comprehension. And even more ridiculous, autumn found you as Drysdale’s target for humiliation. You knew such a flirt had no intentions of settling down, yet, he had endeavored to make sure he danced with you at every ball thus far this season, and even called on you at your city townhome. You were quick to inform him that you were uninterested, yet he seemed unbothered. In fact, upon your firm rejection, Drysdale seemed to make it his goal to visit your brother as often as possible - as the two were college pals - ensuring you encountered him several times a week. Drysdale was not outright courting you, but he made his attentions evident to you. Most frustrating of all, he seemed to have a knack for cornering you under the guise of innocently keeping his friend’s sister company. It irked you that your family could not see what you saw.

You caught sight of your brother waving at you, so you led Vinnie in his direction.

Perhaps Vinnie was correct and you were closing doors that were better left open in the opulent realm of nobility courtship. Your chances of marrying for love were slim, but that didn’t mean you could not at least try to maneuver your way closer to those slim chances. Even in Boston’s ruthless high society of meddling mothers, envious debutantes, and arrogant “gentlemen.” But you were the Governor’s first-born daughter – beauty praised by all, poised and sharp, and most accomplished at a number of activities thanks to the Governor and your mother encouraging a diverse array of talents since you were young. Theirs was a happy and long marriage resulting in five children, and supported by a successful political career that you were proud to celebrate. You had no doubt that no matter the pressures of society, your parents would support you if you opposed an incompatible proposal in your search for the right person.

As long as you navigated the nobility’s courtship rituals with the wits you inherited from your own mother, there should be no reason you should lose the romantic interests of countless eligible bachelors, or heaven forbid, fall upon a scandal that may prevent a proposal of love.

Well, there was one reason you might end the season in scandal, by way of delivering a swift knee to the vulnerable private area of one particularly irritating gentleman in full public view of hundreds of good folk who have gathered to enjoy the Senator’s autumn ball. Alas, you were not going to bring that kind of shame to your parents.

The particular reason, the gentleman who irritated you so, was currently greeting your elder brother quietly, whilst his penetrating gaze remained on you. Determined not to be ruffled by his attention, you kept your shoulders back and chin high, sweeping your eyes through the crowd and dancers.

Your attention returned to your group of family and friends when your hand was captured. By him. Hugh Ransom Drysdale Thrombey.

“My, don’t you look breath-taking. It is my pleasure to get to see you tonight, Miss Y/L/N.” Drysdale’s eyes flowed down your form, and much to your chagrin, his smirk widened. No doubt the warm flush on your bare collar would be apparent to him.

You couldn’t help yourself, with those glowing azure eyes of his so clearly admiring your figure. The man was completely inappropriate.

“Yes, it surely is.” You offered a pursed barely-there smile and tugged your hand. He tightened his grip upon your fingers, raising them to meet his lips. You cursed yourself for choosing the delicate lace gloves this evening, as you felt his warm breath feather through the lace onto your skin. He deliberately kept his lips upon your fingers for longer than necessary, curved in that signature smirk.

“Mr. Drysdale, if I may have my hand back. I must obtain a beverage for my sister.”

Mischief twinkled back at you from his eyes. “Allow me to accompany you. I’m sure your brother and mother would both enjoy a drink,” he was quick to close down the objection posed on your lips.

Your brother thanked Drysdale with a clap on his shoulder and motioned for you to go on. You could only give Vinnie a frown as she preened at you with excitement. You proceeded without protest, knowing your brother’s attention was occupied, searching for a Miss Amarea Dane, whom you were certain you would welcome as sister-in-law very soon.

You smiled quietly to yourself, once again dreaming of following in your brother’s footsteps and finding a match so certain and true, so compelled by love and affection, rather than simply honor and title. To think, it had been Drysdale who had introduced the couple.

Suddenly, a man backed up straight into your path. You couldn’t avoid stumbling aside and directly into the arms of Drysdale.

“Watch yourself, Chen. Maybe go easy on the wine,” Drysdale called to the man who raised an empty glass at him with a laugh.

You attempted to straighten up, aware you were surrounded by several people and had just fallen into the embrace of Drysdale, who was notorious for seducing the city’s ladies.

“Let go,” you insisted quietly, dropping your gaze to your wrist which he held on to.

Drysdale gave you stern glance and led you close behind him, keeping his grasp on you hidden as he pulled you through the room.

When the two of you made it beyond the side entrance, you tried retrieving your hand.

“Mr. Drysdale, let go.” You had not wanted to draw attention with so many guests around you. You would die of embarrassment to allow anyone to see Drysdale’s hand on yours beyond the required polite greeting.

“Come, my lady. You cannot blame me for wishing to acquire your attention all to myself.”

“You are being most inappropriate.” You huffed as he pulled into the gardens. “Let go of me this instant.”

“So eager to return to your suitors? I’m sure I saw at least five gentleman who have called on you this month.”

“How can you know of the gentlemen who have called on me?” You dug your heels into the gravel, drawing up short when Drysdale stopped and rounded on you.

“Well, Barber makes no secret of his admiration for you. Or that idiot colonel’s son? And that Wilson fellow makes such noise at the gentlemen’s club about his intent to propose.”

You smiled at his apparent crossness. “Are you tracking my proposals? Are you requesting a fee for updating me about the intentions of my suitors?”

Drysdale stepped closer, his sharp jawline clenched. “So you’re pleased then?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You bit back a gasp when he tugged you forward, his hands on your waist which pressed against his front. “If you don’t let go—“

“What will you do?” His smirk returned and your fists pushed against the solid muscle of his arms. “What would you do?” He asked again, dipping his face close to yours. “If someone saw the Governor’s honorable eldest daughter, the pearl of the city, alone in the dark with a man?”

“How dare you? You better let go or my brother –“

“Would only be too happy to welcome me into the family.”

You did not miss his meaning. If you were discovered in this position by anyone, your brother would demand that your honor be redeemed by marriage to Drysdale. As handsome as the man was, you had no wish to pair the rest of your life with a man who flirted with dozens of women each season and broke just as many hearts.

“Well I am certain, sir, he would never force me to marry someone so crude as yourself. He is familiar with your outrageous behavior, so he knows you would make an ill match and I would never consent to it.” You tried leaning back from Drysdale, feeling a growl work from his chest. You couldn’t show him fear, no. You had enough of this man making your life miserable just because he was bored.

He didn’t relent, his palms flexing around your waist tighter. “You think that just because your father protects you, you are beyond the pressures, the claws of people of our standing?” He chuckled darkly. “I assure you, if it was between your happiness and ensuring your family avoids falling from grace, your parents would not hesitate to throw you to the wolves, to sacrifice your childish dreams in order to uphold their status. That’s what you’re searching for, isn’t it? Behind that pretty face are the same silly fancies as all the other girls. Dreams of love.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, so mock me all you want.” You continued struggling, determined to not back down from his burning gaze, but drawing short of breath all the same to have him so close. “Everyone knows you’re too busy fooling around and playing with women who, yes, want to find love. I only pity them for believing you have the ability to give that to them.”

He whispered your name low in warning, his voice sending a flutter down your stomach. You arranged a fierce scowl at him.

“It’s the truth. All you care about are your family’s riches and living like you have no responsibility to your community. Well, go on. Find some poor woman and give your family an heir so you can secure your fortune and continue your wild ways in comfort. But rest assured, I’d rather be thrown to wolves than end up paired with a man like you.”

Your squeak of shock was cut short when Drysdale crashed his mouth on yours. He molded your lips, swallowing your gasp as he sucked your lower lip. You felt suffocated with an intense heat blossoming from your stomach and growing further as you sensed the wet lick of his tongue.

Drysdale knew every time he pushed your buttons he got to enjoy your soft features lighting up just the way he liked; and at the same time he suffered your blatant disdain. For months he had told himself he was only after some entertainment in the form of your admittedly beautiful displeasure directed at him to liven up the droll season. Yet, here he was, unable to restrain himself from touching you, your warm smile haunting his thoughts, the silk of your skin an insufferable craving that occupied him at every hour.

You tried to twist out of his arms, but he held you pressed against him, a soft whimper from you further igniting his desire to wrap you up and make sure no other man witnessed you like this. Breathless. Vulnerable. So, so sweet, just as he imagined you would be.

You were unsure how to respond, failing to escape from his hold. So you fought back with your mouth, lips pushing against his, much to Drysdale’s delight. He barely allowed you to draw breath as he tilted his head, hand caressing the back of your neck to keep you close, quickly sneaking his tongue into the hot cavern of your mouth. He felt you tremble at his invasion, your hands gripping his jacket. He opened his eyes, appreciating the moon’s gleam on your cheek, your lashes fluttering. Despite your drawn brow, he could tell you were no longer opposed to his ministrations. He groaned when your tongue whirled against his.

It was the familiar quiver in your core that struck you and had you thrashing until you had pushed Drysdale away. You could not allow this man to awaken desires within you. You covered your mouth, panting, feeling tears sting your eyes.

You heard your name from him.

“Don’t!” You kept your face hidden with a hand, as though you could hide what had just happened. “Don’t every come near me again, Drysdale.”

“You can’t mean that.”

You stepped back before he could reach you. “I’m sorry. I am to call you Thrombey now, correct? You’ve inherited a title and doubled your worth. Well, don’t for one second think that makes me care for you.”

You rushed out of the garden, praying he wouldn’t catch up. Drysdale breathed deep. Your words stung him.

He shook himself, making a vow. Darling, you’re not getting away from me.

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

No, no, this could not be happening. It was still early in the day and your life was ruined. Or, it would be very soon.

“If you don’t accept my proposal, I will ensure that the whole city hears about your little moonlight tryst with Drysdale. We all know he’s not the type to step up for a woman’s honor. So you’ll be left with a scandal and no further suitors, you can be sure of it.”

That was the threat from Mr. Mildred, the colonel’s son who creeped on the edges of parties and was known to mistreat the help of his household.

You couldn’t stand the thought of marrying Mildred. Yet, what were your options? Your parents would heed your wishes, but the shame of a scandal would be hard for your family to recover from. You father’s reelection might even be impacted. Boston may be a modern city but progress was slow when it came to the rules of courtship amongst upper social circles. And your marriage prospects, well, very few bachelors would come calling once they heard you described as a loose woman.

It had been too much to hope that no one witnessed what happened in the garden.

You stood, restless and angry with yourself. How could you have melted into Drysdale’s touch? That was just as agonizing to you as Mildred’s words. Ever since you first met Drysdale, heard of his leisurely bachelor ways and his aversion to marriage and family, you had vowed to never fraternize with anyone of his nature. He was everything you did not want for a stable, loving family and spouse.

So many months, you had been forced to hear him mock you with pleasantries, intrude on your homely comforts, charm your mother and sisters, monopolize your brother’s time. And yet. His broad form hovering close to you as you practiced pianoforte. His many glances with those sky blue eyes during park strolls. The low purr of his voice that followed you into your dreams. Drysdale had managed to worm his way into your subconscious. At one point, you had thought he was tolerable, kind, and perhaps capable of sincerity; but that night in the garden had shown you his true colors.

Two days later, you fared no better. Your mother summoned you into the parlor, sharing that she had encountered Mr. Mildred at a tea party and he mentioned a dreadful whisper he believed to be about you and a gentleman together without chaperones in the Senator’s garden.

Had Mildred run out of patience already? Your mother’s tight frown was your answer. You apologized profusely, tears escaping as you tried to hold yourself together in the presence of someone you had sworn never to disappoint.

Apparently, Mildred informed your mother that such a whisper had not spread far, but he could not be certain of preventing its spread.

You were interrupted by the house maid, bringing a letter to your mother informing of a dinner visit.

The rest of your day, your head ached with the decision you had to make. Drysdale would not be affected by the gossip but you would not remain unscathed for long. Even with the respect your father received as Governor, your prospects grew slimmer than ever. Yet you could not accept a sacred vow of lifelong marriage to the conniving Mildred.

And Drysdale, well, you told yourself you would not entertain the idea. You had rejected his advances once already. You told yourself he had only courted you to add to his conquests and he only continued to antagonize you to alleviate his boredom.

It wasn’t until you entered the dining room that you realized your mother’s dinner guests were the Drysdales, including Lord Thrombey. You lowered yourself into a seat next to your sister, forcing a smile at Lady Drysdale before her strident tones returned to a conversation with your mother. Movement to your other side prompted you, but your smile fell flat to see Ransom Drysdale beside you. He only nodded to you, though you caught his eyes glinting with purpose before he turned to your brother.

It was halfway through dinner that Drysdale made the announcement. He had requested your father’s permission and was proposing to you this very night.

You scarcely noted your two families’ reactions, excusing yourself from the table and winding up in the dimly lit back yard of your home.

“Why?” you asked as soon as you heard footsteps behind you. Turning to Drysdale, you demanded, “Why are you doing this?”

He watched you, eyes dark and framed by thick lashes. His jaw tensed and then he stepped up to you, looking down at you.

“As you said. I have to earn my inheritance. I need an heir for my grandfather. For that to happen, I need a wife.”

You shook your head, his words striking at your heart.

“You’ll do just fine, I suppose,” he finished.

“No!” You shoved at his chest, barely swaying him. “You don’t get to do this. This is my life.”

“I heard what Mildred was going to do,” he said, swallowing hard. “If I didn’t propose, you’d have to marry him. Or –“

“I would deal with the gossip however I see fit! How could you come to my home and propose in front of our entire families. How could you—“

He wrapped his hands around your biceps, dragging you close. “You can’t say no.”

Helpless, you could only silently deny his ruthless words with an anguished shake of your head.

“You can’t say no to me. No matter what you tell yourself about how merciful your lovely society friends will be. We both know if you don’t accept my proposal…” He glanced away with a chuckle before eying you, his grin cocky, sneering. “And don’t even bother thinking you might escape from this by actually marrying Mildred. He’ll back off as soon as he hears the new Lord Thrombey has proposed. Either way, looks like you’re not going to the wolves.”

One hand grasped your neck and jaw, drawing your lips to his. He could sigh with relief. He had not been able to rest ever since tasting you.

“Drysdale –“

“Ransom,” he whispered, rubbing his lips to yours before reclaiming them in a deeper kiss that consumed all of your senses. You couldn’t gather your wits to question how he managed to force all thoughts from your mind. Surely your anger was the source of the sparks lit in your breast as you felt his tongue sweep into your mouth roughly. You sagged against him. Ransom’s lips released you, trailing along your skin.

“Call me Ransom.” His order came firm as he dropped kisses down the corner of your mouth to your ear. It pained him to be the cause of your tears, but he would be damned if he let that weasel Mildred sully your name, or get to twist his fingers in your dark tresses, learn your curves, taste your lips. No, Ransom would be your villain.

“R-Ransom,” you gasped out, so aware of his body heat rolling against you, his thick arms encircling you.

“Accept my proposal.” He knew he had crushed his very slight chances of being on the receiving end of your kind heart, forcing your hand like this.

He pressed his forehead to yours, warm hands framing either side of your face. His thumbs stroked away your tears, and you were struck by the earnest plea in his eyes.

"Alright."

He took a deep breath and stepped back from you, his face a cool mask. "Let us inform our families."

This may be another game to him, an easy means to an end. For you, it wasn’t a choice.

--‐-------------------------------------------------------------------------

You made it through your short engagement and overly grand wedding by devoting your entire energy to convincing your family that you were the eager, blushing bride. You offered minimal answers as your dear sister asked about how Drysdale – no, how Ransom had claimed your heart. You dutifully picked out wedding bouquets with your mother and responded to the well wishes of your father’s friends.

All the while, your busy schedule served as an excuse to avoid your groom-to-be. With middling success. Now that he had claimed your hand, and more, proved your dreams were all for naught, he couldn’t resist reminding you to your face how naïve you had been. Worse, he took advantage of his status as your fiancé.

He took the opportunity at every lunch to sit close to you and toss that triumphant smirk your way. He invited you to the park with your family, leading you ahead and lacing his fingers through yours as he put on a show of holding you steady upon the walkways. He played the love-struck bachelor, dragging you between the far shelves of your father’s library and exploring your mouth with a frenzy that left you dizzy. Your resistance was no match for his determination to overpower you, to flaunt his victory. Yet, you could almost see the arrogant curl of his mouth morphing with each kiss as his eyes softened. And each time, you grew more hopeless - conflicted - as his touch grew familiar, satisfying a part of you which you could not control. You were truly out of your depth when it came to Ransom.

It mattered not. You could not take back your word. The Governor’s daughter that you were so proud to be could not collapse in your own despair. As far as anyone was concerned, you and Ransom had both discovered an unlikely, passionate love for one another and wished very badly to wed.

You should have been exhausted after the early day of wedding celebration you had endured with Ransom, the incomparably handsome and gallant groom. And after many hours riding out to Halifax, the Thrombey country home. Your new home.

But a new challenge was upon you this late night - your wedding night. At least, that had been your sole problem up until Ransom had deposited you in your marital chamber and excused himself. You had absentmindedly, nervously, glided around the room to admire the woodwork. Only to notice a parchment corner peeking from the drawer of an antique desk. Which led you to open the drawer and pluck at the papers with your name upon them.

The pearl of the city. An apt title, yet it fails to define your beauty, Y/N…

…Is it a gift or a curse that I should be visited with visions of your sweet face as I sleep…

Barry speaks highly of you, his sister, and your affinity for family, your desire for a true love. A shame that such an exquisite soul should be beyond my grasp. No, I have earned this torture. I could never deserve you, nor offer you what you deserve…

So many lines speaking of admiration for your character, yearning to learn what would be worthy of your affections, admissions that you were too sweet, too good to be burdened with him. Words hinting of curiosity, of desire for a future with you, a family unlike the one he grew up with.

…I can only laugh at myself for daring to dream God might have mercy on me and lead me into your arms, and lead us to the dreams you and I share…

The sound of the door swinging open had you looking up to meet Ransom’s gaze. He slowed in his entrance, seeing the pile you clasped in hand.

“Those are mine,” he said, voice tight. His hands curled with your big eyes shining upon him full of question.

“My name is on them. They’re mine,” you countered.

“Forget them,” he commanded. “They are only…”

“Fancies? Silly dreams of…love?” you asked. “You’re a talented writer.” You smiled seeing his flushed cheeks, his averted, shy grimace.

“I used to sit with my grandfather for long hours. Reading. Discussing stories.”

“Did your grandfather also help you practice writing love letters?”

He smiled without mirth. “No. I figured I wanted to make a fool of myself so I documented foolish musings.”

You closed the distance between you. Your face was uplifted, beseeching Ransom to meet your eyes. He could not ignore your presence, attention intense on him and almost more than he could bear.

“Is there truth in these words?” you asked quietly, careful not to spook this man, this loud, cocky man who had presented you with such a convincing disdain for anything sincere.

“It does not matter.”

“It matters. Because you chose me.” You pressed your fingertips to his lip, stopping his protest. Ransom closed his eyes for moment, barely believing you were touching him of your own will. He breathed in your perfume, disoriented by your proximity, your discovery. “Why did you never…?”

“Because I’ve always known such things were childish. My own parents proved to me a long time ago love has little value in a family.”

You shook your head in protest of such cynicism. But the bitter turn of his mouth reminded you of various instances in his family's presence - his parent's demand for recognition and power, his uncle scoffing at expressions of kindness.

“Because I felt foolish for even wanting something different. You were right. Anyone would be lucky to avoid me and my family. We’re a sham. There’s nothing beneath the surface for my parents and they’ve taught me well.”

“There’s more,” you insisted.

“Well then I’m a coward because I can’t bring myself to go in search for more. You were right. I am content with my family’s fortune. I would have been fine growing old alone, but I had to trap you with me. Now, you won’t achieve your marriage of love, your desire for a warm family.”

You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “I was the coward.” You drew him down, closing your eyes and pressing your foreheads together. “I saw more in you, but I was afraid. Afraid of risking my heart, afraid I might achieve the very thing that I have been yearning for.”

He whispered your name. You hushed him.

“Tell me. Do you truly love me?”

His breath feathered against your lips. “I love you.” There was such a raw vulnerability in his confession.

“Then that is all that matters. You and I will build the family we dreamed of. I promise.”

Like your vow had snipped him loose of his control, he yanked you in and kissed you hard.

“Be mine,” he murmured between sucks of your lips, drinking you in. “Give me all of you, and I swear, love, I’ll be your family. I’ll give you anything.”

You believed him. Cupped his head in yearning. “Yes. Yes, Ransom.”

His hands tugged impatiently at your gown, dragging the outer layers down. Long fingers pulled at your skirts. You worked at undoing his vest and shirt. Your hands trembled to feel his bare skin, the tickle of chest hair and such warmth emanating against you as he drew you close. You gasped to feel his hands squeezing your curves through your thin shift, seeking with greed for more. He walked you both to the bed and placed you in the middle, laid out for him as he had dreamt for months.

His touch dipped under your shift, setting your heart racing. As his mouth danced lower, he growled, tearing the top of your shift to expose your bare tits and mouth hungrily at them. You couldn’t stop wriggling, clutching around his neck and shoulders, arching up to his tongue that flicked a nipple before sucking.

“I’ve wanted you so long. Want to taste you.”

Before you knew it, you felt him panting at the delicate flesh between your legs, no article of clothing remotely hiding your body from him. He stopped you from closing your thighs, fingertips bruising as he held you open and licked broad stripes at your sex. You had never imagined such sensations, such a heat as Ransom so thoroughly pulled you apart with his mouth.

He watched through his lashes as you writhed, testing what you enjoyed most. His tongue teased at your entrance and then breached you to lash your inner walls. Your sharp cry had him groaning as his hard cock begged for friction. Your gasps bordered on sobs and he needed to see you fall off that edge.

His lips closed around your increasingly wet petals, shaking his head back and forth and sucking hard. When his teeth scraped your clit, your mouth froze open, your back arched off the bed and locked in feverish pleasure. Your rapture pulsed through you as he pressed his tongue flat to your throbbing bud.

“Darling, look at you.” How glorious you looked, soft and panting. Ransom climbed forward to kiss you, sharing the earthy tang of your pleasure. You hummed into his mouth, still drifting in a hazy cloud.

“Look at me, love,” he whispered. You opened your eyes. He watched you, lust and joy burning in his gaze. “You’re mine.”

You nuzzled his nose, whispered, “I’m yours.” Your breath left you as his cock, thick and insistent, pressed into you, pushing in and in until you felt nothing but full.

His lips never stopped kissing your face, your jaw, your mouth. As if he could tell the very instant the sting receded for you, Ransom moved, thrusting shallow. You found yourself wrapped around him, clinging as you had never been so desperate for another person before.

His moans and grunts joined you as he sped up. Everything he was doing, his hips clapping your thighs, his weight caging you, rekindled the thrill in you, the pleasure mounting more when he managed to slide his hand between you and swipe at your clit. You keened, unable to beg him to finish you off, but you knew he would do it. Knew he wouldn’t stop. His mouth sucked at your neck and he angled his thrust just so. You were lost to the world, grinding up against Ransom, chasing the pleasure that crackled from your core. Ransom nearly crushed you to the mattress as his rhythm rose to a frantic end and he released his seed through his swelling cock to fill you.

Your name rasped from him as he ground his hips into you with the instinctual need to ram his seed into your womb.

Long hours later, after Ransom’s need to claim you again resulted in multiple releases for you both, when you had caught your breath, you let him wind his naked form around yours.

You drifted off to his sleepy murmurs of, “I’m yours.”

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

A month later and Ransom maintained firm control of your attentions, both mental and physical. He seemed intent on desecrating every room of the vast country home. One afternoon, the two of you had toured the family’s art collection. He had lured you into an alcove to view a Verocchio sculpture. You ended up with his face buried between your legs under the sculpture’s shadow, biting your fist to quiet your moans as Ransom’s tongue thrust into you. Right before you came, he slipped out from your skirts, bunching them at your waist and pushing you up against the wall. Your faced pressed into his neck with relief to feel his cock stretch you. Opened you up with rough jolts as your legs drew tight around him. His hips snapped urgently, quickly blazing flames within you until your explosive climax overwhelmed you. He fucked you until he came, biting your shoulder as he rutted hard to push his release deep into you, until you were overfilled and his spend seeped out and trailed between the two of you to mix with your own juices.

Tonight, his desire for you was unrestrained. Already, he had kissed and licked what seemed like every inch of your skin. Your release dripped from you and into his greedy mouth latched to your folds as you came down from your high, tugging his dark locks of hair.

“Ransom, please.”

“Yes, love?” His lips grazed a path up your stomach, then up between your breasts littered with red love bites. He rubbed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Need to feel you.”

Ransom grinned. He pulled you upward, lifting and turning you so you rested in his lap with your shoulder blades meeting his chest dusted with fine hair. You arched your back, feeling his hard, leaking cock so hot against your skin. His fingers combed your hair aside, mouth nipping and kissing from your neck to your shoulder.

His hand cupped your sex, groaning at the soaked heat of you. He guided you, lifting up just enough to run the sensitive head of his cock through your folds. Your whine forced more precum to dribble from his slit. He could resist no longer, his cock splitting you open as he drew you down upon his lap until he was buried to the hilt in your tight heat. Soft curses met your ears. You bit your lip, grinding back and forth. Ransom squeezed your waist, held you still.

“Ransom…”

Damned, how he loved the sound of his name falling from you, needy and wrecked from pleasure. And still wanting more of him. He couldn’t begin to guess how someone like him could deserve your affections and loyalty. Good thing he was a greedy bastard, unrepentant of his actions that had blessed his home and bed with you.

Shivers wracked your spine when he cooed at you with his gravelly tone. “You want me, love?”

“Want you so bad.”

He smirked at your whimper when he swirled his groin slow beneath you. His tongue teased along your earlobe, driving a plea from you.

“Want you, Ransom. Oh, please.”

“And you’ll give me what I desire, yes? Will you, love?”

You managed jerky nods, choking when he slid agonizingly slow from your cunt and pushed back into you. Only to stop and hold himself there, speared maddeningly in you.

His breath tickled your ear. “You, love, are going to give me a baby. Yes?”

He drove his hips up, drawing a moan from you.

“Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Y-yes…Rans…ah” You stuttered with his deep, hard strokes.

“Is that what you want? Hm? Big, beautiful family with me?”

“Yes.” Your response rushed out, breathy.

“Love you. Want to fill you up over and over.”

You whined loud, his words and the drag of his thick cock inside you driving you crazy.

“Because you’re mine. You’re all mine.” His hand curled over yours, pressing your palm and fingers to your core where the two of you were joined beneath dark curls. “Feel that?”

“Oh god.” You surely felt what he wanted you to. His steely member claiming you again and again.

“Yes, feel me and you? This.” He kept your hand there, feeling every push and pull of his cock, from inside and out, so you couldn’t escape him. “Feel how you belong to me? All of you. You’re mine forever.”

“I’m yours….” You cried out as his rhythm sped up. “Ransom!”

You threw your head back, both yours and his fingers circling the nub of your inflamed clit, his harsh breaths beating against your neck as his words blended.

“Mine,” he grunted.

Your pleasure burst like a dam, your release splashed and squirted out, then throbbed with his relentless touch. The wave spread outward, tensing your muscles, buzzing upon your skin. Feeling you squeeze and flutter around him drove Ransom to the brink until all he could think of was filling you, rooting his seed into you so you grew soft and big with his child. You were the beginning and finish of his everything.

Ransom couldn’t stop himself. His strokes grew uneven but remained deep, hard, determined. His arm wrapped around you tight as he launched you both forward, driving you onto your hands and knees so he could rut as deep as possible. You moaned, overcome with the hot rush of his seed filling you and his cock pounding it deeper into you.

You both settled into the bed with tangled limbs, slowing your breaths and the ache of desire. Your toes curled, enjoying the pressure of his cock nestled in you still, content that you both were looking forward to your first child. To a family all your own.

[comfortwriting]

Possessive - G.W

George Weasley x Fem Reader

Masterlist, Request Rules

About: While working at the twins shop, a male customer makes a move on the reader and tries to grab her. The reader calls out for her boyfriend, George, who comes over and beats up the man, causing Fred to close early. George and the reader go to their flat and whilst cuddling, George gets possessive in a smutty way.

Warnings: heavy, filthy smut, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, arousal by tears, slapping, female receiving oral, aftercare and swearing.

“There's no more boxes down there, Freddie.” You called out, walking over to the shop window, carrying three large boxes in your arms. “These are all we have until next week.” 

Being able to work at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes with your fiancé and soon to be brother in law made life more enjoyable after the losses you experienced during the war, you were so thankful that your fiancé (now missing an ear) and the rest of the Weasley's made it out alive - many people you knew weren’t so lucky.

“Cheers for letting me know, love!” Fred replied, shouting over the crowd of heads of customers “I’ll make sure to order more in for next week!”

With the summer holidays coming to a close around the corner, the joke shop was almost stripped bare each day with students coming in to stock up on Skiving Snackboxes and the variety of Fred and George’s special WonderWitch products.

“The Pygmy Puffs are due anytime now!” George called out, causing more customers to ask when and how they could get their hands on one.

Getting down on your knees you opened the boxes and started to place more love potions out on the shop floor, squeezing past the many customers who were overflowing the place. 

With every Love Potion, Extendable Ear and Skiving Snackboxes you placed out, they were running scarce within minutes, George barely had a moment to shoot you a loving glance or a cheeky wink; but you were over the moon that Fred and George had made such a huge success after their family had struggled to get by for decades. 

Fred and George had to find a new manufacturer after the demand got too high - they couldn’t keep up with it by themselves.

The twins continued to help out and serve as many customers as they could, the crowd finally dying down, giving them time to breathe before the next bout of essential shoppers and die hard fans came crashing back in. 

Getting down to your last box of Reusable Hangman, you placed them out on the shop floor. Feeling relieved that the final re-stock of the day had finished, you took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from your brow. 

Walking around the shop to check everything was out, you accidently bumped into a much taller customer viewing the Love Potions.

“I’m so sorry!” you panicked “I was miles away-”

The customer turned around and smirked at you, his long and silky black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, his piercing green eyes searched yours, making you feel as if he was reading into your soul.

“Not a problem, darling.” He replied, cocking up an eyebrow. 

Feeling embarrassed and flustered, you apologised once more and tried to hurry away to other side of the shop but the customer stopped you, grabbing you by the arm.

Fred caught the guy out of his eye and nudged George, telling him to keep an eye on him closing in on you.

“If he comes onto her one more time, I swear-”

Fred shushed his brother and forced him to keep working.

“Hey, Hey, don’t go running away now sweetheart.” the man said with a chuckle, pulling you back over and putting you in the corner. “so, what are these love potions then?”

The man held the glass heart bottle in his hand, staring at it before looking back into your eyes.

You swallowed hard and sighed, you knew this man was toying with you and that he was getting off on making you flustered, you had dealt with the odd one or two customers before but none had never grabbed you like he did. 

“Uh, the label on the back should tell you.” you replied nervously, pointing at the obvious description on the bottle. “we added that so customers wouldn’t get confused.”

George, still serving customers watched you like a hawk, Fred reassured him that you would kick him out if needed, like you had done with plenty of customers before.

The man turned the bottle and looked at the little label, then held out the potion in front of you “I would prefer it if you could explain.” he smirked again, pissing off George. 

You sighed again and gently took the Love Potion from him, if you knew any better you would kick him out straight away but you knew how much Fred and George relied on the sales they made this time of year to keep their shop running smoothly.

“They cause the drinker to become infatuated or obsessed with the person who gave it to them.” you answered, becoming inpatient. 

The man bit his lip and studied your face “go on..”

“Sick bastard.” George muttered under his breath, slamming the till shut.

“George, not yet-” Fred tried to warn his brother but failed.

George slowly made his way over to you, his hands were clenched in tight fists, the veins in his arms and hands bulging, his knuckles turning white - he wanted to rip this mans head off.

“The Love Potions work regardless whether the giver is present or not when the recipient drinks it. The longer you keep it, the more potent the effects become.”

Wanting nothing more than to walk away and finally have a satisfied customer, you walked out of the corner he trapped you in, and pushed past him until you felt his hand tighten around your arm once more. “Don’t walk away-”

Trying to free yourself from his grip you panicked and called out for George, searching around the shop to spot where he was hiding.

“Don’t lay another finger on my wife!” George yelled, swinging his arm and punching the man across the face. 

The creepy customer instantly let go of you when he took the blow, you moved out of the way almost tripping over, accidentally smashing the love potion. 

Fred kept yelling at George to stop, but he wouldn’t and he didn’t want to.

Hearing George’s fist collide with the customers face over and over was enough to make Fred get the other customers out of the shop, apologising to them and saying he’ll open up earlier tomorrow to make up for closing so soon at such short notice.

“Don’t ever touch her, again!” George yelled again, grabbing the man by his collar and punching him again.

George could see so much red the man didn’t have enough time to defend himself, George’s right hand was busted, his knuckles cut open, bruised and bloody. The customers nose was also busted and leaking out blood, his bottom lip suffering a cut and his face slowly swelling up.

“George, please!” you begged, running over to him.

You grabbed George’s left arm that was gripping onto the mans collar and kept pulling. “George just stop!”

Not wanting to lash out and accidentally hurt you, George let go of the man and got to his feet, kicking him in the stomach before walking away.

“Fred, kick him out.” George ordered, stomping up the stairs to your shared flat. 

Fred nodded and walked over to the now whimpering man, grabbing his shirt at the back of his neck, you opened the door and Fred pushed the man outside, kicking him in his lower back before slamming the door shut.

“Fred, I’m so sorry-” 

Fred pulled you into a tight hug “don’t you dare apologise, the dodgy perv had no right to put you in such an uncomfortable situation” he pulled back and watched the man scramble to his feet and walk away.

“We’ll make sure he never steps foot in here again.” Fred glared through the window, walking behind the till and pulling out the cash register, the sickles and galleons sliding around inside.

You grabbed out your wand and cleaned up the Love Potion, walking over to your soon to be brother in law, you took the cash from him. 

“I’ll sort it” you said quietly “George is up there and probably wants to be alone.”

Fred nodded and handed you the shop keys, walking over to the door “see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“see you, Fred.”

After locking up, and going upstairs into the office, you placed the cash register on the table and sat down, checking everything and handing your tiny tawny owl a letter to deliver to the manufactures regarding current stock shortages and requiring more products.

Finally finishing for the day, you walked into the bathroom and noticed blood in the sink, going into the bedroom you found George laid down staring at his bandaged fist. You sat down on the bed and took his hand in yours, using your other hand to lift up his chin so he could look at you.

“It’s okay Georgie.” you reassured him softly “It’ll never happen again.”

George’s hard and stone cold eyes softened when they met with yours.

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, I should’ve kicked him out sooner.” He muttered, chewing on his lip.

“George, just stop. I’m okay, everything is okay.”

For the rest of the evening you and George cuddled naked in bed, listening to your vinyl records, the two of you not speaking a word to each other. Whilst cuddling George ran his hand over your body and up your inner thigh squeezing it.

“Ruddy sicko, thinking he could have you.”

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck and a chill went down your spine, you loved it when George became possessive, when he made it clear you were his property and no one else could even utter as much as a look or word to you.

When George was like this, you loved toying with him, making him jealous and more possessive - it was that side of George that riled you up more than any other. 

“You called me your wife” you breathed out, smirking slightly “which I’m not... we’re not married yet.”

George’s hand travelled up to you heat, his soft and long digits stroking your clit, his hot breath resting against your neck, George placed his mouth by your ear, teasing you.

George suddenly sat up in bed and pulled your naked body down the bed, towering over you he strikes you across the face and grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re mine.” he growled “do you understand?”

You stayed quiet for a moment, adjusting to the hot stinging on your cheek, you looked into George’s eyes and noticed the rage he the had earlier. 

George cocked an eyebrow at you and slapped your clit, making you jump and yelp out.

“I’m yours! I understand!” 

He smirked at your reply and lowered himself down, pulling your legs over his shoulders. George sucked on his index and middle finger before spitting on them, inserting them inside of you, pumping gently.

George looked up at you for a moment and looked down at your wet pussy, attacking it with kisses and long, fast strokes with his tongue. 

The pleasure was nothing short of incredible, your G-Spot and clit being stimulated at the same time, over and over, had you arching your back and moaning George’s name like it was the only word you knew.

“George... oh George...”

George sucked on your clit whilst swirling his tongue around the head, making it go red, every now and then he would pull away from your pussy and spit on it, his silky, warm saliva running over your clit and between your folds.

His fingers switched from pumping inside of you to repeating the ‘come here’ motion against your G-Spot, the squelching noise you were making against his fingers made George’s cock even harder.

George lifted his head and looked at you, feeling more lust ignite inside him as he watched you become a moaning mess, running one of your hands over your breast, caressing it. 

“I don’t hear you moaning that mans name” he said softly, a little bit of pride shining through his voice.

You bit your lip and felt daring, you didn’t want leave George feeling satisfied with himself just yet.

 “I never got his name.” you replied, seeing George’s proud expression drop.

George immediately withdrew his fingers that were now coated in your juices, he got up from in between your legs and grabbed you by the hair, pulling your face down beneath him.

“Open your dirty fucking mouth”  he ordered, slapping you across the face once more when you didn’t comply.

Finally opening your mouth, he forced his fingers inside your mouth, ramming them down your throat and making you gag, causing your eyes to water.

“suck your juices off my fingers, taste yourself.”

Doing as you were told, George quickly pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed you back into the mattress, letting go of your hair. He slapped your tits and went back in-between your legs, stroking his cock and slapping it against your pussy to tease you.

“is that what you want?” George asked, mocking your whimpers and pleas. 

You nodded your head and you blinked out the tears forming in your eyes. 

“Yes, I want you inside me.” you pushed yourself against George’s erection.

George smirked and took both of your legs in his hand, placing them against one of his shoulders, holding them in place. He spat into his hand and spread his saliva all over his cock before pushing himself inside your tight pussy. 

The two of you moaned out in pleasure, George adjusting to your tightness and you adjusting to his size. George slammed into you, his cock hitting your G-Spot each with each and every thrust, with his free hand still coated in his saliva, he rubbed your clit in quick circular motions.

The feeling of your clit and G-Spot being stimulated at the same time over and over became incredibly intense, you bucked your hips against George and he stopped holding your legs, bending over you instead and holding you down.

“I can feel you tightening around me.” he grunted “don’t you dare cum.” 

You shook your head and more whimpers spilled out of you “please-”

George shook his head “you’ll cum when I say so.” he continued to fuck you and play with your clit, causing you to shake beneath him.

“George, please-” you begged, your tears flowing from your eyes and running down your cheeks.

You couldn’t hold yourself back for much longer, your clit became sore and red, your pussy felt swollen and the desperation to cum was starting to become unbearable. 

“cum for me then, love.” George approved “cum all over my fucking cock.” 

George kept slamming into you and kept rubbing your clit, liquid squirting from beneath you, your head dropped back and your legs rattled like an open door in the wind. Your cum all over George’s cock and your liquid soaking the bed. 

George felt himself getting closer from seeing you get off from him continuing to toy with you, making you cry. 

“George” you wailed, gripping onto the edge of the mattress. 

“I’m going to cum” he groaned “cum again for me, I know you’re desperate.”

Reaching the top of the rollercoaster once more, you felt yourself plummet down, cumming again, the inside of your pussy and your clit incredibly raw and red.

George picked up his pace and pooled himself inside of you, planting a kiss on your forehead before pulling out and laying beside you; the two of you panting and exhausted. 

Once the two of you recovered, George sat up and walked over to the bathroom, running you a bath.

Coming back into the bedroom he studied your face and turned the side of your face he slapped, looking it over.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly “I didn’t break any boundaries did I?”

You shook your head “no not at all” you replied “I’m a little sore though” you chuckled.

“I’m sorry” he gave you a soft look and stood up, lifting  you into his arms, carrying you into the bathroom and placing you into the bathtub.

George climbed into the tub and sat behind you, washing your back and you hair, placing kisses down your neck and onto your shoulders.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking about how easy it was to get under George’s skin but you felt so relieved knowing that he was there to protect you when you needed him most.

You leant back into his arms and looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes. 

“When will you make me your wife then?” you smiled.

George smiled back and stroked your face “sooner than you think.”

[skellebonez]

I AM SORRY FOR THIS SKELLE BUT I MUST: 5 (kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here),6 (let's make a deal, shall we?) and 41 (can you teach me how to do that) with the demon bull fam and mk with a little hint of 64 (I may have eaten seven of them already). NOW GO HAM MY DUDE

Oh I had way too much fun with this one. I took S2E4 (spoilers mentioned for that!) and some tweets made by one of the show producers on the same day as fuel for a very silly idea I had. I don't write what can be considered "Crack treated seriously" (or at least semi-seriously, this is not a 100% serious fic) often but when I do I go hard. This is more focused on MK and others than SpicyNoodles so it's a bit more gen fic than a full on ship fic as well.

Kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here/Let's make a deal, shall we?/Can you teach me how to do that?/I may have eaten seven of them already.

"Red..." MK started off slowly, watching as his boyfriend's face flushed and twisted in embarrassment. "Can you tell me why your mother showed up at my apartment and used her wind vortex thing to teleport us here without an explanation? And then left us in your..." He looked around, noting that aside from the excessively large throne and two smaller thrones beside it this room looked like a... "Living room? On a couch?"

"I can-" Red Son started, raising a hand before pausing a frowning deeply. "Actually, no, I can't explain. This is just weird, even by my parent's standards. I have no idea what is going on, but since you're still here..." He shrugged with a hopeful smile, shaky through the uncertainty. "Maybe it's not bad? I mean, if Mother was truly upset or wanted to do something bad surely she would have not left us to our own devices. Maybe she’s... uh... happy I finally have a boyfriend?”

At the pointed raise of an eyebrow from MK that hopeful smile faltered a bit. Happy Red Son had a boyfriend for the first time in a couple centuries? Under different circumstances he wouldn't doubt that! Happy when that boyfriend was MK?

Oh he did doubt that.

He knew that they shouldn't have been sneaking around the way they had been. It had made sense at first, two people on opposite sides of a feud lasting centuries who discovered they actually enjoyed spending time together more than fighting each other. One who decided he very much would rather not follow through with any kind of domination and see his family hurt, who realized "actually my sworn nemesis isn't so bad", and another who decided "my life is already weird enough, why not give this befriending my enemy thing a shot".

And then one thing lead to another and before they knew it their secret friend meet up became a secret boyfriend meet up. They'd managed to keep everything under wraps for a while (except from Mei because, well... she was his best friend! He couldn't not tell someone and she would have found out fast if he wasn't obvious, and she had quickly become a mutual source of support for both of them), though MK knew Pigsy and the others knew something was up. They didn't question him, though, aside from the occasional good natured jab. "Wow MK, you seem happy today. Got any plans?" and that sort of thing. They seemed to trust him to make his own decisions, as long as he was happy and healthy and eventually told them. (Sun Wukong, however, may have caught in a little when he jokingly asked if MK had gotten a boyfriend and MK had choked on his drink. He never brought it up specifically after that but he was smart. Too smart.)

Red Son, on the other hand, was fantastic at keeping secrets when he tried. Or MK thought he was... the last few months gave no indication that either of his parents had discovered their little sneaky rendezvous. Then Princess Iron Fan broke into his apartment and, well, here they are. Clearly something had gone wrong somewhere along the line.

Before MK could follow through with any questions of whether or not there could be a fate worse than instant death that involved lulling him into a false sense of security, the two men froze at the sound of quickly approaching voices.

“Could this not have been done another way, my dear?”

“Kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here, you know that. Noodle Boy is not that gullible, contrary to what we first believed.”

Ah... shit... Red Son’s parents.

Mk quickly ran through all the possessions he had in his apartment and wondered if he had time to text Mei or Pigsy the world’s fastest will and testament and if that would be legally binding. He just hoped he had something for Pigsy to handle the Phantom Orderer they'd had for the last year.

They always ordered on the app and prepaid and managed to leave him a sizeable tip in his tuk-tuk after he dropped off the food at whatever random location they indicated.

"Good," PIF's voice rang clear, far faster than he could even attempt to pull out his phone, and MK turned to see that she was casually lounging on the shoulder of the Demon Bull King. She jumped down, her wind lightening her fall so much so that she barely made a sound when her feet touched ground. "You've made yourself comfortable."

MK couldn't bring himself to move, as much as he very dearly wanted to run away as quickly as possible. Yes, he was The Monkie Kid and had progressed far enough that he could probably escape without much problem. Yes, he and DBK had had an understanding after the White Bone Spirit and Lunar New Year Festival (though he still didn't know if PIF ever found out about that one). Yes, Princess Iron Fan had shown little interest in him before and had even worked beside him with no complaints (she didn't even care enough to attack during the Food Wars thing!). But that was all before she apparently found out he was dating her son behind her back while they were technically still enemies.

He was glad at that moment that she had grabbed them before they went to get lunch... his stomach was doing back flips that would make a gymnast jealous.

"Uh, yes Miss-Mrs-Muh-M- Princess Iron... Fan?" MK couldn't help but stutter awkwardly, holding onto the hem of his jacket and worrying it as he tried to keep his composure. He looked beside him, watching as Red sat straighter and kept an even expression on his face that he couldn't quite place. His hair seemed to spark softly.

Though she raised a brow at this, PIF didn't comment on that at all. Instead she made her way to the other couch across from them as opposed to what was clearly supposed to be her throne, leaning forward right her elbows on her knees and her fingers laced together in front of her. DBK stopped behind her, seemingly content to stay standing.

"Noodle Boy... you prefer to go by MK, is that correct?" She started, and he nodded slowly in confused response. "Hmn... so. You've been dating my son for quite some time. Many months... no, a bit over a year if I am not mistaken in how long his behavior has changed." 'Oh shit' went MK's brain. "You must be quite serious, if you're willing to go through so much just to see each other. Late night meetings. Secret hideaways. Sneaking onto Flower Fruit Mountain, even." 'Oh SHIT' it repeated in horror. "That's quite the dedication to show toward anyone... I hate to admit it, but I am quite impressed." 'OH SH-wait what?'

"Bw-huh?" Was what MK managed out, half a sound that was almost a word and half a squeak of confusion.

"The fact I myself remained oblivious until only a few weeks ago is quite something. Let's make a deal, shall we?" She continued, sitting back straight and looking like the proud Princess she was and not like a woman sitting on a couch that looked comically small in front of her enormous husband. "You and Red Son no longer have to hide your relationship from us and in exchange..." she paused, as if relishing the building tension between herself and the couple before her. "You will come over at least once a week so we can get to actually know you properly."

MK froze. Red Son froze even more.

Then his entire head lit ablaze as he jumped up and gestured at his mother with a gaping mouth. "Th-that's it!? I-I was... I was RIGHT!?"

PIF barely reacted to this, merely lounging sideways as she put her elbow on the arm of the couch and rested her cheek on her hand.

"Whatever you were right about, I suppose you were. But yes," she shrugged, honestly looking... kinda happy? "Has this been about a year ago I perhaps would not have understood what you saw in Nood-MK. But I can see how happy you have been lately, and there's something about him that is like... what did you say he was like, darling?" She turned to DBK, who shrugged himself with an unreadable expression.

"A ball of sunshine given human form."

... that was not what MK ever expected to hear from the Demon Bull King's mouth...

"Yes, that's it," she nodded as if this was completely normal and ignored how Red Son flopped back down onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. "I'd hate to admit it, but you've grown on us through out sparse interactions. Somehow. And we have been eagerly waiting for the day we could finally welcome someone into our son's life. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"

She seemed... serious. MK may not know her that well, but it was clear to anyone when she wasn't being so.

"Uh... o-ok? Sure?" MK said softly, nodding in amazement as DBK and PIF actually smiled at this.

This was the strangest day of his life, beating our every single demon fight and even the day he got the Monkey King's staff. But he'd take this strangeness over the alternative 500 times over.

"Excellent," DBK nodded himself, there was a lot of that about. "That seems to have worked out n-"

Everyone paused at a loud grumble echoed the room, all turning to Red Son as he flared up in embarrassment this time.

"Don't look at me like that, we were supposed to eat half an hour ago and I am starving," Red Son grumbled as he sat up, not looking anyone in the eye. "I don't suppose we could. Eat now? Please?"

Despite the situation, MK couldn't help but smile at his pouting.

"I could bring us some food from Pigsy's?" MK offered in an attempt to contribute. Something. "I mean, I know Red likes it and you kinda seemed to like it the one time you tried it and... uh... yeah."

"Actually... I may have eaten seven of them already..." PIF admitted, looking away in embarrassment. "l've tried not to give into the temptation, but your father's noodles from the Food Wars were so... I just can't resist ordering some secretly after 5 or so weeks!"

"So you're the phantom orderer!" MK gasped out in shock, but after a moment he frowned and rubbed the back of his head. He had a bit of an idea. "Well... I could... make some for us instead?" He ammended his offered softly. "I may not make it exactly like Pigsy does, but I can get pretty close as long as you have the ingredients! And you wouldn't have to worry about me going there and coming back! We can eat like. Immediately!"

"I think that sounds acceptable," PIF said with a nod as she stood, but MK could see a bit of excitement sparkling in her usually cold eyes. "Come, Red Son. I need to discuss some upgrades the Bull Clones have been asking for with you. Your father can assist him in the kitchen until we are done."

Red looked over at MK and only stood to follow his mother once he nodded, giving his father a pointed look before exited the room. MK, in the meantime, looking up at DBK with a gulp and followed him as he lead the way toward their kitchen.

It was... well, bigger than he was used to. But pretty normal, regal size and decor aside. And it seemed, once he was given the nod of ok from his host (and wasn't that a bizarre thing, DBK and PIF being his hosts on a home visit to his boyfriend's parents... he was going to need to get used to that) he checked the fridge and counters and found he had just about everything he needed to make what he had in mind.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" DBK asked after a moment, startling MK into nearly dropping the sauce he needed for the broth. "Not the recipe itself, just..." He gestured to the counter. "Red Son has a bit of a proclivity toward cooking and he's been trying to get me involved, but we've never cooked anything like. That."

His words were awkward and stilted, but MK could tell he was trying. The same way he could tell PIF wasn't kidding with her offer. They just seemed to... want to get to know him as a potential... son-in-law... huh.

"Sure, but you're gonna want to shrink down a bit for this."

Lunch turned out amazing and, while awkward (much like most of the day)... it was nice not to have to hide their dating for once. And Red actually seemed pretty happy! Though he learned quickly that the Monkey King was still a bit of an (understandably) sore subject that was best avoided. For now.

Maybe not forever though.

(When PIF very not subtly dropped him and Red Son both off inside Pigsy's Noodles after their lunch, the only response he got was a "oh, so they finally found out huh? Looks like things went well" from Pigsy and Tang. Maybe he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was...)

[reinersbb]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] Chapter Four- Little Birdie

Chapter Four of Forget

The days from that eventful Saturday night passed on at a dreadful pace. It was official, midterms sucked a considerable amount, that much you were sure of. After a long week of exams, all you wanted to do was stay bustled in your bed after such a treacherous week.

Instead of taking a much-needed break with your free time, you were currently scrounging around your dorm. Carefully placing items that belonged to Floch in a cardboard box.

You had the slightest urge to keep ahold of one object, just one, one of his jackets as a remembrance of what was of the two of you. But at the last second, you decided against the idea and packed it in with the rest of his stuff.

"Where are you going again?" Ymir dabbed at her bottom lip using the back of her wrist to wipe the settlement of milk away that came from her bowl of cereal.

"I have to meet up with Floch and give him his stuff back," you said, continuing to double-check your dorm if you'd happened to find everything that belonged to him.

"You're a better person than I am," Ymir said, tilting her head back to drink the rest of the milk out of the disposable plastic cereal bowl, "I'd throw all of his stuff away without batting an eye."

The other day, you and Floch had a conversation over text to meet up and swap your belongings. Floch messaging you out the blue surprised you greatly. You hadn't talked to him since last Friday, the day he broke up with you.

"Yeah, well I want my stuff back from him," you replied, while it wasn't a complete lie, you wanted your possessions back, but you also wanted a reason to see him again.

And you hated yourself for it.

While Floch hadn't been too much on your mind, as soon as he messaged you asking to meet up, you couldn't keep him off of your brain.

"I think I have everything," you said while picking up the cardboard box, "I guess I'll be leaving now."

Tucking the box under your arm, your hip supported the box as you turned to look at Ymir. Ymir was getting up from her bed, putting away the disposable bowl into a wastebasket.

"Don't waste too much of your time on him," Ymir laughed.

"It's a get in, get out type of operation, I swear," you rolled your eyes, a smirk pulling at your lips as you headed for the door.

"If he's a dick to you and hurts your feelings just let me know and I'll kick his ass for you," what Ymir said sounded like a promise she had every intention on keeping.

But you brushed off her brute antics with a gentle smile, "thanks, Ymir."

You knew she'd have your back, for that you were thankful.

——————

Scanning the cafe thoroughly, your gaze combed over the herd of people until familiar fiery red hair fell upon your vision. Floch sat hunched forward, his attention dwelling into his cell phone. The cardboard box you'd been holding onto slapped against the table's surface Floch was sitting at as soon as you approached him. Causing him to jump, he nearly dropped his phone he'd been so well immersed in.

"You scared me," Floch lowered his phone to look up at you.

You couldn't help but laugh, "sorry," you lied.

"Let's just get this over with," he said with a sigh as he reached for a wrinkled shopping bag beside him that held all of your possessions.

He'd barely bat an eye to shove your things into a bag while you'd had the common decency to at least fold and put away with his things accordingly? The sight of carelessness alone left bitter distaste in your mouth.

And now you were silently regretting the decision to handle this transaction in public.

Then again, what did he owe you? It's not like he was your boyfriend anymore, he didn't have to hold the same amount of respect for you or your belongings any longer.

Maybe you were just too nice, especially to the guy who'd dumped you.

"Uh," you swapped the box for your bag of belongings, "thanks, Floch."

As Floch was examining the contents of the box, you couldn't stop yourself from speaking again.

"So, how you been?" As soon as the words left your lips, you bit down on your tongue as a knee-jerk reaction.

'Shut. The. Hell. Up.'

Why worry about his well-being? It was obvious he didn't reciprocate the same concern.

"I've been okay," his eyes bored into you without any interest. "Do we have to do this forced small talk right now? I've somewhere to be," Floch spoke again, standing up from the table.

"Of course, yeah," you took a step back, allowing him some space.

You wanted him to turn around and say something else, say something to you. A goodbye at least.

But all hope was lost as you watched Floch's backside as he walked away from you. There was no inclination that he'd turn around and catch a glimpse of you on his way out the building.

The plastic material that ringed around your hand fell victim to your nails as your fist clenched tightly. Your fingernails dug deep into your palm's soft flesh while watching Floch as he finally cut from your line of sight. The departure only leaving a dull pinch at your heart.

The rest of your body hardly kept up with the speed of your feet as you headed for the direction you originally entered from. Even though you were going back to your dorm to check out the contents of the bag, you peeled back the bag to take a quick look inside.

Your breathing stilled when you noticed an unfamiliar pattern on a shirt settled on the top of the rest of the items in the bag. Pausing for a beat in time, your feet locked on the ground beneath you as your hand meticulously scooped the shirt out of the bag to examine the material.

The shirt smelled of floral perfume, the potent kind that'd give a straight headache with a singular whiff. There was one thing for certain, this wasn't your shirt.

On the inside of your mouth, your teeth pinched at your cheek, fist crumbling the sheer cotton material as you pushed through the exit- only mildly running through people's way mid-process. Your heart was beating a thousand miles a minute out of blind rage.

There could only be one explanation, he'd been cheating on you with some other girl as the two of you were dating. That could be the only reason why there was a shirt in the bag that didn't belong to you. That or it was from a hookup after the two of you broke up, but you chose the latter.

Asking Floch about it definitely wasn't an option.

Within an instant, the shirt was tossed into the garbage as soon as you came across a waste bin. You didn't want to think about it. You knew nothing good would come about if you dwelled. But then again, what would change if you knew the truth?

With a sigh, you pushed your weight away from the trash can and took a moment to forward your attention to the dull sky above you. There you watched a formation of birds pass above in a tight-knit formation, and in the back of your head, you'd only wondered why you couldn't have been born as a bird instead. Then that way life wouldn't be as difficult, at least that was your thinking, even if it seemed a bit childish in the least.

"Are you feeling okay? You look like you're about to implode or explode or something," a familiar voice called out from beside, and your eyes reluctantly lifted to see Eren approaching.

"You hardly look recognizable when sober," you adjusted your stance to match face to face with Eren.

Eren stood tall, his hand hooked around the strap of his backpack that lazily laid on his right shoulder. His hair was tied back into a bun and the strands of his hair hardly weren't as messy from the first time you saw him.

"I'll take that as some sort of compliment and count that as you hitting on me," Eren whipped his head to knock all the loose strands of hair out of his face, a cheeky grin on his lips.

Out of response, you rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling as well. You could tell that under his flirtatious manner that he was only joking around.

"Sure, yeah, let's go with that."

"Back to my previous question, you're not going to explode or something-"

"No," you cut Eren short, "I'm not going to explode or whatever. My stupid ex pissed me off just now, that's all," you sighed, remembering the shirt that didn't belong to you.

"Exes tend to do that sometimes, but I wouldn't worry about it with whatever it was they did,"

"I guess," your voice trailed on, and you found yourself looking away from Eren to watch the crowd around you, unsure of what to say next.

It's only when Eren spoke again that your full attention was back on him in a heartbeat.

"Y'know a little birdie has been asking around about you."

"About me?" Your heart steadily galloped in your chest, "who?"

There could only be one person who'd been doing such things, you knew this. And you were thrilled in the least to think Jean had been speaking about you. But you didn't want to show any excitement and jump to conclusions in front of Eren, so playing coy would be your best bet.

Eren shot you a knowing look, "you two really seemed to hit it off when we were playing spin the bottle last week."

"Jean?" You asked with innocence.

"What about me?" A familiar voice from behind sent chills up your spine.

Through your peripheral vision, you watched as his presence cut to your right to stand in between you and Eren. Your toes tapped away in your shoes, deliberately battling away your nerves as you built up enough courage to look at the man you'd had a hook up with. And by Eren's word, the same man who'd been interested enough to ask about you.

"Speaking of the devil, I was just catching up with (Y/N) before you showed up," you felt a weight lift from your shoulders as Eren saved the moment.

Against your willpower, you couldn't contain your curiosity any longer when you finally glanced over at Jean. Jean's arms were wrapped around his chest as his narrow eyes were solely set on Eren.

"Talking about the party from last week," Eren spoke once again.

At the mention of the party, this was the first time Jean's eyes cut over to you. There was a glint of an indescribable emotion in his light brown hues as you held eye contact with him. You could almost put your finger on the emotion, it's almost like you'd seen the same look in his eyes before.

"Eren!"

Collectively, all three heads turned to a guy with short blonde hair with magnificent blue eyes.

"I'll catch you two later," Eren gave Jean a pat on his shoulder before sprinting off.

With Eren's newfound absence, there was a shift in the air around the two of you. Jean nonchalantly turned his head over to look at you once again. And instead of the cool exterior, he'd just been supporting, there was the faintest shift to relaxation in his demeanor.

"So," you twisted the shopping bag in your hand, unsure of what to say next.

"So..." Jean's voice trailed on, the corners of his mouth fighting the urge to curl into a grin.

"I'm sorry for just up and running the other night," you admitted, trying to cover your bashfulness.

Naturally, a bundle of nerves began to build up just by remembering the events that took place on the night of the party. Pressing your knees together, you fought back the memory that was clogging your mind to clear your headspace.

"If there's anyone who is in need of apologizing then it should be me for not getting any contact information to keep in touch with you when I had the chance."

A sharp jolt of electricity struck your heart, there was no point in trying to hide how fast your heart was beating.

Was he flirting with you?

'No...'

You played into his bid, "well, what's stopping you now, Jean?"

"Alright, I'll bite, can I see your phone please?"

"Sure."

Without any hesitation, you dug in your pocket for your phone. After unlocking your cell, the device flat in his palm that he held out. In a matter of seconds, Jean had your phone held out for you to take back.

"Here's mine," Jean said while handing his phone over to you.

Diligently you punched your number into his contacts, labeling yourself as your first name only. Only a few seconds later you were handing his phone back to him, his fingertips brushing against yours during the exchange.

"Sweet, now we can stay in touch," Jean bounced his phone against the palm of his hand. "Are you up to anything tonight?" He quickly added.

"Nothing much, really, why?" you replied, when in reality you'd been planning on binging YouTube videos in the comfort of your bed for the rest of the night and weekend.

"I was planning on going to this Halloween party tonight," his intense eyes scanned you up and down, "you should come too, it'll be fun."

"I'm assuming it would be some type of costume party? Does that mean I'd get to see you all dressed up?"

"Yeah I have a costume in mind," the lightest shade of pink crept on his face, "but you'll have to be there in person to see it."

"Sounds tempting, but I wouldn't know what to wear such short notice," It's not like you had a costume just lying about in your possession.

"Costumes are optional but they're encouraged."

"Give me some time to think about it, okay?" By looking at his face, you didn't have the heart in you to tell him no.

"Just shoot me a text whenever and I'll text you the address," Jean replied with a shrug, "or I'll just text you."

It wasn't until now that you noticed how close Jean was standing in front of you. Noticing the limited space between the two of you, his scent was intoxicating. A scent you were getting familiar with, warm cashmere, you could drown in it.

"Sounds good," you lifted a hand to send yourself off with a parting wave, "I have to get back to my dorm now, got some unfinished business to take care of."

And by unfinished business, you meant going through your belongings Floch gave back to you.

"Oh," Jean's smile faltered for a brief moment, but you didn't notice the disappointment in his voice when he spoke, "I'll leave you to it then."

"Bye, Jean," you'd already started on your departure, your feet sliding on the pavement beneath you as you took backward steps.

Jean found this amusing as he let out the faintest laugh, "see you later, (Y/N)."

Light brown hues stared through you until you turned your head with the rest of your body as you carried on home. During mid-process you glanced over your shoulder to look behind and steal a glance only to get caught by Jean himself. He'd turned to look over at you at the same time. A gallop in your heart and a boost in your step, you sped away in a fury of embarrassment.

Before you were even back to your room, there was a vibration from your phone. You pulled your phone out of your pocket as you scurried down the hallway, heading for your door that was just down the hall.

A message from Jean had your heart thumping.

'Already?'

Within an instant, you were checking the message.

Jean: I hope I get to see you again at the party tonight.

Along with Jean's message was an attachment of the address.

Unbeknownst to you, a smile had crept onto your face when you noticed that Jean had added a selfie of himself as the contact photo.

'When did he have time to sneak a photo?'

Pushing through the door to your room, you immediately tossed your bag at your bed. The bag fell to the floor just before reaching the bed.

"What the hell?" Ymir asked with a bewildered expression, a towel clutched in her hand as she dried her hair.

"Ymir," your voice was urgent as the door closed behind you after entering the room.

Ymir who'd had every intention on keeping her earlier promise greeted you with concern, "what is it? Did something happen?"

"I need your help finding a costume for a party tonight."

[batboyimagines]

Cold-Blooded [Damian Wayne x Male Reader]

Your Dad and your Ma’s relationship is... rocky to say the least. They were never actually together, no marriage or anything. It was just one night of bad decisions that made you.

So your birth wasn’t well planned. You think the reason your ma even kept you was because she was lonely. She’s raised you to the best her ability for they past fourteen years but it was only recently your dad found out. Now they have joint custody.

See, all of that isn’t normal per say, but it’s not bizarre or anything. Just two inexperienced, lonely people screwing up in more ways than one to make a whole nother screw up. However, your parents aren’t exactly average. One’s not even human. Anymore.

Medusa and John Constantine. By the gods, that’s probably the worst match imaginable. Moms great and all, you really do love her, but she’s a little crazy. Being exiled on an island all alone does that to you. And Constantine’s just... a mess. Not even a hot one.

Even so, you don’t mind being pawned between the two. They’re both great in their own ways and you appreciate the both of them. Right now you’re hanging out at your dad's house. Though it feels more like hanging out with an awkward uncle than a dad.

It’s nearing about 8:00 in the morning, not that you know that. You’re asleep on the couch, gazing blankly at the ceiling. You forgot to close your eyes while you sleep again. It’s sort of creepy.

A sudden pounding on the door startles you up, breaking the staring contest you were having with the ceiling. A contest which you totally won. You blink dazedly and the pounding starts up again.

Mournfully slipping out from under the soft, warm stack of blankets you slept under, you lumber towards the door. You squint through the peephole.

Through the peephole you see a warped view of six costumes lunatics of all sizes. You lean back from the door and let yourself have a begrudged yawn. Gods, it’s way too early for this. Dad’s still asleep even with all the racket.

The littlest lunatic in the hood pounds the door hard enough for it to shake in its frame and you decide you’ve had enough. You don’t bother with the chain latch and just open the door a crack.

“Do you know how early it is?” You groan. The little lunatic, who is actually around the same height as you, scoffs.

“It’s eight pm. A normal person would be awake and ready for the day by now.”

“Well, I don’t know how you people are up then because anyone who dresses like that isn’t normal.” The green guy snorts.

“Listen, we’re sorry to wake you, but is this the residency of John Constantine?” The guy in the black leotard asks.

“... no, why?” You ask suspiciously.

“We are the Teen Titans and we are in need of magical assistance.” The really tall, really exposed, redhead says. “We require his assistance, on behalf of the justice league.” You tense a bit at that.

Okay, you don’t hold the things that the gods did to your mom against those two members of the justice league, Aquaman and Wonder Woman. They seem like nice folks who really do want to do good and not for the selfish, vain reasons gods usually do, but…

They got their abilities from the same gods who really, really messed your mom up for no good reason. So call you petty, but you don’t want to associate with them.

“Sorry, he’s not here.” You say attempting to close the door on them. The hooded lunatic jams the door with his hand.

“This is a matter of utmost importance, you will take us to Constantine.” He demands. You scowl at him and try to shut the door on his fingers.

“Screw off weirdo, he’s not here!”

“He is, you are lying!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am NOT!”

“Are TOO!”

“Christ on a cracker, what the bloody hell is going on?!” Your dad shouts, slamming the door shut, fully unlocking it and swinging it back open. Looks like the racket finally got him up. He sags at the sight of the troupe of crazies. “The hell do you people want?”

“We need your help.” Leotard man says.

“Of course you do. With what, I mean?”

“My father, Trigon, has possessed the justice league and we need a way to stop him.” The girl in purple replies. Your dad tenses.

“Trigon, eh? Sounds like a piece of work.” He says. You pretend to cough.

“Says the piece of work.” You tease under your breath because what’s even the point of a dad if you can’t make jabs at his life choices? He gives you a look and you just grin up at him.

“Why should I help you? The kind of magic that I’d have to use against that guy is expensive and tricky. I’m not gonna do it outta’ the good of my heart.”

“Because if you don’t help us, he could destroy the world.” Leotard says.

“Of course he could.” Dad breathes out as he sags against the door frame. You pat his arm. He looks at you and you give him an awkward smile. It seems to help him to a decision. He straightens up. “Well, I guess I don’t want the world to end. I need somewhere for this one to grow up.” He pats your head affectionately.

“Thanks.” You say, a bit embarrassed. Half because that’s the sappiest thing he’s ever said to you and half because, well, it’s nice to know you mean something to him. Even if he didn’t know that you existed until a few months ago.

“Well, come on in then.” He says turning from the doorway and into the apartment. The troupe of crazy people that nearly just broke into your house follow. You flounder for a moment.

“Wait, seriously? We’re just gonna let some random strangers, who nearly just broke in our house, inside just like that?” Your dad looks a bit guiltily at you. 

“Sorry bud, but this happens a lot more than I’d like.” He raises his hand hesitantly and gently lays it on your shoulder. “You can go back to your mother while I deal with this, if you’d like.”

“No, no it’s okay,” You quickly reassure, “it’s not bad it’s just… kinda weird. You know it’s weird right?” He snorts.

“Of course I do, but to be honest it’s almost normal for my line of work.”

“You should get into a different line of work then.”

“You know, I probably should.” 

Leotard man clears his throat- you know what? You want to know their names before they commandeer any more of your father-son bonding time. “By the way, what are your names? I feel I should know them before we do anything else.”

“Oh! My apologies,” Redhead replies, “I am Koriand’r, of Tamaran. And this is Blue Beetle, Beast boy, Raven, Nightwing, and Robin. We are the Teen Titans.”

“No offense, but you look more young adult than teenager?” She smiles sheepishly.

“Well, I was part of the original titans. I am now the leader.”

“Oh, okay, makes sense.”

“Alright,” your dad cuts in, “so what’s your plan for Trigon? What exactly do you want from me?” He and the Teen Titans begin to plan. You stick around for a bit, to get an idea of what your dad does. It’s not very interesting. So ten minutes into planning, you slip away to make breakfast.

Now, your dad is a mess. Not kind of a mess, a straight up mess. The kitchen is almost a reflection of your father. It’s a huge mess. There’s takeout boxes and dirty dishes strewn across every counter, no room for literally anything there is so much garbage. And this is only a few weeks worth of build up. Dad actually cleaned up before you arrived. 

Before you can even begin cooking you have to clean off the counters for some space. You’re trying to balance takeout boxes on top of the overflowing garbage can when a voice sounds from the doorway.

“This place is repulsive.” 

“HUAUGH FUCK!” You whip around flinging the takeout boxes across the room. Hooded lunatic, uh Robin you think, dodges them expertly. He seems a little surprised. You clutch at your chest, “Jesus, Christ man!”

“Apologies, I… did not mean to startle you.” He raises his hands a bit, as if calming a rapid animal. 

“Apology accepted.” You calm your rapid heart. Your freak out seems to have spooked any animosity Robin had earlier. The two of you stand around awkwardly. He’s a stranger in your house and he’s in a strangers house, which does not make for easy conversational partners. He looks around, avoiding your gaze. His eye catches on a painting on the wall.

“That is… an interesting picture.” He tries.

“Uh yeah, that’s actually a picture of my mom.” You say, playing with your hands.

“That is Medusa.”

“Yeah, she’s my mom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

“She doesn’t actually look like that, that painting’s really inaccurate.”

“Why does your father keep it up?”

“I dunno,” You’d feel weird cooking with him watching you, so you make your way past Robin and into the dining room, “I think either pettiness or affection.”

“Pettiness?” He asks following you.

“Yeah, I mean, they aren’t together? I think they were at least acquaintances before they, uh, ‘conceived’ me. But they don’t seem to like each other very much nowadays.” You say, pulling a chair out from the table. You push the one across from you out with your bare foot and gesture towards it. Robin hesitates a moment, but decides to sit down. “What about your parents? They like each other any more than mine do?”

“No,” He snorts, “I think they like each other much less.”

“Oh.”

The conversation stalls. You shift uncomfortably. Robin stares a hole into the grimy table. 

“Why not?”

“Pardon?”

“Why don’t your parents like each other?” He seems to think over his answer. 

“They are on opposite sides of the law.” 

“Oh, that’s tough.”

“Yes.”

“There’s tons of couples on opposite sides of the law though.” 

“Not them. My father’s moral code cannot bend to suit my mother.”

“Ah, I see.” You lean across the table and pat his arm. He looks at it a bit suspiciously, you pull it back. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“No need to apologize, I’ve already come to terms with it.”

“Yeah, well, still sucks.” You say standing up. “I was gonna make food, wanna lend me a hand? I’m still new to cooking appliances. And electricity.”

“How are these things new to you?” He asks, even as he stands up to help anyway.

“Dude. I grew up on an island with no electricity or WiFi. All of this,” you gesture to the space around you, “is totally alien to me.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, I will assist you.”

“Thanks.”

He failed to mention that he has never used a toaster either. You both nearly burn down the apartment, had it not been your dad’s fire extinguisher.

TO BE CONTINUED

[thevividgreenmoss]

My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

[cosmo-rider]

🍃MISADVENTURE MAY: Day #3 Precious Possession/Inventory🍃

“This is why you’re here... a book?”

“Ah ah ah—“ Agnes cut Crius off in a playful tone, wagging on of her cloven fingers at him. “Not just any book! You should remember this one.”

Crius glanced at the cover. Despite its old, torn cover, he found it vaguely familiar.

“Oh come on, don’t you remember?” The faun pressed with a small frown. “They read this to us in primary school. All the legends and lore of Unitas Libras in one overly child-safe story.”

Agnes must’ve seen the incredulous look on Crius’s face because she patted the ground next to the tree stump she had perched herself on. “Now, now, here me out, Billy Goat. I know it’s crazy, but trust me, it’s worth it.”

Crius hesitated before sitting on the ground beside her. He had forgotten how short the faun was, as they were now roughly the same height.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but there’s this one story that always caught my attention,” Agnes began excitedly as she began turning the pages rapidly. “It’s the story of Astoria— one of King Maddox’s closest consultants outside of the three main Paladins.”

“The commander who carried out the quest to unite the country even after King Maddox’s disappearance?”

“Exactly! She established the closest we had to peace between all three kingdoms with barely any bloodshed. Then she too ended up disappearing later in life during her last journey to search for the Lost King and his Paladins. Truthfully, I forgot about this story until very recently. That’s when I found this...”

She turned to a page in the book with a lose page. Yet it wasn’t a page form the book, but a folded up map. “My last crew and I found this in an old library in Lost Juvena. We were granted special access for another quest, but I found this in my research. The notes that accompanied it were from a close adviser of Commander Astoria.”

Agnes was now practically beaming with excitement. “Before her final journey, the adviser claimed she had a special, custom compass made for her that was said to point the holder in the direction of whatever the holder desired most in the world. Apparently, she didn’t actually take the compass with her. At one stop, she passed the compass to her adviser for him to hide so it never fell in the wrong hands. This map here? It allegedly leads straight to the resting place of the Compass of Astoria.”

Crius stared down at the map, his eyes moving along the dotted path. It was quite a long journey, yet at the same time it could be worse. If he were to guess, it would take a few weeks, and it went through some rather dangerous territories.

“Let’s say this is all real,” Crius began after a small pause. “Why are you telling me this? What happened to your crew you mentioned? Why didn’t you all go together?”

Agnes’s smile turned into a sheepish frown. “Well... you know I never stay in one place very long. And with something like this...”

“Agnes... you duped them, didn’t you?”

“Crius, if you met them, you’d dupe them out too! Look, when they found this, the things they were talking about doing with this power... it was just horrendous. They were talking about using it to take revenge, find loot to steal—“

“And what will you do with this power?”

The faun puffed out her chest. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t use it for revenge! I was thinking more... discovering a way to unite the Fauna.”

Despite her covered eyes, Crius could see her emotions from her tense posture and curled hooves. “You know I left to discover myself— learn about my kind. I’ve seen quite a few Fauna since I left Rooksville, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. We’re so divided, and we’ve lost respect with even cousins like Felarians. I’ve thought about this for awhile, and I wanted to do something to change this. Maybe the compass can show me the way.”

A small pause fell between them.

“And think about it,” she continued on hurriedly as if wanting to forget how personal she had gotten. “If we do find it, you can use it to find your sister! That’s what it’s original purpose was, after all— finding missing people.”

“That’s not why you came to me, though,” Crius interjected sternly. “You didn’t know about my sister until you came here. Why me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to come back and have fun with my childhood best friend. I mean, me and my crew are finished, and I don’t really have anyone else other than you... you were the closest I had to family. Besides, you know some of these areas better than I do. We can work together to get both our wishes— have an adventure together, just like when we were little! Come on, whatduya say?

“Agnes, I can’t just leave for something that might not even be real!” Crius expressed with frustration, now pushing himself off the ground. “I’m the main caretaker for the flock and my brother and sisters! Mother and father are gone, I can’t just leave them just like that!”

“What about your brother— Markus, was it? He’s just a year or two younger than you, surely he can do it. This is a once in a lifetime adventure, that could help—“

Agnes faltered and her sheepish ears flopped downward. “Ah... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t push you. I shouldn’t have said that either. At least think about it. I’ll be leaving three days from now. If you change your mind, that should be enough time to sort things out at home.”

She stood up on her hooves and forced a smile on her face. “Still, it was really good seeing you again. Thanks for listening to my ridiculous dreams. I send you and your family the best of wishes, and if you ever need me, just send me a letter.”

Agnes didn’t wait for a response as she skipped off, but without her usual skip in her step. Crius kept his gaze toward the ground, his hands churned into fists. The whole thing was ridiculous— compasses couldn’t actually find missing people... right?

He couldn’t shake the last memory he had of his sister from his head and he found his eyes squeezing shut. The event he never told Mother and Father, and he made his siblings swore never to speak of.

“What do you mean?” Markus had questioned him that night in a fright. “We have to tell someone! We have to tell—“

“Don’t you see? If we tell, they’ll know we know and they’ll come for the whole family!” Crius had snapped, but his hands were shaking as he doused the fire in the fireplace in a hurry. “What happened here stays here! That’s an order!”

But it didn’t stay there.

He carried it everyday— knowing he could’ve done something to stop it.

At least maybe now he could fix it.

🍃🌻🍃

Misadventure May prompts from uusikuuu and overuseofsparkles on Instagram!

https://www.instagram.com/p/COLJLg_D8V4/?igshid=1ks6xzevkr9sf

https://www.instagram.com/p/COF6prWjDIM/?igshid=16u6ofhnlw65g

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[thereluctantinquisitor]

Another Year

OKAY so it is @frenchy-and-the-sea’s birthday and I am HERE with a terrible gift that is just... okay, listen. LISTEN. I had feelings and I just wrote them down and if it is wildly out of character please just pretend it is a really weird AU! 

Aaaanyway, Alex and Tahir belong to the wonderful Frenchy and live in her amazing original work, Seven Cities. If you haven’t already, join me in this glorious rabbit hole and come fall in love with all her characters!

Happy Birthday Frenchy <3

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

If someone had told a young Alex that her life would be shaped like a cradle of wood, set adrift over the ocean chasing fairytales, she would have laughed them out of the room and told them not to bother coming back. Hell, sometimes she felt like laughing herself out of the room when she paused long enough to think about what they were doing. Seven cities. Sitting cross-legged by the Ranger’s bow, her head resting against one of the railing posts, those two words alone were enough to stir something deep and quiet in her chest. It was hard, not to long for answers to unasked questions. Particularly when they had been planted in your head by someone else. Some days, that meeting with Jon, and all the things that followed, felt like a dream. A story that had happened to someone else, a long time ago, that she just happened to overhear at a pub in some piss-soaked harbour town. A story full to the brim of adventure and triumph. Fuller still of mess and mistakes.

“Another year, huh?”

Alex huffed, not bothering to pull her eyes from the waves. “Not sure what you mean. Not sure I care to know, either.”

Of course, she knew exactly what he meant. Maybe at another time, in another place, Tahir might have laughed at her almost dramatic sullenness. But not this time. Instead, he just hovered for a while, before finally lowering himself down beside her with a soft grunt. Exhaling, he tipped his head back. Dark circles framed his eyes, same as hers. There had been some long days, of late, and even longer nights. They wore them about as well as could be expected. “You know, after all this time, I thought you’d soften up to people wanting to celebrate your birthday.” His gaze flicked down, and Alex’s averted just as fast. “It’s a good thing, lad. Means you’ve eked out another year in this mad place. And there’s no one alive who can take that from you.”

“If you’re feeling like waxing poetic, Tahir, there are better audiences for it.”

“Ah, well, Adelina is asleep.”

“Try Duchess.”

The pair exchanged a flat look, like siblings poised to push each other’s buttons. Normally, Alex’s glower was a thing of legend, but this time she felt the corners of her lips twitch traitorously and had to break the contest, masking it by casting her attention back out over the water with a huff. Rather than reveling in his victory, Tahir just allowed a faint smile to spread freely across his face. He was a spot of brightness in the inky dark. Somehow, when she needed him to be, he always was.

The silence lingered until she broke it. “I don’t make a fuss or demand a song and dance because I don’t care about it, Tahir.” Alex wasn’t sure why she started speaking. Normally those kinds of words had to be pried from her like a coin from a miser. “So unless you’ve been spending your lonesome evenings knitting a cape from old hemp sacks and sail rope, best to just treat it the same as any other day.”

There was a pause. “Well,” Tahir began slowly, “I’m not sure about the knitting, but if I’d known you wanted a cape made out of old hemp and---”

He broke off with a surprised grunt as the heel of Alex’s boot connected solidly with his thigh, then quickly caught her foot in one large hand. He raised it slightly, as if to say don’t make me confiscate this, then set it back down on the wooden deck at a pointedly safe distance. “In seriousness,” he continued, one eye still watching for any further signs of attack, “have a drink, at least. Even if it’s just with me or Adelina. Celebrate a little.”

Alex arched a brow. “That an order?”

“It’s a suggestion, Alex. From a friend.”

“Yeah, well…” Alex reached up and ran a hand through her hair. Or at least, she tried it, tangled as it was from the salt and wind. “Consider your friendly suggestion noted. I just…” Her arm suddenly felt heavy. Too heavy. She let it fall to her lap like an anchor to the seafloor. “I just don’t feel in a celebrating mood. Not of late. It’s… there’s so much to do, Tahir.”

“Like what?”

“I…” Alex hesitated. There were things to be done. Of course there were things to be done! There was always something to finish, or begin, or re-do because some half-asleep idiot fucked it up the first time. They were all tired. All drained dry. That meant something was leaking – something that needed to be fixed. Something she needed to fix.

Yet, when asked what that thing was, she found herself at a loss.

Tahir shifted his weight, boot scraping over the deck as he bent his knee and propped his elbow on it. “Sometimes, we have bad weeks. All of us, together, on this ship.” He was looking at her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she didn’t, he continued anyway. “None of us blame you for it, Alex. We’ll blame the gods, or the weather, or a bad hand at a tarot reader’s tent well before we’d ever blame you. This is just… how things go sometimes. We can’t change it any more than we can change the tide.”

Finally, Alex turned to face him. “So… what? I’m just meant to accept that sometimes everything goes to shit for no reason? Make my peace with it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because punishing yourself doesn’t make it any easier.”

Alex opened her mouth – to retort? Argue? She wasn’t sure. But once again, she found the will to fight had abandoned her. Or maybe, just maybe, Tahir had a point, and she’d just rather cast herself into the sea than admit it right now. 

Instead, Alex just grunted; a quiet kind of acquiescence, open enough to interpretation that she could stomach it well enough. Tahir, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, accepted it with wordless grace. They sat in silence for a little while longer, side by side, lulled by the creaking of the ship. Then, there was a rustle of fabric as Tahir reached into his side-pouch and extended a further sign of peace.

A flask.

“What’ve you got in there today?” Alex took the flask and set to unscrewing it with half-numb fingers. The night-chill was starting to rise already. She convinced herself the drink was just to chase it away. Nothing more.

Tahir relaxed back against the rail, stretching his legs out again. “Something you’ll like.”

Frowning, Alex eyed him warily as she slowly raised the flask to her nose. The first inhale was short – a test, of sorts. When she didn’t keel over from a poorly conceived prank by one of the twins, she relaxed and allowed herself a deeper breath. What met her was something rich, lightly spiced, and possessing just enough edge to promise a good, trickling warmth that curled its way to her fingertips. Even without tasting it, she knew one thing for certain: it was good. “When did you even get this?” she asked a little accusingly. Last time they were at port, he’d insisted on staying with the ship while the others enjoyed a well-earned shore leave. 

Apparently not.

As though reading her mind, Tahir quickly raised his hands. “Easy there, Captain. I convinced Davin to take my place for a bit. The Ranger was in good hands.” He hesitated. “Well, reasonably good hands. He was still sober enough to stand.”

It was easier to laugh, somehow, with that flask in her hand. Not just because its contents sent a comforting warmth straight to her stomach, but because it was something she hadn’t known she needed. It was a moment with someone she trusted above anyone else, sitting on the bow of her ship, letting sea and sail carry them towards a distant point of the compass.

Some leaks are small. Barely even noticeable, at first. But god, it feels good when someone takes the time to patch it.

“That good, huh?” Tahir asked eventually, after Alex had helped herself to a third hearty swig. Humming contently, she smirked and held out the flask.

“You tell me.” When Tahir raised his brows, Alex just rolled her eyes. “Listen - given you probably owe Dav a favour now – a thing no man alive would envy – you can at least partake in the spoils.”

Laughing, Tahir shrugged his large shoulders. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

There it was again. That smile. The one that reminded Alex that she had her own. And she found it, then, as Tahir took the flask and allowed himself a long, deep swallow. Then another. Then another…

“Hey - don’t go emptying it!” There was a moment of frenzy, Alex grabbing for the flask, Tahir twisting away, keeping her at bay with a frantically extended elbow. Eventually, Alex managed to snatch it back and tipped it up, peering inside as though to measure the precise depth of his betrayal. “You rat bastard.”

But Tahir wasn’t listening. He was too busy laughing, one hand on the rail, hauling himself to his feet (and, more importantly, out of range). Once upright, he swayed slightly, then stretched his back. Cat-like. Content in his flagrant hubris.

 Duchess would be proud.

 “Come on, then,” he said. “Up you get.”

“What?” Alex was still fuming, trying to fish out the last few boozy drops with her finger. Traitor. “Why the hell should I?”

Tahir just grinned. 

“Because the rest of the bottle is with Adelina, and you’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

[nomnomsik]

Tinge Me in Love

Synopsis: After two years of separation, Kim Namjoon takes a step back into your life. Rather than the bad boy punk who got into several physical fights with you during high school, he returns somewhat changed. And before you can sort out your feelings from this sudden disturbance in your life, you’re faced with yet another interruption: Photographer, Kim Taehyung, and his confession.

Pairing: Idol!Namjoon x Artist!Reader, Photographer!Taehyung x Artist!Reader

Genre: Yandere!au, Idol!au, Love Triangle!au

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Part 1 of 2. I hope to explore more about Taehyung and OC’s past as well as Namjoon’s buried memories and the cause of OC’s nightmares. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know how you feel as it gives me the motivation to quickly write the second part!

Trigger warnings/Tags: Profanity, yandere-themes, possessiveness, physical violence, misogynistic remarks, insinuation of sex, descriptions of depression, unhealthy relationships. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Every day above the clouds, every day above the clouds. 

My feel above the clouds, check it above the clouds. 

Chemistry with the clouds, a day with the clouds.

First-class has never felt so relaxing in his life before. Maybe it was the warm temperature of the plane or the view from his spot by the window that displayed the sparkling city of Seoul underneath him, bathed in the violet-colored sky. 

Or maybe it was because of the sparkling champagne that tingled in his mouth, putting him in such a good mood. But he knew these weren’t the reasons why. He couldn’t hide the excitement in his face, giddy to finally be returning back home.

He was floating. There’s no other way to describe what he’s feeling. When he lets out a relieved sigh, planting a foot down in Incheon airport, he feels like he’s dreaming. Has it only been three weeks? Four? His painstakingly long schedule itched him to where he was begging to come back home, tired of waking up at ungodly hours for photoshoots and interviews. But now, none of that matters.

He has one night of relaxation for sure back home. 

It’s only when his manager comes up to him, tapping him on the shoulder that he’s flung back to reality instead of the thoughts inside his head, trying to hide the scowl on his face as he spots whispering fans behind him. His beige-colored trench coat flows behind him as he takes large strides to the parked van waiting for him at the front of the terminal, promised with privacy.

As his manager steps in the driver’s seat, Kim Namjoon is driven off. The gentleman awakens his phone, his lips pulled up in a tight smile. 

One call couldn’t hurt, right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Ma’am? Ma’am?”

You stir, groaning as you struggle to grasp where you are. It’s dark with the only light coming from the headliner of the car, casting yellow rays around you. It’s warm where you are, hot air blowing over your skin as your heavy coat signifies otherwise. 

The back of your collar feels somewhat wet, as you realize, sighing in irritation and cursing yourself for not properly blow drying your hair before you left. As you blink several times, rubbing your tired eyes, you’re able to make out the face of your cab driver, shaking you awake.

“We’ve arrived at the destination.” 

“Ah, thank you.” You murmur, clumsily handing him the payment from your pocket as you open the door and step into the chilly and poorly-lit streets. You stumble at first, shivering in the dark as you hug your body despite the coat that you had worn that day. Once you recover, you take slow steps, only to stop and shake your head repeatedly. Seconds past before you finally and fully wake up from your drowsy space, looking up at your apartment complex. 

With your head downward, you stare at the shadow underneath you from the illuminated street light above. You’re so concentrated that it isn’t until the smell of cigarette smoke reaches your nose that you look up, spotting a familiar figure off in the distance. 

You stop dead in your tracks, feeling chills and grimacing as the man catches your figure from the corner of his eye. 

“Miss me?” He calls out in the quiet night.

“Absolutely not.” You spit like venom, walking past him as he follows you, taking a drag of his cigarette as you both turn the corner. Namjoon closes in on your right side, extending his arm for an embrace as you shrug him off. 

“It smells terrible.” You complain with intentional annoyance, signaling the cigarette as you carry on into your apartment, waiting outside in the chilling cold for the elevator to bring you up to your floor. When you look over, Namjoon digs the cigarette into his ashtray, pocketing it back into his coat and meeting you by the elevator doors. 

“Hey.” You start, drawing Namjoon’s attention who only smiles, those stupid dimples on him poking through his cheeks. 

“Hmm?”

“Didn’t I tell you that you have to let me know before you come to my place?” You huff, clicking your tongue when he gives you a deadly smirk. 

“But I did.” Namjoon insists. “I called you, but you didn’t pick up. So instead, I opted for a text, which again, you didn’t respond back to.”

You roll your eyes as you pull out your phone, stepping into the elevator as you irritatedly punch the number to your floor. He did call you, as well as text you, but there was a more important problem. 

“That doesn’t just mean you can come over. If I don’t respond, maybe- Don’t come to my home? And invade my space just because you’re bored all the time?” You question in frustration as your nails dig into the back of your phone case.

“Oh, c’mon. Lighten up. You haven’t seen me in so long. And I missed you.” 

You scoff, brushing him off for all the time he did the same to your feelings. If Namjoon wanted something, then you obliged. There’s no use arguing with him. Not when you’re tired. And definitely not when your whole floor is sleeping. Why give them more reasons to hate you as you bicker with him in the hallway?

Your mouth and lips feel dry as you nervously take a glance at Namjoon who just hums to himself. Next comes the jittering of your fingers as you clasp them together, balancing the weight of your feet as you step out of the elevator. 

“Have you taken your walks by the Han River lately?” You mumbled, trying to fill the empty air.

“How could I walk there when I haven’t been in Korea?” He asks confusingly, scratching the back of your head. 

“Ugh, you’re so annoying, you know that?” You roll your eyes. “Y-you want to go with... ”

Namjoon smiles as your voice trails off, your eyes meeting his as you rashly turn your head in the other way. He can't help but smile at the way you still think about him no matter how much he seems to annoy you. 

“I'll think about it.” 

You chuckle at his response, eyes closing as you shake your head in agreement. The conversation dies out once again as you approach your apartment room, rummaging around for your keys. 

When you slide in your key and unlock the door, you look over your shoulder as Namjoon waits for you, raising an eyebrow as you just stand there. You reluctantly push it open, sighing as you step into your abode, sliding off your heels and walking to your thermostat, bringing in warmth. 

As you approach your closet, you slide off your padded jacket, fixing it on its coat hanger and placing it in with all the other coats. But as you close the door and turn around, you flinch. You barely stop yourself from colliding into Namjoon’s chest, halting your feet as you instinctively meet his eyes.

He’s close. So close that he casts a shadow on you from the lighting fixture above the two of you, expression puzzled. 

“Why do you smell like that?” Namjoon’s face morphs in confusion as he tries to take a better whiff of the aroma floating in the air. You can feel your legs trembling as you look away, a dead giveaway from the guilt on your face, lips shut tight.

“...”

Namjoon hums, his eyes scanning your body and facial expressions, a finger coming down to tilt your chin up. You hate how he can easily read you like this, like he knows everything about you. You can’t help but gulp, only to feel a rush of anger, pushing him at his chest and brushing past him.

“...”

“Well?” He shouts as you walk away from him and into your kitchen.

“I’m bound to smell like acrylic sometimes. It comes with the job of an artist.” You shrug, feeling his presence behind you as you dig through your refrigerator for a drink. Maybe a beer would help unwind your nighttime stress.

“No, it’s more of like…” He chuckles. “You smell like nasty Saint Laurent cologne and cheap conditioner from those hotels near-" His fingers brush through your hair as you flinch, standing up straight and pushing him away from you. “Your hair is somewhat damp…” He whispers under his breath. 

“Don’t touch me like that… And it was…  raining earlier. Why does it matter?" You mutter, standing awkwardly in your spot as your refrigerator door swings open. Why were you so terrible at lying? Why did you even feel the need to lie in the first place? 

Ugh. Your arms wrap around your body as you suddenly feel exposed in front of Namjoon’s gaze, his eyes and mind whirling as he predicts his next move to be one step ahead.

“Didn’t have enough time to blow dry it? Were you that much in a rush to leave?” He laughs, knowing the floorplan of your apartment like the back of his hand and walking into your bathroom, only to come out with a towel in hand, throwing it which you begrudgingly catch. You toss it over your head, letting the edges fall and cover parts of your vision as you lazily dry your hair. Namjoon comes over, gently running the towel and watching it absorb in the moisture. 

You want to swat his hand off, but you let him run the towel through each section of your hair. It’s somewhat soothing, feeling him be so gentle with you for once. Not yelling, shouting, intimidating, or intruding. And he could’ve kept the tranquil mood if he didn’t open his mouth.

“Y’know, y/n… It’s cute that you think you can get away with your lies.” He smiles, amused as he backs off and opts for a seat on your couch. “Don’t be a bad girl.” 

“Ugh.” You groan, grabbing two cans of beer out of the fridge, setting them onto the counter. A crack echoes in the room as you bring the cold aluminum to your lips. You chuck the other can over, which Namjoon swiftly catches, cracking the lid open. 

Humming, you take slow steps into the small living room, the hard can still on your lips as Namjoon follows with his eyes. You collapse onto the soft cushions, feeling somewhat refreshed as Namjoon sits to your left, looking at you from the edge of his peripheral vision.

“How was your overseas schedule?” You ask, slouching as you stare at the blank ceiling above you. It’s better to say something than keep the awkward atmosphere.

“Boring and tiring. I was running around everywhere and I kept thinking about you the entire time.” Namjoon sighs, leaning back against the soft couch as he takes a sip of his drink. 

“Right.” You deadpan.

Namjoon’s face erupts in a mischievous smile as he scoots closer to you, yourself taking two scoots back. You look up at him, face scrunching up as you give him a cue to stop.

“You should pick up my calls more often. I get lonely without you.” Namjoon murmurs, nearing close to your ear. You remain stoic, pushing him away as you clear your throat.

“I’ve been working late.” You shrug, feeling the alcohol slide through your throat with ease.

“Clearly not.” Namjoon chuckles, finishing his can of beer as he watches in amusement with how you glare at him, your lips quivering as if you were going to curse him out. “So, who was it? Did you happen to get a boyfriend while I was gone?” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“What’s the harm of me knowing?” He chuckles again, that smirk still plastered on his face.

“It’s a rude thing to ask.” You put simply. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve asked either. You always want to know.”

“It’s not my fault you lose interest easily and move onto another guy so fast.” He retorts. “I can’t even keep up with you sometimes.” 

“Can you stop your stupid competition?” You spit immediately, feeling anger begin to build up in your head as if your brain was about to explode on him. Maybe, you shouldn’t have drunk alcohol. God, you could feel your body loosening up, losing that restraint that let you bottle up exactly how you felt.

“Huh? What’s with that?” He questions, throwing you an irritated look, his legs crossed in front of him. 

“You love it, soooo much. Don’t lie to yourself. You just know- you’re so sure of yourself that nobody will be better than you. Aren’t I right?” 

“Is this how we’re going to spend the first night back together from my long trip? If so, forget it.” Namjoon sighs, placing the can onto the coffee table.

“Don’t you dare try to end this conversation again, Namjoon. Explain to me why you always do this! Do you enjoy humiliating me all the time? Why don’t you ever want to respect me? I never ask for much.”

“Not respect you? What nonsense? This is how we’ve always been like.” He spits back, now glaring at you. “Since when has our relationship ever been normal? Ever been centered around respect? Why are you complaining about it now?” He retaliates, feeling the growing frustration emanate from his body. "You told me how many times you hated me and I told you I wish you could just die, and now you're trying to tell me that I'm bothering you? With something so small too... How idiotic." 

Your knuckles shift white as you seethe in anger. It was true, high school “you” did have a different way of thinking. It didn’t matter how many times you got into a fight with Namjoon, he liked you and you liked him. There was spunk and defiance that both of your teenage selves looked for. So much so that the two of you were attached at the hip, not one without the other. 

You and him didn’t care about either person’s feelings. It didn’t matter. To you, Namjoon was attractive, well-built, and a boy that fluttered your heart. Whether it would be his cheeky grin or his secret soft side that he only showed you, it was almost like your relationship was normal. 

Did he have a valid point? When did your relationship ever have boundaries to not cross? Both of you were too stubborn to ever admit "I love you." You weren't going to be weak and vulnerable in front of each other in high school. How could you ever be normal when the two of you even threw curses at each other in bed? 

You stand up, huffing in anger as you stomp your feet to the kitchen, slamming your aluminum beer can down on the counter and crushing it in your hands. This isn’t high school. The two of you are adults, twenty-three years old! You should be mature, voice how you feel, but you can't. Not when you fear the nightmares you wake up from, face covered in sweat and arms holding onto your trembling body. 

But just for tonight, you’ve had enough. You can’t even be in the same room with him for an hour. Forget about it. You can’t keep peace with him. It’s like you were bound to fight, only to be pulled back into each other. It was a vicious cycle that you couldn’t fully separate Namjoon from your life. Not when he looked like that in your mind. 

But more importantly, the alcohol was slowly giving you a headache, your face hot and thumping loudly in your ears.

"Fuck…" You mutter, steadying yourself against the counter. “I-I’m going to bed.” You whisper, wobbling your way into the hallway as Namjoon quickly stands up from his seat, concerned and coming to support you up from the side. "Ugh, d-don't touch me… I can't stand you-"

"You can barely walk," Namjoon argues, leading you down the hallway. He opens the door to your bedroom, helping you as you tiredly fall onto your single-sized bed. 

Namjoon haphazardly throws the blankets overtop your body as you immediately bury your legs underneath, growing comfortable. Staring, he watches as your tired eyes close, your hair sprawled out messily over your pillow as his fingertips rest against your cheek. 

He takes slow steps away, extending his arm as his hand finds the doorknob to your bedroom. There’s only the ticking of the clock in the living room now as Namjoon stands by the door, looking over at the bed and quietly exiting. 

All the lights of your apartment are off except for the dim lighting fixtures in the hallway. Slowly and carefully, Namjoon makes his way into the darkened living room, beelining toward the couch. He takes off the bottom cushions, scooching the coffee table back and extending a makeshift bed from the contents inside the couch. He throws a cover over top and plops down, letting the back of his hand rest overtop his face. 

The smell that you carried in still lingers in his mind, as he uncomfortably turns in his spot. He doesn’t even realize that his knuckles had buckled into fists, tightly pressed together. A yawn escapes his lips as he begins to settle down. He doesn’t even realize that his breaths even out as he drifts into a peaceful sleep.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Good morning.” 

“...”

Tight arms wrap around your stomach as you grimace, looking over to see Namjoon, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Stop. Or I’ll purposely spill this latte all over you.” You threaten, shrugging your shoulders as Namjoon continues to latch on. 

“Are you ever in a good mood?” Namjoon muses, leaning over you as he takes a quick sip from your cup. You scowl, moving the cup back away from him and onto the counter. Namjoon wipes his lips with the back of his hand, looking at your irritated expression. In a split second, a chill runs through your body as something wet meets your cheek, your feet rapidly taking several steps back as your hips crash and bruise into the counter behind you.

You wince in pain, buckling over, slapping your hand in front of your chest as the other caresses your cheek. Namjoon shakes off the stinging pain of his hand of where you hit him, slowly looking at you with an expressionless face, eyes blank.

“Don’t. Do that.” You whisper, fingers steadying your body on the counter behind you as your face grows hot. Whether it’s from embarrassment or humiliation, you aren’t sure. But, you can’t stop the memories that rush through your mind as Namjoon simply nods. Surely, he’s having the same thoughts as you.

But, you’re wrong. It’s almost like he changes his mind, tilting his head back, chuckling, arms crossed in front of his chest, rose gold blonde locks parted to the side of his face.

“Actually… Tell me why.” He sneers. “You couldn’t get enough of me, before.” 

“Does it look like we’re in high school?” You grit, brushing past and bumping shoulders with him as you storm from the kitchen. “I hope you’ve had enough fun toying around with me. Just leave before I get mad.”

Namjoon remains still, exasperatedly sighing and walking over to the door, sliding into his shoes as he turns the doorknob, taking a single step out. 

“Also, asshole! Don’t come over without giving me enough time, again!” You yell from down the hall. 

She's acting like her highschool self...Who is she kidding? 

“Why? Are you going to bring your new boyfriend home?” Namjoon laughs obnoxiously, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

“Yeah.” You mutter, another lie slipping through your lips. “Yeah, so don’t just come whenever it’s convenient for you.” 

“Hey, y/n…” Namjoon steps back into the apartment, letting the door shut close. “Is your offer to visit the Han River still standing for tonight? We should go together, like good old times.” 

“Huh?” You call confusingly, walking back into your living room, your temper having died down as you turn the corner. 

“Do you want to go to the Han River together tonight?” He asks again, reaching for your hand as he successfully interlocks fingers. There’s a small smile plastered on his face, his dimples embedded in his cheeks as you pause, only to snap back and slowly pull away from his grip.

“I-I might have plans. I’m not sure. I’ll let you know after work…” You trail off, looking away as Namjoon glares for a split second, only to nod when you look back. 

“Hmm, alright. Bye.” He finally leaves his time, letting the door shut as he steps into the hall. 

You take a deep breath, scratching your scalp as you go back into your room, packing your purse and heaving your tote bag over your shoulder. As you take a look at your reflection in the mirror, you smile, giving yourself a cheeky wink and rushing to your door. Sliding on your heels, you lock your apartment door and make your way down the elevator. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The first thing your ears pick up is the sound of the shutter of a camera, opening and closing, opening and closing, at incredible speed. The next is the bright flashes of light as your heels clack against the concrete ground, and then the large lighting equipment around the photoshoot. 

“Good morning.” You say loosely, watching as the photographer keeps his eyes solely focused on his viewfinder, eye pressed against it as the sound of the shutter goes off, and then the bright flash. When he looks at the result and seems somewhat satisfied with a nod of his head, he turns around, his blue hair with a hint of green shifting and bouncing.

“Good morning.” He replies quietly, looking over his shoulder at the model, whose skin was porcelain and pale, arms and legs thin with a bob of black hair on the top of his head. The gentleman was wearing tight jeans and a jean jacket, denim on denim. “We’ll take five.” 

The model simply nods, stretching his arms above his head and falling onto his side as he lays down. You notice Taehyung’s purple turtleneck that hugs his body tightly, an odd choice given his undeniable love for baggy sweaters and shirts. But you have no time to question him about it as he pulls you into the secluded hallway of his studio, your feet struggling to keep up with his pace as he corners you against the door. 

"What-"

His forehead is against yours, his breath fanning your face as his hands are roughly pressing against both of your shoulders. 

“Can I?” He whispers as you shudder, immediately understanding his innuendo as you nod, his lips meet yours. It’s sloppy and messy, with Taehyung’s tongue swiftly getting inside your mouth, making your legs weak. It was almost like Taehyung was going to devour you, as you struggled to keep your breathing straight, his passion intense as your back pushed against the door.

As you parted, his tongue trailed on your upper lip, slipping back into his mouth. 

“T-tae…” You gasp, burying your head into his shoulder as he hums at the nickname, continuing his trail of kisses from your ear and down your neck. His hands hover against your hips, one of his cold fingers slipping underneath your blouse as you jump, cheeks inflamed. “Not here…” 

“I missed you.” He simply replies, finally letting go and taking a step back. His hands now ruffle through your hair as you feel his concentrated gaze now on you. “Why’d you leave last night? You shouldn’t have left.” 

You can’t reply as you swallow thickly, only for Taehyung to cock his head to the side.

“It’s alright. I’m not mad. It’s just… lonely to wake up to an empty bed.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have left.” You mutter, Taehyung’s interest piqued as he stays silent, only judging. “I’ll stay next time, Mr. Kim… er-” 

An awkward silence falls between you two as Taehyung feels suddenly embarrassed, the first time his gaze breaks today. You watch as he opens his mouth, about to say something, only to close it. His eyes look as if they’re pleading with you, but he just shakes his head. 

“It’s fine. You can call me whatever you want. Professor, Mr. Kim, Taehyung…” His voice grows quiet as he checks the watch on his wrist, giving you one last kiss on the lips. “Break’s over. Work hard on your part of the exhibition. And- If you want, come over to my place tonight?” 

“Y-your place?” You feel breathless. “It’s not good if the paparazzi find out... You can’t just invite me to your home, Taehyung.”

He smirks, patting the top of your head. 

“I just did sweetheart.” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Explain to me why you always do this! Do you enjoy humiliating me all the time? Why don’t you ever want to respect me?”

Shut up. 

Namjoon groans in the backseat of his manager’s van, punching the cushion of the headrest beside him, retracting and placing it on his forehead. There were vibrations from time to time as he watched the usual scenery to his agency building. 

We were everything to each other, y/n.

“That’s just how dumb teenagers think, Namjoon!” 

Stop coming into my head.

He scoffs lightly, eyes creasing as he drifts into the back of his mind, seeing a small glimpse of high school memories pop and burst. Though, he didn’t mind that part of his life that much, having met you from all those bothersome days. But, you weren’t some guardian angel either that had “rescued him”. 

“They’re posted! They’re posted!” 

“What? Already?” 

There were several conversations in hushed whispers through the senior hallway, students scrambling and others full-on sprinting to see the test scores posted on a bulletin outside one of the classrooms. While Namjoon took lazy steps, yawning with his hands shoved in his pockets, he merely watched the hoard of people surrounding the sheet of paper tacked onto the board. 

Some groans could be heard and others gazing in awe. While Namjoon popped an eye open, he was greeted with a pat on the shoulder and thumbs-up.

“Dude! You got the third highest score, congrats!”

“Really? Damn, I hoped to get higher.” He smirked, getting a playful punch to his side. 

“Cocky bastard, be grateful! Some of us wish we could even get onto the list.” There was a chuckle and laugh as Namjoon approached the board for himself, humming and walking off a second later. “Going to get lunch, Joon?” 

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He nodded nonchalantly, digging through his bag for a smoke and lighter. 

As they made their way outside, Namjoon walked to the back of the school, leaning against the brick walls, hanging the flame underneath the butt of the cigarette. The wind was strong, blowing his rose-gold locks back and ruffling his thin dress-shirt uniform. 

“Who is she?”

“Huh?” Namjoon asked confusingly, looking dejectedly off to the side. The person, his “friend” had implied was you, your mouth moving as if you were giving orders, clipboard in your hands, and hair blowing behind you. “I don’t know, nor do I care.”

“Hmm… She's really hot, don’t you think? You think I got a chance?” The other pondered, until he put his fingers together, letting out a loud whistle that even made Namjoon flinch. “Hey, you!”

Namjoon almost laughed, jamming the cigarette back into his mouth as you paid no attention to his friend. There was no indication of whether you actually heard the sound or not, but there was clear embarrassment in the other guy’s face. 

“Hey!” His friend shouted again, this time taking the incentive to walk up to you until you finally looked at him. "Do you need some help or anything? You seem to be giving directions to some students and all..."

"Um, no? Who even are you?" You smiled, trying to hide your offense and questioning the gentleman. 

"You don't have to be so rude, y'know. I was just trying to help." 

"I don't think I ever asked for your help, though? So who are you, again?" You continued to smile even though your passive-aggression was bleeding through, continuing to piss off Namjoon's friend. 

"Ugh, I hate chicks like you. You take attendance for homeroom and you act like you don’t know who I am?" He groaned, throwing his hands up as he walked back to where Namjoon stood, who didn’t even look at the pair. "Why do the pretty ones have to be such bitches?" He complained as Namjoon gave him a dirty look. He could feel the glare that was currently being thrown in his direction by you because of this idiot. 

Why am I getting targeted? I’m not even doing anything. 

“Hey, what's your problem?” You yelled across the courtyard. “Just because I didn't need your help, you're calling me a bitch? The hell is wrong with you?" And you would’ve left it alone at that until you heard the next thing that came after.

“Such a fucking loudmouth. If she wasn't so nasty I'd put it to good use, to be honest.” 

“Dude, gross.” Namjoon spat in distaste. He looked back over to where you should've been standing. But instead, he saw you slowly approach the two of them, underneath the shadows. There was clear disgust in your expression and the consistent clicking of your tongue as Namjoon rolled his eyes.

Great. Just great. 

“You should learn to shut up sometimes, dude.” Namjoon angrily muttered, leaning his head into his palm. “Always giving me problems.”

“Hey, asshole.” You called, finally closing the distance and pointing to the guy beside Namjoon. “Say that again to my face next time.” 

“W-what? Pff, don’t make me laugh.” 

“No, c’mon. Do it.” You hastily reply back. “It’ll give me a good reason to beat the shit out of you.” 

“Dude, can you hear this? These edgy girls-”

Namjoon just rolled his eyes, taking another inhale of his cigarette until he heard a loud thunk beside him. 

His fingers almost fumbled his cigarette as his mouth gaped open, taken aback by the scene in front of him.

You had slammed your wooden clipboard on the guy’s head, hearing it pop and crack. 

And then again. 

And then again. 

He watched as the guy’s legs gave out, falling onto the ground as Namjoon took two steps back, eyes widening. Shit, what the fuck?

Then, you tossed the useless and broken board to the side, kneeling down beside his friend and flicking the side of his head. “Stop struggling and crying like a baby. I’m not into such things.”

“J-Joon, hel...p...”

Now that he thought about it… This wasn’t his problem really. Maybe, he should just give his "buddy" a few words of advice. 

"You have no one to blame but yourself, so don’t even start complaining to me. There was no reason to mess with someone, but you still did.” Namjoon voiced out, letting a deep exhale and watching the cigarette smoke drift into the air. 

But as he was about to take another inhale, he failed to catch the grimace on your face as you rashly stood up, swiping the smoke out of his mouth and stomping it dead on the ground.

You came up to him, tugging his collar forward and looking him in the eye. "Are you trying to kill us all with this shit?”

He paused for a moment, stunned. But then, he could’ve died laughing at that moment. A stream of hysterical laughter left his mouth as you gave him a confused expression, nervously letting go and stepping back. 

Wait, he hadn't laughed his hard before in ages and he barely knew why he found this situation so funny in the first place. But, the more he thought about how you were an unfiltered asshole who seemed to lack obvious social awareness and respect, he cracked up. 

“Hey, hey…” Namjoon started after clearing his throat from cackles. “At least tell me your name.” 

…

...

He was glad that he got to know you him that day, not that you could define what you had as typical friends were. You would watch on as he got scolded, the first time being caught with a cigarette on the school property and the second for teachers insisting he change his hair back to his natural black. 

There were other times too, like when he flipped off a teacher for being sassy with him or when he would brawl with his fists behind the school with other students he had a problem with. The teachers and staff who saw his potential pleaded with him for a compromise, but all he saw were threats.

Namjoon only had a small glimpse into your life, finding you one day in the afternoon. You had found solace in the empty art room and drifted off, leaning your head onto your easel as the orange color of the sunset seeped into the dark classroom. He watched you quietly for a second, then gently closed the door shut and left. Often, he would stop by without letting his presence be known, looking through the tiny window of the door. 

“Ugh-” You coughed, covering your mouth with the back of your arm. A lit cigarette had been propped in between your fingers until you threw it on the ground outside, stomping it out. “Tastes like shit…” 

“What are you doing?” 

You flinched as you heard Namjoon’s voice in the distance. As you turned, his arms were folded across his chest. “Nothing.”

“Hmm…” Namjoon pondered, then turning the other way. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

Were you worried that you’d look weird just waiting around for him and doing nothing? You had grown to the habit by the time a month had passed. The more times you planned to meet him, the more times he found a cigarette stuck between your lips. Perhaps you were easier to manipulate than he thought.

… 

… 

Who is that? Who’s that standing next to you and why are you smiling like that?

Namjoon paused in the middle of the second-floor hallway, feeling his heartbeat speed up. There you were, conversing with another guy when you already had him. There was no need for you to even want to have a conversation with someone else, so why? Did you forget that you planned to meet him after classes?

“Ah, it's you. What a coincidence.” The underclassmen gave you a wave. “I didn't think that I would run into you here. I was just about to go home, would you like to come with me, sunbae?”

You weren’t going to say yes, were you? Shit-

“Y/n!” Namjoon shouted loudly enough to get your attention. He came up beside you, giving you an innocent smile and hug, only to turn his head to the younger male. “It’d be good for you if you’d stop thinking what’s mine as yours, asshole.” Namjoon spit in a low voice. 

“Is there some problem with me being next to her?”

The light in Namjoon’s eyes died out as his arm lunged forward, pushing the guy off to the side. He watched him trip, losing his balance and toppling down the staircase. The chatter in the hallway immediately died out as soon as multiple screams echoed out.

“Namjoon?!” You shrieked, attempting to run down the staircase. But, before you could even put your foot down on a step, Namjoon grabbed your forearm, pulling you back harshly and colliding into him. Why couldn’t you just forget about everyone else but him? Did they truly matter?

“What the fuck?!” You grabbed him at the collar, slamming him into the wall as students shrieked and moved out of the way, rushing down the staircase. Others, trying to help the underclassman up. “Why’d you do that?! Huh? Why- Stop fucking laughing! I swear I’ll-”

Namjoon only buckled over and laughed even harder, clutching his stomach as you dropped him onto the floor. “What? You’ll do what?” He snickered, taunting you further. “Don’t tell me- don’t tell me you're mad at me? Hahahaha! How ridiculous...” 

“What the fuck is your problem?! What the hell was that for?!” You sneered, looking at Namjoon who sat comfortably with his bottom on the floor. 

"Listen up, princess, because it seems like you don’t know your place in our ‘relationship’. Tell me, right now, who else you have?” He taunted and grinned, rising to his feet as you threw him a dirty glare. 

“Piece of shit.”

“As per usual, you can’t even answer me.” 

… 

… 

"What the hell are you doing? Hey, I’m talking to you… Helloooo?" 

"Nnnn…?" Namjoon groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the couch in his empty living room. He was still in his uniform, hearing the clock ticking in the hallway. His hand came up to his head as he gave it a violent shake, ruffling his messed up bedhead. Ah right, he had just come back from Saturday tutoring… Jeez, what time was it?

"You told me to come over and yet your ass is sleeping? You really are annoying." You sighed, plopping your school bag onto the wooden floors. “And you snore so loudly, shut uppp.” 

"Nnn…" Namjoon groaned again, shifting away from your loud voice. 

"Hey… Hey!! Wake up!! Namjoon!!” You whined, leaning over to shake his shoulder. “You know what? Fine, I’m leaving. Why’d you even text me if you’re just going to- AH-”

Namjoon grabbed your wrist, pulling you down with him. There was a smile on his lips as he chuckled, his eyes still closed. He poked one open, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on your lips. You flushed, eyes wide as Namjoon stared straight at you. And as he pressed harder, you could feel the smile that formed as he smirked. 

Not pulling away, huh…

“Hey! I’m was talking- Mmpf-” 

Namjoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you harder into him as you struggled in his hold. You couldn’t help but thrash, trying to get words out of your mouth until you finally kicked him in the knee.

"You…!! Asshole!" You cursed, pushing him off. “Are you trying to make me angry? I told you to stop.” 

“Sorry.” He muttered, sitting up straight and staring up at his blank ceiling. Several minutes of silence passed between the two of you as neither could form words. Your own hand came up to your lips as you realized Namjoon had taken your first kiss. When you looked over at him, a part of you wondered if it was the same. 

Seeing Namjoon so quiet and calm always made the atmosphere feel like a lucid dream. If you interfered, it would burst back to reality. 

“Namjoon, someone like you will never learn what it’s like to be in love.”

“...”

“You’ll be lonely till the day you die.” 

“You’re not good enough. You never will be. Your family is better off without you. Even I don’t need you.”

That wasn’t your voice. That wasn’t something you would say to him. Yet, he could imagine those words leaving your lips. It was simply his own whispering to himself, smirking in its intangible form as he pinned you between his arms, breath fanning over your face.

Just after twelve in the afternoon, you both were each other’s first. Normally, he would’ve expected it to be more romantic, filled with praise, gentle touches, and kisses. But instead, it was full of sneers and snide comments, hair pulling, scratching, and fighting for dominance. Neither of you knew what you were doing, but both were too stubborn to admit to the other. 

In the aftermath, you both laid exhausted, marks and bites littered over your neck and shoulder. Namjoon adorned bruises and scratches, but he merely stared at his empty palms. 

He didn’t feel anything...

Namjoon had unexpectedly cut you off after high school graduation. He had planned it for a while, telling you with an unmoving expression as you tried to hide your own bitterness. But what could you even say anything when he asked mockingly, “Don’t tell me… Did I mean something to you? Because you were nothing to me.” 

He had learned something after having you in his bed, not all at once, but slowly. It took him months to figure out what he felt, leading himself to the conclusion which he struggled to carry out to the end. Did he seriously think love and affection could solve everything wrong with him? Why did he expect you to just sweep him off his feet and suddenly cure him as if you were his savior and protector? 

No, there was something very wrong. He knew he couldn't cling onto you, like that. He knew he couldn't completely revolve his entire self-worth and survival solely on you. He knew that there was something wrong with the way he felt when he saw himself getting replaced. It was wrong, putting you on this unreasonable pedestal... But, he felt so good with you… 

Maybe he took everything for granted. Staring at his reflection in the mirror and seeing the spark in his eyes gone. Like he became the shell of Kim Namjoon, disconnected from the motions, from life… from you. 

And he fell. Deeper and harder. It felt like he splashed into a crashing river, letting his body fall under and drown beneath. It weighed him down and dragged him further, almost as if his fingertips couldn’t reach above the water. 

“I want to see you… P-please…” 

Namjoon spings awake, panting in the back of the van as he realizes they were still driving on the road. He could see his reflection off the glass window, his heart rapidly beating in his chest. He knew what happened next in the memory, his hand digging from the bottom of his roots to the fringe. 

“Fuck…” He curses, gripping onto his hair. “I’m so screwed…” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Y/n, are you coming tonight?” 

You look up from the enormous painting you hover over, setting your paintbrush down to the side. As you take a brief glance outside, you realize just how dark it had gotten. How late was it? Your first instinct is to grab your phone, seeing 6:30 pm on the clock and bringing up Namjoon’s contact. 

“I- Um…” You stumble, tightening your grip on your phone case. “I was going to see my friend today, ah, I guess not really my friend, just an acquaintance of mine, so-” 

You stop yourself, feeling somewhat embarrassed by your rambling. Taehyung just smiles from the door of the spare room he lent you in his studio. After all, you were his partner for their collaboration exhibition who deserved the best. 

“If that’s the case, come with me.” Taehyung smiles, picking up a clean cloth from a stack and wiping the paint off your hands. “You’re not friends… so…” 

“R-right, I just… I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a month…” You answer weakly, letting Taehyung hold onto your hand. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach. It was kind of embarrassing speaking about these kinds of things with your professor who had taught you in college, not to mention him being so much younger and smarter.

“You’re really indecisive, you know?” 

Your head shoots up, expecting to see an irritated expression on Taehyung’s face, almost imagining how Namjoon would’ve looked like. But instead, he’s rather calm, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes honestly staring back at you. There was strangely, kindness behind words that seemed to be more of an insult. 

“You also don’t ever seem to believe me or trust me.” He continues, watching as you flinch and gulp. 

You look at him with wary eyes as you slowly pull away, folding your arms across your chest. The atmosphere is still somewhat calm, but you can feel the discomfort slowly growing. 

His emotions are unreadable, his face always stoic and his tone soft. You can’t predict what he’s thinking, you can’t get ready for what he might say next, you can’t-

“So, did you not believe me when I said I love you, either?” He whispers, closing in on you. “Because I’ve loved you for so, so, so long…” 

[megalony]

A mother’s love- Part 4

Here is the latest part of my King! Ben Hardy series which I hope everyone is going to enjoy, there is a bit of fluff in this part for you all.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog​

Series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod​

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) lost their first baby but now they have a baby boy together, an heir to the throne. But life is far from easy when (Y/n)’s mental health starts to take a bad turn.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lizzy... where's (Y/n)?" The uncertainty in Ben's voice contrasted to the smile he was trying to force in order to hide the panic building up in his chest as he quickly scanned his eyes around the familiar room once again.

Once his eyes did a sweep of the room Ben confirmed that it was only him and the young maid who were present in the room. This was not what Ben had been expecting when he came in here after his meeting finished, Ben was expecting to see either (Y/n) laying in bed or sitting at the window with James in the cot. He wasn't expecting the room to be bare and to find Lizzy making the bed since the room wasn't occupied.

Ben truly didn't want to be the kind of husband who had to know where his wife was at every given point in the day, he didn't want to be that controlling or intruding. But right now, Ben couldn't shake the panic he felt whenever he left (Y/n) to go to a meeting or to get some work done, he wouldn't even leave the palace for any events that had previously been planned.

"She said she was going to take James out to the garden, your Majesty." Lizzy did a quick curtsy and a nod in Ben's direction before she turned back to straighten the sheets on the bed. She looked down at the sheets as soon as she spoke so she wouldn't witness Ben's reaction, missing the way that his brows furrowed and his lips parted but no words escaped.

For just over two weeks since James was born (Y/n) hadn't left their room unless to go into the adjoining study or bathroom. Ben knew it was very unlike (Y/n) to just go straight out into the garden without thinking about it or planning it beforehand. (Y/n) hadn't wanted anyone but very close family or Lizzy to see her or James, why would she voluntarily venture out of their room and through the palace to the garden when people would see her?

The knowledge that (Y/n) was finally getting back up and about didn't make Ben feel as happy or relieved as it should have done because the panic he was feeling was overtaking everything else.

He knew he should be happy that (Y/n) was feeling well enough to start trying to get into a new sort of routine or just walking about rather than locking herself away in their room. But something about this didn't settle well with Ben. He knew for a fact that over the last week (Y/n) had slept very little, even when for a few nights this week Ben had kept James in the study with him to do work and let (Y/n) rest. She was hardly sleeping and she wasn't eating very much either and it was making her feel more tired and exhausted. He didn't think she looked very well this morning when he saw her, despite her clearly being in a better mood.

Nor did Ben think (Y/n) would willingly leave their room with James with how she had been towards him last night. (Y/n) had set James down in the crib in the afternoon and then refused to even go near him after that like a switch had been flipped in her head and she was suddenly dead set against their son. Ben had been scared to the point of not sleeping so that when James woke up he could see to him instead of (Y/n). Whenever James cried or started to wail it made (Y/n) cry and Ben thought she was about to scream at the newborn last night, she seemed so panicked and unsettled when she looked at their baby.

With that thought playing on his mind, Ben turned around and left the room without a word. He had no business to attend to until this afternoon so there was nowhere Ben had to be right now meaning he could calm his frantic nerves by going and finding (Y/n).

The small part of Ben that told him to let (Y/n) have this time alone was overruled by the knowledge that she wasn't at ease when she was with James. Ben only left (Y/n) on her own with James when he had business he needed to sort out but even doing that was beginning to worry him in case (Y/n) felt she couldn't cope with being on her own with James. Ben would never hold that against her because he knew this wasn't easy on (Y/n) but she was insisting everything was fine and Ben couldn't say or do anything against her word because he had to have trust and faith in her.

He tried to tell himself that he had faith in (Y/n) right now but he knew his panic had a reason. It wasn't that he didn't trust (Y/n) with James, it was that he didn't know what would happen if she got upset or overloaded. Being a mother wasn't very easy on (Y/n) right now and Ben would hold it against himself if he just left (Y/n) right now and then found out that she needed him in any way.

Ben slowed himself down until he was walking and not jogging with the urge to run. He couldn't have anyone thinking anything was wrong and if he found (Y/n) and was out of breath or running over to her then she would know something was wrong.

'What am I doing?'

Ben had half the mind to turn around right on the spot and just go sit in one of the drawing rooms until his next meeting came around. He shouldn't be chasing after his wife worrying that something was wrong, it wasn't fair to (Y/n) it was being cruel thinking that he had to go and find her now because she decided she wanted to get back to normal. But Ben couldn't compel himself to turn around or head in a different direction.

He knew his wife and he knew this was out of character, she would have at least told him that she was thinking about going outside or even leaving their room. (Y/n) was calculated and had to think through her every action, she was by no means impulsive like this.

When Ben headed out of one of the doors, he stopped still and took a few moments to try and think which part of the vast garden (Y/n) would have gone into. When he thought about where he normally found his wife, Ben turned right and started heading for the East part of the garden He knew (Y/n) loved the small patch of roses and lilies near the path that led to the lake.

There was a mix of relief and bewilderment when Ben's eyes finally landed on his wife.

Ben stayed a few feet away just so he could observe (Y/n) for a few moments, trying to decide whether he should go over and say something or just turn around and leave when he knew she was fine. But the longer he took her in and watched her, the more his state of confusion grew.

(Y/n) was sitting on the bench opposite the rose bush but she looked far too calm for Ben's liking when he knew she had been anxious this morning before he left. She had asked him to stay with her so he promised as soon as the meeting finished he would come back and see her. (Y/n) had gotten changed since Ben last saw her about three hours ago. She was wearing one of her dresses that was his favourite, it was a white summer dress with red flowers sewn into it which fitted with the warm weather today. And her hair was tied up in a loose ponytail that made Ben want to smile so bad.

She had one leg crossed over the other and James settled on her lap leaning up in her arm. There was a gentle smile on (Y/n)'s lips but a rather distant look in her eyes like she was somewhere else entirely in her mind.

Releasing the breath he didn't realise he had been holding in, Ben slowly approached (Y/n) and managed to sit down next to her before she seemed to break out of her trance and realise that Ben was there.

"Fancied a walk?" Ben asked quietly as he clasped his hands together between his knees. There was a gentle smile on his lips as he head turned to the right in (Y/n)'s direction and he felt his heart flutter in his chest when she smiled. It felt like such a long time since he'd seen her properly smile at him like that and if he didn't still feel like something was wrong his heart would have felt complete right then.

"Hmm, I thought he might like the garden."

(Y/n) leaned her head on Ben's shoulder whilst her eyes focused on the sleeping baby in her arms who hadn't been very fussy all morning for some strange reason. It seemed to be James' fun and joy to watch (Y/n) struggle when he cried at her, but during the three hours that Ben had been in his meeting, James had been oddly calm. He only whimpered once or twice, he was perfectly fine when (Y/n) picked him up and she felt more at ease and able to cuddle him when he didn't cry.

The longer (Y/n) held James this morning, the more content she felt with him and it gave her a sudden rush of adrenaline. She had gotten about three or hour hours sleep last night which was better than she had been doing and when she woke up, (Y/n) felt different. She wasn't overly happy or bright but she didn't feel like she was dreading what the day had install and when she realised how calm James was with her, she felt on top of the world.

Somehow, (Y/n) knew that she still didn't feel normally towards James, what she felt wasn't what she wanted to feel nor what she should be feeling. She didn't feel like she loved him.

(Y/n) knew every time she looked at Ben she felt waves of love and understanding towards and from him and it was like some kind of magic she possessed. But with James, she didn't have any magic or powers at all. She felt that he was an inconvenience at times, someone she could tolerate but didn't really want to in her heart. She was fond of him and wanted to hold him and care for him, but it didn't feel like love. How could she love someone who wanted to torment her? She should, but she didn't and she didn't know why. There was no switch in her mind to turn on so she could pour her love onto James, all of her love seemed to drain away when she was around him.

"Everything okay?" Ben moved his hand to rest on (Y/n)'s lower back but when he looked down at her, he noticed there were tears falling lightly from her eyes. She couldn't tell him.

If (Y/n) told Ben that she didn't feel like she loved James in the way she wanted or the way she should it would break him. She was so desperate to be a mother but this isn't what she had planned. (Y/n) didn't plan on a baby that wanted to hurt her in so many ways, she didn't plan on wishing for him to disappear when he screamed yet feeling an ache to hold him when he was compliant.

"I'm happy." (Y/n)'s lips curved into a smile and she wiped at the few stray tears with the back of her hand. She was feeling a mix of emotions, one of which was guilt for not loving her son like she should, but the other emotions were more overwhelming. (Y/n) felt relief and a sense of freedom and a small glitch of happiness she was desperately trying to keep hold of. Her tears were because of her mixed emotions but she was making sure she kept feeling happy.

That was the reason she was out of her room, because she was in an elated mood and she couldn't let it slip away from her so soon.

"Good," Ben's smile felt a little bit more genuine before he leaned in to kiss (Y/n)'s temple when she perched her chin on his shoulder so she could look up at him. "Why don't we go and get something to eat, you haven't eaten anything yet." Ben knew well enough to know that in the three hours he'd been away from her, (Y/n) hadn't had anything to eat and she'd had very little of her breakfast too. He was praying that since she was in a bit of a better mood she might be more inclined to have something to eat.

But his lips pursed when (Y/n) shook her head like it wasn't a big deal or decision, her smile still present on her features before she suddenly stood up.

"I want to go on a walk, will you come?" (Y/n) looked back over her shoulder at Ben when she slowly started walking, her smile widening when he rolled his eyes but complied anyway and followed after her.

Standing at her side, Ben wrapped his arm around (Y/n)'s waist, allowing his eyes to drift between his wife and his son. There was something about (Y/n)'s smile that both made Ben feel relaxed yet uneasy at the same time. He was relaxed because she was at ease and she wasn't upset or in pain and that made him so happy to see. But she didn't look like her mind was fully at rest, there was a look behind her eyes that was as if she was hiding something or felt something she couldn't let him see.

Whenever (Y/n) was upset or angry or confused or worried or hurt she would tell him or let him in and he could see it so clearly. But right now she was hiding those feelings from him and he didn't know why. He wanted to help but he didn't know what he could do.

Ben pulled (Y/n) just a little bit closer into his side before he pressed his lips to the side of her head to try and calm down his jumping heart. He watched with intrigue in his eyes as (Y/n) moved her hand so she could brush her finger over James' cheek as he seemed to wriggle a bit due to being moved but something about the action seemed different. There was a sense of love and endearment in (Y/n)'s touch, but it was also like she was telling him something or willing him to stay asleep.

Her eyes weren't properly looking at James either, she was looking through him.

But Ben brushed off the thought because he knew James crying seemed to upset (Y/n) and that was okay. He could see she couldn't quite handle it when he cried or even screamed and Ben couldn't expect (Y/n) to be perfectly fine with every aspect of having a baby and being a mother.

He wished every day could just be like this, so laid back and relaxed and happy rather than filled with anxiety and confusion and dread. But something told Ben that this wasn't an everyday occurrence, he doubted a day like this would roll around again for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"(Y/n), where are we going?" Ben couldn't stop his lips from curving up into a smile, nor could he help the way his brow rose and his head tilted back to try and get his wife to tell him what she was up to. He had to get going for his meeting in about half an hour and he had been hoping to try and get (Y/n) to either get some rest or try and eat something in that time but she seemed to have other ideas.

With how energetic and at ease she seemed to be right now, Ben thought he was better trying to get her to have something to eat but before he could try and say anything, she grabbed his hand and was off down the corridor.

James was back in his cot with Lizzy making sure he was tended to and alright and (Y/n) didn't want to go back to their room just yet. She was too engrossed in making sure these feelings she felt lasted as long as she could make them and staying in their room for the rest of the day was only going to bring her mood crashing down. Staying with James was going to make her crash land too.

But (Y/n) was determined and so the moment James was out of her arms, she took Ben's hand and dragged him behind her down the corridor, not slowing down despite his protests.

"Somewhere quiet, somewhere away from that room."

Ben couldn't be sure whether (Y/n) was referring to the room in itself since she had confined herself there for over two weeks, or if she was possibly referring to getting away from James. But he dared not try and pick up on what she meant, he pushed the thought from his mind to concentrate on the fact that (Y/n) was clearly feeling more like herself today.

Saying nothing, Ben simply smiled and allowed (Y/n) to pull him down a set of stairs and around a few corners before he realised where they were going. His suspicions were confirmed when (Y/n) opened the door to the drawing room the pair of them usually frequented when they had the free time.

(Y/n) felt something sparking in her chest and she didn't care if it was adrenaline, excitement or just a calming wave of serenity that came with being in this room without the dreading thoughts of her baby and without her baby in her arms. The drawing room wasn't anything special like the ball room or the dining hall, it wasn't grand or beautiful or anything to show off, and that was exactly why (Y/n) liked it.

The drawing room had a few very comfy sofas and armchairs in, there was a book shelf despite being so close to the library. The curtains were blackout in case they wanted to come here at night or didn't want the sunlight to come through but when the light came through it made a perfect orange glow light up the room. This room felt more homely than any other part of the palace and it was quiet and secluded, the couple could be alone and without worry or people trying to find them here.

Once they entered the room, (Y/n) finally came to a stop and spun round very fast on her heels before she wrapped her arms around Ben's neck, taking him by surprise. He stayed still for a few seconds whilst (Y/n) held him as tight as she could, burying her face into his chest to breathe in his scent before he finally seemed to become unstuck. His arms locked tightly around her waist to keep her pressed against his chest before he tipped his head down so his face was in her hair.

He had to admit, this was nice.

"Can we stay here forever?" (Y/n) didn't really know if she meant for Ben to hear what she had said or not but she didn't really mind that he did. She smiled into his chest when she felt him slowly swaying them side to side like he was dancing to a song in his head.

"I don't know, forever's a long time sweetheart." Ben slowly rubbed his hand up and down her back as he closed his eyes, continuing to sway them to the silence that was wrapping around them like a comforting hug to them both.

Ben had feared for hours when James was born that (Y/n) would push him away with how she was feeling and how distressed she was. He didn't know how to help and he thought she wouldn't want him to help either but he had been the most relieved in his life to know that she wanted him close like this. And to just hold her like this without any worry or tears or any pain and distress was a moment of magic that Ben truly did want to last forever, even if he knew it wouldn't.

"As long as I spend it with you." Tilting her head up, (Y/n) didn't bother to open her eyes when she leaned and pressed her lips against Ben's neck, feeling his forehead moving until the side of his head was resting against her own.

(Y/n) knew they didn't have long before Ben had to go to his meeting and she knew he was going to try and get her to go and rest or have something to eat, but that was okay. She didn't care how long they stayed like this or how this moment was making tears well in her eyes and she didn't know why. (Y/n) just wanted to stay like this for a little while longer because with Ben holding her, she felt so much better.

Shivers ran up and down (Y/n)'s spine when one of Ben's arms wrapped tighter around her waist before his other arm moved so that his hand was resting on the nape of her neck to try and hold her as close to his chest as he could manage. Ben didn't know if he would be able to let this moment disappear when it came time for him to go. He didn't want this to end like a dream and to have to go back to reality because this was everything.

Maybe things were finally starting to look up.

[tracle0]

hello hey hi and a splendid saturday to you, I come bearing a question for the wip4 gang and that question is: what is each of their most significant memories? additionally, are there any memories they would jump at the chance to get rid of? ok bye please have an excellent day \o/ (and before you yell at me I'm going to sleep now I swear)

I’m glad that when you even LOOK at me you think ‘oh sleep time’ I am Pavlov and you are my dog and this metaphor is stupid I will answer your question now

I’m gonna... assume this is uhh pre-story question because I know for a fact that at least three characters would change their answer to at least one question if it was post-story. My house, my rules. 

Keaton’s most significant memory is p r o b a b l y the time when he was in year 12 (17), and he was called to the head of sixth form office. He’d been at this school since year 7 (11), and had realised he was trans in year 8 (12/13), and had then been fighting for the right to use his bathroom ever since. This had previously resulted in punishment. In year 10 (15), he made progress, being allowed to use the disabled bathroom, but he wanted the men's bathroom dammit. 

Anyway, called to head of sixth form, assumed it was related to that issue. Pessimistic about the whole ordeal. 

Turned out there was another student in like year 9 who had come out as trans as well, and the school had gone ‘UHHHHHHHHH LET’S DO BETTER THIS TIME’ so Keaton, being the only other trans student in this rural Norfolk school, was assigned as her... mentor??? I guess? 

He was half like ‘fuck y’all’ and half like ‘I will not let this young woman go through the same shit you all put me through, I will guard her like a HAWK’. He was still not allowed to use his bathroom, but he makes her fight a little easier; she’s allowed to use her bathroom in year 10, after he left. They still meet up every now and then for coffee. 

Memory to be rid of: First day on a Professional Set, he walked backwards whilst taking a tea order and fell into a bin. Terrible first impression. He still got jobs afterwards, but sometimes people will be like ‘oh yeah I’ve heard of you you’re the bin guy’ and he wants to punch them. 

This is getting long already I’m gonna put the rest under a cut

I know you’re here for Mika so I’ll go to them, most significant memory: probably his first pride? He didn’t intend to go to pride, but he was in the city on the day of pride and just walked past all these rainbows and flags and people being so open and proud and themselves. He was maybe fifteen, and had been having those fun Gender Feels that you try and hide at age fifteen, because you’re only fifteen and most people tell you you’re not old enough to know anything about yourself, yknow? 

Someone gave him a flyer at one point, and when he got back to his Ultra Christian Household, he hid it and would read through it some nights. When he had it memorised, he started to explore more about queerness online. He’s the guy who can tell you all about LGBT history due to this research. This was only done in the city on the library computers, where his trail couldn’t be tracked. It gave him some sort of start for labels, some sort of safe space, some sort of New Approach to everything he’d been feeling. 

Memory to be rid of: last day in Ultra Christian School. He was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school and it wasn’t awful until he was about fourteen, at which point he started to grow his hair. They told him to cut it constantly. He was punished for it. He kept the hair. 

It got bad but it wasn’t until he was about seventeen that it really buckled; first real notable psychotic episode. He told people, they were convinced it was some sort of possession, convinced he’d sinned, convinced of all these horrible things about him and drove him out until he could ‘act normally’ again. He did not go back. 

In all honesty, the second he turned 18, he took his savings from various dead grandparents and a part-time job, bought a second-hand (maybe third-hand) camper-van and left home. 

He goes back for Christmas only. 

Mooooving on, Lynne! Who I do not talk about enough; she’s also part of the documentary squad, and actually the reason the whole squad exists. Producer and director, she’s very cool okcoolthanks

Most significant memory: That one time she was thirteen and her parents had officially declared their divorce. She was living with her dad and it was really, really weird and she was not enjoying it. Divorce is a big deal to some families, and this family was one of them, and she was really unsure about her entire future. 

Cue Mika, young and mostly obedient, kicking down the door (not literally) and kidnapping her (again, not literally) to come pick blackberries with him (very literally). They stayed out until the sun went down in early Autumn. She forgot about the divorce for a small amount of time. They ended the day eating fish and chips straight from the paper whilst sitting in a tree and talking about nothing important at all. 

They made jam out of the blackberries the next day. It was gross. Both of them refused to admit it was gross. 

Memory to be rid of: She went camping one time with friends from school. Lynne is Muslim and so did not go to Catholic school with Mika, they just lived near each other, and so school friends went ‘hey we’re going camping you should come’ she did come. 

It was a mess. They were fifteen and determined to drink, and English peer pressure to drink is weird, so she did take some drink but didn’t drink it. Someone threw up on her tent and blamed it on her. No-one bought any food or water, the only thing she was able to drink was lemonade bought for mixing and that had ants in it within two hours. 

She woke up first and left them all there, then walked home because she was meant to be lift-sharing. It took an hour and a half. She preferred that to being in the car. 

That group wasn’t her only group of friends, but it was her main group, so things were awkward for a while. 

Moving on from Documentary Squad, Percival! Percy Percival who I wish I could call Percy because it’s so much easier to write. 

Significant memory: winning an art contest when he was like. Eleven. Really living the high-life, ol’ Percival. It was a city-wide contest, with various age categories. He was part of the 11-18 clump, which put him at a disadvantage, but he still won. As a reward, his art was replicated on a mural in one of the shopping malls in town, and he got some fancy vouchers for a fancy art shop in the city. 

Winning the art contest made him go ‘oh wait I’m actually good at this thing I really like doing I should learn how to do that more’ and you could barely pry him away from his sketchbook from that point on. 

Those vouchers were stored away until he was 14 and doing art GCSE, at which point he bought a nice sketchbook and oil paints. He’s now very good at oil painting. I hate him for being good at oil painting. Oil painting SUCKS. 

Memory to be rid of: I’m torn between three and they’re all similar so I’ll go for all of them. 

#1 - losing an eye to Abby’s experiments. You read the lil short story I think (I know I checked just now) - she’s a very kind and loving sister who sometimes moves his body parts around. One time, he lost an eye and went blind for a few weeks. He had nightmares about it for months. It was very painful.

#2 - losing a finger. To Abby’s experiments. It was the middle finger on his left hand and it didn’t go back into place quickly enough - now it’s always numb and discoloured. Good news is he’s right-handed and not a musician so no worries about losing dexterity on that hand. 

#3 - losing two ribs. To Abby’s experiments.  There’s a very clear trend here. She wanted to try moving things she couldn’t see around. She moved two ribs away. She decided it was more dangerous to put them back. Now they just have two of Percival’s ribs lying around. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

On that note, final person, this is very long. Abby! She’s fun. Most significant memory;

okay the word ‘significant’ has caught me off-guard several times cause like wow how do you figure out significant memories for people. I don’t have just one, yknow? But I think I know one for her. 

She’s the eldest out of her and Percival and, for a while, people wanted her to set an example for him, which she tried to do, but she wasn’t good at what people wanted her to be good at. She’s good with people. She’s good at very specific parts of biology. She’s good at psychology. She’s not good at school and tests. 

So, when Percival started to beat the standards she set for him, her parents almost... egged competition on. Played favourites, compared the two siblings. Nobody really noticed what she could do, they only cared about what she struggled with. And the parents were rarely around to help out with what she was struggled with. So she struggled on and tried to keep her head high.

Cue a family wedding, she was snooping around the snack table at the reception and overheard her parents talking about her. And how they were almost disappointed in her. How they were annoyed that she couldn’t be more like Percival, honestly, what did they do wrong? 

She got bitter. She pretends she doesn’t care but she’s bitter, and with no parents around to lash out at, she lashes out at Percival, who isn’t even aware. Good times. Not good times. Significant times. 

Memory to be rid of: Honestly? Probably hearing her parents talking about her at the family wedding. It stings. 

A n y w a y this was extremely long I like going into detail with short stories, if you read this far then thank you I appreciate it I will give you a feather from my feather collection. Probably a swan feather. I have a lot of swan feathers. 

[saventhhaven]

Unexpected - Part 2

Pairing: none

Tags: violence, blood, helpless!reader

Word Count: 2,055

A/N: it took me a lot longer to get the second part to this written, but here it is!

Unexpected - Part 1

(Gif not mine)

Admiring your handiwork triumphantly, you slid the newly-installed chain to your front door shut. It wasn't a burglar alarm, that was for sure, but it did make you feel a bit more at ease, which was really all you could hope for. The ideal solution would have been to install a security system, but you just didn't have that kind of money. It had been just under a week since the break-in, and unfortunately, your anxious mindset hadn't improved much. If anything, it kept getting worse every time you relived your conversation with Sam and Dean. Monsters. Demons. There was no way. If those two men really thought all that crap was real, there was something seriously wrong with them. Sighing, you plopped down on your living room couch. Why couldn't you get these boys out of your head? You would give anything to forget the whole ordeal. Still... the sincerity of their explanation left you wondering if what they said was true. You shook your head vigorously, scolding yourself. All of your life, you had never been the type to believe in that sort of thing. Why on earth would you start now? Just because two maniacs started spouting it off to scare you? No way.

When your front door's doorknob began to turn, you practically leaped off the couch. Oh God, it was them. Sam and Dean. You knew too much, and now they were back to finish the job. Your heart rate skyrocketed as your door opened, but it was caught by the chain, and someone rammed straight into it.

"Ow! What the hell? Y/N?" You recognized the voice right away and scrambled over to peek through the small crack.

"Jamie?" Sure enough, standing on your front porch in the darkness was your best friend. The two of you had known each other for as long as you could remember, and you were about as close as friends could get. Shutting the door, you unlatched the chain to let him in. "I didn't know you were coming over tonight." Jamie held up his phone to show you his outgoing call log.

"Well, maybe if you had answered my calls..." He let the open-ended statement hang in the air, watching as you locked and chained the door behind him. He sighed and gestured to the new hardware. "You put that up today?" You nodded.

"Literally just finished, actually." Jamie gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder with a smile. He had been the first person you called after you kicked crazies one and two out of your home, and he knew how much it had rattled you. He flopped onto your couch with levels of drama that only he could achieve.

"Remind me again: why didn't you just call the cops?" You rolled your eyes as you opened your mouth to speak, but realized you didn't have a good answer. "Those wackjobs could be in a cell right now instead of running free. I swear, Y/N, you're too nice for your own good." You really should've called the cops. Hell, maybe it still wasn't a bad idea to file a report.

"I don't know," you answered lamely. What good would it do now? If those two lunatics had any brains at all, they would have skipped town already. Shaking your head, you padded into your kitchen. "I was just about to put a frozen pizza in the oven or something. You staying?"

"Yeah, I think so," you heard him call from the living room. Jamie's visits usually stretched late into the night, and you were more than happy to have the company. Although you had done your best to secure your home, being here alone made you nervous. Door chains weren't 100% intruder-proof, and you knew that, but you were trying not to think about it.

"Hey, I'm gonna grab a beer, do you-" When you reemerged from the fridge with two beers in hand, you noticed how close Jamie was standing, and the odd expression on his face as he stared at you. "Jesus!" you exclaimed. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were on the couch."

"I think I will take that beer." He took the glass bottle from your hand with a smile that, for some reason, made your skin crawl. It didn't quite meet his eyes, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. You opened the freezer door to get a pizza, feeling a bit more on edge than usual, which was saying something, considering all you had been through in the past week.

"How was work?" you tossed the question over your shoulder even though you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. Jamie worked a corporate desk job, which meant that every day was usually the same for him. 

As you leaned in to see what your freezer had to offer something whizzed by your ear, shattering on the cabinets behind you into a million pieces. Glass shards tinkled to the ground, and the smell of beer filled the air. Whirling around in alarm, you realized that Jamie was no longer holding his beer bottle, but that he had thrown it at you. Had you not put your head in the freezer when you did... you really didn't want to think about what could have happened. 

"What the hell, Jamie?" you snapped. "What is wrong with you? You could have killed me!" For the first time in your life, you were afraid of him. Your gut was right - something was horribly wrong. It was almost like... When the word entered your mind, you felt a panic bubble up in his throat. Possessed. Instantly, the faces of the two crazy men from the break-in came into your thoughts, and you swallowed hard. "Jamie?" His name left your mouth cautiously as you peered up at him, trying to make any sense of this. Jamie blinked, and his eyes turned to pure black as a malicious smile spread across his face.

"Sorry," he replied. "No." Holy fuck. When Jamie - or whatever the hell this thing was - lunged at you, you screamed. Loudly. Hopefully, one of the neighbors heard you; otherwise, you were toast. And not the good kind. Somehow, you managed to duck under his arm and make a break for the door. Had you not been overcome by terror, you would have appreciated the irony of it all. The very chain you had just installed to keep intruders out now kept you inside, where your life very well may depend on you getting out.

Just before you could reach the door, you were pushed down from behind, knocking the wind out of you as your attacker pulled you back by your ankles. You were screaming bloody murder when he turned you onto your back, slamming you down hard enough to rattle the floorboards.

"Jamie can't come to the phone right now." Hearing Jamie's voice say these things was maybe the most jarring thing about the whole situation. Scratch that, the most jarring thing was definitely the fact that you might die. You were totally trapped. The weight of Jamie's body pinned you down, and your hands were restrained on either side of your head. The chances that someone was coming to help you were very slim, and you could feel that you were running out of time.

"You're a demon," you guessed, hoping you could stall until something about your dire situation changed. Jamie's features lifted a bit in surprise.

"My, my. Not as clueless as we look, are we?"

"I sure as hell knew better than to think you were Jamie, you son of a bitch." The demon growled angrily, and you knew right away that you had made a mistake. Grabbing you roughly by the shoulders, he pulled you up before slamming you back down again. This time, your head made contact, and you saw stars. The demon's eyes glinted maliciously.

"See, that's where you're wrong," he hissed. "You thought I was your Jamie when I first came in." Before you could respond, the demon struck you across the face hard, causing you to let out a cry. "He has so many fond memories of you in here," he informed you, tapping his temple. "I wonder how difficult it would be to break him. Surely, killing you would be a good start, don't you think?" When his fist came at your face, you barely had time to recover before he came at you again, striking blow after blow. By the time he was finished, blood and tears mingled on your swollen face, and your mind lingered somewhere in the purgatory between consciousness and unconsciousness.

"Hm. I expected you to put up quite the fight. What a pity." As the demon raised Jamie's fist to hit you again, your front door flew open with a bang, and the chunk of the wall where you had screwed in the door chain's anchor went flying. So much for increased security.

"Get off of her!" The gruff voice sounded familiar, but you couldn't quite place it in this state. Heavy footsteps pounded on the floor toward you, and suddenly the weight holding you down was gone as you lost consciousness.

"You're okay, I got you." Someone lifted you into a sitting position, helping you come back to your senses. Head pounding, you blinked a few times, still feeling a bit woozy. "You really got the worst of that," the familiar voice continued. That was for damn certain. You felt like you had been run over by a truck. "You with me?" The familiar face in front of you finally registered, and you smiled weakly.

"You were definitely right about demons." Relief eased Sam's serious expression, and he rocked back onto his heels, crouched in front of you. You never thought you would be thinking this, but damn, it was good to see him. Now that you knew he wasn't, in fact, a home invader, it was good to know that you were in the hands of someone who knew what the hell was going on. If demons were actually real, that meant everything else was, too. "This is insane," you breathed.

"Insane is kinda what we do," Sam admitted. Another round of head pounding hit you, and you groaned in pain.

"Yeah, you're gonna want to put some ice on that," Dean said wryly. As you stood, you took a look around your living room, which was still surprisingly intact. "Not every day you get your ass kicked like that." You shook your head.

"Jamie didn't-"As soon as you said his name, your eyes went wide, and your heart dropped into your stomach. "Jamie! Is he all right? Where is he?" Sam gestured to the couch, and you scrambled to your feet, rushing to Jamie's unconscious form. His eyes moved behind closed lids as you brushed the hair from his face, and took his hand.

"He should be fine now," Sam reassured. "He probably won't remember much, and he'll be confused when he wakes up." Fear lingered in the pit of your stomach as you were reminded of how the pair of pitch-black eyes gleamed back at you. You swallowed hard.

"And is the demon still..?" Dean shook his head at your open-ended question.

"No, we exorcised it. But that doesn't mean it's gone. It could have gone after anyone in this town that was unprotected." You weren't entirely sure what that meant, but you had a sneaking suspicion that neither you nor Jamie was safe. "Does that mean you're sticking around for a while?" you asked hopefully. Dean gave a nonchalant shrug in response.

"Probably." Jamie groaned from the couch as he began to stir, and you turned your attention back to him.

"We should probably get out of here," Sam recommended to his brother. "Before he wakes up."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "See you around, Y/N." As the two tall men headed for the front door, you looked up at them.

"Thank you. Seriously." And then they were gone as quickly as they came.

"Y/N?" Jamie stared up at you, blearily from the couch. "What the hell happened?" With a heavy sigh, you gave his arm a reassuring pat.

"Jamie, I have one hell of a story for you."

Thanks for reading!

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[kittywildegrrl]

MamaCat Has Been Sick of This Conspiracy Theory Crap Since Before This One Existed

Yea, though I stagger through the final bloody chaotic days of the Trump “presidency,” I shall fear no evil, for the Constitution is with me. Kamala and Joe, they comfort me.

On the real though: scared shitless of the evil.

Rightfully so, for here is the welcome some of our fellow Americans have for the incoming Administration. Almost makes ‘em seem... un-American. May these creeps fail mightily and may Inauguration Day be free of violence.

“‘He has an obligation to them’: Attorney for ‘QAnon shaman’ asks Trump to pardon rioters,” says Politico. “He felt like his voice was, for the first time, being heard,” Watkins said. “And what ended up happening, over the course of the lead-up to the election, over the course of the period from the election to Jan. 6 — it was a driving force by a man he hung his hat on, he hitched his wagon to. He loved Trump. Every word, he listens to him.”

Ugh. There it is. The continental divide between objective reality and Trumpism reality. “Every word, he listens to him.” I saw a classic strongman dictatorship rising, somebody else saw Jesus. I saw my least favorite showman in my lifetime doing his best P. T. Barnum a la Mussolini, somebody else saw the only plausible leader for troubled times.

Perhaps as many as a few thousand of those somebodies attacked our Capitol, and I am not over it. Some more of those somebodies, who knows the actual number, are contributing to online chatter about setting loose further chaos in the next five days.

It’s literally insane, and a lot of it is attributed to the Q conspiracy phenomenon. Two crazy ladies who buy into it have been sent to Washington, D.C., as elected representatives (rollcall.com).

A week after the attempted coup, as the wheels of a second impeachment were grinding over his legacy, the Dear Leader of those who used to watch “The Apprentice” delivered a disingenuous, if carefully-worded, video. In it he denounced the violence. He also employed the No True Scotsman argument, perhaps my favorite of the logical fallacies.

I didn’t buy it, but it wasn’t for me. No, it was for his base, and for his attorneys. Whether he made the attorneys happy is not for me to say. Allegedly Rudy Giuliani is his attorney, and allegedly Rudy’s not getting paid.

No, it’s the latest iteration of Q nonsense on my mind this snowy morning. That video? I saw a beaten man, a would-be Caesar, out of options, doing as he was told for once. Somebody else saw a Q message. Go on over to secondnexus.com and check it out, I’ll wait. You’ll enjoy the screenshotted tweets.

Adding to MamaCat’s recent attack of nostalgia, one learned recently that a former lover, a very bad boyfriend from days of yore, had passed on. Big, strong, handsome, witty, fantastic in bed, cruelly abusive, and possessed of sketchy background, he was champion and nemesis to me in those bizarre days of the mid-90s, when (among other things) I experienced a noticeably short second marriage and met some conspiracy theorists. May he rest in peace. I, for one, am actually relieved. Talk about smart women making foolish choices. I got a million of ‘em.  But the mind will cast its glance backwards at such moments.

Wait till you’re old and crochety, kids, your stories may be wacky and bizarre one day too!

So there was this couple, both my late problematic boyfriend and my second husband knew them, so in the course of things I came to know them too. They seemed like a pretty cool couple, we had interests and friends in common. Then one evening at their house, they began to explain, very carefully and for my own good, about Area 51, Ancient Astronauts, and why the income tax is illegal. Why I should read Ayn Rand, become a Sovereign Citizen, and stock up on guns & ammo.

I was insecure enough in the first place, so at the time, it seemed like the polite way to avoid confrontation was just to listen and not argue too much. I was at their place, without my own car, thinking maybe this won’t go on all night, how can I change the subject to Star Trek… but when we got to the taxes portion of the presentation, I just couldn’t stop myself.

“What about the roads and bridges?”

There was a lot of incoherent babbling about per-use fees and private property and so forth. And as I sat listening, politely, hoping my ride was about ready to go, I was thinking, “They don’t understand how any of this works. They’re grown-ass adults, regurgitating faulty reasoning, telling me mad re-interpretations of what the 1st and 2nd Amendments mean, and they really don’t know how little they know. It’s like an alternate reality. I want to go home.”

(Think about it. The Internet barely existed yet. This was mainly spread face to face and via phone trees at the time.)

That friendship didn’t blossom much after that. Nice enough folks on the face of it, but the crazy talk kept returning to the word, “militia,” and I was not a fan. At that time in my life, I was actually a pretty decent shot, with a number of different firearms (not an owner, though). I let go of this friendship, and not long after, I let go of guns. What I couldn’t let go of was the nagging sense that if this sort of conspiratorial thinking were to get out of hand, become somehow mainstreamed, the only logical outcome would be eventual violence. You can’t combine hatred for the notion of government itself, with fantasies about actual extraterrestrials, with disdain for taxpayer-provided goods and services, with guns and ammo and militia identity, without eventual violence.

And for just a moment, late last night, it felt like the intervening 20 -25 years had never happened. In my actor’s imagination, I could see it like a film cut, from the sepia tones of that living room in New Mexico so long ago, to the craziest damned January in American memory. Nonexistent voter fraud, Q, rightwing hate media; these lie along a straight line from that Sovereign Citizen baloney my friends served for dinner that night. A straight, incredibly white, line.

I really, really hope that the Biden administration comes on like gangbusters in the first hundred days. I hope people’s lives improve drastically, quickly, especially for people who think we voted in Stalinism or something. I really hope we can raise the standard of living across the board (below, say, $250k/annum, you $250k+ guys are actually fine up there). I really, really hope we can address the pandemic. I don’t see any way to controvert the conspiracy-based thinking, unless we just take this opportunity to actually govern for a change, and lift everybody up.

[westeros-rp]

asteri of lys.

Near the end of the Prince’s life, Asteri of Lys vowed that she would oversee his passing into the next world. Guided by her faith, the foreigner vigilantly kept watch over the dying man, listening intently to his labored breaths as she muttered prayers late into the night and into the early morning hours. Asteri sat at his bedside, completely still, as servants frequently passed through with eyes fixated on the former Red Grace. Despite the bond she had developed with Nymeria in the short time she resided in Dorne, others were hesitant to fall behind the Princess on the matter. Inhabitants of Westeros, in their own strange values and traditions, maintained distrust of magic, foreign gods, and foreign whores. Despite some discouragement from the Prince’s council, Asteri defied their discomfort by seeking residence at his bedside.

“You,” the Prince wheezed, suddenly overcome by a violent coughing spell. The air around him was putrid, the sickly sweet stench of death lingered in his immediate vicinity. The air around him was hot, moist. His paled fingers were gripped around her wrist; they were frigid, his fingertips black from lack of circulation in his blood. The former priestess found herself on her feet instantly, startled. She instinctively whipped her hand back, only the Prince would not let go.    

“My Prince, please, don’t say another word, let me fe—”

Asteri, shocked out of her typically serene disposition, could not find it within her to call out for someone. Prince Elric’s eyes were wide, dulled to an almost greyish yellow hue, and glazed over with disease—locked on hers. Asteri remained fearfully still. Through his clenched jaw emerged a hoarse sob as he fell back onto the bed. He pulled her close. “Such eyes you have, my child,” he cried tearfully, and began to wail loudly. The servants rushed into the chamber, Asteri finally finding an opportunity to break free of him. She thought the man delusional, mindful that his time was drawing near. The god of death was awaiting him at the threshold.

“I-I’ll fetch Lady Nymeria,” she told a servant, trembling. She stumbled into the hall in a daze, pale as if she had looked into the eyes of the god of death himself. However, she composed herself and sauntered down the halls to Nymeria’s bed chambers.          

The Prince would lose his life that very day. And for weeks, Asteri resided at Nymeria’s beck and call despite her rather brief mourning period.

It was a peculiar time to say the very least. In the passing days and weeks, Asteri was plagued with the images of the night of Prince Elric’s passing. She would contemplate his final moments in her own time, quite frequently in fact. She grew quieter than usual, devoting much of her idle hours to her practice. There was a part of the young foreigner that grew quite detached; the privileged life Nymeria had so generously offered her soon became mundane, despite the small joys that seeped into the monotony of the days.

That is, until the day both she and Nymeria’s company were requested by The Queen in Blackmont. She saw the two alone. The Queen tucked a sealed note into The Princess’s hand, “I will leave you both with this. It arrived a few weeks ago in King’s Landing. I had my own letter which instructed me to not open yours. Again, my condolences, dear niece.”  

The silence offered nothing to the passing minutes, until they were left alone in each other’s presence. Asteri sorted through her own emotions to find the right words to speak to Nymeria. Never had Asteri anticipated having audience with The Queen of Westeros... and, never in her greatest nightmares could she even fathom what followed.

She searched Nymeria’s face as she read the letter aloud, confusion overtaking her expression.  

“Asteria Sand, bastard daughter of Prince Elric Martell,” she uttered aloud, her mind toyed with the strange name, now hers. “My name is Asteria Sand.” There was grim laughter in her voice, all on account of disbelief.  “Asteria Sand...” Nym repeated. Nymeria felt numb and hollow. Memories of her beloved father were tinged a little differently now. He had never said anything. He had barely even seemed shocked when Nym had brought Asteri into their home and had her stay. Nym began, “I’m not quite sure how I feel. Father never—he loved my mother....and we are around the same age....I think I may faint.” Asteri echoed similar sentiments, fighting the tremors through her body at this realization.  “But this letter says that Sand is your name. This is Father’s writing and his symbol authenticated the letter. He just never told us....after all this time.”

Asteri had never known a father’s love; and such a circumstance brought her a sense of relief, though she was knowledgeable of what it meant for Nymeria, what it meant for her place in Dorne. She was a bastard, no doubt, though she still retained a place in Dornish court. The very idea of such a responsibility loomed over her head. She stared at the ground in contemplation. “No,” her voice riddled with dismay. “This name does not belong to me, it never belonged to me. It is not mine to claim.”

“We can go back to Sunspear and figure things out....look through his journals...” replied Nymeria.

Asteri hesitated before speaking, sighing deeply. “Forgive me, Princess Nymeria, for what I am about to do.” Tears began to pool in her eyes, her voice shaken through clenched teeth. “I thank you for taking in a stranger, a whore from a foreign country... for giving her a home and an opportunity to serve at your side.” Asteri couldn’t bare look at her sister, her eyes downcast. “I do not belong in a court, nor Sunspear—nor Dorne. I am, and will always be Asteri of Lys.”

“Asteri... you’re not leaving. Of course you belong in Dorne. Even before all of this—or rather along with all of this. You’re Asteria Sand—”

“A name which does not separate me from any other Dornish bastard—” She swiftly tore the letter from Nymeria’s hand. The Red Grace ripped the parchment in two, then again—and again. “—wait, what are you doing Asteri, that’s the last thing my father possibly wrote—”

“What of a document when his blood courses through your veins, through our veins? You are the rightful heir to Sunspear; this piece of parchment serves you no purpose.” Her voice was raised, as she stepped toward her.

“Eventually my memory will fade, Asteri. I’d like to keep everything of him I could. He is my, our father. This is everything.”

“How sad for you,” Asteri began, her voice somber, “that your memory must be defined by things. Will you erect a palace for everything The Prince has touched, then?” Asteri instantly regretted what she had said, however she bit her tongue. She wouldn’t take it back, conscious it would be the final push she needed to sever the ties which bound them.  

“How—” Nymeria shoved her, her voice filled with rage. “We took you into our home. We made sure you were entirely comfortable. That you would not have to spread your legs like the whore you’ve been. All I’ve ever asked of you is to keep one sheet of parchment and you insult me? Me?” There was a pause, and suddenly, Asteri’s head whipped sideways from the force of Nymeria’s palm as it struck her face. A hot sting lingered and dulled. There was a moment of silence. “Forget it. Do what you will.” Asteri remained frozen, her eyes locked on the ground with brows furrowed as tears streamed down her face. She grazed her burning cheek with her fingertips, then stood straight, and strode past her.

“Until we meet again, my dear sister,” Asteri murmured as she passed.

At sunrise, she departed Blackmont on foot, with only the clothing on her back and a pouch full of coin.

weeks later, king’s landing.

The streets were astir in King’s Landing from the moment she set foot onto the Street of Silk.

Asteri, for the life of her, could not call to mind the occasion. However, the bustling cavalries with their noble banners flown overhead signaled the coming of new clientele. In her time at King’s Landing, Asteri found her place, a brothel known as Chataya’s which upheld quite the reputation discreetly catering to highborn ladies and lads from all reaches of the seven kingdoms; with a carefully curated selection of foreign beauties and their exotic talents. Why, the Madame hadn’t even looked twice before extending an invitation to join their collective. The wages were promising, though the gentleman and lady-callers were of a particular demographic Asteri possessed little interest in.

The Red Grace followed the sea of the city’s inhabitants toward the Red Keep, armed with curiosity of the events at hand—a grand tournament of the great houses was among the day’s topics. Still, she remained on guard, as the emblem of Sunspear danced in the distance—and only gods knew what Nymeria would be planning in retaliation for her destroying the last confession of Prince Elric. She imagined the outcomes could be grim. However, Asteri had no interest in such interactions, far removed from the frustrations she experienced last she saw the Princess of Dorne.

Clad in a barely-there gown, she settled within standing room among the commoners and drunkards near the jousting pit. “How much for you, two-bit Sally?”, a drunk called out, his breath and sweat wreaking of stale alcohol, piss and shit. “Not for sale, bugger off,” replied Asteri with venom in her tone. “C’mon, fancy a copper?”

“Fuck off and let me work,” she replied listlessly, jabbing the man in the ribs with her elbow as she made her way toward the front of the crowd.    

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5543 Chapter: 4/5 Rated: T+ Summary: They wake in a forest far from home. Bodies lay dead and broken across the clearing. All they can remember is their names. (Madara falls in love with a single look.)

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Chapter 4

Waking up to Tobirama’s face the next morning didn’t happen precisely the way Madara planned it. He’d fallen asleep envisioning the gradual drift back to awareness and opening his eyes to find that familiar gaze blinking back at him with the same morning squint and messy hair he’d been waking up to for weeks. A moment of clarity to help him decide. Instead he was woken up by the sound of angry grumbling, cracking his lids to see Tobirama already dressed for the day and rustling through the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. His hair was still sticking up in wild places as it was wont to do – he never combed it until he actually needed to leave the house – but it wasn’t exactly the soft morning light moment that Madara had expected.

“I know it’s in here,” Tobirama was muttering to himself as he dug through a basket of random items shoved between two stacks of textbooks. “Where would I–? Ha! Yes, I knew it!”

He spun with a worn and yellowed notebook in hand only for his triumphant expression to melt away in to guilt when he spotted the eyes watching him with bleary confusion.

“Good morning to you too,” Madara said, buying himself a little more time to think.

“Ah. My apologies. I did not mean to wake you.”

“S’fine.”

Tobirama smiled at him then and swept across the room. Before Madara had a chance to decide how he wanted to react he found soft lips pressing against his brow in a fond and familiar gesture. He waited for the disgust, for the wave of hatred that had accompanied every interaction between the two of them since they first met at the river as young indoctrinated children, but it never came. All he felt was warm. Perhaps a little fidgety.

“Did you sleep well?” Tobirama asked him.

“No. I had a nightmare.” As soon as the words were out he wanted to hit himself. He really hadn’t meant to admit that.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He’d never shaken his head quite so vigorously before and he didn’t even realize the impression it would give until Tobirama kissed his brow again with an achingly understanding look. Clearly the man thought he’d had an actual nightmare, the type even men like them didn’t want to think about, and for a moment he was possessed of the instinctual need to puff himself up and shout that he wasn’t so weak as to be scared by whatever his sleeping imagination could come up with. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. That was an old habit, yelling at Tobirama, always trying to prove himself the better. His new memories were much more genial and if he wanted a little more time to get himself set straight on what he wanted then there could be no hints of anything but what this current Tobirama expected from him.

“Breakfast then?”

“Yeah, that would be good. Unless you’ve already eaten.”

Tobirama shook his head, offering a hand. After what he hoped was a barely perceptible pause Madara took the hand and allowed himself to be pulled up out of bed. Preparing breakfast together was something they had done often enough to be considered normal and it was nice to just let his thoughts fall away, following along with comfortable patterns. Later he could tear himself apart with indecision. Trying to think right now with Tobirama’s genius mind and sharp eyes watching his every move would be a quick way to get himself discovered.

Guilt washed over him but Madara ruthlessly pushed it away to concentrate on the now.

The now could only last for so long, however, and breakfast was over much quicker than he wanted it to be. It felt like one moment they were standing at the stove preparing rice and eggs and then the next moment Tobirama was drawing him in for a slow lingering kiss goodbye before heading off to romp around in the laboratory he had discovered. With his memories Madara could have told the man what sort of madness usually went on in there and how many dangerous things were hiding in innocuous places like jars on the shelves or unlabeled scrolls. But nothing terrible had happened yet and saying anything would have given him away so he kept his mouth shut, watching in silence as that pert little bottom hustled out the door.

Why, he asked himself as he spun back around abruptly, was he staring at Tobirama’s ass? Never in his life had he so much as considered staring at Tobirama’s ass. Well, not before anyway. He had certainly done more than that in the time since the incident. Madara groaned and wobbled in to the living room so he could collapse on the couch. If he considered himself in any way classy he might have described the weakness in him as an attack of the vapors but he wasn’t quite as delicate as that. Almost but not quite. He still felt quite shaken as the personality and opinions he had developed over a lifetime came finally and truly face to face with the fact that, given a chance to meet again with no prejudice, he had actually come to enjoy having Tobirama in his life. They had grown close. They had been undeniably good for each other.

And they had fallen in love as easily as breathing.

Unequipped as he was to deal with this sort of thing, his first thought was that he should leap up and find someone to talk him through this, someone who could help make sense of the madness he’d gotten himself in to. The big problem with that plan was that there simply wasn’t anyone for him to talk to. Izuna was the last person to ask for an opinion on whether he should leave Tobirama or stick it out to see if these new feelings could handle the pressure of all the past between them. He knew even without asking what his brother’s answer to that would be. And he couldn’t go to Hashirama either because the man had a mouth so big the entire village would know he’d remembered everything long before he ran in to Tobirama again – not to mention the familial bond between them sort of biased Hashirama's answer too. That was pretty much the entire list of people Madara trusted with his personal life. He’d never been a man with a very large inner circle.

Letting his body droop over the furniture like he was only accentuated the confusion inside him so Madara sat up and let his head flop over the back of the sofa instead to stare up at the ceiling. There were really only two options here so he wasn’t sure why he was being so indecisive. Normally he was the type to pick a direction on gut feeling alone and then cling to that decision with everything he had. Stubborn as a goat just like Tobirama had said so many times. Being so unsure was new to him and he really didn’t like the way it made him feel, all twisted up in his belly and hot in his chest like he’d swallowed his own Grand Fireball.

In a moment of true weakness he considered going and talking to Mito. Of all people that devil woman could be counted on to give a brutally honest summary of his options and despite her connection to Tobirama she could probably provide an objective opinion as well. He still decided against it. She had always hated him a little too strongly for his general comfort and the thought of giving her so much power over him make every inch of skin on his body itch.

That left him with absolutely no one to vent to, though, and there was simply too much inside of him to keep it all contained. Which half of his heart did he listen to? One side had been taught that Tobirama was the root of all evil and sneered when he passed but the other side looked at him with soft eyes and yearning fingers and the two halves of him were so at ends he felt caught between two crashing waves in a never ending moment of pure indecision. He needed to decide. And if he couldn’t then he needed to do something with all of the frantic energy building inside as the panic started to rise. If anyone walked in the door at that moment it would take only one look at him to know that something was terribly wrong, just the opposite of the image he was trying to convey.

With jitters in his limbs Madara brought his head up and rolled to his feet all in one smooth motion, heading for the door only to turn back around as he reached for the handle when he realized he was not entirely dressed. It took barely a minute to throw on proper clothing, another four or five to wrestle his hair in to a low ponytail instead of brushing it, then he was moving for the door again and doing his best not to tense automatically as he stepped out alone in to Senju territory. Factually he knew that the people here had gotten well used to him in the weeks he’d been living among them but a large part of his brain now looked around and wondered how many of them were still uncomfortable to see him strolling about unescorted as though he belonged. Until the accident he had rarely set foot in this area of the village and only ever when Hashirama dragged him over for dinner.

Deciding where to go was a lot easier than deciding what to do with the rest of his life. Madara's feet were already heading east almost before he consciously acknowledged where he was going, straight for the same place he had always gone to when emotions or life in general threatened to overwhelm him, one of the only places he felt safe letting everything out. Passing the guards at the gate was as easy as pointing vaguely off in the direction he wanted and they waved him on by without further question. He remembered now that they were used to seeing him pop off in to the woods for a bit of venting and wondered if they knew about the memories he wasn’t supposed to have, if they thought it was odd to finally see him popping off again after so long staying away from his favorite stomping grounds.

The closer he got to the clearing the antsier he felt, like his body knew why it was here and grew only more and more eager with every step. By the time he finally stepped past the ring of seals that would contain the worst of his damage he was nearly vibrating and it was nothing short of a relief to haul back and punch the first tree that dared to grow in his path. Hashirama could always grow another tree. Right now he had some feelings to express.

Way too many feelings and all of them conflicting.

Gritting his teeth, Madara watched the wood explode in to thousands of splinters and thought, not enough. The first tree had no time to fall from where it was clouding the air before he spun and decimated another. And another. It wasn’t enough. Lips peeled back in a tight grimace, he clasped both hands together in one large fist, raised them up, then brought them crashing down to split the earth at his feet. Watching the crack stretch out before him was satisfying but it still just wasn’t nearly enough to release everything he was feeling.

A guttural cry filled with emotions he didn’t even want to name escaped as he lifted his arms and brought them back down again, this time without chakra just to feel the sting of the impact. That helped. When he stood he spun and kicked a tree to hear the shatter of wood and the crashing impact as it fell to the earth. Long used to the thrill of battle, his body responded to his actions out of habit, feeding him adrenaline and pumping chakra hot through his veins. Madara pulled on it and flew through a set of hand signs he could have performed in his sleep.

The fire wouldn’t leave his little ring of seals but just watching the flames chew at the leaves, flickering and dancing and destroying everything in their path, that was better. That was enough. He did it again. Over and over Madara went through his entire arsenal of fire jutsu, screaming with every breath just because it felt good. Something about flame had always been so cathartic to him, cleansing, burning away the feelings he didn’t want to leave room for the calm he so desperately needed. With so much inside of him there could be no easy fix this time but it still felt good to rage and kick up a fuss out here where there was no one to see his moment of weakness, no one to judge as he beat the world in to the submission he wanted from his own heart. The irony did not escape him that so many times in the past Tobirama had been the one to disparage him for his lack of control and here he was being such a fine example of everything the man had been talking about as he tried to decipher his feelings for that very same person.

Of course, he couldn’t keep up that much steam forever. No matter his larger than average chakra stores they were not bottomless. Eventually running through so many jutsu one after the other began to take its toll and Madara felt his limbs flagging, his fingers struggling to form the signs as quickly as he wanted them to. He pushed himself further still. It was another hour at least before finally he kicked a burning tree and found he no longer had the strength to crack it down with one blow or even two. Only when he fell still did he finally realize that he was heaving for breath, sucking in great gulps of air, sweat running down his face in thick rivulets to drip from his chin.

Pausing to look around himself was like watching the world come back in to focus as a genjutsu faded away. Without noticing he had somehow managed to stomp his way in to a completely different part of the forest, still within the massive area of safety protected by seals but quite far from where he started. He didn’t even remember moving his feet very much except to kick at the trees. Turning to look behind, Madara sighed. The forest looked much like it had when they first came through and began tearing up trees to clear room for the first rows of houses back during the initial construction of their village. Hashirama was going to lecture him for hours about being nicer to the trees, the great windbag. He had the power to make entire forests appear in minutes yet he cried every time someone stepped on a twig.

Facing forward didn’t comfort him very much either, standing on the edge of the Naka River in one of the spots where it grew shallow enough to wade across with no chakra. It felt like irony that he would find something even out here to remind him of Tobirama.

Without giving his actions much thought Madara stumbled forward and splashed in to the shallow river, crumpling down to sit on his bottom and allow the gentle flow of water to cool his heated skin. At first he felt a little ridiculous but shuffling backwards a little gave him a nice rock to lean up against and drop his head back to stare up at the sky. Hours had gone by. The sun was much farther across the sky than it had been when he arrived, far enough that he should have been thinking about getting home for lunch except whenever he thought of home there were two places that came to mind and that right there was his entire problem. Where was home really?

His vision glazed over as his thoughts began to drift. All the adrenaline that had driven him onward through his little temper tantrum had burned away to leave him feeling almost hollow in the aftermath. This was exactly what he’d needed. With exhaustion in his limbs and his mind just a little hazy with it he allowed his thoughts to simply go where they would, instinct finally taking the reins over all the thoughts of ‘I should this’ or ‘I should that’.

Stupidly, his first thought was to compare the river water to Tobirama himself. Not so much because the man was basically water in human form or even because of the deep connection he had to his own element but rather because of the coolness of it, the gentle soothing feeling as it flowed on by. It quite reminded him of what life had been like for the last few weeks. Tobirama in private was a cool and soothing presence ready at a moment’s notice to calm the fires that Madara stoked with the easiest provocation. A brush of his chakra was much the same sensation as the flow of water against skin, cleansing, comforting. Lying here with the water flowing around him felt like the river were washing away all the confusion and doubt to leave him with nothing but one simple thought.

Eyes widening, breath hitching, Madara continued to stare upwards without truly seeing the sky as everything inside of him fell in to place with a startlingly gentle click. It was like the clouds parting for a ray of light to come through except he wasn’t really looking at the clouds. For all the confusion he’d been wrestling with since he woke in the middle of the night he had failed to realize one simple yet all-important truth. The memories of hatred, the terrible thoughts of all the wrongs he and Tobirama had committed against each other and all the ways they simply couldn’t work, those only came when he looked for them. When he turned his brain off and let instinct take over his first thoughts of Tobirama were yearning and soft – embarrassingly so. The choice of what he wanted had never been a hard one.

He had already made his choice, apparently. All he’d needed to do was accept it and accepting his own emotions had always been his greatest downfall. Denial was more his forte.

A smile turned up the corners of his lips and Madara just barely resisted the urge to splash both arms about him like a joyful child. Even here where he was completely alone there was no need to throw his dignity so completely to the wind in such a manner. He did bring his hands up just to watch the water pouring out between his fingers, back in to the river to flow away downstream with all his doubts.

His skin was a little pruned when he finally hauled himself out, his clothing sopping wet, and he was afraid to check his pockets to see if there was anything in them that he might have just ruined with river water. But he felt lighter than air and at the same time more grounded than he might have ever felt before in his life. His steps were easy and swift as he wound his way back through the carnage he’d made of the forest, not even the thought of Hashirama's reaction to all this enough to sour his mood.

In fact, his steps paused for a moment only to continue with the smile on his face turning ever so slightly evil. Hashirama. That absolute weasel. He had looked the both of them in the eye and blatantly lied without a single thought for how they would feel when that damn jutsu faded. Best friends or not that was a betrayal Madara would not be quick to forget. That was just the sort of blindly hopeful idiocy he would expect from the man but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to take his time planning the sweetest, most painful revenge he could think up. And being possessed of a slightly twisted mind there were all sorts of painful things he could think up to make Hashirama's life a living hell.

And for Izuna as well. Just because they were siblings that didn’t mean he would skimp on revenge when it was necessary. Madara scoffed to think that Izuna had tried to protect himself by telling him to remember he had asked to be left alone. What nonsense. In a state of mind where he only had access to half the necessary information of course he would say something like that. As a good and loving brother Izuna should have given him the other half of the information he needed long before that point. Madara was glad he hadn’t, obviously, but that didn’t change the fact that he should have.

Both of them were due for a world a pain.

Returning home was a much lighter journey than leaving had been and stepping through the same front door he’d run out of earlier brought a feeling of deep relief to have the confidence that he did want to be here. Tobirama’s chakra was still buzzing away where his labs were set up beyond the edge of the compound, no sign that he was heading home yet. It hit Madara just then that he’d never actually stood and watched the man work. He’d heard all sorts of stories from Hashirama of course and made a lot of assumptions based mostly off of rumors but for all that he claimed to know the sort of mad science that went on in there he had never stood and witnessed anything with his own two eyes. Well, nothing beyond the motions of Tobirama pausing in his work to glare at him the few times he had gone to interrupt the man. At some point he really should tag along and see how right or wrong his assumptions had been.

That was for later, though. Right at the moment he was making a mess of Tobirama’s well-scrubbed floors with all the water he was dripping everywhere. Since he was alone here for the moment he felt no shame stripping off so he could deal with the clothing first, tramping back to the front hallway naked with a towel in hand to deal with that mess second. Only once both of those things were taken care of did he hop in to the shower for a quick rinse so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his day stinking of the river.

Lunch time was right on top of him after he was dressed again with his hair brushed out properly so he set about whipping something up for both of them in case Tobirama miraculously remembered to eat. And it was a good thing he did. No sooner had he set the table than he felt that familiar cool water sensation flowing towards him, bringing an unconscious smile to his face. He felt almost like a domestic house husband standing by the table with contentment in his chest waiting to serve the meal he had made for them both and, oddly enough, there was no part of him that balked at feeling that way. Even his pride was purring happily to know that he could make such a good partner.

“Someone looks like he’s had a good day so far,” Tobirama murmured after pausing in the doorway. Ignoring the food for a moment, he first came over to pull Madara close and kiss him gently on both cheeks.

“I did. It was very…enlightening.” He smiled to see his partner pull away to give him a suspicious look.

“Been reading strange books again, I take it?”

“I’ll never tell.”

Tobirama eyed him for a moment more before ostensibly deciding that he could live without knowing. They sat down to eat a peaceful lunch together and Madara was happy to keep the conversation away from himself, asking questions about what the other man had gotten up to in the lab. He wondered how complicated the experiments could be if Tobirama didn’t remember most of his own scientific knowledge or if it was all so instinctually ingrained in him that he was able to pick it back up without much thought.

From the sounds of it most of Tobirama’s afternoon today had been filled with reading through some old notebooks that he’d found hidden in a dusty back cupboard, looking through projects that seemed to have been abandoned some time ago. Just listening to the passion in his voice was so magnetic Madara was left wondering how he could have never noticed before. This was the same passion he’d heard a hundred times and more at the council table and yet he’d never realized before how captivating it could be.

It boggled the mind that he could have been so blinded by an ages-old baseless hatred that he couldn’t see something this beautiful right in front of his face. He almost wanted to find a way to go back in time just so he could kick some sense in to himself. Not just for wasting so much time when he could have been as happy as he had been during this entire episode but for being such a piss poor unobservant idiot. How could he stand to call himself one of the paramount shinobi when he couldn’t see past his own prejudice to something this big underneath? It was almost unthinkable how badly he had failed to summarize Tobirama in his own mind.

They cleaned up from the meal together and afterwards Tobirama noted that he was beginning to feel stagnant, not having exercised in any way yet that day. He invited Madara to spar in the backyard, unaware of the man’s current state of half exhaustion, and Madara was rather proud of himself for not letting the panic show on his face. Instead he sidestepped the offer by saying he had already gone through some light exercise himself. Tobirama only shrugged, moving outside to begin stretching in the middle of the backyard.

Since he really had nothing else to do at the moment Madara brewed himself a cup of tea and settled on the engawa to watch. Observation was the sort of skill one should never allow to get rusty and what better subject to practice on than Tobirama bending his body in to all sorts of interesting shapes? Studying the minute shifts of muscle and the perfect control he had of every motion was a very pleasant way to spend the next hour or so, so pleasant in fact that he began to wonder why they hadn’t done this more often.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to join me?” Tobirama asked eventually with a quiet chuckle. “You have that look in your eyes that says you want something.”

“Maybe I just want you,” Madara heard himself purring, covering his surprise with a sip of tea.

Tobirama rolled his eyes but he was smiling. “Yes, thank you, that wasn’t made entirely obvious by the drool on your chin.”

Horrified, Madara swiped at the corners of his mouth to make sure there wasn’t actually any drool. Thankfully the man was just teasing him. After glaring he harrumphed and stood to clear away the dishes he’d brought out with him. If he was only going to be made fun of then sitting out here didn’t sound very fun anymore. Just because he loved the man, loved his irascibility even, that didn’t mean he had to roll over and take such grievous abuse.

Muffled laughter followed him inside.

Until the other was finished getting a bit of energy out Madara entertained himself with poking around the kitchen and mentally planning out dinner for later. He was only just wondering whether he should tackle some of the laundry, maybe clean up some of the evidence of his little dip in the river, when Tobirama finally came inside, pulling off his shirt as he walked to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Just like that Madara was back to staring. In some ways he had always known that Tobirama was physically attractive, that was the sort of thing that was hard not to notice. But the few times that pale skin and red eyes had snuck in to his imagination as he lay pleasuring himself at night he had always cast such thoughts as far away as possible. He’d been barely willing to even consider the man human so strong had been his hatred and it was only now that he’d been forcibly given a second glance that he thought to wonder why.

What made his hatred so strong for this one person? There were hundreds of other Senju and every one of them had Uchiha blood on their hands. Hell, there were still some of them alive who could be implicated in his own siblings’ deaths, though Madara had no proof to make any accusations. For all his faults Tobirama had always been one of the loudest voices calling to end the tradition of child hunting. It should have been a point in his favor.

“I think I’ll do laundry,” the man in question mumbled to himself. “No one else should have to deal with this stench.” He held his shirt out in front of him with a wrinkled nose and ambled off down the hallway to do the laundry Madara had just been thinking of.

Alone again just like that, Madara stumbled over to the living room and slumped down on the couch in a mirror of the position he had worried away his morning in. Waiting for Tobirama to remember was all he could do, leaving it up to fate or luck was all well and good, but how much of a chance did he really have? When the memories came flooding back and Tobirama remembered how horribly he’d been treated over the years – well, Madara certainly wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t able to see past that.

He sat bolt upright almost before his body had truly settled on the cushions. What was Tobirama going to think about the fact that Madara had remembered everything and yet chosen to stay here like a viper in the nest waiting to strike? In his joy to have finally understood his own heart he realized now that he hadn’t taken the time to consider Tobirama’s or the way his actions might look to the other man. He may not have as much of a chance as he had originally estimated.

Which was already a fairly small chance, if truth be told.

Scrubbing at his face with both hands didn’t help but at least he wasn’t building up more frantic energy that he would need some sort of excuse to run away and expel. Inviting someone to a spar would look incredibly suspicious after he had already claimed to be done with exercising for the day.

By the time Tobirama returned from tossing a load of laundry in the washer and soaking in the warm water Madara had left for him in the tub he found nothing more out of the ordinary than a happy calm looking partner reading a book on the sofa. He was smiling as he selected a book of his own and slid down on the other half of the couch to enjoy a bit of peaceful reading. Madara hoped that his heavy sigh of relief was quiet enough to go unnoticed but just in case he kept the book he was staring at raised to cover his face.

Reading, he had realized, gave him the perfect excuse to sit still and just stare off in the space while his thoughts ran in circles. All he had to do was turn a page every once in a while and Tobirama would never dare disturb him.

What he needed was a plan. If Tobirama’s old memories were going to convince him to leave then what Madara needed to do was give him a reason to stay. He needed to make new memories, happy memories that could demonstrate every reason they should be together. And he needed to get started on that right away; his own memories had already returned, Tobirama’s could come back at any time. That Yamanaka bitch had said their own chakra stores would simply dissolve the foreign chakra inside of them at an unknown rate so the way he figured it his slightly larger stores were probably the only reason he’d recovered first.

It was a race against time now. Lowering his book just enough to peer at the man on the other end of the couch, Madara offered a small prayer that he would have enough. Otherwise the only other plan was to confess everything and hope that for once in his life Tobirama showed mercy.