#i’ll just have to make some minor adjustments to the meal in that case

[sergeantpixie]

could not sleep because i hadn’t finished planning my thanksgiving menu, is this adulthood?

[violetflowerswrites]

I’ll Be Here

Summary: After a traumatic injury, your SWAT roommate turned boyfriend (?) Jim Street strives to take care of you, and meet all of your needs.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Minor mentions of leg injury, meds, and recovery with wheelchair, casts, and crutches. Reader has a protective older sister. One scene of nightmares, mentions of trauma. Discussion of child abuse, drug use, drunkenness, in Street’s family history. Filthy Smut. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. 18+ for explicit smut, and language

Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: I felt like there needed to be one more epilogue / ending to this Street x Roommate fic series. It picks up directly after the ending of Part Two (Taking it Slow). I got a little caught up fleshing out her backstory and recovery journey, but there’s a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, and quite a bit of smut. I added some details from Season 4, Ep 2 as well. It’s a slower paced story than what I normally like, but I still had a fun hell of time writing it. Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Two Here - “Taking It Slow”

Masterlist Here

…

The click of the door makes the two of you startle, and quickly.

“Commander Hicks is gonna put you on armory duty for a week for pulling a stunt like that.”

“Hey, Tan.” Street smiles at his teammate’s lack of greeting. Classic Tan — a bit of hard-ass, but always means well. “Hicks already chewed my ear off on the phone earlier.”

“Figured. I just wanted to come down, see how my friend’s sister was doing. I already briefed her on what happened. She’s on her way back from a case up in Burbank.”

“Thank you, Victor.” You breathe out a sigh of relief.

Victor Tan was co-workers with your older sister back from his days in LAPD’s Hollywood Vice division. When you decided to move to LA, she figured you being roommates with a SWAT officer was the safest place you could be.

But the world is a dangerous place, even if you live with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT.

Victor looks you up and down, noticing that besides being a little pale, and having a massive cast on your leg, you don’t seem to be in pain.

Then, he notices the way that Street is standing— body turned to yours, hand hovering on the bedside protectively, as if he wanted to hold your hand at any given moment.

“Hold on, don’t tell me you two are a thing now.”

A hot flush creeps up your skin and you and Street immediately stumble over your responses.

“We were trying to take it slow—“

“and not make things too complicated…”

“but then this happened so…”

“We don't really know what we are, but I do know that I am so so grateful for you Victor. You and Street helped save my life.”

You end your rush of words with a watery smile, emotion cracking your voice.

Tan looks down sheepishly, immediately trying to be casual about it.

“Nah, Y/N. It was the tourniquet you made that probably saved your life. You gave us a big scare today, but I am glad to see you’re okay.”

“That makes 3 of us.”

A petite, fierce-looking female cop stands in the doorway of the hospital room, her hand sweeping back some stray hairs that fell out of her tight bun in her rush to get to you.

…

Your bad-ass cop sister stays over for a week while you recover, watching Street like a hawk. You’re so hopped up on pain-killers that you barely notice the tension between them.

Street on the other hand, feels like he’s being evaluated in some test he didn’t train for. He couldn’t take time off, so he’s eager to see you whenever he gets home. But most of the time, your sister is hovering over you, helping you adjust to moving around in the wheelchair, and making sure you are eating your meals and taking all your meds correctly.

One late evening while you’re supposed to be sleeping, you overhear your sister confront him.

“So. When were you gonna tell me you’re fucking my sister?”

Street spits out the beer he just took a sip of. He’s barely exchanged more than a few sentences to your sister, and that was when she helped you move in a few months ago.

“Uh…”

“I see the way you look at her. I’m pretty sure I warned you that this arrangement was solely to keep her safe while living in this neighborhood. Didn’t expect you guys to fuck so quickly.”

Damn. Your sister is known to be blunt, but this is next level. You remembered how she reacted when your dick-head of a college ex-boyfriend broke your heart. He was sorry to have ever known you after that.

“About that…” Street starts, but gets cut off with a raised palm in his face.

“Before you say anything, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She hasn’t told me yet, but I know. She’s down bad for you, Street.”

You automatically pull your covers up in embarrassment, hearing your sister lay all your feelings out in the open like that. She’s right though, you’ve fallen hard for him and it’s not just because he saved your life a week ago.

It’s because he's an empathetic listener to your rants about work, LA traffic, anything.

It’s the way he notices the small things, like when you're stress baking, or when you have your shoulders hunched up in frustration at the kitchen counter.

It’s how he gently pries your closed off doors open, helping you heal from your past.

It’s how he loves you, in such a sweet, gentle way that only he can.

“So you have 2 days before I go back to Vice to show me that you can take care of her.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, I don’t want to, but we’re about to make a big drug bust and my team needs me. Y/N is strong. She can take care of herself, but I worry about her. Her surgery was intense, and it’s gonna be a long recovery. I was gonna have her live with me for a few months, but I don’t think she wants to be away from you.”

“Thank you.” Street lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He may be a big bad SWAT officer, but your 5 foot nothing of a cop sister scared the shit out of him.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

…

That weekend, you get the full princess treatment from Street. He helps train your upper body strength to be able to lift yourself on and off your wheelchair. He takes you to the park to get some sun, and makes sure the entire house is wheelchair friendly so you can move around independently. He rearranges the fridge and pantry so that your favorite foods are all easily reachable from your lower height. He even meal-preps some home-cooked lunches to have while you go back to work on Monday.

Working with your sister, he re-arranges his schedule so he can drive you to the office in the morning and your sister can take you home.

On Sunday evening, you read out a long string of dates as Street writes all your upcoming appointments on the fridge-calendar and your sister says which ones she can take you to, and which ones she needs Street to help drive you.

“Well…fuck.” Your sister swears, which only happens when she’s particularly exasperated.

”What? What’s wrong?” You look up from your laptop with your Google calendar open.

“Y/N, I didn’t wanna admit it, but you got a good one here.”

An ear-splitting grin spreads across Street’s face as he realizes what she means.

You obviously told your sister that you overheard Friday night’s conversation, and all of what’s been going on between you and Street…minus the mind-blowing sex.

“He passed?” You ask eagerly, hopeful stars in your eyes.

“He never had to pass anything in the first place, Y/N. If you chose him, that’s all the approval I needed to know. I trust you. I was just giving him a hard time, because I love you.”

You burst out laughing while Street spits out a flabbergasted “The hell did I try so hard for?!”

“That’s what big sisters are for. Y/N deserves all the princess treatment she can get. We put our lives on the line every day, but she doesn’t normally have to. She’s gonna need you, Street.”

Street places a reassuring hand on your sisters’ shoulder.

“I’ll be here.”

…

Street lives up his promise, taking care of you through some of the worst physical and emotional pain you’ve ever been in.

He’s there at your physical therapy appointments, making sure you’re practicing the exercises at home even when you just want to lie down from exhaustion.

He’s there holding your hand even though you squeeze him until his fingers go numb. It hurts him to see your face contort with unexpected pain when the meds wear off and you try putting some weight on your leg for the first time in weeks.

He’s there when the trauma sets in. He notices when you’re on the couch in the evenings, the TV on, but you’re not really watching. He holds you tightly while you wake up in the middle of night crying, reliving the moment you almost died.

He’s there through it all.

…

“How do you deal with it?”

You’re sitting upright in bed, the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp warming the darkness of the middle of the night.

“Deal with what?”

Street’s sitting next to you, holding your hand while your sweat-soaked forehead leans against his shoulder, your racing heartbeat finally slowing down.

Your breath draws in and out in a steady rhythm as you calm yourself from your latest nightmare with his comforting presence.

Street ran into your room when he heard you. That’s been the third night in a row that you’ve woken up to the sound of your own screaming.

“Deal with trauma. Not the physical pain, but those horrible moments that just keep flashing before your eyes every time you close them.”

“Well, I’ve been dealing with trauma my whole life I guess.”

Street has already talked to you about growing up in the foster system, because his dad was a drunk. You knew that his mom was in jail for killing him, but Street didn’t go into details. You knew as much as he hated talking about his past, he hated talking about his complicated relationship with his mom even more.

“Last week, we were surveilling a house, trying to get someone for the CIA, and I saw a kid. A little boy, covered in bruises on his back porch. He looked so alone, and so scared.”

“What happened?”

“I got into it with Hondo a bit, almost compromised the mission because I wanted to get him out of that abusive home.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. But it brought back a lot of memories, and none of them good.”

It was your turn to comfort Street as you could hear his breath come in shudders as he thought back to his rough childhood.

“Have I ever told you that my earliest memory of kindergarten was my mom putting makeup on my chin to cover up my dad’s crappy weekend?”

“No.” The word comes out in a saddened whisper. “You’ve never told me that one before.”

“Well, it’s not something that comes up in casual conversation. And I’ve tried a lot of things to make sure I never have to mention those moments.”

“What kinds of things?”

Street lets out a wry chuckle.

“What haven’t I tried? Drugs, alcohol. Thrill seeking. Street racing. Driving way past the speed limit.”

“You still do that one.”

Street laughs genuinely now. “Yeah, but not where I’ll get caught by cops.”

“You are a cop!”

He chuckles again, but quiets down into contemplative silence.

“For many years, I just poured myself into my job. Climbing the ladder until I could make something of myself. Run away as far as I could from that childhood me. The one with the drunk dad, jailed mom. The helpless foster kid.”

“It didn’t help, did it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then, how did you heal?”

Street looks down at you now, his heart breaking to see tears streaming down your face. He’s certain those are empathetic tears, tears for his hardships. His rough childhood. Pangs of guilt wash over him.

He doesn’t deserve your tears.

Then, he sees the way you’re looking at him. The way you’re holding him in a bone-crushing embrace. Well, as tightly as you could possibly hold all of his heavily-muscled torso.

So, he sucks in a grounding breath and reminds himself that you’re crying because you care about him. Because you love him.

And it’s okay to accept your love.

Street caresses your cheek with a strong hand, and thumbs off a few of your tears.

“I’m still healing. But when those moments come, I’ve learned that it helps to talk about it.”

All those late-night bike rides down the California coastline could never truly help him escape from his problems.

He thinks back to all the people in his life who’ve helped him open up. Who’ve confronted him on his bullshit and made him stop running away.

Hondo and Buck.

Chris, Deacon, Tan, and Luca.

Even his ex-girlfriend, Molly Hicks.

As much as he hates to admit it, putting his trauma out in the open was better than keeping it in.

Your hand in his starts trembling and that small movement pulls him out of his thoughts.

“What if I’m not ready to talk yet?” You choke, as if you could barely get the words out.

“Then I’ll be here waiting until you are.”

…

Weeks pass in a whirlwind of work, doctors’ appointments, and recovery exercises at home. Eventually, the nightmares subside, and you start seeing a therapist to help you work through the trauma.

You graduate from the wheelchair and giant full-length cast to a bootie on your calf and ankle. The hardwood floor is littered with little dents from the first few days you learned to hobble around on crutches, but you get the hang of it quickly.

Both Street and your sister feel much more at ease leaving you at home alone, knowing that you can take care of yourself more easily now.

Except today.

Because your idiot brain put the crutches by the bathroom door instead of next to the towel rack.

And here you are, butt-naked in the shower, the floor wet and a slipping hazard, and 6 feet away from independence.

Just as you debate bear-crawling across the cold tile to grab your crutches, you hear the front door open and close.

“Street!” You call out.

Heavy footsteps rush over to the bathroom and skid to a stop as Street quickly leans his head against the door and asks urgently, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! I just left the crutches by the door and I can’t reach them. Can you help me get out of the shower?”

Street breathes out a sigh of relief. Ever since the accident, he finds himself panicking easily about any situation that has to do with you getting hurt.

“Of course. I’m coming in.”

You’ve managed to dry yourself off, wrap your body in a fluffy white towel, and sit on the edge of the tub.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Street how your damp hair clings to your skin, flushed from the hot water. Lavender-scented steam hits him in a rush as he opens the door, a familiar smell to him. You love lavender shampoo, soaps, lotions, candles, anything.

He scoops you up gently, trying not to think about the last time he carried you like this was when you were bloodied, unconscious, and barely alive.

A small moan draws him out of his head immediately.

Not a moan of pain.

A moan of lust.

What?

Street freezes and gently places you on the bathroom counter, carefully holding your injured leg against his hip.

His eyes dart across your flustered face as you realize just what kind of inadvertent sound escaped your lips as soon as you were in Street’s strong arms, and you inhaled the familiar leather of his bike jacket.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Street kisses you breathless and pulls your towel down, inhaling your damp skin and that damned lavender soap that is making him dizzy with lust.

Water drips from the ends of your hair down your body, and Street licks up the river trailing from your shoulder, down the swell of your breasts, all the way to your core.

He pulls you to the edge as he kneels down in front of you. Ever-conscious of your injury, he lifts your hurt leg onto his shoulder, which only serves to widen your thighs, giving him full access.

Your knuckles tighten against the counter and your moans bounce off the tiled walls the second he licks your dripping pussy.

Street is a master at oral and it’s been weeks since you’ve had the pleasure of being his pupil.

His tongue dives first into your center, stretching your hot, leaking core. Then his lips find your clit, sucking it in gently, until the nerve endings in the sensitive nub light your body up with pleasure.

Before you have a moment to recover, his fingers find your entrance and enter with ease. Your slick gushes out, dripping onto the towel as he thrusts two fingers in and out. His knuckles curl up, searching for the spongy spot that he knows will drive you absolutely wild.

Filthy sounds of wetness fill the bathroom as he eats you out and fingers your clenched center, once, twice, three times.

Before long, his moans mix with your own as you voice your pleasure, cumming on his face in moments.

“Keep going.”

Street freezes at the first words you’ve uttered since he kissed you. It was an impulse, a lack of self-control that got him to this point in the first place.

It was seeing you nearly naked, with that damned lavender filling his nostrils that drove him crazy.

But he was going to stop. It was enough to get you off.

”I’m not done yet, Street.” You demand arrogantly, and look pointedly at the hard erection pushing against his dark-blue jeans.

“But—“

“I’ll be fine. Just hold my leg up and fuck me.”

You pull him up by the collar of his leather jacket, and kiss him roughly, panting in his ear as you lick and suckle the skin of his cheek, his neck, the underside of his jaw.

It’s been too long since you’ve had his body, his touch, his cock. You crave him with a hunger you’ve never known before.

And now that you’ve had a taste, every cell in your being is vibrating with one simple word.

More.

Needing no other encouragement, Street strips off his jacket only for you to take it and pull it over your bare shoulders.

The sight of you, fully naked except for his jacket, makes him suck in a breath.

His eyes darken immediately and he can hear his heart beat in double time.

You make him go feral.

It takes no time at all for him to rid himself of his remaining clothing, and line himself up with your pink entrance.

“You’ll tell me if I’m hurting you?” Street asks, still hesitant, even as the pre-cum of his throbbing member mixes with your juices.

“Yes.” You affirm breathlessly, feeling the round tip of his hard cock start to breach your center.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t handle it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure about this, Y/N?”

“Yes! Street, fill me with your cock already!”

He blushes at your filthy words, feeling the heel of your good leg dig into the small of his back, trying to draw him into your waiting core.

You finally feel him push through the tight circle of your center. You’re especially tight, having not had sex since the accident over a month ago.

Street lets out a growl as he feels your pussy gripping him, struggling to push in deeper.

But instead of pain, you only feel pleasure.

“Fuck—! That feels incredible. Go deeper, Street. Please!” You beg him, desperate for more.

He grabs your thighs, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pulls you towards his pelvis. You can feel his cock thrust to the end, finally completely filling you with all of him.

You throw your arms around his waist, breathing heavily as the heady lavender steam only serves to make the two of you even more sex-drunk.

You hear Street suck in another deep breath before he pulls out, and slowly inches his way back into you, experimenting with how fast he should go.

How much you can handle.

But the slower pace feels heavenly to your hot, needy core. His cock stretches every part of you, pressing against your spongy center, all the way to your cervix as he thrusts down to the hilt once more.

”How’s that, Y/N? Does it hurt?” Street checks in with you again, a vein popping out of his neck as he strains to maintain his self-control. All his cock wants is to fuck you with total abandon, but he refuses to put himself first.

Your voice comes out in a stream of incoherent whimpers as you wordlessly express just how good it feels to be filled by him.

So Street cups the back of your ass, and presses you flush against him, and you cry out, feeling him impossibly deep inside.

“Oh my god! Street!”

“I’m just getting started.” He grins, licking the side of your neck as he starts to roll his hips into you.

You feel his cock slip out just a few inches only to thrust back in as far as it can go, over and over.

As you look down, you are blessed with the magnificent sight of Street’s abs clenching with every sensual roll of his body against yours.

Every slight motion pushes you to the brink of orgasm, your body almost unable to handle all the stimulation after having only known pain and discomfort for the past several weeks.

Impulsively, you bite down on Street’s shoulder, trying to expend all the pleasure you’re feeling somewhere else, muffling your moans against his muscled flesh.

“Shit! Are you biting me?” Street growls, incredulous, but also massively turned on.

“Does it hurt?” You grin mischievously, pulling his lower lip in between your teeth next.

“Yeah.”

“A good hurt, or bad hurt?”

“Good.” Another sharp inhale. “Fuck, I’m already close!”

Street’s body shudders as you feel his grip slide back to your hips, his slow thrusts giving way to a faster, more desperate rhythm.

You nibble and nip the side of his neck, the bottom of his ear, as you feel just how hot his skin is under your tongue and lips.

Another loud moan is wrenched from your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. His cock satisfies your body in a way you can’t describe.

You can’t wait any longer.

“Cum for me.” You whisper into his ear, demanding his obedience. His brow furrows as he tries to delay his incoming orgasm, and you kiss it, giggling as you watch him come undone by your body.

Street pushes his cock into you, your wetness making the movement easy, but your tightness gripping him like he is never supposed to separate from you again.

You lock your fingers behind the small of his back, pulling him in and clenching down until you feel his cock spurt out jets of hot cum into your core.

Street grits his teeth and heaves out the sexiest, most overstimulated moan you’ve ever heard from any man.

Your own orgasm follows right behind his, your entire being vibrating with pleasure, wetness repeatedly gushing around his cock. Your pussy stutters, muscles spasming as it tries to recover from the best sex you’ve ever had, with the biggest cock you’ve ever had.

With the most loving, caring man you’ve ever had. Your heart fills with love and contentment at the moment the two of you just shared.

This is what sex should be like - intimacy, pleasure, love.

It is truly something else.

“Y/N?” Street murmurs against your damp shoulder, slowly regaining some semblance of control and coherent thoughts.

“Mmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“I never want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You find the rough skin of his jaw and pry him off your body, and instead, pull his face towards you, your forehead pressing against his. As you lock eyes with the emotional gaze of your lover, you notice that he’s a little teary, and your heart melts for him even more. Jim Street. The love of your life.

“I know.”

…

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Exile

Rowaelin Month, Day 29

A Work Based on a Song @rowaelinscourt

CW: language, minor NSFW

AN: Based on the Taylor Swift song

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//5747 words

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancing on breaking branches

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

There she was. Arm-in-arm with that man and standing tall and smiling.

She didn’t have any right to smile like that.

Not when it wasn’t because of him. Not when he wasn’t the one holding her, wasn’t the one telling her cheesy jokes and pressing heated kisses to her neck.

And that man had no right to lay his hands on her. She didn’t belong to him.

Rowan clenched his fingers so tightly he heard something snap. He glanced down to see the plastic lid of his coffee cup with a crack in it. He loosened his grip, then looked back up.

He shouldn’t be watching her. She had given up on him. She was the reason he was struggling, and she was the cause of his pain. Aelin didn’t deserve any attention from him.

But he just couldn’t tear his gaze away.

—

“Stop it,” Aelin complained halfheartedly, a laugh creeping into her voice. “You can’t pay for everything.”

Sam winked. “Who says?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly, a smile twitching at her lips all the while. “I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

A grin broke over Aelin’s face. Sam had said that for the first time last night, after a lovely dinner. There had been roses and candles and a gourmet (at least to Aelin’s uncultured taste buds) meal. Sam had really gone all out.

And he had been more than understanding about the fact that she wasn’t ready to reciprocate those three words. He’d insisted that she didn’t actually, knowing everything there was to know about the relationship she’d just gotten out of and having complete and utter respect and supportiveness for her.

But she would say it back soon. She was free, and she was with Sam, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy. Aelin may not love him yet, and she never was sure of when that extreme adoration crossed the line, but it had to be soon. It had to be because Sam was good to her. And if she could love people who weren’t good to her, Aelin must certainly be able to love the ones who were.

That’s how it worked, right?

Aelin smiled even as her thoughts raced back in time, to a different point in her life, when things had been much different. These things did not need to be analyzed. Aelin had done enough overthinking to last a lifetime, and she had promised herself to stop. To just stop thinking about him at all.

Aelin leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam’s cheek. “C’mon, our coffee’s getting cold.”

Sam grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I bet I could find a way to warm things up.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Don’t you dare. That was the least sexy thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Sam pulled her closer. “I have plenty more up my sleeve. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Aelin whacked him on the arm playfully. “You are the worst boyfriend ever,” she teased. “Let’s go, maybe I will let you warm things up.” She grinned, knowing that encouraging him only increased the number of ridiculous jokes and pick-up lines being sent her way and not caring one bit.

With one last smirk, Sam tugged Aelin toward the door of the coffee shop, arm loosely around her waist. She leaned into him as they walked to the door, only slowing down as she reached over to adjust her purse strap over her shoulder… and something caught Aelin’s eye when she looked back.

Someone.

Aelin came to a complete standstill, eyes widening in shock.

It shouldn’t be such a surprise. After all, this was a small town. But Aelin having to see him again, having to see him staring at her unashamedly, maintaining eye contact…

It was unnerving.

His eyes bore holes into Aelin, and she shivered. He hadn’t always looked at her like that. It had been happy, once. Once there had been love in gaze. Not possession. Not loathing. Not fury. Just pure, unadulterated love.

So much had changed. No, Aelin corrected herself. Nothing had changed other than her ability to notice what was really going on. This was how it had always been. Aelin had just been too blind to see it.

Distantly, Aelin realized Sam was asking her what was wrong. He was following her gaze. He was putting the pieces together.

And now he was asking her if that was him, but they both knew. They both knew it was.

Aelin spun around suddenly, a complete 180 degree turn, eradicating Rowan from her line of sight.

“Let’s go,” Aelin said. “Let’s just go.”

—

“See you tomorrow,” Aelin said, kissing Sam on the lips.

He deepened the kiss slightly before pulling away and saying, “See you, babe. Love you.”

Aelin smiled.

Sam smiled back, but the expression dimmed before he could leave, hesitating on the doorstep. “Are you sure…”

Aelin took a deep breath. “Sam, I love that you care about me, but there is nothing to be done. Rowan lives nearby; I’ll have to get used to seeing him every once in a while.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t get to do what he did to you and then walk around untouched, flaunting it.”

Aelin flashed a watery smile. “That’s the thing, Sam. He can do whatever he likes, and it won’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I am with you and I am happy and anything he does is entirely inconsequential.”

Sam held Aelin’s gaze, then his eyes softened. He kissed her again and pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated in a whisper.

Aelin smiled, watching him leave.

She leaned against the doorway of her apartment, watching Sam walk away with a gentle expression on her face. He glanced back only once to toss a saucy grin her way as he took the turn and headed down the stairs, out of sight. But she didn’t go back inside quite yet, instead gazing in the direction he’d last been visible at, thinking. Thinking happy things.

And then thinking some not so happy things.

It wasn’t fair that Rowan could consume her thoughts so wholly. Yes, consume was the right word. He consumed her mind now, and before he had consumed every inch of her body, every aspect of her life. And it was a word with so many different connotations that for a long time, Aelin hadn’t thought that was so bad.

She knew better now.

Aelin normally would have willed a smile back to her face to reassure those around her, but she was alone now. No more pretending. Aelin frowned fully as she turned to renter the apartment.

And nearly ran smack into Rowan, who was standing on the opposite side of the doorway. Only a couple feet away, staring at her, breathing her air, and she hadn’t noticed.

Aelin regarded him silently, trying to decide if Rowan was real or not. This wouldn’t have been the first time she’d imagined him beside her.

“What exactly did I do to you, Aelin?” He was real then.

“You have no right.” Aelin’s voice was raspy and beyond furious.

“You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

Aelin shook her head, her entire body shaking. “You have no right,” she repeated.

Rowan crossed his arms. The door was wide open, and Aelin stood on the side with the hinges. Which meant she had the disadvantage, unable to get in without Rowan stopping her.

“What do you want from me?”

Rowan shook his head, eyes simmering with something deceptively similar to hurt. “I want to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Aelin hissed.

“Why did you leave me?” Rowan’s voice was hard.

Aelin breathed hard through her nostrils, not bothering to put a leash on her temper. “Because you didn’t treat me right, Rowan. You ignored me. You used me.”

“I loved you!” Rowan shouted.

Aelin shook her head. “That wasn’t love. That was something else.”

“What was it, Aelin?”

She bit her lip, and Rowan’s eyes snapped down to her mouth. He stepped forward. “What was it?” he demanded, voice far too gravelly for this conversation.

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Something bad. Something wrong.”

With that she kicked out her foot and caught Rowan on the inside of his leg. Thought likely uninjured, he was surprised enough by Aelin’s spite that he stepped back an inch. Just enough space for Aelin to shove past him and slam the door.

Angry tears streaming down her face in hateful torrents, Aelin flipped the lock, then slid the chain into place.

Then she released a muffled cry of anguish and leaned back against the door, swaying. She started crying in earnest, trying to keep her sobs relatively quiet in case Rowan was still at the door. He probably was.

Aelin slid down the door limply, falling into a pile on the floor. She reached around and placed a palm flat on the wooden surface. He was out there.

She knew he was.

Confirmation came in the form of a shadow, flitting across the crack under the door, and finally blocking the space considerably, accompanied by the a soft thump.

Rowan was sitting next to her. Without the door, he’d be touching her. Holding her.

Aelin pressed her face against the door, getting as close to him as she could while still being able to deny it. She’d slammed the door on him. No one could take that away from her.

But no one could take this away from her either, this moment.

—

Aelin was crying. He’d known she would be, but it still hurt to hear.

Rowan traced his fingers across the door delicately, imagining her own touch on the other side. They were almost holding hands.

Time passed. They kept sitting there, and Rowan knew Aelin well enough to know she’d be screaming at herself inside her head, trying to make herself get up, to no avail.

Rowan felt a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that she couldn’t leave him just yet.

It was two in the morning when Rowan finally heard Aelin stand. Faintly he heard her, still sniffling, shuffle off to somewhere else in their apartment.

For it was their apartment. Rowan’s just as much as Aelin’s. More even. He just wasn’t allowed inside anymore.

Rowan stood and walked away.

—

Aelin giggled. “You did not.”

Chaol flashed a smile. “I swear on all that is holy I did.”

Aelin shook her head, eyes dancing with mirth. “How does one even manage to do that without being—”

“May I cut in?”

Aelin turned, smile frozen in place, to find her boyfriend reaching over to place an arm around her side, fingers digging in a bit too much for her liking. “Of course. We were just talking about you, actually.”

Rowan smiled, but there was something in the expression that didn’t appeal to her. “Oh?”

Chaol joined in. “I told her about the day I met you, how I got so upset with you that I put your phone number in all the bathrooms and you got a bunch of calls asking for a hookup.”

Chaol laughed, clearly under the impression this was long since water under the bridge. Rowan’s returning smile was a bit tighter, and Aelin wondered if he still held a grudge. Or if he was upset about something else.

“As much as I would love to reminisce,” Rowan said, voice dripping with manners and camaraderie, “My girlfriend and I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, Westfall.”

Chaol smiled and waved. Aelin just took another sip of her champagne.

Rowan plucked the champagne flute from her hand and set it somewhere off to the side, then pulled Aelin toward the exit, his hand still firmly around her waist.

Aelin didn’t say anything as they left the work party. Nor as Rowan opened the passenger door of his car and helped her inside, like he thought she’d bolt at the first opportunity.

The ride home was silent. As was the walk up the stairs leading to their apartment. Rowan unlocked the door with his keys and held it open, letting Aelin go first. Once again, she got the feeling it wasn’t a gesture of kindness.

Aelin dropped her purse on the counter then spun around, anger finally spilling over the top. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rowan didn’t waver. “You were flirting with my coworker.”

Aelin gaped at him. “I was doing no such thing!”

Rowan just snorted.

“You asked me to make an effort with your friends,” Aelin said icily. “That’s all I was doing.”

Rowan scoffed. “Don’t take me for a fool, Aelin.”

“Excuse me? I was not flirting with anybody, Rowan. We were talking about you for fuck’s sake.”

“Chaol always has ulterior motives. I don’t trust him.”

“And what about me? Do you trust me?” Aelin barely managed to keep her voice from cracking.

Rowan’s face instantly softened. “Of course I trust you, baby.”

Aelin didn’t reply.

Rowan stepped forward and brought his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. “Look at me.”

Aelin hesitated, then brought her gaze to meet his own.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. Forgive me.”

Aelin’s lower lip wavered. She still said nothing.

“I love you,” Rowan continued, softly tracing a line over her cheek. “Forgive me.”

“I love you too,” Aelin rasped. And it was true. She loved him more than anything in the world.

Rowan leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut. She was tense as Rowan started to move his mouth down her neck, loving and demanding at the same time.

Rowan’s hand found its way to her shoulder, sliding the thin strap of her dress off. Aelin stayed still, breathing through her nose while Rowan started following the top of her dress down with his mouth, kissing her bare chest, Aelin’s breasts covered only barely.

“Rowan,” Aelin gasped as he finally freed a breast from the fabric and closed his mouth around it. She wasn’t sure if she was spurring him on or protesting.

Rowan pushed her back a step. Then another. Aelin felt the wall at her back. She let her head fall back against it.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan repeated in a dark murmur, breath caressing her ear. His hand fell to her thigh and pushed up the dress, then he reached for his own buckle.

Aelin could only try to convince herself she wanted this as Rowan pulled her underwear to the side and—

Aelin jolted up in bed with a gasp.

Sweat soaked the sheets and dripped down Aelin’s face as she panted into the darkness. Aelin bent over and buried her face in the sheets, face already wet with tears.

—

Routine had long since become mechanical for Rowan. Get out of bed. Take a shower. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Dress and get out the door.

It helped keep his thoughts from straying.

It wasn’t just getting ready that Rowan approached with machine-like indifference. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and soon enough Rowan was in a bar, sipping his first whiskey of the night.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the bar in front of him. Turning it on revealed Aelin’s smiling face, framed by her vibrant golden hair. A white sundress highlighted her curves subtly. The sun was high behind her, and the cloudless sky was the blue of her eyes. The whole picture was so Aelin.

Rowan entered his passcode and took in the home screen, another picture of Aelin, this one with him as well. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had taken the picture. They were sprawled across the grass, Aelin haphazardly lounging on top of Rowan, her mouth open in a laugh that he could almost hear, even now. And that beautiful hair, strewn across his chest.

She looked the happiest Rowan had ever seen her. There was no way someone could look that happy and just be pretending. It was utterly impossible.

Rowan searched for indications that he was treating her wrong, that his grip on her arm was too tight or his eyes were angry or mean.

They weren’t. He was gazing at her with adoration, just as he’d always done. He had loved her, and he still did, and Rowan had never hesitated to tell Aelin. So why had she left?

Rowan entered his photo app and started scrolling through them, though dozens upon dozens of photos of her smiling in the sun and laughing in the rain and eating on the couch.

He was a masochist to do this to himself, but he couldn’t stop.

He kept searching for any signs that something was wrong, that he wasn’t loving her right.

He couldn’t find any.

—

The echoing noises of the thumps on the bag were the only sounds in the room. Aelin struck with deadly capability, slamming her fist into the punching bag again and again.

She’d gotten into self-defense not long after the breakup with Rowan. Punching things, more specifically. And Aelin had gotten good, too.

She used to work out in the gym, but the closest gym was annoying to get to, all the way across town. So Aelin had invested some money into some basic equipment and set everything up in the only empty room in the apartment.

Well, it was only empty after Aelin had dumped all of Rowan’s things out on the curb. This was his former office. There was a picture of him on the wall where there used to be one of her. It was filled with holes from the various weapons Aelin had thrown at it, among them knives, darts, and a single fork.

Maybe Aelin needed to talk to a therapist.

Aelin twisted her body and pivoted her foot, landing a deadly roundhouse kick on the bag. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told her about this miracle cure sooner?

Aelin was so busy taking out every ounce of fury within her body—which totaled up to a frighteningly large quantity—that she almost didn’t notice her phone ringing. She finally noticed the screen lit up out of the corner of her eye, and Aelin pulled out her earbuds and strode over to her phone.

It was from Sam. Aelin reached for her phone, then paused, breathing deeply. From the exercise, she told herself. Solely from the exercise.

The ringing stopped. Aelin was too late. She reached once more, intent on calling Sam back, but stopped again.

She’d been thinking a lot over the past few days. Trying. Trying so hard to love him. And every time she was with him and she opened her mouth to get it over with, she couldn’t. Because Aelin couldn’t do that to Sam. He deserved better.

And because she was thinking about somebody else.

Aelin spun around and executed a perfect boxing maneuver on the bag. Jab, dodge, duck, right hook to the body, left hook to the body, left hook to the head, slide back with a defensive jab. She repeated it, then moved onto a different maneuver.

Then Aelin stripped off her gloves and bolted for the door, off to do something she would most certainly regret.

—

Panting, Aelin knocked on the door before she could loose her resolve. Then she waited, hands on her hips and shoulders back.

Not even a minute passed before the lock clicked and the door was pulled inward.

Aelin took in Rowan’s tired eyes and haggard expression and knew she was the reason for that. And probably for the smell of alcohol on his breath.

He didn’t ask how she knew where he lived—Aelin had a depressing amount of free time; or why she looked like she’d run all the way here—she had; or why she was here—that one she didn’t know. He just opened the door wider.

“Come here.”

Aelin did. She wondered if her fate had been sealed from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Rowan Whitethorn was like a sinkhole, drawing you in farther and father no matter what you did, only tightening his grip when you struggled.

That gruesome description wasn’t enough to make Aelin turn back quite yet.

She stepped inside and pressed her lips against Rowan’s, hands twining in his hair instantly. His own hands came to her hips, pushing her tank top up slightly and tracing familiar patterns on her bare skin.

Aelin shoved Rowan backward in his apartment one step, then one more. She spun around so Rowan was against the wall. Aelin could feel his lips curve upward against hers, but she didn’t care what amusement he was deriving from her dominance. He wanted to take everything from her? Well, she would take right back.

Aelin parted Rowan’s lips with her tongue and the small groan that left the back of his throat had Aelin pulling his hair none-too-gently, melting into his giant frame even farther.

Nothing mattered anymore. It all evaporated into some space that Aelin couldn’t and didn’t want to access. Her brain was blissfully empty as she hooked a leg around his ankle, and as she nipped at his lip.

Rowan growled and started moving his hands upwards toward her breasts, thumbs brushing the undersides just enough that Aelin could feel it and lean into the sensation, ignoring his gleeful smirk against her mouth. Rowan finally broke the kiss and trailed his mouth along Aelin’s jawline, until his lips reached her ear.

“I love you,” Rowan whispered, voice dark and hoarse.

Aelin exhaled, her grip on him loosening. “I hate you.”

Rowan pulled back and frowned. “No, you don’t.”

Aelin chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right.” She stepped closer to the door. “But I hate that I love you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Rowan shook his head. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

“Goodbye, Rowan.”

Aelin started for the still-open door, only a couple feet away.

Rowan’s hand immediately took hold of her wrist. “You can’t leave again. Not like this.”

“How, then?” Aelin asked, shaking her wrist free of his grasp. “Was last time any better?”

“Don’t leave me at all.”

The desperation in Rowan’s voice would have provoked some sort of sympathy in Aelin any other time, but she only felt cold as she stared him down.

“Goodbye, Rowan,” she repeated. Then Aelin spun around and slipped out the door before he could stop her.

—

“Stop it.”

“I will not.”

“Yes you will.”

“No I won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”

“I’ll beat you up, that’s what.”

Aelin and Sam only managed maintain eye contact for a minute more before dissolving into laughter.

“I’m being serious,” Aelin said between laughs.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t even understand what the issue is,” he replied, features filled with delight.

“The issue,” Aelin enunciated, “is that you can’t just be stupid like that. It’s not a good look on you.”

Sam scoffed in pretend hurt. “Excuse me, it’s not stupid to tickle my girlfriend.”

“It is,” Aelin insisted. “You’re an asshole for it.” She pouted.

Sam made an over-dramatic frown. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, babe.” He spread his arms wide and leaned over from the car seat.

Aelin could only involuntarily cackle as Sam moved his evil fingers over her again, his false hug turning into an ambush. “Stop it,” she cried between giggles. “This is mean. And foul. A foulable offense.”

“Is foulable even a word?”

“It is now,” Aelin hissed, elbowing him.

Sam grinned. “It’s not my fault. What else is a guy to do when he finds out his girlfriend’s ticklish?”

“You’re supposed to not bully them!”

Sam laughed into Aelin’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Aelin hugged him, for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn’t see her face at the words. Before she had been so happy to hear Sam say it, and now the only thought she could conjure upon hearing it was Rowan’s face.

Everything she’d ever had, everything she’d ever worked for, Rowan soured. It was a talent of his.

Aelin hadn’t told Sam about the kiss. Almost a week had passed already, and she hadn’t told him. Acknowledging it validated it, and Aelin didn’t want that. She just wanted to forget. Though it was hard to forget the one thing haunting her through all hours of the day and night.

“Let’s go inside,” Aelin said abruptly, pulling away. “I’m already forgetting what I wanted to get.”

Sam smiled, oblivious to Aelin’s internal struggles. “Sure.”

—

How dare she come to him, kiss him, make him think she was ready to invite him home? How dare she use him the way she claimed he used her?

The nerve of Aelin’s visit left Rowan seething. All he wanted was Aelin. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get her.

The bell dinged to signal a customer’s arrival and Rowan’s eyes snapped up. He relaxed once more as he saw it was only an elderly man, then tensed up all over again as he spotted a familiar car parked outside the shop.

Aelin came here every Tuesday without fail to buy a new book. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself, and it was the only part of her routine she hadn’t changed after dumping him, and he’d been waiting in the mystery aisle for over an hour now.

And his waiting had paid off. Except, rather than leaving the car, Aelin and that man were talking and laughing and touching. He was tickling her, like a fucking loser.

Another five minutes passed and Rowan was debating going out there and knocking on the car window when the doors finally opened.

They walked hand-in-hand into the bookstore, and Aelin pressed a kiss against the man’s cheek as they neared a shelf.

His smile made Rowan smile. This poor, innocent man had no idea what had happened last week. He had no idea how unfaithful Aelin truly was.

Aelin murmured something to the man—Rowan refused to even think his name—and headed off to the romance section. Rowan followed her, creeping around shelves and not giving a fuck how bad it looked.

Aelin was reaching for some book or other when she noticed Rowan coming up behind her. Her face flushed, much to his delight, and her eyes widened.

“Go away,” was the first thing to come out of her mouth.

Rowan shook his head. “Not a chance, princess.”

Aelin’s face tightened visibly. “I’m not interested in doing this again, Rowan. We’re over.”

“Really? You haven’t seemed too sure about that lately.”

Aelin huffed. “Last week was a mistake. I know that now. I knew it when I did it. But that’s it. We’re done now. Get over yourself, Rowan.”

“I love you.”

“And I used to believe that,” Aelin snapped.

Rowan ground his jaw in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove that I care about you?”

“That’s just the thing,” Aelin hissed, voice quiet but angry. “There is nothing to prove. You could started acting like the perfect boyfriend, the man I thought I loved, and it still wouldn’t matter. We’re not good together, Rowan. We’re broken. We. Are. Fucking. Broken.”

Rowan took a step forward, every molecule in his body freezing as Aelin flinched. “Are you scared of me, Aelin?”

She shook her head, but she’d always been a bad liar. Rowan could see right thought it.

“I have never laid a hand on you in my life,” Rowan stated, voice devoid of human emotion. “Never.”

Fire swirled behind Aelin’s eyes. “I know that. But you didn’t have to.”

Rowan shook his head vehemently. “What the hell does that mean?”

Aelin’s chest was heaving. “Think about it, Rowan. Think about us. Remember how you were with me.”

He did. Because he was a fair person who cared enough to listen to Aelin, he did.

—

“Maybe you should stop hanging out with Dorian,” Rowan commented.

It was a joke. It had just been a joke.

“What?” Aelin asked. She looked confused.

“I mean, whenever you two are together you’re smiling more than you smile with me. It’s a little difficult to watch.”

Rowan shrugged as his lips twitched. She was supposed to laugh now, amused at the joke.

Aelin didn’t laugh.

—

“You should really learn how to cook something,” Rowan said, watching in amusement as Aelin reached for the Chinese takeout menu, and not for the first time this week.

“Gods, Rowan, if you’re so sick of eating takeout then make something yourself.”

Aelin stormed off. And Rowan had clearly been the right one in that conversation, because after Aelin didn’t like his suggestion and decided to make a fuss about it and be a bitch, Rowan let her leave and didn’t bring it up again. Because he cared about her.

—

And finally, the day everything went up in flames:

Aelin tipped her head back and laughed. Rowan watched this little spectacle from afar. Until she got so loud that his boss’ boss looked over and that’s when Rowan had had it.

“Aelin, come with me,” Rowan said as he grabbed her hand. Gently. He had grabbed her hand gently.

Aelin frowned, but didn’t protest. She would have protested if she wasn’t okay with this. Rowan knew her.

They made it outside the building and both of them stopped. They weren’t waiting to go all the way back to the apartment this time.

“Maybe I need to stop bringing you to these things,” Rowan said, running his hand through his hair.

Aelin frowned. “Why? Am I embarrassing you?”

“No, Aelin, of course you aren’t. But you are bothering my coworkers, and I don’t want them to look down on me because of my girlfriend.”

She snorted. “That’s the literal definition of embarrassment,” she slurred.

“No, there’s a difference between being embarrassed by someone and logically not wanting to have someone with you for strategic purposes.”

Aelin laughed incredulously, and Rowan wondered if she still didn’t understand. But the next thing that came out of her mouth made him the one who couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“We’re done.”

“What?”

Aelin smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing, it was twisted and sad and so many other emotions, some of which Rowan couldn’t even name. “I’m breaking up with you.”

A moment of shaky silence passed as Rowan held eye contact with Aelin. Finally, he said, “We’re going home now.”

Aelin scoffed. “Don’t you hear me?”

“You’re drunk, Aelin.”

A tear slid down Aelin’s cheek and Rowan stepped forward to console her, for that’s what he’d always done when she was upset.

But Aelin stepped backward. “Go home. Get your things. Get out.”

Rowan sighed. “Aelin, seriously—”

“No!” she yelled, and Rowan glanced back at the party he’d just emerged from, worried someone might have heard her. “You don’t get to ignore me! Get the fuck out of my apartment. Now!”

“No,” Rowan snapped.

Aelin seethed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get your things out on my own.”

She snatched the keys from his hand and took off toward the car, but Rowan’s head was swimming enough that he could only stand there, frozen, for a solid thirty seconds as she climbed in the driver’s seat.

Then he started moving. “Aelin, stop this. Calm down. You’re overreacting and I need you to get out of the car.”

Aelin held the wheel tightly as she hastily locked the car. She didn’t bother buckling in before the car jerked backward. Rowan raced to the other side of it and blocked it from leaving the parking space.

Aelin must have had more to drink than Rowan originally noticed, for instead of stopping like the sensible woman he’d thought her to be, she slammed on the gas and went over the grass, swerving and turning back onto the pavement farther down. Aelin narrowly avoided a lamppost as she got onto the road and started speeding down the street.

Rowan could only watch, mouth agape and heart stopping altogether.

—

“I can’t think of a single thing I did to provoke something like that from you, Aelin.” Rowan’s hands were clenched into fists. “You just started acting out for no reason at all. I wasn’t the one behaving poorly.”

“There were signs,” Aelin breathed, voice riding the edge between stability and insanity. “There were so many warning signs.”

Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound could come out, Aelin’s so-called boyfriend walked up to her. She was at the corner of a shelf, and the men were on either side of it, meaning Sam hadn’t yet noticed him. Rowan wanted to step forward and beat some sense into the man, show him who Aelin really belonged to, but Aelin spoke before he could step forward.

“Hey, babe. I found my book. Ready to leave?”

The man grinned. It was a snarky little look, and Rowan knew he’d look better with a fist in his face.

“I am.”

Aelin stepped closer to him and farther from Rowan, then paused. Her tactic had originally seemed to be getting Sam away from Rowan as quickly as possible, but now she stance took on a different posture.

Rowan had never wished he could see inside her head more than he was now.

Aelin didn’t even look his way. “I love you, Sam.”

Rowan froze. He didn’t need to know anything about their relationship to know that was the first time Aelin had told Sam that. Not just from the delight on his face, but from the way Aelin spoke. Rowan could feel it in his bones.

She was spiting him. This could easily be discussed anywhere else, at any other time, but Aelin chose to say it now, with Rowan hovering in the background. It was a message to him, to stay away. It was hateful. It was cruel.

Something splintered in Rowan’s chest.

Sam was saying something, presumably a reciprocation of those three words, but Rowan didn’t hear it. His ears were buzzing.

Aelin took ahold of Sam’s arm and started for the checkout desk.

She didn’t look back.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[winters-void]

A Real Father

relationship: Geralt x OC! Daughter (or reader)

a/n:  Requests are open! Thank you for reading!

warnings: abusive father (not geralt), minor character death, angst, fluff at the end, violence, mentions of blood. 

_____

Geralt found his heart pounding in his ears. He watched as the Striga fell to the ground, shriveling up and dying. It had curled around itself in a fetal position, protecting itself in it's final moments. He realized sadly that there was no saving this cursed being, anyone who knew anything was dead or 100's of miles away and before he found answers this whole town would be dead. It had almost killed half of them anyways.He'd already been paid so he needed to finish the job. As his potion wore off and he felt his eyes return to normal, he heard whimpering coming from one of the rooms and looked around confused.

As he walked around a corner and into a corridor he heard a young girls cries get louder and louder each passing second. "Mama!" A young voice squeaked. He entered the room from which the cries were coming from. A young girl was sobbing over the body of a woman who was presumably the mother she was crying out for. "Mama wake up!"

Geralt slowly entered, trying to not startle the girl as much as possible. The girl heard him and turned around quickly. "Sir! Help my mama! The king made us come in here, please help!" " Even from where he stood he knew there was no helping this girls mother."Still, he knelt down on the other side of her body and felt for a pulse. Already knowing the answer he sighed looking at the girl.

"I'm sorry." Geralt told her watching as the young girls eyes grew larger and filled with more tears. That's when the floodgates broke and the girl began to wail. Despite being the mere age of 6 the girl knew what his tone of voice and choice of words meant. He put a gentle hand on the girls back and she fell into his arms. "Why did the king make you come here?"

"My mama stole some bread to feed us." The girl whimpered into his chest. "We haven't eaten in days and he punished us."

Geralt felt his blood boil. He knew the king of this place was a no good piece of shit. He took a deep breath before helping the girl to her feet. "Where's your father?"

"Please don't make me go to him." She spoke, visible fear appearing on her face. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck and the girl visibly flinched. It was that moment he noticed how underneath all the dirt and grime on her skin were bruises ranging in various shades of purple. On her neck there was a scar going up to her cheek and down to her collar bone. It was a shiny pink meaning it was fairly new and healing. "Please." She whimpered.

He felt his shoulders tense up and he looked up at the sky taking in a deep breath. He knew he'd never let this girl go back to her father, based off of the condition she was in now; starving, bruised and smaller than the average six year old he'd just be sending her to her death. Especially with her mother dead, this girl was surely about to receive every beating her mother would get.

"I won't." He spoke gruffly. "We should bury your mother. Then we'll figure out what to do with you."

The young girl nodded wiping away a tear before looking towards her mother. She was bloody and had some organs missing. She closed her eyes knowing this image of her mother would be engraved in her mind forever. She had protected her daughter with her dying breath from this Striga. Part of her blamed herself for them being here in the first place. The young girl had been complaining about being hungry for a long time. In an act of desperation her mother stole a loaf of bread and block of cheese. They'd been caught and the King sent them to be food for the Striga.

"Can it be under a tree?" The girl sniffled. "She'd always tell me stories under trees."

"Sure." He grunted, he hoisted the girls mother into his arms gently holding her in a bridal carry and led the girl outside. Roach was tied to a tree branch, gently he set the girls mother down and hoisted the girl onto roach. "I'll bury her. Roach will keep you company"

"Thank you-" The girl paused realizing she didn't know this silver-haired mans name.

"Geralt." He told her and she nodded.

"I'm Rielah" She told him. "Thank you for burying her."

Geralt only nodded and picked up her mother once more. He went a little ways away to a suitable tree and buried the girls mother in a peaceful place, he gently lowered her into the ground and covered her back up with dirt before placing a yellow flower on top of the fresh grave. When he returned back to the girl she was petting Roach's mane lazily. Looking back at her, her pale skin was streaked with red from her tears and her hair was disheveled.

The road was no place for a child, but possibly he could find somewhere that would take good care of her somewhere along the way. For now though, he supposed she could stay with him.

____

If someone had told him nearly a decade ago that he would be taking care of a teenage girl he would have laughed in their face. But now, watching as Rielah pouted in the booth of the tavern they were staying at he realized that she was technically his responsibility and had been for quite a while. It was quite obvious that the young girl had grown on him over time, and he loved her as he would his own daughter.

"Stop that." He mumbled sitting down next to her with a drink in his hand. The girl only glared at him before turning to face the bar again.

"Stop what?" She asked coyly.

"Pouting." Geralt scolded and Rielah only huffed again. "You're staying at the inn while I hunt this Selkimore."

"Fine." Rielah spoke adjusting herself so that her back was facing him. Ever since they had arrived in this dreadful little village Rielah had been off. She was moody and irritable and didn't seem to want to be left alone for more than a minute.

Ever since the girl had joined him on his journeys he'd made it clear that she would be safer wherever they were as far away from the monsters he was fighting as possible. When she was little he did his best to find someone to take care of her but it was blatantly obvious the girl had become his daughter and he didn't trust anyone when it came to her wellbeing. He watched as she picked at the meal he bought her and he shook his head.

"May I go back to the room then?" She asked

"As long as you stay put." Geralt said nodding and by the time he got the words out she was gone and rushing to their room at the inn. "Teenagers."

Rielah looked over her shoulder as she opened the door to their room, making sure no one had followed her and holding the dagger Geralt had given her for emergencies close to her chest. When she was inside the room safely, she locked the door quickly- debating on whether or not to push something in front of it. She decided against it, realizing she didn't want Geralt to question her motives as to why. She knew she'd been acting odd since they got here but this was the place she was born. She didn't want to run into her father; she'd heard some of the townspeople mentioning his name in passing and felt her blood run cold.

Geralt knew she was from around this general area, they'd met in a rundown castle where the Striga resided and they traveled on from there never really discussing her past unless it was about her mother. Even that was rare though. Their relationship didn't offer much speaking, sure he spoke to her more than most but they were both quiet natured people so it worked out. Most of their communication existed by body language. A raised eyebrow typically asked if one was okay and a gentle hand on the back told the other they were there.

After drawing the blinds and doing all the other precautionary measures Geralt had instilled from a young age she sat down on the bed and waited for Geralt's return. She felt as if she wouldn't get much sleep this night and decided to read one of the novels they had picked up for her on their adventures. Geralt realized she would need some form of entertainment while he was away on his hunts and taught her to read. It was an easy way for her to pass the time.

Hours passed and Rielah set down her book bored. She knew she should go to bed but she didn't want to let down her guard down if Geralt wasn't there. Part of her felt like her father had been watching them ever since they arrived. The scars he had left on her both physically and mentally from when she was a child were still left littering her thoughts and skin. She heard the doorknob begin to twist and sat up straight. Logic told her it was just Geralt seeing as she had locked it and he had the only key, but fear told her it was her biological father.

The door opened, daylight seeping in behind it and Geralt stepped in covered in the guts of a Selkimore and she wrinkled her nose. "You've got something right-" She hesitated before gesturing to his body "everywhere actually, and you smell."

"Nice to see you too Rielah." Geralt said with a grunt before walking to the tub full of bathwater. She scrunched her nose once more and turned around to give him so privacy. "There's some Oren's in my pouch. Go get some food we can eat in between villages and whatever else you'd like. I'll meet you out when I'm clean."

Rielah nodded, gulping slightly. She hadn't been alone here without Geralt other than last night in the room. This was different though, being in the village would be putting her into a vulnerable position if she ran into her father. Grabbing Geralt's pouch out of the saddle bag she grabbed her black cloak and pulled up the hood over her head. She walked through the village, remaining as unnoticeable as possible until she found a man selling bread and cheeses.

"How much for two loafs?" She asked. Bread typically got them a long way on the road. They could pair it with meat Geralt hunted and eat it alone.

"10 Oren" The man grumbled and she fished it out of her pocket, not letting the man how much she actually had in case he tried to raise the prices. She took the loafs of her choosing and handed the man the money. He took it and shoved it into his own pocket.

Turning around she noticed a woman selling some clothes. She thought back to Geralt coming back drenched in the Selkimore guts and blood and decided he'd probably need a new shirt. She saw a black long sleeve shirt and decided that one would do. Next to it she saw a handmade necklace with a purple stone attached to it. She knew she'd never be able to afford it but it was pretty to look at.

"It's a pretty gem." A man said from beside her causing her to jump.

"Yes, it is." She said backing away cautiously.

"Suitable for a girl like you." The man spoke. "Maybe to draw attention away from that ugly scar Rielah." Her blood ran cold at the usage of her name and her eyes grew wide. Geralt was the only one who should know her name here. She tried not to show it, but she was petrified. There was no need to guess who this man was, it was her father. The man she'd been doing her best to avoid. "I've been waiting for you to show your face. Without that dastardly Witcher."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." She told him playing dumb attempting to make her voice sound as normal and unwavering as possible. "I really should be on my way my f-"

"Your father?" He sneered coldly. "You're right I have been looking for you. Ever since you ran off a decade ago you little shit. It's time you return home."

The man grabbed her wrist and jerked it harshly. At that moment, the hood of her cloak fell off revealing her face. More importantly though, it revealed the scar he had left many years ago. It had healed nicely over the years but there was still a thin white line from the mark he had made. Looking at the girls face and the fear showing in her hazel eyes. She felt herself retreating to the tiny young child terrified of her father. The one before Geralt; who taught her that a father is supposed to love their daughter unconditionally even when they make it hard. Not beat them for no reason.

"Sir-" Rielah spoke trying to jerk her hand away from her father only for his grip to get tighter. "I really must get going."

"Theres really no denying it now Rielah." The man sneered. She didn't even know her fathers name. What kind of a father did that make him? "You've been gone for a long time, but I'd know that scar from anywhere. I oughta give you another one for being away for so long with that damn Witcher."

"Rielah!" A deep voice called out and her head whipped around, golden tufts of hair getting in her face as she noticed Geralt making his way through the crowd.

"Geralt!" She shrieked watching as he looked back and forth for the teenager. "Daddy!"

That was enough to get Geralt's heart pounding in his ears. The girl he cared for was shrieking his name in fear. Pushing through the crowd he spotted her golden hair, getting closer he noticed a man holding her wrist in a death grip.

"Quiet girl." He heard the man grunt as he tried to get her to budge and walk.

He reached around to his back where his sword was kept and drew it upon the man. "Get your hands off of her."

Noticing the sword, Rielah's birth father let go of her hand and she let tears fall as she ran behind her true father; Geralt who ushered her directly behind him.

"I believe you have what's mine Witcher" The man sneered. "You took my daughter from me, cost me nearly a fortune to replace her hands at the fields. I bet you killed my wife too."

"Your wife was killed protecting Rielah, who is no longer your daughter and hasn't been since the moment you first laid a hand on her." Geralt gritted out. "If all you're worried about is the profit she can bring you in the fields you're a sorry excuse of a father." Geralt said pressing his sword closer to the man's neck. "She's been my daughter for the past decade, and if you lay a hand on her ever again it will be the last time you touch anything." The man glared at her from her place behind the silver-haired Witcher and she shuddered underneath his gaze. "I suggest you move along."

Spitting on the pair, Rielah's father turned around and walked off and Rielah let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "So that's why you wanted to come on the hunt. This is your home."

Guiltily, Rielah nodded and Geralt clasped a hand on her shoulder. "I wanted to tell you, but-"

"You don't need to explain yourself little one." Geralt said fixing the girls cloak and stroking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I see no need to return to this disgusting place anyways."

"Thank you Geralt." She said wrapping him in a hug. Rarely did they ever show physical affection to another but she felt like a hug was in order. Geralt was tense but eventually let down his guard and hugged the girl back."You've always been my father."

"You've been my daughter for a long time Rielah," He told her as they began to walk to Roach. He helped her up before getting on behind her. "That man has never been your father, and I'll never hesitate to protect you and I sure as hell will never lay a hand on you."

She nodded, grabbing Roach's reigns and leaning back against Geralt to steady herself as they left the girls hometown. As they left, she didn't look back once knowing that place was never her home. Her home had always been on the road with Geralt and Roach. He'd always been her father. He'd been the one to raise her, teach her, feed her. Everything about him was what a father should be doing for their daughter.

"I love you Geralt." She whispered quietly.

"Hmmm." He grunted refraining towards their usual silence on the road. She knew that was his way of saying it back, it was their language. He knew her better than she knew herself at times. She stared at the road ahead, wondering where it would take them next.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Present Mic x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

One of my readers made a tiktok of a scene from this chapter!

Chapter: 9/16 (all chapters)

BZZZZT

BZZZZZT

You scowled and reached under your pillow for your phone, wondering who on earth would call you at this time of day.

BZZZT

BZZZT

You patted the usual spot under your pillow, but your phone wasn’t there.

BZZZZZZZZZT

You sighed and sat up, rubbing your eyes and staring at your surroundings, realisation slowly dawning upon you.

This wasn’t your room.

It wasn’t your phone.

It definitely wasn’t your bed.

You reached under the covers, tracing your fingers over your exposed skin. You had nothing on but an oversized shirt and even that wasn’t yours.

In which case...

You glanced over at the man beside you, who was equally annoyed at being disturbed.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, planting a kiss to your forehead before wriggling out of bed to hunt for his phone.

You wrapped yourself in the covers and watched him fumble in the dark, memories of the past few hours coming back to you all at once.

~~~~~

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER

The weeks after the sports festival passed by in a blur. You had been right to spend so long adjusting and readjusting your schedule, for without such meticulous planning you would never have been able to keep up with queries from agencies and students alike.

You felt a little guilty for thinking it, but it was almost a relief once the internships actually began and you didn’t have to focus so much on open office hours. You had to keep some degree of flexibility for students struggling under the pressure of their new responsibilities, but very few of them came in. They were too busy giving it their all at their respective agencies.

You weren’t the only one to feel a weight off your shoulders. Midway through the week, Nemuri and Hizashi stepped into your office.

“(Name),” said Nemuri, “are you busy?”

At the time, you were browsing the web for techniques and activities to best support students with the pressures of exams. It was a relatively minor task in the grand scheme of things and you motioned for the pair of them to make themselves comfortable.

“How can I help?”

You had a perfectly good set of chairs, but they disregarded them, instead perching at opposite ends of your desk.

“Tonight, listener,” said Hizashi. “Clear your schedule! We’re going for beers!”

It had been weeks since any of you had visited the izakaya and you were more than a little excited at the prospect of finally being able to catch up with your colleagues in an informal setting. It seemed like all you had talked about lately was agency work, examinations and sports festival related matters. Unfortunately, that enthusiasm swiftly transformed into guilt.

Today was the day you had agreed to meet Akira for dinner and you were reluctant to rearrange it. He had already arranged the entire evening around your schedule, despite having work commitments of his own.

“Ahhh, sorry,” you said, “I have dinner plans tonight. Maybe some other time?”

You didn’t know it at the time, but Hizashi and Nemuri had asked only one person out for drinks before you and that person had also declined. Shouta’s arms and face were both finally healed and he was more than a little conscious of how long he had gone without training. He had plans to throw himself back into the action after school and, as such, had also declined.

Shouta had been telling the unabridged truth, but your revelation made them wonder if perhaps he hadn’t been completely honest after all. He wasn’t the sort of person to go out for dinner, but these were unprecedented times.

“Could it be,” said Nemuri, reaching for your hand, “our precious (Name) has a date?”

It wasn’t a date, but you blushed anyway. It was, after all, the same restaurant you had frequented as a couple.

“No, nothing like that,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed. “Truthfully, I bumped into my ex at the sports festival and he invited me out for a meal. It’s just a catchup, nothing else! A lot of things have changed since we broke up.”

“Is he involved in the hero industry? He must be if he was at the sports festival.”

“I guess you could say that...he’s one of the higher ups at Silver Edge.”

Silver Edge was well known to people with even the most basic level of knowledge of hero agencies and naturally Hizashi and Nemuri knew about it.

“Silver Edge??” Nemuri gripped the hand she had taken. “(Name), you have to tell me everything.”

“There’s not really much to say. We met at college and he took on a job there after we graduated. His uncle is on the board, so he had a lot of recommendations.”

“Maybe I’ve heard of him,” said Nemuri. “What’s his full name?”

“Masayama Akira.”

You hadn’t considered the possibility that your new colleagues might have known your ex in a professional capacity, so it came as something of a relief when Nemuri shook her head.

“Ahhh, it doesn’t ring a bell. Is he taking you somewhere fancy?”

“ Les Papilles ,” you said. “It was our favourite place before...y’know.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” said Hizashi. “They charge 2000 yen just for bread and olives.”

“Think of us while you’re helping yourself to gold leaf,” said Nemuri, cradling your hand and planting a kiss on the knuckles. “I want all of the details tomorrow.”

“Of course,” you said, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything.

Nemuri pulled out her phone the second they left your office, Hizashi following with his hands in his pockets. Against all of his better judgement, he had decided to continue looking for the woman from Ego . You getting involved with your ex should have been a good development, but it didn’t feel like one.

“Hello,” said Nemuri, pressing her phone to her ear. “Is this Les Papilles ?”

She pulled open the door to the faculty lounge and sauntered inside, seeming not to notice Hizashi’s gestures of confusion as she took a seat on the couch.

What are you doing? Hizashi mouthed, waving his hands to get her attention. She winked as she caught his eye, clearly unperturbed by his panic.

“Yes, hi,” she said. “I have a reservation tonight, under the name of Masayama Akira. I was wondering if you could confirm the time? Mhmm. Mhmm. Thank you so much! I’ll see you tonight.”

She hung up the phone with a satisfied smirk.

“What are you doing?”

Hizashi still had no idea that Nemuri’s objectives were so different to his own. His immediate assumption was that she meant to take the opportunity to make the night even more romantic and encourage the pair of you to reunite. He couldn’t have been any more wrong.

“ We ,” she said, “are going to Les Papilles .”

~~~~~~~

That night, you spent hours rifling through your wardrobe, trying on dresses and then discarding them, unsure of yourself in ways you never had been before. Akira had been your boyfriend for years, but you didn’t want to presume his intentions and risk sending out the wrong signals.

You managed to narrow your selection down to two: a modest dress you had picked out for a dinner party and the one you had worn to Ego .

As tempting as it was to wear the dress from that night, you decided against it. It was strange, but you felt strangely sentimental about it, as if you were betraying Shouta by wearing it around Akira. You knew it was irrational- that Shouta likely didn’t have much of an opinion either way- but even so, you set it back inside your wardrobe.

The group chat you shared with your friends had exploded at the news that you were going out to dinner. Almost everyone agreed that it was a terrible idea, that going out with Akira would reignite old feelings and undo everything you had achieved over the past few months.

You were confident, though, not only in Akira but yourself. If things got weird you would leave.

You took a deep breath and adjusted your clothes in the mirror, just as you had on the night you went to Ego . This time, though, you didn’t pull your dress down to tease your bra. Instead you pulled it down to cover your knees.

~~~~~~

Les Papilles was far, far out of Hizashi’s comfort zone. He shifted in his seat and watched the string quartet at the other side of the room, considering just how little he belonged there. Nemuri seemed not to notice, turning the pages of the menu and sounding out the specials in broken French.

They had dressed up for the evening in their Sunday best, Hizashi in a black dinner jacket and Nemuri in a burgundy dress. They didn’t look like themselves and he had mixed feelings about it. Ordinarily, he might have concocted a backstory for the pair of them, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Instead he stared at the menu in front of him as if it held the secrets to the universe.

He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to watch you eat dinner with another man.

Shouta had the woman from Ego , you had your ex. It felt like everyone had somebody except for him.

“Hizashiiiiiii,” said Nemuri, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Hizashi…”

He blinked as if coming out of a trance.

“S-sorry, what were you saying?”

“Over there,” she said, holding up the menu to hide where she indicated. “Be subtle.”

He turned to where she pointed, mouth going dry when he saw you, laughing and smiling as your ex pulled out a chair. As far as Hizashi knew, this was the first time he’d ever seen you dressed up, and he couldn’t look away.

He watched as you slid down into your seat and laughed off a joke from your server, crossing your legs and tucking your hair behind your ear.

Nemuri kicked him under the table and he jumped.

“Subtle,” she whispered.

“Right,” he said, sitting up straight. “Of course. Subtle. I can do subtle.”

~~~~~

It was strange to be back at Les Papilles . In a lot of respects, it felt the same as coming home from college at winter break. Everything about it was the same, from the positioning of the cutlery to the servers and orchestra, but you were completely different.

Even Akira was the same. He made the same jokes to the serving staff, ordered your meal from memory, waved to the cellist at the front of the band as he always did. You realised as one of the servers arrived with your favourite vintage that the last time you had been here was the day of the breakup, back when you believed your life was over.

It was strange to be there so soon, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened.

Conversation flowed easily; you caught up on the antics of old friends and his family, his successes at work, his current projects. You didn’t ask if he had started seeing someone else, nor did you offer up any information of your own. It felt inappropriate under the circumstances.

After you finished off your starter, you dismissed yourself to freshen up in the bathroom, fixing up your makeup and checking in on the group chat.

>>How is everything?

>>It’s fine...better than fine. Did you know his sister got married?

>>Has he said anything about getting back together?

>>Of course not! We’re just catching up like old friends! It’s nothing like that.

>>Sure...

~~~~~~

“Oh my god,” said Nemuri, setting aside her fork.

“What is it?”

Hizashi turned back to your table, where Akira was having a conversation with the violin players and table staff. He thought nothing of it until he spotted what Akira was holding: a small black box, which almost certainly contained a ring.

He turned back to Nemuri, looking almost as horrified as she did.

“Is he...surely he isn’t…”

Unfortunately, you returned to the table only a short time later, long before they could intervene.

~~~~~

Akira was taking a sip of wine when you returned and got up from his seat to help you into your chair.

“I already ordered mains,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” you said, making yourself comfortable. “Thank you.”

Akira sat down and cleared his throat, eyes darting from you to the band to the table.

“The truth is, (Name), I didn’t call you here just to catch up.”

“What do you mean?”

He reached for your hand across the table, just as he had when he broke up with you. It was a small gesture, but an unwelcome one, unearthing memories and emotions from that night that you had refused to acknowledge for well over half a year. You remembered how excited you had been back then, so close to the only serious goal you had ever had. All of your hard work and sacrifices would finally pay off and you could become the perfect wife and mother. You could raise your children with a smile on your face, safe in the knowledge that their childhood would be nothing like your own.

“I miss you,” he said, squeezing your hands. “I thought I knew what I wanted but...I didn’t. Back then, I just...I don’t know...I felt like I was stuck in a rut. I wanted something, but I didn’t know what it was.”

He let go of your hands with an expression of pity.

“I slept with another woman,” he said. “I don’t want to hide it from you. I’m sorry...I know it must come as a shock. Promise me you won’t get upset.”

“Akira,” you said, weighing up the pros and cons of being honest with him about your own bedroom antics.

“No, don’t say anything,” he said. “I know this must be hard for you.”

It wasn’t, but you decided to humour him.

“I slept with her once and all I could think about was you,” he said. “I missed the perfect lunches you’d pack for me, the way you’d greet me after work with a glass of wine and listen to what I had to say. I knew I could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge me.”

“Akira,” you said again, but he reached for your hands again.

“I understand now,” he said. “That other woman? She didn’t care about me as much as you did. I don’t think anyone else ever will...not even my mother. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I never wanted to break your heart…and now that I’m higher up in the business I understand where my priorities should be. My new coworkers are older. They’re settled down with families and always talking about their wives and children. Their wives are friends, their children play together...”  

He waved at the orchestra, who swiftly began to play a rendition of the track he decided was your song several years ago. You barely had a chance to register it before he got out of his chair and dropped down on one knee.

“(Name),” he said, holding up a small, black box. “Marry me.”

“Akira…”

“We can be together,” he said. “We can have everything we’ve always dreamed of.”

You stared at him, speechless. Not so long ago this moment was everything you had wanted. You had planned it in your head, had practised saying yes. Now that it was truly playing out in front of you, though, you realised you didn’t want it.

You weren’t sure when, exactly, but you had stopped thinking about weddings and babies. You had stopped thinking about him .

“I…”

“I know,” he said, lifting the ring from the box and towards your finger.

You glanced around the restaurant, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze. The other patrons had realised what was happening and turned to watch, no doubt waiting to clap.

“Akira, I don’t know what to say...I…”

You couldn’t turn him down without making him look like an idiot in front of this roomful of strangers. Why, oh why, had he decided to make this such a spectacle?

“Just say yes,” he said.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, thinking back to the old you, who would have by now.

“Can we please talk somewhere private?!”

You got to your feet before he could answer, snatching up your purse as you strolled towards the front doors. Akira gave everyone in the restaurant a thumbs up before following you out into the night air.

You hadn’t realised how stiflingly hot the restaurant had been and took a deep breath.

“I have to say,” said Akira as he closed the restaurant door behind him and followed you into a side street. “Whatever skit you’re pulling-“

“ You dumped me ,” you said, turning to face him. “ You told me I was the problem in our relationship. You don’t get to just change your mind about something like that and come back into my life like nothing happened.”

It was the first time you had ever raised your voice at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Listen,” he said, “if this is about that other girl…”

“It’s not,” you said. “I slept with someone else too. Twice, actually.”

He took your hands in his, clasping them against his chest.

“Then you understand,” he said. “All of the time I was with her, all I thought about-”

“When I was with him I didn’t think of you at all.”

You hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but nothing else seemed to be getting through to him.

“You’re confused,” he said. “I get it. All of this stuff with UA...it’s just a phase. You’ll move on from it one day.”

“Maybe so...but even then I wouldn’t want to marry you.”

Akira didn’t say anything for several minutes and when he did it was to laugh out loud.

“You’re joking, right? This is a joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I’m sorry, but-”

He snatched his hands away from yours and gripped onto your shoulders.

“Who else is going to want you?”

“I...wh-”

“Look at you,” said Akira, looking you up and down. “You aren’t all that pretty, y’know. You should be grateful someone like me would even look at you, let alone ask you to marry them.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, keeping your composure, “but...I’ve moved on. You should too.”

He shook his head with a tsk, pushing you away with such force that your back slammed against the wall. He took the ring out of his pocket and threw it down onto the floor before going back inside the restaurant. The ring clattered as it hit the ground and you watched, crushing your hands to your face to try and stifle your tears.

All you could think about was the cooking classes you had taken; your instructor’s explanation about adding and subtracting ingredients. It was always possible to add extra later, but adding too much was the point of no return. You had experienced too much now; had seen your life from an outsider’s perspective and didn’t want to return to it. You no longer placed your value in tidy stitches and perfect pastries.

Even so, you considered, kneeling down to pick up the ring from the floor, you were as far from habanero as you were vanilla.

You had no idea who you were anymore.

~~~~~~~

In your absence the restaurant had fallen silent. The band had stopped playing as the door closed behind you both, the serving staff standing a little further back from the table with a cake in their arms, awkwardly exchanging glances with one another. The cake was quite clearly custom made, with bright red icing on the top that read “Congratulations Mrs. Masayama”.

Hizashi chewed his bottom lip, Nemuri cradled her wine glass. They didn’t need to speak to know what the other was thinking. They had seen the expression of horror on your face and the oblivious one on Akira’s. They knew it wasn’t going to end well.

When Akira finally returned, he was alone. He shook his head at the orchestra and serving staff, who swiftly carried on with their duties as if nothing had happened, smuggling the cake back into the kitchen area and resuming their ordinary track list.

Hizashi watched as Akira kicked at his seat before sitting down and turned to Nemuri, who gave him a nod. If he was kicking at chairs, they worried what he might have done to you.

Hizashi got to his feet and left the restaurant, shoving open the front door and rushing out onto the street. You weren’t directly outside and he headed off to check the side streets, heart shattering into pieces when he finally found you.

He could think of little else but the first time he saw you when you came to UA. The original guidance counsellor had been there for years, including when many of the faculty members studied there themselves. She had candies and a pat on the head for just about anyone and losing her was like losing a grandmother. That’s not to say they weren’t excited about the replacement, though.

He and Nemuri had spent hours hypothesising not only what the new person would be like, but the kind of person they hoped they would be. They concluded that they both wanted it to be a cute girl, the type of person they could take to the izakaya and influence in all of the wrong ways. Having you join the staff was like winning the lottery.

He and Nemuri had high fived the first time they saw you, opening the staff room door by a sliver and watching as Nezu took you on a tour. He would never forget his initial impression; that you were pretty and sweet and reminded him of a kitten. His opinions hadn’t changed even now that he knew you better. You held no ill will towards anyone, bent over backwards to help out students and colleagues alike, forgave just about anyone who wronged you even slightly.

Seeing you in tears hit him hard, simply because it was you.

He walked over, stomach churning at the prospect of what might have been said or done to upset you so much.

“Hey, little listener,” he said softly and you frantically rubbed the tears from your eyes.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, fumbling with your purse, “I’ll be right there…”

“Little listener,” he said again, reaching for your shoulders. “Look at me.”

You looked up at him and squinted, recognition slowly sinking in. Very few people recognised him outside of his hero costume and you were no exception to the rule.

“Hizashi? Wh...what are you doing here?”

You blushed a bright red and immediately started rubbing the tears away even harder.

“Saving the day,” he said with a smile.

“Sorry,” you said, though your eyes didn’t meet his. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Hizashi sighed and touched his fingers to your chin, lifting your face towards his. You didn’t have any visible swelling or other marks on your skin that pointed towards a physical attack.

“Don’t apologise,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you said, tears welling in your eyes and voice beginning to break, “I’m fine. I’m completely fine.”

You still whispered that you were fine as he lowered his hand from your face, as you buried your face in your hands and began to sob. You still tried to murmur them when you choked with tears and could manage little more than single syllables.

Hizashi stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around you, stroking your hair as you buried your face in his chest and began to wail.

“That’s it,” he said, stroking your hair, “I got you. Just let it out, little listener.”

He reached into his jacket pocket for his phone and typed out a message to Nemuri.

>>I’ve got (Name). You handle him.

>>  ( ˘ ³˘)♥

~~~~~

Nemuri set down her phone with a grin and picked up her purse, making sure to swing her hips far more than was necessary as she approached Akira’s table. The servers, unsure what to do, had brought your main meals to the table, leaving Akira to glare at them in silence.

She slipped down into your chair, taking care to tease her low neckline.

Akira looked up at her and she picked up your abandoned fork, helping herself to a carrot from your plate. She made sure to run her tongue over it, licking off the honey glaze.

“Can I join you?”

~~~~~

You weren’t sure how long you sobbed into Hizashi’s chest, only that you couldn’t stop. You forgot where you were, so overwhelmed by misery and his warm body that the world seemed to stop.

When the tears dried and you came back to earth, you felt more than a little embarrassed. You’d smudged makeup and snot all over his shirt and likely made a scene in the process.

“Oh my god,” you said, stepping back and rubbing your eyes. “I’m so sorry, look at the mess i’ve made…”

Hizashi looked down at his shirt and shrugged.

“What, this? Please. I’m a teacher, a celebrity, a hero and a catch. Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and he stroked his fingers across your cheeks.

“Ahhh, there it is,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Much better.”

“I don’t understand...what are you doing here? I thought you and Nemuri were going to the izakaya.”

“Uhhhhh, well,” Hizashi scratched his chin, “the thing is…you kinda put us in the mood for French food…”

Under ordinary circumstances, you would have been mortified at the realisation that they might have seen everything. Right then, though, you were exhausted and numb.

“Ahh, whatever, it doesn’t matter,” you said, reaching into your purse for your train card. “It’s been a long night...I should get going.”

“What are you talking about, cute listener? The night’s just beginning! Didn’t you know? This is the best time to view the city!”

He was trying to cheer you up, but you knew that not only was your makeup ruined, but you could never show your face in Les Papilles again.

“I can’t go anywhere looking like this,” you said. “I look like...like…”

Hizashi shook his head and reached into his pocket. He rummaged for a couple of seconds before grinning and pulling out a set of star shaped sunglasses.

“Now look at that,” he said, slotting them onto your face, “you’ve got stars in your eyes.”

It was such a corny line that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you just... carry spare sets of sunglasses everywhere?”

He reached into his other pocket by way of an answer, pulling out a set shaped like flowers, then another shaped like hearts.

“You never know what might happen,” he said. “Sometimes the mood calls for something a little different.”

“What’s the mood today?”

He lifted up both pairs, weighing up the pros and cons of each before switching his plain glasses for the heart ones.

“Now, then,” he said, shrugging off his jacket and putting it on you. “Have you ever been in a movie?”

“Have I what ?”

It was an absurd question, but he looked as dead serious as anyone could in novelty sunglasses.

“Pick a genre,” he said, reaching for his phone. “You’re the heroine now. What movie are we in?”

You considered it, thinking about the past year.

You didn’t know if you were vanilla or habanero or anything in between, but you knew what you’d like to be given the choice.

“It’s a romance,” you said, blushing scarlet, “a sickly sweet, cliched romance, where everyone falls in love with everyone else and no one’s alone at the end.”

Hizashi nodded, giving you sounds of approval.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he said, fastening earphones to his phone and slipping it into the inside pocket of the jacket he had put on you. “Here…”

He held out the earphones and you picked them up, putting one in your ear and holding out the other, meaning to share. Hizashi shook his head.

“No, no,” he said. “It’s your soundtrack, not mine!”

You put the other one in and listened to the music he had loaded, taking in the wistful melody as he reached a hand for yours. You reached to take it and followed him along the street, gazing up at the street lamps and signs overhead.

You knew these streets better than most. Akira lived nearby and between going to his place and visiting Les Papilles , you had done a lot of walking here. Perhaps it was the sunglasses, the music or the fact that you were holding onto Hizashi’s hand, but it didn’t look the same. You spotted details you had never noticed before, like the dancing wisterias overhead and the glow of fairy lights in the windows. You spotted chalk drawings on the ground, smiling strangers who passed you with cups of coffee only to disappear from your life moments later.

You wondered how long you had walked these streets without really looking at them; how many years you had spent looking at your feet instead of the sky.

You didn’t let go of Hizashi’s hand as you got onto the train, peering out of the windows at every station you passed. You admired every piece of graffiti, the careful hand movements of the musician busking at the station entrance. You couldn’t hear him over the music playing through Hizashi’s earphones, so pretended he was the one playing.

You got off at a station you’d never been to before, listening to the gentle swell of the music as you climbed the stairs out onto the main square. Food vendors lined the streets and the scent of fried foods filled the air. Hizashi guided you along the street, pointing out a carousel. In the daytime it would have looked mundane, but at night it was beautiful, illuminating the night with a golden glow.

Hizashi guided you towards it and slipped the owner a couple of notes, motioning for you to choose a horse the moment he let you pass through the rope barrier. You picked one out and climbed up into the saddle, waving Hizashi over to sit behind you. He climbed up into the saddle and wrapped an arm around your waist, using the other to hold onto the rail.

You watched your surroundings as the ride began to move and your shadows hit the ground.

You had lived in this city for years and walked the earth for thirty. You had never known the city could look like this, that it could fill your heart with warmth and love until it shone as brightly as the carousel. You wanted to stay there forever and never come down, enchanted by the world and its infinite details.

~~~~

You hadn’t gotten around to eating dinner and spent more money than you normally would on warm doughnuts, corn dogs and yakisoba. The pair of you sat down at the end of the pier, taking off your shoes and dangling your feet down towards the sea.

By then, you had turned off the music and handed Hizashi his jacket back, relishing the sound of the waves hitting the shoreline and soft sea breeze through your hair.

“So,” said Hizashi, taking a bite of one of the doughnuts, “what’s the story with your ex?”

“There’s not really much of one,” you shrugged. “We dated at college.”

“And?”

“And...one day he took me out to dinner and said he wanted to play the field, live a little more, that sort of thing. He didn’t want to commit to a relationship, he wanted to get out there and have fun,” you said, poking at your noodles. “I thought it was the end...but...actually...I think I agree with him now. I’d spent so long in a relationship that I forgot who I was without it.”

“And are you any closer? To figuring out who you are?”

“No,” you said, sighing deeply. “I thought I was, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Well,” said Hizashi, dusting off his hands. “If this is you at 25%, I can’t wait to see what you’re like at full power.”

You turned to Hizashi, blushing at the way he had turned to look at you.

“I...I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that, of all people.”

“Hey!”

You giggled at his outburst, thinking back to Shouta’s words at your apartment.

Purple socks, studded leather, zombie movies, horror games, candles that smell like desserts, cheap sunglasses, expensive shampoo, eighties rock and dubstep mashups, light beer…

All of the things Hizashi liked.

Shouta had taken a step back and said he was rooting for you. Akira was no longer in your life. You took a deep breath and swung your legs to hide your nerves.

“Hizashi,” you said, somehow managing to blush an even darker shade of red.

“Hmmm?”

“Did you...uh...that is. Would you like to…”

You hadn’t propositioned anyone since Shouta and even then he had filled in the blanks. You prayed Hizashi was just as good at taking a hint.

“...wouldyouliketogosomewheremoreprivate?”

You didn’t dare look at him. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

“(Name),” he said at last, “are you asking what I think you are?”

“Probably,” you squeaked. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I-you must think I’m...”

He cupped your face in his hand, though, grinning like a cheshire cat.

“You worry too much,” he whispered. “Just let it happen.”

“Okay,” you said, heart fluttering as he stroked his fingers across your jawline and combed his fingers through your hair, touching his lips to yours with a softness you hadn’t expected from him.

One kiss turned into two, two turned into three and before you knew it you were gasping into his open mouth while he stroked his fingers from your ribs to your hip. You were grateful for the sunglasses he had given you; you dreaded to think how dazed you looked. You felt as if you were floating, head and shoulders above the clouds.

Hizashi broke the kiss before you did and got to his feet.

“Are you ready,” he asked, putting one hand on his hip and quite deliberately guiding your line of sight to his crotch, “for this jelly ?”

It was such an absurd thing to say that you burst out laughing.

This, this right here was what you expected from him.

~~~~~~~~

You’d been to Hizashi’s apartment before during the recording of Support Mic . Every time you went there, you made the same observation: that its walls were plain and its furniture simple, completely at odds with the man who lived there.

“You wanna see something cool?” he asked as he closed the front door.

“Okay.”

He reached out to flip a light switch and at first you believed he was going to leave you both in the dark. You wondered what was cool about that, only for your jaw to drop a moment later.

It was a light switch, but not in the conventional sense.

Hizashi, as it turned out, had blacklights installed in his home and every corner of every wall shone with otherwise invisible colours. Some areas had portraits and galaxies painted on them, others had patterns and handprints.

“W...wow,” you said, staring up at a ghostly milky way as Hizashi brushed your hair to one side and planted a kiss on the back of your neck.

Your dress hit the ground with a whisper, his belt fell at your feet. You had nothing on but your underwear by the time you reached the bedroom and stared at the sapphire hue of your skin. Somehow, even your own body felt foreign.

You glanced over at Hizashi, at the musical notes tattooed on the left side of his ribcage and stud through his right nipple, really seeing him for the first time. The Hizashi you had known before this was goofy and sweet. This one was a piece of art on par with the galaxies and flowers on his walls. You didn’t know why it surprised you to learn he too had layers of complexity.

He noticed you staring at him and almost looked bashful, though it lasted only a fraction of a second. He dropped to his knees and hooked his fingers around the band of your underwear, shimmying them down to your ankles and planting a kiss on the soft flesh below your belly button. You sighed into it, stomach fluttering, and kicked them off entirely.

“Now then,” he said, getting to his feet and planting a hand on the small of your back to draw you closer, “check you out, little listener! You look good enough to eat.”

Heat rose in your cheeks and you giggled, accepting the kisses he peppered across them. He kissed your lips and squeezed your butt, using your gasp to explore your mouth with his tongue.

His bedsheets were soft against your skin - almost as soft as his kisses. You crushed your lips against his without any kind of hesitation, trembling as he stroked a hand over your collarbones, breasts and then stomach before slipping a finger between your folds. You gasped as his fingertip grazed your clit and he chuckled, propping himself up on his other elbow and admiring the view as he traced his finger around the outside of your wetness.

“Look at that,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed, “you’re so wet already!”

He pulled his hand away from your slick and held it up so you could see, rubbing his finger and thumb together to show the wetness you’d left on them. You fell silent, feeling oddly bashful as he sucked on the finger he’d used to touch you.

You had no clue how you were going to look him in the face at work after this, but his touches felt so good that you didn’t care. You tasted yourself on his lips when he kissed you, shivered as he lifted your leg up onto his waist and shoved his hand between your thighs. He scissored his fingers inside of you and rubbed his thumb over your clit, laughing whenever a particular touch made you moan and buck your hips against his hand.

“Let me hear you,” he said, peppering your throat with kisses and drawing moans from your lips, relishing every vibration.

He pulled his fingers out of you and sucked them before lifting himself up onto all fours, rolling you onto your back in the process. You stared up at him, heart racing, taking in the silvery hue his hair had taken in the dark. He trailed messy kisses from your lips to your collarbone, crawling down the bed as his kisses travelled south. You closed your eyes the second his tongue crossed your nipple and let out a sigh of pleasure, which only seemed to spur him on.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, settling on his stomach and spreading your legs wide. “Sing for me.”

This was the first time anyone had gone down on you. You had no point of reference, no idea what to expect. You gasped at the strange, wet feeling, reaching down to stroke his hair as if by instinct. Every touch of his tongue sent your insides to jelly and you bit down on your fingers to stifle your gasps.

“No, no, no,” he said, “I want to hear you.”

He held your hips down and sucked at your clit so forcefully that you lost all coherent thought. It still felt wet, but the strangeness had gone, making room for a growing tightness deep inside of you. You wanted nothing more than to break.

He eased up, swirling the tip of his tongue against your clit so gently that you caught yourself bucking your hips against his mouth and arching your back from the bed, trying and failing to meet him halfway.

“Don’t stop,” you whined, reaching for his hair. “Please, please don’t stop.”

You were so close to unravelling and it felt like a matter of life or death.

You had no point of reference and no way of knowing how good Hizashi actually was at oral. All you knew was that his touches left your arms and legs numb. You finally understood why he had painted so many of his ceilings to look like outer space. The more he touched you, the more it felt like you were floating, watching your own body contort with pleasure from a distance.

He knew the exact moment you teetered on the brink and chose that one to loosen his grip on you and plant a kiss on your thigh. The anticipation faded and you could have cried.

“Hizashiiii…”

“No, no, no, not yet,” he said, sitting up onto his knees and wagging his finger. “I want to make you scream.”

You’d never screamed in bed before and just the thought left you feeling a mixture of embarrassed and morbidly curious. Exactly how good would you have to feel to scream? How dirty could Hizashi get?

You smiled, cheeks flushed.

“I’d love to see you try.”

“Those are famous last words, (Name).”

“At least I’ll go with a smile on my face.”

Hizashi grinned and adjusted his position, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his waist, spreading you wide and slipping a finger in you, snickering as your toes began to curl. It didn’t take long to build you up again this time and you grabbed the bedsheets, bracing yourself for a peak that never came. Hizashi let you get close enough to taste freefall, only to drag you back to earth.

He rolled across the bed and fumbled in his bedside drawer, pulling out a condom and something else that you didn’t recognise in the half light.

“Say, (Name), do you wanna see something... really cool?”

“Go ahead.”

He thrust the condom towards you, motioning for you to take it. You did, turning it over in your fingers and squinting at the print.

“Are these…”

“Present Mic condoms! Designed, approved and beta tested by yours truly! Guaranteed to make your partner siiiiiiiiiiing.”

You knew that there was a lot of Present Mic merchandise. You’d seen shirts, alarm clocks, pyjamas and more and that was without deliberately seeking them out. There was almost certainly more on the internet, though it had never occurred to you that condoms would be one of them.

“I,” you said, “I don’t know what to say.”

You passed it back to him, watching as he wriggled out of his underwear. You licked your lips at the sight of his dick, unable to stop yourself. Where Shouta’s dick was wide, Hizashi’s was long and you didn’t know what to say of the fact that you had seen enough of your colleagues naked that you were able to make such a comparison.

He dragged the tie from his hair and wrapped it around his wrist, flicking his hair over one shoulder with a wink.

“You like what you see?”

Yes.

Yes, you did.

Between the blacklight, his naked body and long, golden hair, he looked like a painting.

“Come here,” you said, waving him over.

He stayed there, though, pouting.

“But you haven’t seen the cool part yet,” he said.

“You mean...there’s more?”

What else had he trademarked? Was he about to show you Present Mic lube?

He opened the condom wrapper, though, and you soon had your answer. It wasn’t any ordinary condom and, retrospectively, you regretted not realising it earlier.

Present Mic’s condoms were glow in the dark and shone green under the blacklight.

“It’s...it’s a glow stick,” you gasped, watching as he pulled it on. “Oh my god.”

“It’s awesome, right! Not sure how you’d wave them at a concert, though…Not without getting arrested, anyway...”

He said it so sincerely that you couldn't help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your giggles.

“You think that’s funny, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, laughing harder.

“Hon, what are you apologising for? I could watch this all day.”

You looked up at him, taking in the tender expression on his face that was completely out of place in your current surroundings. You remembered the way he had cradled you in the alley, just as gentle then as he was now.

You would almost certainly feel embarrassed in the morning, but you knew that none of this was a mistake.

He leaned over you, kissing your nose as he reached out to the mystery item he’d put on the bedside table. You inhaled sharply when you realised it was a vibrator wand, something you had never seen in person. It looked like something from a science fiction movie.

“You okay, doll?”

“Are they...always that big?”

Hizashi sat up onto his knees and set the vibrator aside for the time being.

“Nope, but this one is especially powerful! I accept only the best, ya dig?”

You glanced from the vibrator to him, trembling from the anticipation. You had followed Rei and the others into sex stores, though stared at your shoes the entire time, too ashamed to look, much less join in their conversations. They bought you a bullet vibrator for your birthday once, just to see the horrified expression on your face.

Tonight you were well and truly diving in head first.

“Put your hands up,” said Hizashi, lifting your leg over his shoulder. You obeyed, slowly raising your arms above your head and onto the pillows. He licked his finger and slipped it between your folds and back inside you, stretching you out a little more before pulling it out and inching his dick into the gap. You gasped, relishing both the feeling of being stretched to accommodate him and the way he closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure.

“What the hell, (Name),” he whined, “you feel so good.”

“S-so do you,” you said, heat rising in your cheeks.

Hizashi bumped his hips against yours, both of you gasping at the sensation.

“How’s that?”

“Do it again.”

He obeyed, squeezing onto your thigh as he thrust back into you. You reached down a hand, meaning to stroke your clit, but he clapped you away.

“No, no, no, put your hands up,” he said and you rested them back onto the pillows. “The party’s not over yet.”

He took up a slow pace initially, changing it up whenever you got remotely close to coming. He’d go faster only to stop the moment you begged him to keep going and keep fucking you that way. He’d go slow and deep, brushing the soft spot inside of you, only to pull out once your moans got more frantic. You knew from the satisfied look on his face that he was doing it on purpose.

“S...stop teasing me like this,” you said, “I’m going to…”

Truthfully, you had no idea what would happen when you came. You’d never been teased this much before. Hizashi laughed, though, perfectly dodging the pillow you launched at his head.

“Are you suuuure? I said I’d get you to scream, remember? Do you think you can handle it?”

“Yes! Yes I can handle it!”

Hizashi smirked and fell still, reaching for the vibrator next to him. He spat on his fingers and rubbed them across your clit before flicking the on switch. You had never heard a vibrator so loud, but you were so focused on the tension inside of you that you didn’t care. Hizashi touched it to your clit and held it there, sending you over the edge in a matter of seconds. You gasped in delight, body twitching and full of warmth. Hizashi started to thrust, moaning at the feel of you tightening around his cock. He held the vibrator in place and you squirmed, tension building inside of you again, just as unbearably tight as before. It was overwhelming and you cried out at the feel of his rapid fire thrusts and hum of the vibrator, overstimulated to the point of no return.

He turned up the vibrator and you screamed in delight, losing all self consciousness as your body quaked.

He kept going, over and over, dragging orgasms from you until you lost track of the peaks. They started to bleed into one another, leaving you flustered and desperate. He went deeper and harder, praising you for how loud you were getting.

“Are you going to give me one more,” he said, switching off the wand. “One more, I know you can do it.”

“Mhmm,” you whined, watching as he set aside the vibrator and slipped himself out of you. “Hizashi…don’t stop…”

He lifted both of your legs and motioned for you to hold them open, planting a kiss on your slick folds before pushing himself back inside of you. You bit your bottom lip at the change in angle, his hips crashing into yours so deeply that you felt the bed rocking beneath you.

“Sssshit,” said Hizashi, “I’m going to come.”

“Me too,” you said, digging your nails into your thighs to keep them spread, “I’m going to…hnn!”

You arched your back as you came, the added twitching sending Hizashi over the edge with you. You watched in curiosity, wondering what would happen if he cried out, only for him to lean over and crush your lips with his own, moaning into your open mouth as he continued to thrust.

“You ready for the money shot?”

You nodded, placing a hand on the small of his back and feeling him thrust into you.

You watched as he sat up to straddle you, dragging off the neon condom and frantically pumping at his dick. He bit down on his own fingers as he came across your belly, covering your skin in a layer of hot cum, which glowed luridly under the light.

You reached out to touch it with trembling fingers as Hizashi got up off the bed to get rid of the condom, admiring the way it shone against your skin in the same way as the paint on his bedroom ceiling.

Before this, you felt your body had been as barren and plain as the white walls of his apartment. Perhaps it was the happy hormones flooding your body, but you felt just as transformed and ready to confront just about anything.

“You okay, little listener?”

Hizashi came back towards the bed, taking a seat beside you and combing your hair off your sweaty forehead. Both of you laughed when all you could muster was a shaky thumbs up.

“Well, lucky for you, the party isn’t over,” he said with a wink. “I am going to run you the warmest, bubbliest bath you’ve ever had in your life...if you’re lucky, I might even join you!”

~~~~~

PRESENT

“I got it, I got it,” said Hizashi, reaching up to answer his phone. “Hello? Hello…? Ah...Eraser, what’s…wait. Slow down. What do you mean?”

Something about his tone made you anxious and you pushed back the covers as he sank down onto the edge of the bed. You could hear Shouta’s voice, though not what he was saying.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

He hung up the phone and set it down on his bedside drawer, breathing a heavy sigh.

“That sounded serious. Is everything okay?”

“We have to go to UA,” he said, getting up to pick up the TV remote.

“Hizashi it’s...it’s three in the morning, what-”

You fell silent the moment he switched it on, taking in the stony faced news broadcaster and burning buildings, the video footage of Midoriya at the feet of the hero killer, Stain.

“Oh my god,” you said, hugging yourself.

“Yeah,” sighed Hizashi. “Guess there’s not gonna be a round two.”

[famouskittychild]

Cheeky Mandos - ...and we're off

(Sorry I had a terrible writer’s block in the past 6-ish weeks - I went from reading fanfiction and being inspired by other’s visions to “I’ll never be able to write anything like these and I’m useless” in a single day :( I’m getting back into the groove finally, so I’m hoping to post more soon.)

There will be 18+ content (in the coming chapters soon) so if you are a minor, please don't read further.

Also the characters will be quite open and relaxed about things like gender, attraction, sexual activities, relationships etc, so if you prefer your Din (and their partner) possessive and/or monogamous , this won’t be a good read for you!

***

This pairing is  Din Djarin x gn reader / tall reader.  I’m short (and cis and woman). There’s so many short (and female) reader stuff out there, I wanted to write for people on the other end of the “why is your height not normal” / "definitely female" spectrum. If I make mistakes or you have advice, or ideas you'd like to see, please tell me!

Word count: 4267

Summary: You’re an armourer and some shiny guy just showed up.

First full piece/chapter/course! In which people seem to catch things. Thoughts? Viruses? Dropped facts? Who knows!?? Also contains a dilettante’s attempt at space electronics and some barely-canon-reminiscent Mando world-building. Still no spiciness sorry, marinating is a long process :P

Rating: T for some mentions of heavier topics.

CW: Mentions of mandalorian history, playing somewhat loose with canon lore (as in, my SW knowledge is patchy. sorry.)

Author’s note: I tried to find more info but it seems like the mandalorian alphabet doesn’t have names for the individual letters so I used aurebesh (also I liked the little Dorn(e) meta in there). And sorry for the bad puns. They’ll keep coming.

Prologue

One - ...and we're off

***

You aren’t worried about taking a stranger on board, you’ve done that plenty of times before. You hope he’s willing to put in the effort himself, too, just as he promised at the assembly.

The stranger leaves behind his ship, saying a friend will come to pick it up together with whoever might want to join the cause. You spot him from the cockpit as he walks over with a repulsor pallet in tow. He stops for a moment when your droids surge past him, busy at their pre-flight tasks, before moving on towards the ramp.

All his baggage is a satchel at his hip and a small bag on his shoulder, and two large crates of weaponry. You put him up in the spare cabin, the one that had been Sal’ee’s, your former apprentice, before she went on to be a journeyman. He stands in the middle of the room, staring at the two cots on opposite sides of the room, the lockers, the fresher in the corner.

“All mine? Where will you sleep?”

You don’t understand the surprise in his voice.

“Over there” you show him, pointing at the cabin opposite from his. It’s much more lived in, some of the blankets and trinkets and pillows visible through it’s open door. “There’s a third cabin that I mostly use for storage but has more fold-up bunks in case I need to transport more people. That’s rare though.”

“Ohh.” He nods, then turns to look around his room again. “Okay. I thought all of these rooms were cargo space.”

You smile, and quickly think through your to-do list. You’ll have to rearrange your schedule somewhat but it’s not that big of a bother.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the ship.” Before he gets lost in its cavernous interiors, you might add - but you don’t. If his reaction to a separate cabin and his current ship - an old ARC170 - is any indication, he must be used to very cramped quarters.

***

Your trusty Brick, a beat-up YV 929, is armed to the teeth and ugly, just as you like it. The ship is a scavenged one, gutted from most of its original factory issue armaments, engines, and even wiring. It was perfect for your former master when she found it at a scrap heap: she wanted to rebuild it herself, deliberately piecemeal; panels sourced form here, engines from there, concealments added. She modified the inner workings of the engines so that the power lines could be redirected to a concealed forge.

That forge is your pride and the main reason you haven’t settled at a permanent place yourself. When your master retired from travelling, the ship passed to you, and you continued her mission of offering your knowledge and expertise to those of your people who otherwise had no access to an armourer.

…

The next standard month is spent with adjusting, both for yourself after getting used travelling alone again since Sal’ee left, and for the stranger who found himself a passenger on someone else’s ship. Apparently he used to live a very similar life to yours, with the exception that he was a hunter not a craftsman.

You travel together, share meals, research the places you are directed to. He joins in the effort that is maintaining the ship. Still - he is very taciturn at the beginning, keeping his words to the bare minimum. The first few days it feels as if you are still on your own aside of your droids. By the middle of the month, he progresses from short answers, through sharing information, to willingly starting to tell stories; but you know that chatting will never be his defining feature.

His armour seems to fill the spaces of the Brick’s corridors. You feel as if it’s not him who has the presence, but that set of glinting, perfectly made handwork of an armourer you already admire. Some of the pieces were sourced elsewhere, you can tell by the different shapes and designs; they seem haphazard and mismatched compared to the rest. Most of the set is the work of a single person. On those, there’s not a single uneven line, a broken curve, an edge at the wrong place. The angle of the panes of the metal, the ridges, the simplicity and elegance of them all - you have to hold yourself back from touching them, to admire them. You would give a lot to hold those pieces in your hand, to study them, to analyse them with your eyes and hands and with your tools.

You’re a master, yes. But so much knowledge was lost. So many masters gone, with their knowledge and their workshops. Apprentices became heads of Forges in the absence of the more skilled. The survivors still to this day have to piece together half-remembered lessons and forgotten details, experiment with techniques that were known before but the methods got lost as decades of civil war and occupation and murder kept eroding your heritage.

Sometimes a set of armour comes along that is just made in a way you never had an opportunity to learn. Often the person who forged them is long gone. Not the stranger’s armourer though. As far you can tell, she’s alive. Or at least was, when he last saw her. Not too long ago; though your usual method for guessing forging dates is mostly useless as it is based on the condition of the suit’s paintwork. Which he doesn’t have, so you can only guess from the small amount of scratches. You try to ask once, but whilst he’s forthcoming with general stories, he doesn’t go into details.

It’s a common theme with him. He talks about people and planets and events, and leaves out a lot - and you don’t even notice it first. Only when you try to glean information about his armour do you realize how well he fuzzes over those facts and nuances. It’s only up to the peculiarities of Basic and its use of gendered pronouns that you know his Armourer is a woman, or at least he considers them so. He doesn’t even tells you his own name, and when you ask your Elder in one of your communications, she tells you he didn’t gave it to them either. You keep introducing him as a friend, and that is the end of it for a while.

***

The visits to this first few coverts with him are… interesting. You can see him fidgeting from the corner of your eye. He always follows half a step behind and off to a side, as if not wanting to be in your way. He keeps quiet and doesn’t mix much, and around small children and droids, he is positively withdrawn. He only comes alive when he talks about his mission.

You had learned early on during your apprenticeship that keeping the helmet on is a safe bet when meeting with unfamiliar mandalorians. That led to later getting in contact with his type of believers too, despite their notorious secrecy even from the rest of the People. When you tell the stranger about that, he immediately showers you with questions, but you can’t give an answer to most of them. You never met with anyone from his particular covert, or heard of it. No name, no description seems familiar. It’s painful to watch his shoulders slump after daring to hope.

During the course of the month spent travelling, he gradually comes to be more social. He starts to stand and walk beside you. He doesn’t withdraw to the background anymore; he can actually be quite chatty if approached the right way. Droids still make him stop, though he warms up to kids in his own way. He’s good with them, at least in your opinion, though you know some would still call him aloof and distant. He isn’t a cuddler, nor does he crouch down to ask cutesy questions. He juts sits nearby them, and in that way of children having a good sense about adults, they know he’s trustworthy. They go up to him to chatter, to hand him a toy to hold, to ask him to fix a latch on their boots; than they go back to play.

He teaches you too, inadvertently at first during everyday conversations and later by his own volition, about his Way. About his Creed. It keeps throwing you off how much it differs from most that you had met before. Not even meeting briefly with people who followed the same Way as him could prepare you for the details that he does share. The degree of strictness, the loyalty, the barest bones Old Tradition beliefs and their willingness to follow them is very rare amongst the People as far as you can tell. Their devotion earns your respect.

At other times, your jaw hangs open and you can’t believe you are talking to an adult roughly around the same age as yourself, who by his own admission had spent three decades living as a follower of the Creed - not knowing about things children are thought through plays and songtime. His ignorance is so staggering, your admiration towards his unknown Armourer wavers. How could she keep so many things hidden from them? Why not talk about your own history? Your greats? Your artefacts?

About the many other who would call them vod’e, siblings?

You are an armourer, a craftsman, a person who makes a living by making things with your hand. You’re not a leader, or a scholar, or someone who decides what to tell your people. You do have a status within the community, but that is a status of service. From what the stranger says, their Armourer was a leader in every aspect: elder and lorekeeper and moral guide and more. All in one. It is something you can see developing from the old songs and histories amongst groups who take tradition more literally.

You are good at observing people, even at copying their habits to make them feel more comfortable with you, but less good at determining their underlying motives. The reason you think of him as “the stranger” even after travelling with him is because it’s so hard to figure out what drives him. There’s a melancholy to him that overrides the more typical mandalorian fight-readiness or aggression. You see how he gazes off to the distance sometimes, turning his head to the side and freezing. How he keeps to himself when he can. But you can’t tell why. Grief? Regrets? Determination to change? Planning something greater and being preoccupied with that?

He doesn’t pick fights to test you. He spars with you when you invite him to, he helps when you ask, and often even without it. He’s polite and considerate; he keeps conversation to practicalities and interesting stories, and doesn’t bother you with anecdotes or insistent questions about trivialities or your private life. He even does the dishes.

He’s deadly boring in his reliableness.

You are used to being on your toes around people all the time. When you meet a new group, it’s all unknown people. With ones you had already visited, the problem is having to remember them. They remember you of course, the ‘wandering armourer’; and surely you remember them too.

What is worse, when people stay the same but you don’t remember them, or when they change and you just can’t place them?

He becomes a good excuse after you’ve been to several coverts together. It’s interesting to notice how your dynamics change even further once you two get into a comfortable routine. You start to retreat to your forge and tools, and let him take all the attention. And he doesn’t just talk about his mission anymore, or lets little ones play around him whilst he’s quiet. He converses with people about news, about their children, about weaponry. You have more time to focus on your work.

Sometimes, people ask you what do you think of his mission. You tell them that you will follow what your clan decides, and that’s mostly true. It is something people don’t often debate, at least.

He quickly becomes a part of your everyday life. You are content with your usually solitary travels. You know that your family, your clan and your friends wait for you at home. They message you and you can find the time that suits you to message back. You don’t miss the constant hubbub of the covert most of the time. But now that you have someone that is not a droid, someone who is your equal in every aspect, on board again, it’s not even lonely anymore.

***

“So what’s up with you and droids?” you ask one day, after you got back from a covert and are safely in hyperspace to the next destination. You tinker with your astromech’s navigational systems. Poor 2-T keeps bumping into walls and crates. Again.

The stranger looks at you and your droid, than over at Mouse who for a change isn’t zooming around at foot level.

“Bad memories.”

“Gunk sat on you?” You tease. You hope it’s just something silly and not him having some sort of snobbish organics-are-better philosophy. He is quiet, and you focus on your work. He’ll talk if he wants to, that much you know already about him.

Inside the body of your astromech, a rivet from stars knows where is stuck between two circuit boards and blocks the access to a short-circuited piece of wire.

“Kriff. Toots, this will take a while, sweetie. Can’t access that kriffing panel.” He chirps back something and you read the translation on the small display. “No, it’s not that. My hand can’t fit in that small space. Let me find those pliers… should be in that other drawer somewhere.”

You search in the chest of tools, and despite your usually good organization, you can’t find them amongst the droids’ tools where their place is.

“Let me help.” The stranger’s voice beside you makes you jump. He can be awfully quiet. “Sorry. I think I might’ve put them back into the wrong drawer. I used them the other day when I fine-tuned that scope.”

He points at another drawer, where you keep your fine electronics stuff. No wonder he mixed them up. He stands beside Tootee a bit awkwardly until you find the tool.

“Here! No problem by the way. “ You turn back to him and to the droid, than have an idea. “Do you mind a bit more help? You can say no if you don’t want to work with the droid, I’ll understand.”

He doesn’t object yet, so you go back to 2-T and show the stranger the area you’re working on. You see him lean closer in your peripheral vision.

“That’s where I need to get that burned piece of wire out and install a new one, but first, I need to get that rivet out of the way.” You point at the root of the problem, than explain your plan, pointing out each part in turn. ”If you could hold those using this, than I could get here, remove this, with that tool, than have to get those bundles out of the way too, so than that wire there could come out. Easy.”

You look up at him, and his helmet is way closer than you expected. You can almost see your reflection in that black visor as it stares back at you for a second, and you almost apologize again, when the stranger starts to speak.

“Just have to hold the wires to the casing, or pull them like…” he moves his hand in the air, showing what he means.

“Hold them to that panel, there, with the pliers, so I have room to access the rest.”

He thinks for a moment, than he starts to tug one of his gloves off.

“You don’t need to take that off, just hold the pliers” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“No, I can fit my hand in there, I’m pretty sure. If not we can try it with the tool.”

You realize that this is the first time you see his skin. Than it occurs to you that he might very well misunderstand this whole situation. You just asked him to hang his hand inches from yours in an enclosed space; inside a droid nonetheless, just after you basically told him you noticed he has a problem with them. It would be so easy to get caught up in there, to touch his hand, and hush it up as coincidence. Especially now that he took his glove off as well. He might even think that it was a careful plan of yours: have an area to work with were your slightly larger hands don’t fit but his might.

Your fingertips already tingle from knowing you can’t make mistakes. Which means you’ll probably do. He reaches between the panels and gets to the part where you got stuck. He wiggles his fingers a bit and scrapes around.

“Ha, found some wires. Are these the ones you need out of the way?”

You peer down into the quagmire of electronics, trying to find the best angle to see everything.

“Yes, those are the ones. Just hold them like that.” You try to focus on what you are doing, but after those earlier thoughts, your hands are jittery. You somehow manage to remove the obstructing rivet, than find the burned out part and replace it without accident, the stranger patiently holding things out of your way. You direct him here and there, occasionally stumbling as it’s a lot of instructions, or at least a lot of “could you please” and “thank you”. It gets particularly awkward when you stumble over the lack of name spectacularly.

“Could you pull those the other way, so they aren't that taut, please? Thank you, you. I mean thank you.”

“Din. Din Djarin.” Your head snaps up while the rest of your body freezes. “I should have told you my name sooner, but I’m so used to not telling it… and it just became more awkward to bring it up as time passed. I apologize.”

You close your mouth that of course was hanging open in surprise, than shake your head.

“I thought at first that I missed it when you said it so I was ashamed that I didn’t remember.” That did happen before, and it was one of your greatest worries about meeting new people. “I actually asked my elder. Sent her a comm. So when she told me you went nameless, I didn’t wanted to demand it.”

He doesn't answer right away. His voice is softer when he speaks a bit later.

“Thank you. For being considerate.”

You smile and try to wave it off. Which results in your hand slipping and pawing at his, still motionless and stuck in the inside of the astromech.

“Oh shucks, I’m sorry… didn’t meant to.” You withdraw your hand quickly, and start to look for your tools to cover your mistake.

He doesn’t seem bothered, luckily. You calm down, reminding yourself not to behave like you drank one too many glasses of your cousin Ree’s home-made tihaar, and finish the repair.

“You can let those go now, I’ll finish from here. Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, any time.”

He sits back on a nearby crate and watches you work for a while, ignoring Mouse zooming around the room. You’re surprised a bit: you didn't expected him to stick around. And than he starts to ask about 2-T. How long you had him, is he temperamental, can you install a vocoder on astromechs, and why not. His tone is somewhat cautious, his voice stiff, like someone asking about a dangerous predator. You remember how you asked him about his distance with droids, but don’t want to push that question. He already told you his name today.

…

By the time you finish with the rest of the repairs, clean Tootee up and tidy around your workplace, interrupted by having to leave hyperspace and land at a spaceport, it’s the middle of the night in local time. You planned to have a nap and search out the local covert just before dawn.

You go to the galley to have a bite before turning in, and the stranger - Din, you remember, although his last name is less clear - is cleaning up some dishes. There’s another bowl in the middle of the small table, covered by a plate.

“That’s for you, if you’d like to have it. Used up the last of that spice mix we got” he tells you as you enter. You sit down and stretch your legs out one side. As you take the plate off from the steaming bowl, you think about how nice it is to find warm food on the table and not having to cook your own all the time.

“Thank you.” You pull the bowl close and take the spoon that he put beside it. You swirl the soup - it looks very good: clear broth with lots of veggies and other fillers in it - and gather your thoughts. “So ummm… I want to ask something before it gets awkward again.“

He finishes piling the bowls and cups and sits down on the seat opposite. You blurt the question out before you might change your mind.

“What was your name again? Din, that was clear, but the rest… sorry but it sounded something like “jarring”?”

He chuckles, and it’s a clear sound even with a vocoder, no snort or sigh to distort it.

“It’s Djarin. Dorn-jenth-aurek-resh-isk-nern. Djarin.” You nod, a bit embarrassed, and he continues. “Don’t worry, you aren't the first to ask. Probably not the last either.”

“Thanks for being patient. I’m not the best with names, to be honest.”

He tilts his head.

“Is that why you are always so focused when someone introduces themselves? I can ask them to repeat their names for me too if you want to, than both of us can try to remember them.”

You blink at him.

“That’d be…” Unnecessary, and don’t bother, and it’s not your job, you think - but stop yourself. That would actually help. No shame in accepting it. ”That would be nice. Thanks.” You are good at a few things, like making things with your own two hands. Not gaping when something surprises you, or remembering faces or names, any names, not just people? Nah.

You tuck into your soup, and the two of you sit in companionable silence. You wander if Djarin sits there because he wants to, or if he’s waiting for more questions from you. You asked a lot from him during the last few hours, and he was really kind with all his help and telling you his name and not being bothered when you misremembered it.

You are halfway done with your meal when he stirs. He leans forward with his lower arms on the table, and takes a deep breath. You wonder what his question will be - you commit to answer whatever it might be. He deserves that after today.

“So you asked earlier about me and… droids, right?”

Your hand with the spoon stops in the air. You weren’t expecting this question, at all.

“Yes…” You want to say he didn’t have to answer. But you already told him that. You’re sure he remembers that too - since he brought the topic up again. “Yes, I did.”

He shuffles on his seat a bit, and looks out to the side like he sometimes does. You lower your spoon and eat, letting him gather his thoughts.

“When I was a kid… I don’t know how old you were then, but during the war. The Clone wars.” You nod, understanding what he’s getting at, and he continues. “We were… the place I lived came under attack. Some separatist battle droids. Mandalorians saved me.”

You swallow your soup. That was the shortest possible description of someone having their entire life and probably everyone they knew ripped away from them and finding a new way of life for the decades to come.

“I’m sorry” you say, because really, what else is there to say. He nods, and gazes off again. Than he shrugs his shoulders, as if he wants to shake the weight of the past from them.

He gets up, and walks around the table on his way out. He stops beside you for a moment and hesitates, and you almost turn towards him to ask what he needs when you feel him squeeze your shoulder. Than he straightens and steps away.

It’s warm where he squeezed it, and you remember how long ago it was that someone touched you.

You need to talk to your friends asap, and hug at least some of them. He turns back from the door.

“Get some sleep before dawn, all right? Have to be sharp to remember all those new names.” You don’t see him wink but you’d bet he does behind his visor. You scrunch your nose at him and pout before smiling, and he dips out of the galley.

Your hand is still hovering in the air, holding the spoon, while you listen to his footsteps getting more distant as he walks down the corridor to his cabin.

It’s just your luck that you don’t need your wits the next place. It’s only two people with the same, simple name and you met both of them before.

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 02

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: same as before, wounded gabriel & removal of those stitches notes: the fire under my ass burns as strong as ever, hallelujah

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

Much to your regret, your plans the next morning to continue being a nuisance to Dean are thrown in the bin at his decision to leave early and meet Castiel somewhere a state over for a case that the angel had found. Something about vamps in a mine or something, you’re a bit hazy on the details. You’d only half-listened when Sam filled you in upon your arrival in the kitchen, a good hour after Dean had already departed the bunker.

While you would like to say Dean is completely to blame, the truth is that once you passed out last night you slept like a log and didn’t wake up until mid-morning today, which classifies as a sleep-in of sorts for you. You love sleep, but your body is wired to wake up not long after sunrise, unfortunately. It’s that hunter lifestyle you love to hate.

Sam had huffed a laugh at your face when you found out you’d missed Dean, but otherwise had kept to himself with his healthy breakfast as you went about making yourself a coffee. You tend to be a bit nauseous in the mornings, so a coffee will be enough for you for a few hours. It’s likely your stomach won’t roar in hunger until a bit after midday, as it is wont to do.

“How is your arm?”

Sam’s question breaks you out of the dissociative state you’d slipped into as you sip your coffee, grip on the mug tightening in reflex. It takes a few blinks before your eyes focus back on him, a small smile on your lips.

“Much better, thank you doctor,” you answer, before mumbling into your coffee as you take another sip. “Despite apparent attempts at making it otherwise…”

Sam snorts, not even bothering to comment on that. “I’m glad. Did you have anything planned for the day?”

A contemplative hum escapes you, your gaze wandering to the ceiling. “No, not really. I kind of went hard for a while there, one case after the other, so I’m due for a break. Not much of a fan of burnout.”

Your eyes move back down, meeting his own. “I’m probably going to just hang back, for a bit. Recuperate. I mean, I didn’t get any injury besides my arm, but I’m just… tired, I suppose. Didn’t get much sleep the past few weeks.”

“Of course you didn’t hurt anything but your arm,” Sam rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his smoothie—you’re not a fan of the green tinge it has, but if he likes it then you suppose it must be alright, at least. “You and your stupid good luck. Dean is still mad about last time, you know. When he got splattered in monster guts that just missed you by a centimetre.”

The memory yanks a giggle out of you before you can stop it, almost spilling your coffee as a result of the abrupt movement. “Oh, that was good. I wish I had a picture so I could scrapbook it.”

Sam laughs around a mouthful of food, swallowing it down before he continues. “Dean would kill you.”

“I know, but it would be worth it.” You place your cup down, deciding it a better course of action than continuing to hold it and risking spillage. “Also, I know you think my luck is really good all the time, but it’s kind of just good occasionally. All other times, it sucks.”

“It kicks in when you hunt, though, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” Sam muses, flicking through an article on his phone somewhat distractedly. He hums to himself before turning the screen off and angling his body to you properly, meeting your questioning gaze.

“I’m… I’m gonna need your help,” he says, appearing somewhat sheepish. “With Gabriel.”

You try not to let your sharp intake of breath show, but from the look that flickers through Sam’s eyes you figure he catches it anyway. Your teeth worry your bottom lip for a moment before you can muster a proper response. “Alright. What are you thinking of doing?”

Sam adjusts once more, pushing his plate away, cutlery stacked on top; it’s only now that you realise he’s finished the meal and the only thing left to consume is his smoothie.

“Well, I’m not… entirely sure yet.”

You huff a laugh, attempting to regain a sense of normalcy. It isn’t that you’d forgotten about the battered archangel hiding in a room a few doors down from yours, but it’s moreso that you’d made it a point not to think about it so early in the morning, lest your mood be ruined for the entire day. Thinking of Gabriel… it kind of hurt. You’re not sure you’re ready to sit down and analyse exactly why you’re having such visceral reactions yet.

“I don’t think we can really plan much, here,” he says, features softening with empathy. It reminds you that when it comes to Hell and being tortured, the youngest Winchester isn’t as unfamiliar as you might hope. A pang of something hits against the confines of your chest at his tone and the passing look in his eyes; as always, there’s the useless feeling, the wish you could take away all the bad memories and experiences and make it all better. You know you can’t, nothing can, but you hate seeing your friends in any modicum of pain.

You suppose that includes Gabriel, if the sensations whirling within you at the thought of him are anything to go by.

“We’ll just have to take it as it comes,” you say, taking your mug into your hold and downing the rest of the drink in one go. “Alright! I’m gonna shower and then… I guess we go see him.”

x   x

 Unlike the Gabriel you were once so familiar with, this Gabriel is decidedly not fond of visitors.

Sam had gone and prepared some things while you’d showered and dressed, and by the time you reappear outside your room you hear shuffling from the direction of the library. Curious, you make your way down the hall, peeking your head in and blinking in only minor surprise at the sight of Sam, his shoulders heavy.

“What’s up, Sam-o-saurus?”

Sam looks up and gives you the closest approximation to a bitch face that you’ve ever received from him, clearly not fond of the new nickname that came to you on the spot like a divine enlightenment. He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe, though, which is probably for the best considering your mission for the day. It would do none of you any good if he went near Gabriel while all riled up.

“Gabriel is, uh,” he clears his throat, placing down a sterile steel tray in the shape of a bean and small surgical scissors, along with a scalpel. Your gaze strays to the side and sees that it was the first aid box he’d been ransacking as you arrived. “Not very open to visitation from me right now. I think I might be a bit… bit big. He doesn’t really even see me when he looks at me, so I don’t think he realises who I am.”

You wince, trying not to dwell on the information longer than needed to file it away for later consideration. “Oh. Sorry, Sam. You want me to go see if I can bring him out?”

“Please,” the tall man says, gesturing to the tools on the glossy oak table. “I figured we could start by getting rid of those stitches over his mouth, if nothing else. I don’t think he has enough grace right now to stop infection so we should try and reduce the risk.”

His words sadden you, but you know the truth they hold. Your limbs feel a bit heavy as you push away from the doorway.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel’s allocated room isn’t all that far from the library, and the note on the door sticks out like a sore thumb so you don’t have to worry much about getting lost on the way (ignoring that at this point you know most parts of the bunker like the back of your hand). Once outside his room, something gives you pause though.

Are you ready to see him in that state again? Or is it that a small, tiny part of you fears he won’t recognise you, either?

Ridiculous of you, really. You take a moment to admonish yourself for the thought. If you take a second to factor in the difference in time spent in hell, even without considering all the time he was missing, Gabriel had to have been trapped and tortured for over a century at the very least. Centuries and years might mean nothing to a celestial being who has been alive for millennia, but over a century of fear and torture is a lot even for someone with such impressive mileage.

You shake your head, attempting to clear your thoughts and emotions so you don’t enter his room with an overwhelming aura. Okay, showtime.

A soft knock echoes as your knuckles meet the wood, a moment passing before you speak, attempting to keep your voice as soft and nonthreatening as possible.

“Gabriel? It’s y/n, I’m going to come in now.”

You allow another moment to pass before you ease the door open, blinking in surprise as your eyes are greeted by light—it seems the archangel has every bulb in the vicinity burning its brightest. Understandable, since you presume he wasn’t exactly kept in well-lit conditions.

For a second, you think he’s not in the room. You don’t see him anywhere, and you’re about a split-second away from turning and calling Sam when you catch a glimpse of something shifting in the corner, behind the bulky side of a wooden dresser. You think for a second that you’ve forgotten how to breathe, chest painfully tight, as you realise that the small form huddled and curled in the corner is, in fact, the archangel Gabriel.

You hate that you’d noticed him only because of the filthy scraps of material that stick out against the dark décor of the bunker.

“Hey, Gabriel,” you say softly, keeping the door open so he has a route of escape and moving over as slowly and cautiously as you can. “I’m just gonna come over and sit in front of you, alright?”

You figure that even if he’s not entirely listening to everything you’re saying, it’s better to announce what you’re doing before you do it, for his benefit.

Something painful ricochets off the inside of your chest as you grow close enough to see him around the dresser and you’re confronted with his beaten, bloody and battered figure once more. His gaze is anywhere but you, and the way he presses himself into the corner is like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. It takes all of your willpower to squash down the unexpected sob that catches low in your throat. What is wrong with you?! You need to get a grip.

“Oh, Gabriel,” you find yourself saying before you can stop. “I’m so sorry…”

The closer you get to him, the lower you try to make yourself in his peripheral. It wouldn’t do any good to startle him by appearing big and threatening. It makes you frown when you remember just who it is that you have to think this way about. It’s sad, you think. The Gabriel you’d known was prideful, glaringly bright and loud in his presence, both as a trickster and an angel, and that he’d been reduced to… well, to this? It made your chest feel heavy.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, you ease down onto your knees in front of him, doing your best not to rush anything. It’s hard—you’re a hunter, used to moving with speed and a sense of urgency. So to take your time and really be in the moment for each of your actions is definitely an odd change from the usual autopilot your brain resides in.

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence once you’re still in front of him, not really. You had expected as much though, and as much as he seems unresponsive you do see the occasional flick of his eyes in your direction before they dart away, like he couldn’t believe he’d dared to look at someone instead of the floor.

For a few minutes, you simply let him adjust to your presence, your company. Ever so slowly, you see the tiniest bits of tension ease from his shoulders, his eyes no longer darting around like a frantic squirrel. You take the opportunity to take in the wounds and sores littering his body, doing your best not to get too upset by what you see. Dirt and grime coats him in layers, and you mentally note that your next goal with him would be to get him in a damn bath.

It can’t be comfortable, sitting in all that grime…

“For the sake of transparency,” you begin when he seems like he will be open enough to listening. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. This is your space right now, and I don’t want to intrude on it unless I really need to.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, but you sense you have his attention. “Given that right now you’re low on… strength, and not healing as you usually do, we need to take care of some of the worse wounds you have. If we don’t, it’s a risk of infection, and we don’t know how well you would fight that off in this state…”

You clear your throat, attempting to keep yourself on track. “So, if you’re able, we’d really like you to come out just for a moment, so we can fix up some of your sores. I promise that you can come right back in here afterwards, and that unless we have something really important we’ll leave you alone. Sound good?”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t really move, but the way his eyes move to yours and hold your gaze for a bare second longer than you expect, you gather he’s not entirely against it. You offer him a smile, oddly proud of him. You’d seen firsthand how hard it can be to get out of these mindsets, even just for a moment. Effort is hard and that he’s making it means everything.

“Perfect,” you say, shifting in your spot so you can stand more easily. “Alright, I can help you up, if you’d like, or you can stand on your own if you want. What do y—”

Your hands had already begun to outstretch as you spoke, and you’re taken by surprise when before you even finish speaking his hand is whipping up to grab your wrist in a sort of monkey grip. You’re left blinking as you help him up, moving on autopilot. You expect him to release you as soon as he’s standing, but it adds to your surprise as he wobbles in place and retains his grip, if anything shuffling a little closer.

“Okay,” you say, angling your body and adjusting your grip so that it’s loose and as nonthreatening as possible. “Let’s go. Thank you for cooperating.”

Of course, there’s no response and he’s silent the whole way to the library. You remember that Sam is in there only as you approach the threshold, but unlike what you feared, Gabriel doesn’t seem to react too poorly to him like he apparently had earlier. Risking a glance his way reveals that actually, amongst the frayed and almost manic energy, he seems oddly… grounded, just for the moment.

Well, this is certainly going better than you’d anticipated.

x

“I went to bully Dean this morning, but he woke up before me and left before I could get to him.”

You’re in the process of cleaning the wounds around Gabriel’s mouth and removing the ugly stitches that have been sewn into his lips. As something to distract him as much as you from what you’re doing, you’ve begun chatting idly to the archangel, unbothered by the lack of response. Sam sits a metre or so away, researching for Dean who had apparently called earlier when you were coercing Gabriel out of his room.

Still Gabriel doesn’t hold your gaze, eyes averted as he leans forward in the chair for you to reach his mouth, but you can tell from the way his eyes occasionally flick to you as you speak that he is listening, somewhat. It’s enough of a win that you’re willing to take it.

He winces each time your alcohol swab goes over the entry point of a stitch, but doesn’t flinch away too badly. You’re pretty proud of him for that, actually, because it must hurt like a bitch.

“You got him yesterday, though,” Sam pipes in from the side, amused as he recalls your arrival. “Barely an hour after you got here and he was quitting and heading to bed.”

“It’s hard being so naturally talented,” you say, placing the swab down and reaching for the small scissors and tweezers. “I’m an absolute delight, and Dean should appreciate that!”

“Has anyone ever believed you when you told them that?” Sam asks, presumably referring to the ‘delight’ bit.

“Why wouldn’t they, Samuel?” you ask, giving the massive man a light spritz of stink-eye. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he snorts in response, turning a page in the tome he currently has in his lap.

You bite your lip to hide your amused smile, turning back to Gabriel. You place your hand softly on his cheek to let him know that you’re about to go back in for the stitches, before raising the other tool and bringing it to the first of the thick threads woven through his flesh. Wincing, you try and snip it as delicately as possible. Now seems like a better time than any for more distractions.

“If you think I’m bad, you should be glad you never met my grandfather,” you inform the youngest Winchester, successfully severing the first stitch and beginning the icky job of pulling it out. Gabriel makes a muffled noise of pain but remains still, and you pat his hand softly in support. “He could stir the shit out of anyone, man. Like, I’m not even kidding. The bastard gene I got from him was actually watered down by the time it got to me, so count your lucky stars.”

Sam makes a noise of contemplation, like he really is taking the time to thank whatever powers that be— those apparently being Chuck, as you’ve heard— that you’re not more like your grandfather. Honestly, you’re not kidding—they really should be grateful. You loved your grandpa but you’d never met anyone so quick to stir whatever pot may present itself before them. An opportunist with bastardous tendencies, one might describe him.

In the silence that follows, you jump to another topic for the sake of distraction once more—you’re about to move onto another stitch.

“So, now that your mother is here, are you guys actually eating like normal human beings?” you ask, tongue pressed between your lips in concentration as you try to snip the thread as painlessly as possible by manoeuvring the small scissors. “Like, balanced meals with vegetables and shit?”

You hear Sam pause in the motion of turning a page, a scoff turning into a laugh as it climbs his throat. “What—homecooked meals? Our mom? Dude, she’s worse than Dean in the kitchen, and I really didn’t think that was possible.”

You pause your ministrations to face the tall man, squinting. “What? No way. No way is she worse than Dean—”

“We’ve had to replace the fire alarms twice already,” Sam says, meeting your gaze with a look that is full of both fondness and exasperation. He lets out a laugh at your flabbergasted face. “Dude, I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it for myself. You’ll see, whenever she gets back with Jack. She can’t cook but it doesn’t really stop her trying.”

“Another terrible chef joins the ranks,” you proclaim dramatically, pulling the stitch you were working on out and going in on the next one. “Oh, to be able to cook. I suppose this Jack kid is our last hope.”

“He’s not even a year old, y/n,” Sam says, deadpan. “I wouldn’t count on it. Also, you can cook, you’re just lazy.”

You shrug, making a face; he has you there. “I will neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

Once more, you feel Sam roll his eyes behind you—he should get that checked if he’s rolling them so heavily you can feel it yourself. They’re not even eyes that are in your own skull, man.

You proceed to pull shit out of your ass as you take Gabriel’s mouth stitches out, the metal tin to the side soon filled with scraps of thick thread covered in dried blood and muck. The exit wounds where the thread had been have begun to well with blood, the wounds agitated by the removal of the stitches, and you bring a new cotton pad back with alcohol to clean them up. Gabriel hisses at the contact, and you rush out apologies under your breath as you finish up. You’d forgotten to warn him, and it’s only something small but you still feel bad.

“Alright, that’s done,” you announce, mostly to yourself. You look over him, deciding which wound to treat next, when your attention is drawn to the way he seems to be shaking a little on the spot. He’s not as grounded as he was earlier when he sat down with you, and even though you have much more work to do you can tell intrinsically that this is the most he can take right now. Dressing his other wounds would have to wait until tomorrow.

You turn to find Sam already giving the archangel a scrutinising look, apparently arriving at the same conclusion you had. He gives you a nod and you let out a soft breath, turning back to Gabriel and offering your hands should he need them.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get you back to the room.”

You can only hope tomorrow will offer the same amount of progress as today.

prev. || next

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.8

a/n: so nothing much happens here but in a way im just establishing how reader and her fam interact :)

warnings: this cannot be read solo, filler because author-chan needs a break xD

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​​ @infinite-universe-love​​ @dirtypride​ @blackymomo03​ @azzie​

Inside his car, you were buckled in the front seat as he took the wheel. It felt weird seeing him drive his own vehicle. Though he looked good in it, if you were to be honest.

Your thoughts ran to the precinct. The cab which the chief took was heading that way. Recalling how he held on to his anger and chose to leave with silence was the worst thing that could ever happen. More so for tomorrow. Tadrona Manor was an hour’s drive from the city.

Playing with the zippers on your bag, you began to think of a plan. One that would be so unexpected that even the chief wouldn’t dare think of it as staged. Speaking of plans, you had to check your schedule again. How did he change your meetings and interviews? You had a feeling that the remaining days would be cramped.

When he finally reached the drop-off area, you adjusted your position so you could look at him. His eyes focused on what’s ahead of him.

“Thank you for the ride.”

“Just get down and cleanse yourself.”

Bowing your head, you exited the vehicle and watched as he sped away from the building.

Now inside your unit, you decided to skip the tub and just scrub. Showering with cold waters, you felt energized and much better than before. Shorter than intended to be, you were now wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants. Taking your laptop, you set up work in the living room.

Once everything was good to go, you immediately checked your schedule. Tomorrow was only half of your working hours. The rest of the days were just as expected. With only 30 minutes for lunch, you were bombarded with an adjustment of meetings and interviews. All with barely enough interval times.

Going to your emails, you received a new one from the chief. Opening it, you cursed every single word you knew of. Attached to the email were 4 new cases. Reviewing them, you estimated it would make things with Overhaul a little more tricky. Going back to your schedule, you were thankful that he had the brain to include the necessary meetings already.

Heading to your room, you took 3 cases from your personal files and flopped back to the sofa. If the chief was playing dirty, then you had no choice but to act as well. Dialing a number, all it took was one ring and you were greeted right away.

“What can I do, (N/N)?” The voice over the phone asked.

“I need a favor, Takashi-kun.” You reached for the folders and scanned which of the three were appropriate for him. Deciding on a minor case, you opened the folder and skimmed on the papers. Making sure that he was the right one for the case. “I need you to do a case for me. It’s practically 70% solved at this point.”

“It would be a pleasure, (N/N).” Takashi replied. His voice telling you he was smirking at the request handed to him. “Is the chief overloading you with work?”

“Yeah.” Clicking your tongue, you reached for the next folder. One that revolved around aggravated assault. “I also have one for Nomura. He’s there at home right?”

“He’s listening to the conversation as we speak.”

“Good evening, (Y/N)-chan! I’ll give my damn best~” He was always a cheerful one.

“Is that all?” Takashi asked.

“There’s one more. For Kaien, I need him to gather information on one that involves perjury. It’s a bit complicated but I know he can do it.”

Takashi, Nomura, and Kaien. Those three men were your equivalent of Overhaul’s Eight Precepts of Death. Your father had entrusted them to look after you when you were still a toddler. As you grew up, you managed to build a solid bond with them. They always treated you as a princess and even till now, if it means making you happy, they would gladly assist you.

Of course you preferred not to take advantage of their skills. It was only in times like these where you would reach out to your roots for… assistance. They did, however, follow a set of rules. No killing, no fighting unless absolutely necessary, and that their safety is vital.

“Will you drop it off here at the estate or shall we pick it up?”

“I’ll drop it off tomorrow in the morning.” The butterflies in your tummy did a somersault at the thought of going home. “It has been quite some time after all~”

After saying your goodbye’s, you bagged the 3 files and began working on the new cases assigned to you.

Early the next day, you found yourself parking your car inside the Abegawa Tenchu Kai estate. It wasn’t as big as the Shie Hassaikai’s but it was home. The minute you stepped into the hallway, Takashi, Nomura, and Kaien practically glided on the floor just to greet you. They were wearing yukata, so today must be their day off.

“Where’s my lovely daughter?” You heard his voice coming down the stairs. A toothy grin formed on your face when you saw your father. Opening his arms, you hopped your way into his arms into a loving embrace. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Not yet~ What’s to eat?” You followed him to the dining area.

“Nomura cooked your favorites.” He said as he ruffled your hair. “Takashi took the liberty of buying your favorite fruit as well.”

More than excited to eat Nomura’s food, you practically dove to your seat once you saw the table filled with amazing food prepared just for you. Digging in, you savored the taste and the warmth of your home.

Half way through the meal, you handed the files to their assigned yakuza. Your father simply shook his head at your actions. He didn’t mind that you were using them to your advantage. He thought it amusing that you somehow managed to use your roots as a way of assisting you in your cases.

“How’s work, daughter?” He asked after he sipped his coffee.

“It’s pretty interesting.” You nodded. Trying to suppress the giddy sensation your tummy felt. “I’ve been assigned a case for the Fukuo Kai.”

“The chief’s still using your background as leverage?” Nomura inquired. He never fully trusted that guy the moment you first talked about him.

“Yeah…” You groaned. “I also have to work with the Shie Hassaikai for this one.”

“Shie Hassaikai, huh?” Your father repeated. “Are they treating you well?”

“He is. For the most part. Overhaul is relatively stable when I’m with him.”

“THE Overhaul?” Takashi confirmed.

“Yes. That Overhaul. I have to admit. He is intimidating. Everything you’ve heard about him might just be true.” You felt your cheeks burning at the thought of him. Not wanting them to ask questions, you took your coffee and hid your face. But that was a little too slow on your part.

“You’ve taken an interest in him.” It wasn’t a question but your father could sense things. “Has Gei seen him?”

“Once. He went to my apartment to hand over information. Gei happened to be there as well.”

“I’ve met him once.” He recalled. His index and thumb holding onto his chin. “His loyalty to the yakuza is very strong. He followed the boss as if his life depended on it. Still, he had his mask on. That was a long time ago though. He went by a different name.”

“As much as I’d like to know what his name is…” You put your mug down and began to play with the half eaten bacon. “I think it’s safer if you don’t mention it. For his sake.”

The tenderness in your voice as you spoke about him alarmed your father. There was no hiding it from him. In his eyes, he could see the subtle signs of infatuation. Observing your mannerisms as you talked about the young yakuza boss, you were still unaware that it’s slowly growing. The feelings and future complications should you pursue him.

To say that it worried him was an understatement. He knew what Overhaul was doing. He had, after all, been acquaintances with the former boss. The sudden disappearance was all too timingly when word went out that he took his place.

Still, he trusted you and your judgement. You were one of the top ranking officers and managed to keep your family ties hidden from the media. The way of the yakuza had been molded into you and how you managed to prosper with it only swelled his pride.

With breakfast done and the cases handed over, he was now standing outside your car. Leaning on your door as you strapped yourself in. The engine revved as you were preparing to leave for work. The childish smile on you was something he always strived to protect. Closing your door, he watched as you exited the estate.

Three men walked up to him. Faces filled with uncertainty.

“It’s alright, you three.” Your father assured them. “I do not fully trust him but I can only hope that the person she’s seeing is Chisaki-kun and not Overhaul. Come now. I think we all need to light up some incense.”

Inside the car, you clenched on the steering wheel. The sense of safety gone the minute your precinct was in sight. Looking at the parked cars, you were more than relieved when you saw his car wasn’t in its designated spot. Scanning the area once you stopped your engine, you deemed it safe and basically ran all the way to the entrance.

Now in the protection of your cubicle, you turned your desktop and waited for it to boot. When it did, you scanned your emails and began to count the hours.

4 more hours before you’d be sent home.

9 more hours till you would have to sit face to face with that wretched boss of yours.

Beginning your day’s work, you mentally prepared for what was to come next.

-----

so yeah nothing much really happens here~ do you guys have any questions? feel free to comment and ill gladly answer them :) take care and i hope you guys like this chapter <3

[kittensjonsa]

Trophy Wife

Another day, another detective-lawyer tag team duo Jonsa AU nobody asked for lol. Has this been done before? No idea but for some reason, this was dying to get out of my system, so I just had to -so please bear with it. Or not, up to you (trigger warning below). 

Summary: Sansa needs help in bringing down one of the worst criminals of the century - and save her abducted best friend. Jon, a shy elusive private investigator offers a helping hand. Sparks fly when things heat up, while going undercover. *winks*

Rated NC-17 to E for language and content. Major trigger warning for abuse (various). I am neither a lawyer nor a PI so forgive me if I get some of the terms wrong. Part One of (maybe, let’s see) Three. Enjoy! x

---

Part One

Eviction. Jon hated that word. He hated hearing it, hated being threatened by it and now there it was, written all over his door on a notice in red capital letters. Fuck you too, he thought as he tore off the paper. I'll say when I'll go. This was not a time for moving houses or looking for a new place. He was busy, there were things to do and places to hide in. If only they could spare him a couple more months, that was all he needed, if the rent he owed was correct in his head. Jon had lived in his car once and he couldn't live through that again.

Besides, he was on a roll. At least, he'd like to think so. Clients were coming in and he had more jobs that he did a year ago. Of course, that was largely due to his success in uncovering the biggest scandal in all of Westeros - involving the Lannisters and a certain pair of twins who had relations with one another, in a biblical sense, or so it seemed. It did not help one bit when the Lannisters were also the family everyone loved to hate, and Jon probably did the country a huge favour when the news went public. Within days, it was reported that any Lannisters who planned to run for government office were rejected, shunned and ridiculed. So much so, that they went into hiding. Good riddance.

You reap what you sow. They had it coming, Jon told himself. And truthfully, he relished every second of it, bringing down the notorious family - such a satisfying accomplishment it was. It was just ironic that a member of the Lannister family had hired him, turning the evidence into a weapon and declaring war against the Lannister legacy. So much for a happy family.

The pay check from the Lannister job was substantial enough and managed to pay his debts that he owed but when it came to maintaining the business, the cash quickly ran out. Furthermore, it did not help that his clients would only pay once they had received proof that their suspicions were right all along, which took some time. Jon hadn't even counted his gas money and meals during stake outs or the electricity bills that soared after spending late nights playing and watching video tapes over and over. Surveillance was a costly, slow and painstaking process but essential, in getting the dough and the job done.

Maybe I'm too nice. Jon wished he had stipulated a clause in his contract that required a deposit before he accepted any assignments. But frail crying wives desperate to get out of loveless marriages were not people he wanted to take advantage of and a lawyer, he was not. If he had a therapist licence, perhaps it would be more useful in bringing in the bucks. Still, through word of mouth, steadily the business grew - apparently, spying on people was a lucrative outfit. Jon couldn't recall earning this much when he worked at his former security firm at Castle Black.

“So, you'll do it?” the gentleman asked, sliding an envelope towards him. Jon opened it and took a peek, in it had a flash drive and a rolled up wad of cash, which looked like a few thousands.

“I would. But you must know that I work best alone,” Jon agreed.

“Oh no. Not for this one. It will be difficult to crack this one without a partner.”

Smart ass. Trying to tell me how to do my job. The cash looks good though. It'll help tide over a couple of things.

“All right. So I need a partner. You have to give me some time to look for one. And that's going to cost you, you know that right?”

The gentleman smiled and drummed his fingers on the dining table. “Oh, I know that. But what if I already have a partner for you? She's ready to work on this with you.”

“She? Whoa.. back up for a second. I didn't say I needed female partner. Besides, this isn't a job for a lady, if what you told me is true.”

“Trust me, she's on board with this a hundred percent. I trust her to do the job, above and beyond.”

Jon was still reluctant. The quick and easy cash advance had come with its own conditions. “Okay. Does she have a name? I'd have to do background checks, you know and all of that, for safety reasons.”

“Of course. All you need on her is on the flash drive in there,” he pointed to the envelope Jon was resting his hands on. “Besides, she's my niece.”

“Your what? And you're okay with her getting involved?”

He nodded and turned his attention back to his newly refilled coffee. Jon couldn't believe his ears. What kind of uncle are you?

“She feels as strongly about this than just about anyone. Maybe more. And she volunteered. I suppose she has her reasons. How can I say no that?”

“Yeah... but we're investigating an alleged sex ring. Are we not? Seems a little inappropriate, don't you think?” Jon whispered as he leaned in, wondering what kind of shenanigans people are up to these days.

Jon watched as he put down his mug and adjusted the glasses that sat low on the bridge of his nose. He didn't strike Jon as a sleazeball, the kind who would sell and pimp anything or anyone to make a buck. He was mysterious yet friendly, sophisticated yet ruggedly worn, as if he had seen enough ills in his lifetime.

“A human trafficking ring, to be exact. We've been trying to go after them for years but they get away with it every time. You know why? Because all evidence pointing to them were ruled inadmissible. Come on, you've read about it in the papers, on the news. Day in, day out we built the case and every time we find something worthwhile, another detail or another statement comes up and render the leads useless.”

It was true. It was all over the media - the Boltons and the Freys accused of allegedly running an illegal sex trade. But to Jon, it seemed that there was all there was to it. People wanting to have a bit of fun at a party isn’t that new or illegal, he thought, even though he depised the Boltons and the Freys as much as the next decent guy on the street. Unless of course, if the ring was made up of abducted girls or worse, minors. That would truly be despicable and one that warranted medieval torture and capital punishment. This is going to be quite the undertaking, Jon suddenly realised.

“Have you considered going to the police... or your client going to the police for help? Instead of a private investigator.”

Jon waited for an answer as both their eyes met, one was smiling and the other was not.

“You don't think the police isn't involved in this? Not investigating, no that. We have reason to believe that members of the police are themselves the perpetrators. I'm talking high ranking officials, son. So, you see why we have to.. approach this in another way.”

“Okay, I see your point. All right then. I'll need to meet this niece of yours, so I can clue her in on how to go about this. Though, I'm not sure how it'll work.”

“I am sure you'll try your best. Believe me, Jon, if we win this case, it'll be the biggest one yet. It's something greater than all of us. It's for the greater good. I can't quite discuss names or details than what I've just told you or who my client is but the money? There's more where that came from. Here's my card, should you need anything.”

Jon looked at the name card. “ Well, you sold me there. We'll be in touch, Mr Stark.”

“Likewise, Jon. Oh, and call me Ben. I hope to hear from you soon.”

Jon watched as Benjen Stark left the diner and into his Mercedes, as he contemplated his next step. This was a big job, and Benjen was right, he probably could not handle it alone. Still, Jon was curious and intrigued, wondering whom his partner was.

Jon jolted up from his bed when the doorbell rang. It was only eight in the morning and Jon did not recall ordering anything that required an early morning delivery. Ugh, what..

Jon stumbled out of bed, clad only in yesterday's jeans and stepping on notes scattered everywhere in his room. His living room wasn't spared either, with boxes of carefully labelled tapes stacked haphazardly in every corner.

“Jon Snow? Hi, I'm Sansa Stark. My uncle.. he spoke with you yesterday..”

Jon rubbed his eyes and squinted at the blurry figure in front of him. His eyes were stubbornly still asleep. Slowly but gradually, in the few minutes that it took for Jon to recover from his sleep-ridden stupor, his vision came round and found himself gazing at a tall redhead standing before him. Whoa.. okay.

“Bad time? I can come back later,” she said, sheepish at the sight of a sleepy half naked man yawning at her.

“No.. wait. You're the niece? Of Benjen?” Jon said, as memories from last night's meeting came to mind.

Sansa nodded. “The very one. He says I'll be working with you. On the case?”

It was way too early to be discussing details about work or anything, really and Jon needed a cup of good strong black coffee to stay awake. Shouldn't have read the file at three in the morning.

“Right. Come on in.” Jon opened the door wider as he led her into the living room. Sansa accepted the invite, albeit with caution as she stepped in, carefully steering clear of the boxes and files around her. 

“Pardon the mess, I don't get visitors much. Coffee?” Jon apologized as he helped himself to a cup of chilled coffee from the fridge. It was a norm now, keeping coffee from the night before, to save money. It didn't taste as good as freshly brewed coffee but it woke him nonetheless.

“Uhh.. no thanks. Water's fine.”

Jon watched the lady seated on his couch waiting politely for him to finish. He had gone through the file on her as Benjen had given. Graduated with honours at the top of her class at University of Westeros' Law School. Interned for two years at one of the top firms right after graduation and now a junior partner at Stark, Tully & Reed. Perhaps one of the most fascinating fact was that Sansa Stark had been on the prosecuting team in the 'Lannister vs the people' case. It was no wonder the Starks had come looking for him. He guessed he probably didn't need any further introductions, for now.

“So, how about we start about why you're here, Miss Stark,” Jon said, handing her a glass of tap water.

Sansa thanked him as she took the glass from his hand and set it down on an empty spot on the cluttered coffee table.

“Sansa, please. First of all, I apologize for not letting you know that I was coming. I did call and text yesterday but I suppose you were asleep. It was late anyway. Sorry about that.”

Jon then remembered his phone, which was now likely dead since he forgot to charge it. Oops.

“Oh, did you? Lately been trying to kind of de-plug every once in a while. But yeah, I might have fallen asleep too. Had some notes to go through and kind of forgot about my phone. My bad.”

Sansa smiled and took a small sip of water. “Oh.. that's all right. Anyway, let's start over. I'm Sansa Stark and I'll be working with you. I believe my uncle has filled you in? Pleased to meet you, Mr Jon Snow.” Sansa offered her hand.

Jon returned the handshake with a wary smile. “Pleasure's all mine. And please, Sansa, call me Jon. So, I'm guessing you know what we're working with?”

“I do. I was the one who put it together so I should know more about it than anyone.”

Benjen said he couldn't share details about who the client was and now Jon was curious. Sansa Stark seemed a force to be reckoned with - coming up and putting together a case of this magnitude could either be the ruin or the highlight of her law career.

“I see. Well, I must say I'm impressed. But you do know this can be dangerous work, right? If what your uncle says is true.”

“If it means saving hundreds from a cruel fate then I'm all for it. Besides-”

A loud rumbling growl startled Sansa to a pause mid sentence.

Jon's cheeks reddened, patting his stomach. “Umm..Do you think we could talk about this over breakfast? I.. I had a light dinner yesterday.”

Sansa bit down her lip as tried to stifle her giggle. This man is hilarious. Cute though. She didn't mind at all working alongside him. “Sure. I'm buying.”

Awesome. I don't mind it at all. Nothing more Jon loved than rich people willing to spend. But a cheap greasy diner breakfast with all the works was just what he needed right now. He can think of other fancy things later.

“I hope you don't mind. Not many fancy places around here,” Jon pointed to a booth in the diner, right in a corner where he usually sat every day and night. Grenn, the owner and chef who was also a friend and neighbour, made sure it was always empty and reserved just for him.

Sansa beamed at him, her striking blue eyes sparkling in the morning sun. “Are you kidding me? Diners are the best. The only places that helped through mid terms and finals. And man, they were gruelling. I would retreat to a diner and have a chocolate banana milkshake whenever things got a little tough. This.. is nice.”

Jon felt at ease immediately. Something told him he was going to have a great time working the case.

“So, tell me. Why 'Trophy Wife'? I mean, can't you call it what it is?” Jon asked, in between mouthfuls of bacon and French toast.

“Well, it's a code word you know. Human trafficking, sex ring.. these are terms people are not comfortable hearing, especially in public or in an office. Besides, not many people know about it and it is absolutely crucial that it stays that way. Too much information shared with anyone else won’t be good for us. Plus, I think it's also because.. it seems the victims are forced and paraded as wives of these predators. You know, so it seems legit. But that’s just a guess. I know deep down, there's nothing legitimate about it.” 

“Good point.” Jon concurred, shoving the last piece of French toast into his mouth. 

“You want to hear a story? We actually managed to get hold of a marriage certificate, you know, one that shared a victim's name on it. But get this - it was fake. There was no such church nor was there any minister with that name. It was a bust.”

“Yikes. Okay, so that should be proof enough right? I mean, right there is already fraud.”

Sansa sighed. “Yeah, up until someone accused us of fabricating the marriage certificate. I mean, we couldn't use it at all since it was fake. It definitely derailed the investigation for a while and it was the only promising lead we had. I believe there are still many. Out there. We just have to make sure the case won't go cold.”

Jon had to ask, seeing how fired up Sansa seemed about the whole thing. “Can I ask you something? If you don't mind my asking. Why this? I mean there are so many easier cases out there waiting.. but why this one?”

Sansa looked at him and looked away, turning towards the window.

“Jeyne Poole was twenty five years old when she went missing last year. Next month would be her seventh month missing. Her parents are worried sick and her mom had a stroke because of it. Jeyne was last seen at her place of work and that was it. She just disappeared and dropped from the face of the earth. That's not Jeyne to pull something like that.”

“What do you mean?”

Jon's furrowed brows prompted her further. “She's my age and my best friend, Jon. And no matter what, I have to search for her. Whether she's dead or alive.”

Jon was no stranger to hearing heavily personal details and he thought he could handle all the doom and gloom thrown his way, but this had him a little shaken up.

If he wasn't convinced before, he was sure as hell now. It was a dark treacherous path ahead but Sansa was a woman on a mission. And Jon knew well already, not to get in her way.

“Right. So, what do you need from me?”

It was a quiet walk back to his apartment as the brevity of the situation started to sink in. He may be a mediocre private investigator but a mediocre human being, he was not planning to be. Armed with new information and Sansa's fervour rubbing off on him, Jon was determined to find and annihilate the fuckers, if they really were the Boltons and the Freys, even better. Two less scumbags in the world would be a huge win; they won’t be missed. Sansa and him would be saving, hopefully, not just Jeyne Poole but dozens of vulnerable young women from the very clutches of evil itself.

“I can share the workload with you, if you want. You know, go over the details, help out on surveillance, research all that stuff,” Sansa suggested, as she flipped through the pages of the folder Jon had compiled. It had only a couple of handwritten notes with addresses and names along with documents he printed from the flash drive he was given. He was keen to find some kind of link and honestly, two brains were definitely better than one for it.

“Don't you have a job to attend to? I mean, I don't mind the help but I don't think it's fair that I take you away from what pays your bills. If... you do that sort of thing.”

Sansa shrugged. “One of the perks of living with your parents, I guess, is not paying bills and still having a roof over your head. I've got some money saved and since this is my case, I managed to get an expense budget for it. So, that's covered I guess.”

Jon scoffed. Rich people. “And this expense budget... is from your client?”

“I am not at liberty to say but up to you what to believe. All I know is, what we need for this case, is settled and paid for. Nothing is spared.”

Must be nice being rich.

“Well, you don't say, this client could give us a temporary office to work in, no? I mean, I don't mind doing it out if my house but-”

“You're being evicted in less than two weeks. I know. I had some checks done on you, Jon. Safety reasons, I'm sure you know. But granted, it's not ideal, But I think we may have just the place.. I mean, for the time being. Though.. it's going to take some work and I'll brief you on that soon.” Sansa offered as Jon unlocked his apartment door.

“Okay..that’s a first for me. I mean, if it’s no imposition, I-”

“Yeah, it’s totally fine. But hey love to chat but I kinda have to go. Can I take this with me? I'll make you a copy,” Sansa grabbed the folder and walked up to the door, casually glazing over the bit where he was about to be homeless soon. Damn lawyers.

“I was going to pay, you know. It's just that I had to settle other bills first,” Jon explained, though it was futile knowing who he was talking to.

“That's all right. Doesn't make you a bad person. You had priorities, it's understandable. Although if you’re planning on living in your car, I don't think all the boxes in your living room would fit.”

It didn't faze Jon how she had known about him living in his car once upon a hard time and he couldn't agree more. He couldn't exactly afford a storage unit either since the material he had was sensitive and would spell trouble if anything got lost or stolen.

“So, I'll show you the new place? You can come pick up your stuff later this weekend if you want.”

Jon found himself with renewed enthusiasm, relieved that he said yes to the assignment. Whatever tomorrow brings, he'll face it head on, with a swanky new roof over his head. 

Bring it on.

[hiddendreamer67]

Find Out At Fleetwoods

Hello everybody, here’s the Secret Sanders story I wrote for @myfujoshifrenzy for the event at @secret-sanders-sized! (The event I was running as well, heh). I hope you enjoy! 

Word count: 3,320 words

Warnings: Pet AU, fear, I think that about covers it...?

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Logan sighed, looking up from his book to see the borrower was scowling as he sat down at the desk, clearly placing himself in Logan’s view for the sole purpose of gaining attention. “You’re pouting again.”

“I’m not pouting.” Roman argued as he continued to pout.

“What do you want?” Logan caved, closing his book to give Roman his full attention.

Immediately Roman perked up, giving his human a victorious smirk. “I want to go to Fleetwoods’.”

“Again?” To say Logan was surprised was an understatement. Fleetwoods was a… perhaps the kindest way to state it was to call Fleetwoods an eating establishment that had lacked sufficient funds for renovations for several years now. While still in operation, the bar was far past its glory days. It was on the cheaper side which made it accommodating to college students, but college students were rowdy. They were a major annoyance to Logan, and a downright danger to Roman. 

“What has caused this obsession with Fleetwoods?” Logan murmured, partially to himself and partially looking for answers. Logan himself didn’t go there often, and bringing Roman along only made the experience all the more unpleasant. Roman had a nasty habit of running off, and Logan would spend the rest of the evening attempting to locate the borrower’s whereabouts. Quite infuriating, especially with so many threats present that could easily cause Roman permanent harm.

“I just- like to go out.” Roman shrugged casually, standing up. “It’s not like you really take me anywhere.”

“Upon your own request.” Logan reminded him. That was the other issue- borrowers weren’t exactly keen about being around a bunch of humans, even if Roman wasn’t a complete secret anymore (which was Roman’s own fault, Logan would remind him if the topic arose). “If you wish to explore the world, there are plenty of locations I can accompany you to that are far less greasy, or treacherous.”

“No, Fleetwoods.” Roman insisted, stubborn as ever. “We’re going to Fleetwoods, you promised.”

“I did no such thing; I merely inquired what you wanted.” However, Logan felt himself caving already when Roman’s expression fell. “...I suppose one excursion would be acceptable this evening, provided you agree to not run off as you seem prone to do.”

“I promise.” Roman hastily crossed his heart, bouncing on the tips of his toes. “Now come on, my Reluctant Ride, we’ll miss our table!”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he got dressed all the same, placing a slightly too eager Roman into his pocket- “Stop struggling, I don’t want to to drop you-!” “Oh just stop dropping the ball and get a move on already!” - and with only minor bickering, they departed.

Fleetwoods was within walking distance, which did help to ease some of Logan’s concerns. If Roman was ever truly lost there was a possibility he could navigate his way home. Unless a wild animal happened upon his path first… Logan shuddered at the thought. 

Truly, bringing Roman out into the world was often one of Logan’s least favorite activities, considering how highly the odds were stacked against borrowers. Logan had crunched the numbers himself time and time again, yet the survival rates he calculated indicated it should have been evolutionarily impossible for borrowers to survive. Roman liked to declare it was due to the ‘strength of the borrower spirit’, and considering stubbornness seemed to be Roman’s strongest tactic Logan was inclined to agree.

Arriving finally at the establishment, Logan headed back to what Roman had dubbed ‘their’ table. It was a booth, squished up against the wall and the bar. A tiny aisle-way had to be squeezed through to reach the seats. 

“How incredibly convenient for you to pick the most inopportune location.” Logan muttered, not for the first nor the last time. He would never rest until the world knew of his distaste for the rowdy, unsanitized pub, and it seemed Roman would never rest until Logan was declared a true regular by the barkeep. 

It seemed Roman’s goal was getting close, as the half-blind bartender looked over at them with a grunt. “The usual?”

Logan gave an almost sheepish nod. Roman snickered, but the moment those squinted eyes of the bartender fell to his head poking out of the pocket Roman kept his own gaze down. Not all humans were as kind as Logan. 

Speaking of kind…. There was an excited gasp, a new contender entering the bar. “Logan?”

Logan’s gaze snapped up, surprised to see a familiar face navigating back towards their table. “Patton?” Logan asked incredulously, only by reflex now remembering to set Roman on the flat surface. “What are you doing here?”

It was always an odd sight for Roman to see the two brothers together as Patton squeezed into their booth. Though Logan and Patton shared an identical face, down to the specks of hazel in each of their eyes, the way they each held themselves made them polar opposites. Logan was serious business, neckties and school. Patton was bubbles, smiles and treats. Lots of treats, Roman remembered, grinning as Patton pulled out a few pieces of candy.

“Oh, just in the neighborhood, mind if I join you?” Patton asked, more out of courtesy. It was clear he was staying no matter what. “Butterscotch, anyone?”

“Don’t mind if I do~” Roman grinned, plucking one from Patton’s outstretched hand. 

“Roman, you’ll do no such thing.” Logan scolded. “You’ll spoil your appetite.” Roman rolled his eyes, but put the butterscotch in his bag for later.

“Aww, lighten up Logan.” Patton teased, reaching out to ruffle Roman’s hair. “Roman deserves all the treats that are as sweet as he is!”

“Patton, how you flatter me.” Roman laughed, only a bit uncomfortable with Patton’s touch. While he was Logan’s brother, and Roman had interacted with him on occasion, Patton was far from the most experienced when it came to dealing with borrowers. 

As the two brothers began to catch up, Roman found himself getting antsy. He glanced at the bar every so often, trying to subtly scoot closer. 

Unfortunately, he should have known better than to underestimate Logan’s keen gaze; his eyes might have been replaced by those of a Hawk at birth. “I was under the impression you gave your word to not run off.”

Roman winced at Logan’s cold tone, sensing tonight Logan would not be so lenient. “I wasn’t running off, I was… walking off?” Roman tried pushing his luck. “Come now, I promise not to go far, and I’ll be back before we have to leave.”

“What is the point of coming here if you do not actually wish to partake in any of the meal?” Logan’s gaze turned suspicious. “Where do you plan on heading?”

“Oh, just, er, around.” Roman shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He rocked back and forth. “Stretch my limbs, live life to the fullest.” 

“Logan.” Patton tried to calm his brother down. “It doesn’t seem that bad to let him walk around a bit.”

“Patton, the trouble becomes Roman refusing to return.” Logan rubbed at the crook of his nose irritably. “I find the whole charade troublesome.”

“But he promised to come back! Didn’t you, kiddo?” Patton turned to the borrower.

Roman nodded eagerly. “I promise on all things Disney, I won’t lose track of time this time! Just a few minutes, pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Patton sucked in a gasp at the cherry on top- clearly, this was very serious business.

“...Can you stay in my sights?” Logan asked, breaking down his walls in front of the two individuals who knew him best.

“No promises.” Roman answered, knowing where he was going Logan’s eyes couldn’t follow.

Logan made a displeased noise at this development. “Then in that case, at least stay out of sight from other patrons.” 

Roman gave an eager salute at Logan’s agreement, flashing both humans a dazzling smile before he began to scale the wall leading up to the actual bar.

“Oh, need a hand, kiddo?” Without waiting for an answer, Patton’s hand was underneath him, scooping the borrower up and depositing him on the counter. Roman only just held back a yelp.

“Ah, thank you, Patton.” Roman gave Patton a less dazzling smile, feeling a bit frazzled from the sudden ‘help’. He could feel Logan’s eyes on the back of his neck, heading down the length of the bar. The borrower was quick to duck behind a few spare bottles, hiding himself from the sight of the booth. The bartender was busy at the other end, dealing with some college kids who couldn’t hold their liquor.

Roman let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, creeping along the shelf until he came to one wooden panel that was differently colored than the rest. This he pushed open with ease, the loose board giving way to what appeared to be a small alcove hidden in the wall.

“Took you long enough.” 

As Roman’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spotted the familiar dark figure waiting for him with a scowl. Roman gave him a sheepish grin, propping up the board so that the gap would still let light into the space.

“I got held up.” Roman shrugged. “It’s not the easiest thing in the world, convincing your human to come to a bar all the time when he doesn’t even drink. Of course I wouldn’t have to, Mr. Panic-At-The-Everywhere, if you would just-”

“Well I won’t.” The figure snapped. 

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“Oh come now, Virgil!” Roman groaned, having had this conversation for ages now. He had been coming here for weeks, trying to convince Virgil to come home with him. The only reason Virgil even continued to acknowledge his presence was his clear desperation for any contact; ever since word had gotten out about Roman’s discovery, most of the borrowers in town had fled. It was only by chance Roman had found Virgil holed up in here alone the first time Logan brought him to Fleetwoods.

“It’s not all you’re making it out to be, truly.” Roman listed off the perks on his hand. “You get all the food you could ever want, your muscles aren’t sore from climbing, there’s less stress about being discovered, you have free time- can you imagine? I’ve watched movies now!-”

“Uh huh.” Virgil crossed his arms, unimpressed. “And in exchange you’re demoted to being a human’s personal plaything.”

Roman gave a princely noise of offense, his hand pressed to his chest. “I’m not a toy!”

“A pet, then.” Virgil shrugged. “Or a servant. Or something. I mean, there has to be a reason the bean keeps you around.” Virgil squinted, his dark mind turning suspicious, not for the first time with the peculiar borrower. “Maybe he’s just training you to brainwash the rest of us.”

“He doesn’t even know you exist.” Roman insisted. “I’ve been careful, cross my heart.”

“Then why do you keep coming back?” Virgil argued. “I’m not going to come with you, no use in trying to weasel it out of me.”

“Well…” Roman bit his lip. “Even if you don’t want to make the obviously best choice, I’m not about to abandon my favorite Emo Nightmare.”

Virgil frowned, looking almost upset. “I thought I was your only ‘Emo Nightmare’.”

Roman chuckled at that, pulling out the butterscotch. “Peace offering?”

Virgil peered down at it. “Did that come from beans?”

Roman didn’t bother answering. They both knew the truth, anyhow; where else would Roman get it? Seemed these days Roman got everything handed to him on a silver platter by doting human beans.

“If it’s poisoned I’m going to kill you.” Virgil assured him, but he begrudgingly stuck out his hand. Roman grinned, knowing Virgil was a sucker with a sweet tooth.

“I knew you’d come around.” Roman handed over the treasured candy. 

“Oh give me a break.” Virgil muttered. 

The two sat down, shoulder to shoulder as they shared tastes of the butterscotch. Logan was right; all that sugar quickly spoiled Roman’s appetite, but he didn’t much care so long as he got to spend time with Virgil. Outside the clinking of glasses and scrapping of silverware continued on, human life continuing without even noticing the two of them.

“I miss this.” Roman said quietly.

“Hmm?” Virgil glanced over at him.

“Ah, well you asked earlier why I keep coming back.” Roman rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess a part of me misses the whole- hiding away in the walls like a creep thing.”

Virgil snorted. “Not a pet, huh?”

“It’s just instinct.” Roman huffed. At least… that’s what Logan said. “My life’s obviously better now, it’s just… I mean I was in the walls a long time. Kind of hard to forget it. And of course, it’s- it’s kind of nice to be around another borrower once in a while, even if it’s someone as repulsive as you.”

For once, Virgil didn’t snark back with some comment about how Roman was just as irritating; instead, Virgil took a moment to process what Roman said. “Did you live with anyone before you were…?”

“Oh, no.” Roman assured him. “Believe it or not I was just as lonely and closed off as you, once upon a time. I’d left my family to go out in the world and find my purpose.”

“Oh.” Virgil cleared his throat awkwardly. “Did you… find it?”

The question caught Roman off guard. “Well how would I know?!” Roman protested, getting defensive. “I mean I’m only 24, I’ve still got time!”

“Do you?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Because seems like you’re kind of trapped in your life now.”

 The way Roman immediately stiffened made it clear that Virgil had gone too far. He swore under his breath- what was he thinking, saying something like that? It wasn’t helpful, even if it was true there was nothing Roman could do about it. 

“I’m not trapped.” Roman said softly, and the way he said it sounded like an automatic lie to Virgil’s ears.

“Sure you’re not.” Virgil awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“I’m not.” Roman insisted. “I can do anything I want, I have everything now.” 

So long as your human bean approves. Virgil thought to himself, not wanting to depress the closest thing he had to a friend further. With ironic timing, Virgil heard a human’s voice calling outside for Roman to return.

“Sounds like your time is up.” Virgil slowly took his hand off Roman’s shoulder. “See you soon?”

Roman paused, looking at the doorway. “You know what? No.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “No?”

“No!” Roman repeated. “I’m going to prove to you that I’m in no danger, and- and I’m a grown borrower who can do what I want!”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to get him mad-” Virgil tried to reason with him.

“I think it’s a fantastic idea.” Roman argued. He needed answers just as much as he needed to prove Virgil wrong. “I can keep Logan waiting for as long as I please, and all that’s going to happen is he’ll be irritated tonight.” And, most likely, it would take more charm than usual to convince Logan to come back to Fleetwoods. 

“No, Roman, don’t.” Virgil insisted. “I don’t want you to get hurt over this.”

“I’m not going to get hurt.” Roman assured him, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to comfort him. “Just trust me.”

Virgil didn’t like this plan one bit, getting quite antsy as the calls for Roman to return got louder and more frequent.

“Maybe I’ll just spend the night here!” Roman gasped. “We could have a sleepover!”

“You’re insane.” Virgil hissed. “You’re gonna get me discovered if he tears this place apart looking for you.”

Seeing Virgil’s point, Roman had the decency to back down. “Alright, just a few more minutes then. I mean it’s not like Logan owns me.”

He kinda does. Virgil argued internally. His grip on Roman’s hands tensed, almost more terrified when the calls stopped. “...is he gone?”

“What? No, Logan wouldn’t just leave.” Roman frowned to himself. “Right?”

Virgil wasn’t certain, but he was certainly too antsy to keep sitting here like a duck in a barrel. “I’m gonna go check.”

Meanwhile, back at the table, Logan was positively fuming. His bouncing leg indicated his rising irritation paired with anxiety. 

“Logan, calm down.” Patton sighed. “It’s probably just taking him a minute to walk back. He could have gotten pretty far, and he has little legs.” Patton walked his fingers along the table as if to demonstrate the size of Roman’s legs.

“He is quite agile, this was more than adequate time for his return.” Logan muttered, abruptly standing up. “I shall patrol the perimeter for any signs of a struggle.”

“Oh dear.” Patton murmured, watching Logan hastily rush towards the other end of the restaurant and begin scouting out potential areas where Roman could have gotten stuck. Well… he might as well help with the search. Patton grabbed his coat, putting his first arm through the sleeve as he stood up.

“Hold it!” Patton’s head whipped around, startled when a clamor started up behind the bar. “Ah, what in tarn’- get back here, ya darn varmit!”

“Um… can I help you?” Patton asked, his heart beginning to sink with dread as he leaned over the counter.

“Yeah just a sec ya whippersnapp’- GOT EM!” There was a slamming down of a glass, and then the bartender reappeared with a creature trapped underneath said glass, a coaster covering the bottom. “‘Yer little rat got behind the bar again.”

“My little…?” Patton realized two things at once: The bartender thought he was Logan, and that borrower was not Roman. Patton gasped. 

“Well? C’mon.” the bartender shook up the glass, throwing around the borrower as he held it more out. “You just left this here, I just wanted to return it. You’re lucky I don’t just throw it out the back with how you let it off the leash, if I ever find it back here again-”

“Yes, I get it!” Patton held out his hands, eager to rescue the borrower from whatever fate the barkeep had in mind. “Thank you, I promise he- they?- will be no trouble again.”

The bartender just grunted, dumping the contents of the glass into Patton’s outstretched hands. Quickly Patton cupped his hands around the little kiddo, feeling how much the figure was trembling even as the little limbs pounded to get out. It made Patton’s heartbreak, wondering if this is how Logan usually held Roman and how he dealt with the guilt. 

Logan… oh good lord he needed his brother. Patton rushed over to Logan as best he could, hyper aware of how sturdy he kept his hands. Even with his caution, Patton could feel the moment the borrower switched from fighting his grip to trying to hold on.

“...please be gentle.” A little pleading voice went completely unheard in the busy restaurant, Virgil barely holding onto his sanity through this insane turn of events. How did that blind as a bat barkeep even see him? Virgil was being as careful as ever! He was, wasn’t he? Or… maybe he had been a little less careful, relying on the chaos of customers to cover his tracks… and maybe he had been too distracted by Roman’s problems to really focus properly…

Oh god, he really screwed up this time, didn’t he? All that time he spent scolding Roman for getting caught, and he ended up doing the Exact. Same. Thing.

“Uh, psst, Logan? Logan!” Patton stage whispered, coming over to the older Sanders sibling. “We have a problem.”

Logan glanced down at Patton’s cupped hands, calculating. “You discovered Roman- is he injured?”

“Um, not- not really?” Patton took a deep breath, slowly opening his hands enough for Logan to see. “I found a borrower, but… it’s not Roman.”

[endless-whump]

Damian: A Friendly Visit

Masterpost

For..um..reasons, I’m not entirely sure if this will be canon, but I thought the idea would be rlly fun to mess around with

Special thanks to @castielamigos-whump-side-blog for reminding me to finish this XD its been sitting unfinished in my drafts for months now.  Glad to be diving back into some stuff with Damian!

CW: Implied child abuse, threats, threats to a minor, coercion of a minor,

---

There was what sounded like friendly discussion in the hallway, and Damian glanced around nervously, fingers fidgeting with his hoodie string. His dad had said his social worker was coming to do a home check today, but the hearty, masculine voice coming from the entryway didn’t sound like Miss Kelly.

There were more footsteps, the sound of a short laugh, and then his father and a tall man entered the living room, smiling as they talked.

“Damian, this is your new social worker, he’s just coming to check in on you.” His father was smiling, but there was that never leaving, underlying threat in his expression, like one misstep would have his anger resurfacing. Damian stared at him, anxiety rising up in him.

“W,what happened to Kelly?” He asked quietly. Kelly was nice, she always brought snacks and talked with him about how school was going, and last time he’d heard from her she said she was going to see about putting together a case for him to get emancipated.

“Kelly got reassigned or something, I don’t know.” His father shrugged, like it was unimportant. “Anyways, this is Mr Con-“

“You can just call me Eugene,” the man said with a smile that made Damian uncomfortable. He reached out his hand, and the teen hesitantly took it, Eugene giving him a firm handshake.

He took off his hat, and Damian noted the long coat he wore, dressed a little strangely compared to other social workers he’d seen.

“I don’t like to be super formal, I’m just here to check in on how things were going around here. You doing ok recently?”

Damian nodded, wanting desperately to avoid eye contact but knew it would just make him look shifty and nervous the way that always made his dad so frustrated.

"Have you started school yet?” He asked.

“Not yet, I’m still trying to get him adjusted at home and on his new meds before sending him out yet.” Damian's father answered for him, and if it annoyed Eugene it didn’t show.

“I see.  Is everything going well after getting home from the hospital? Doing ok adjusting back home?”  

Damian's nails dug into his palms, frustration growing in him.  He could feel his dad's eyes boring into him and knew if he said anything short of a stellar description of his life at home, he would pay for it.  Something told him this new guy wouldn’t be of much help anyways.  

“It's been good,” He said, looking down and rubbing nervously at his wrist.  “Just been itching to go back to school, you know,,”

Eugene nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face that seemed so artificial.

“Do you think you could give us a minute alone? I’d like to ask Damian some questions, if you don’t mind.”

His dad clapped him on the shoulder, earning a stifled flinch Eugene didn’t even give a second glance at.

“Sure, just don’t be too long.  Gonna get some dinner in the oven, Eugene’s got a strict med schedule he needs to stay on with his meals.”

“Of course.”

Damian watched as his dad left, somehow feeling even more uneasy with the person he feared most gone.

“So are things at home really ok? I want you to be honest with me.”

Damian fidgeted with his sleeve, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“It's rough, I guess, my dad is just overbearing.” He muttered.  “Wish I could go to school at least.”

“You know,” Eugene leaned close, giving him a sympathetic look.  “I can understand that you’re in a tough situation right now.  There's things I can do to help, if you’ll let me.”

Damian eyed him warily, feeling uncomfortable.  There was something off about Eugene he couldn’t pinpoint.  It felt like he was being reeled into something, no matter how much he wanted to believe he could really get out of here.

‘Like what?” He asked, after a moment of silence.  Eugene smiled, tilting his head just slightly, observing the teen.

“We have some really good programs that could get you away from the house, internships and education programs.  We even have some therapy type groups that we think might help with your current...situation.”

Damian grit his teeth,

“G,groups?” He asked.  “Like..overnight stuff?  I could go to those?”  He tried not to sound too hopeful, tapping at his leg nervously.  “I’m..I’m not sure my dad would let me go to those..”

“Don’t even worry about that.”  Eugene reassured, leaning back in his chair again.  Damian felt like he had more room to breathe again, relaxing a little.  “We could probably talk your dad into it, and if not? Since his custody is circumstantial I think I could maybe even get a court order to let you go.  How does that sound?”

That sounded amazing, if Damian was being honest.  He didn’t really want to admit it, but it did.  Maybe..maybe if nothing else it would get him out of the house more.  Maybe he could start getting job skills with that internship, and be able to get out and actually stay on his feet.

“You...you think you could do that?”

The man smiled, nodding.  “Sure I can, kiddo.  It’ll be great, you’ll be able to start seeing your friends again and even make new ones, if you want.” He lowered his voice, glancing at the kitchen where Damian’s father had disappeared.  “And..if we’re being honest, your dad doesn’t sound like the most stable guy.  I don’t exactly have enough paperwork to pull you, especially with your medical record, but I want to help as much as I can.”

His heart was racing, but some of his distrust in Eugene was fading.  Maybe he was just..overly nice.  A lot of the social workers had that type of energy about them.  He finally met the man’s eyes, nodding.

“That..um..that sounds good.  I mean..that sounds great.  I’d really like that.”

Eugene sighed, pursing his lips together like he was making a decision.

“I wouldn’t recommend this unless you want to do the internship program..but if we can prove that you aren’t a danger to yourself..we could probably pursue emancipation arrangements.”

His breath caught in his throat, a wave of nervousness and hope flooding through him.  He could possibly get out?  Be able to leave without being pursued?

“W,what does the..the internship program include?”  He asked quickly.  “What kind of jobs would I be able to do?  Can I..can I start working soon? Even with my dispatch?  Do you think I could?”

“Woah there, slow down.” Eugene chuckled, putting a hand up.  “I’ll have to work some things out with the higher ups and talk to your doctor with your dad’s permission..but yes.  Theoretically, we could get you into one of our programs relatively soon.  As to what kind of jobs you could do?”

He tilted his head, and the last bit of distrust faded from Damian’s mind, replaced by a hope and curiosity about the possibilities he could have.

“We have a..household assistance program of sorts..it's like a training process.  I think you’d find that one especially rewarding to intern for.”

--

@spiffythespook@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs 

[wild3flow3r]

TWO

“How long have you been here, Moira?”

“Just short of five years,” Moira answers as she straightens out the sheets on Persephone’s bed.

Persephone stands to the side of the room in front of a mirror, braiding her hair. She has figured out in the last few days that if she wants to have a conversation with Moira then she has to be the one asking the questions and give up information about herself without being asked for it back. She doesn’t mind it, really. Although she feels more comfortable wandering around the castle since Hades gave her that tour four days ago, Moira is still the only one Persephone speaks to on a daily basis. Unless you would count the notes Hades has been leaving for her every night wishing her the sweetest of dreams.

“Why are you stuck here then as a spirit doing housework rather than another part of the Underworld?”

Another great thing about Moira, she always answered Persephone with the complete and honest truth.

“When I left the world above to come down here I didn’t leave on the best of terms. My crimes were very minor and did not deserve the Mourning Fields, at least that’s how Lord Hades had phrased it. He offered me a chance to stay in the castle and work in exchange that I may one day be born again in the world above. It’s a very good deal, and very few are actually offered it.”

“How long must you work here then?”

“Three hundred years.”

Persephone turns around and looks at Moira with raised eyebrows. “Isn’t that quite a long time?”

Moira shakes her head as she presses out the last of the wrinkles in the sheets. “I don’t think so, not compared with the eternity of mourning I could have gone through instead.”

Persephone nods thoughtfully. She thinks about asking Moira of her crimes, knowing that she would get the answer, but instead decides that would be going too far. At least this early in their friendship.

“Do you like working here?”

“Lord Hades is ever so generous. To me and all of the other spirits. He treats us very kindly unlike other Gods and Goddesses we have encountered down here from time to time.”

Persephone adjusts her tunic. Since she hadn’t had time to pack any of her own before she came down here, Moira has been making her some. She had a variety of colors to work with, but they all tended to be darker shades of the spectrum. The dark red one she’s wearing currently reminds her of the dahlias her mother had taught her how to grow. The sandals she’s wearing are the same color.

“I don’t plan on being away from the room for too long today. But I do hope you have a good day, Moira.”

“And you, milady.” Moira opens the doors for her.

Persephone grazes her fingertips against the walls as she slowly strolls through the hallways. To be frank, she still isn’t entirely sure where everything is, but day by day she has been able to map out a few of her favorite spots in her head. Every day she takes a new route that she hasn’t gone before, and every day is like a new adventure for her.

Coming up to her left, she spots an archway with the green fire lighting up the room brighter than any other room she has been in. She slows her steps in front of it before peeking her head around the opening. A side entrance to Hades' throne room. Spirits littered all around the room, some forming a line in front of the throne.

The throne itself stood about a dozen feet off the ground with a small staircase wrapping around the base of it, spiraling until it met the chair. The back of it rose up several more feet with spikes peeking out at the top. It looked to have been made up of black diamonds. It didn’t look exactly comfortable to Persephone, but Hades lounged in the chair without a problem.

Hades' curls framed his face, a few falling in front of his eyes and the rest held back by a metallic crown of sorts. His black tunic reaches all the way down to his ankles. He held his weapon of choice in one of his hands, the bident. He’s staring down intently below him, and only then does Persephone realize he’s holding court. A spirit below him is making his case on where he believes he should be sent in his afterlife.

“You’ve been here three times past, Adrian. Unfortunately my decision has been made. You must go to the Mourning Fields for-”

“But Lord Hades!” Adrian speaks out, making his voice louder than the king's.

Persephone takes a step back. She’s seen this type of scene one too many times before with Zeus on Olympus. Nobody dare disrupt the king, unless you want to be struck with lightning ten thousand times over. Persephone doesn’t even know what Hades could do to the man. He could kill him just to bring him back to life just to kill him all over again. He could send the man to Tartarus where this man would be torn apart by the Titans trapped down there. He could-

“Adrian, please. You treated your wife very poorly on the ground above. You don’t deserve the Elysium Fields, nor do you deserve a spot on my staff to work off a debt.”

-respond calmly?

“My wife forgave me for my misgivings. I stayed faithful to her after the first mishap.”

“You forget, Adrian.” Hades stands, holding his bident tightly to his side. “Just because your wife believes that does not mean I do.”

“If I could come back-”

Hades waves a hand in a dismissive nature. “You can come back day and day again, but my answer will never change. I am done with court today. We will resume first thing tomorrow.”

Hades watches as spirits slowly start to filter out of the room. Persephone stays half hidden in the archway to his left. When most spirits are gone, Persephone makes to leave but only gets in one step before she’s stopped.

“You don’t have to hide, you know. You’re allowed in here at anytime, no matter what’s happening.”

Persephone’s cheeks redden, reluctantly taking a step into the room although she knew she had to now that she’d been caught. Heavy doors clang shut once the last spirit has left the room.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“No bother at all.” Hades takes slow steps down from his throne.

Persephone bites her lip, unsure whether or not to speak up. When Hades stands only a few feet away from her he looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What is it that’s on your mind?”

“Why don’t you just force that man to go to the Mourning Field? Zeus wouldn’t let that man come back once.”

Hades nods thoughtfully. He walks to the side to put his bident away in a glass case. “It’s better when they move on on their own terms. Sooner or later, he’ll accept the ruling and go. Until then, I’ll just have to deal with him in my court.”

“That’s… different,” Persephone adds slowly. “Most of the other Gods don’t have the patience. None of them, actually.”

“I do pride myself on being different than my brothers and their families.”

“The other spirits here, they were also waiting for a ruling?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t… Well… If you stopped court because you noticed me watching you didn’t need to.”

Hades shakes his head, an amused smile playing across his lips. “I will admit, you being here was a nice excuse to end for the day. But death never stops and this room will always be filled no matter how many hours a day I spend here.”

“Well I should… I don’t want to bother you anymore-”

He silences her with one solemn look. “As I said before, you aren’t a bother. I wish you would stop seeing yourself as such.”

“I… I’m sorry.” Peresphone looks down. Her cheeks are flushed and her hands are clenched together behind her back. She almost feels like she wants to cry, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t really know what she’s apologizing for either. But his words made her feel some type of disappointment in herself.

Hades lets out the softest of sighs. She peeks up at him through the few strands of hair that have fallen in front of her face. He smiles, gently, and beckons her towards him. She takes a tentative step forward, and then another when he beckons her again, up until she’s standing right in front of him. He cups her cheek with his palm and keeps her face looking towards his.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You tiptoe around me as if at any minute I could explode. I’ll admit that at times I’m not the most patient of Gods, but I’d never take any anger out on you. You’re worth more than you let yourself believe, or what your mother let you believe.”

Persephone bites her lip. Again she feels like crying. She says nothing in response, she doesn’t know what she could say. Like he could feel her emotions, or probably see them playing right along her face, he changes the subject.

He shifts them so he can wrap an arm around her shoulders and then leads her out of the room the way she’d come. “Come along. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

***

Persephone’s hands are covered in dirt. Her tunic is stained with it. With each new batch of flowers that release from the dirt and grow tall by the powers from her hands, it becomes a little easier for her to breathe down here.

Hades’, or Harry as he’s reminded her, surprise was a decent sized patch of dirt right outside the back of the castle. At first she didn’t understand what was such a surprise about this? But then he told her it was hers to decorate as she pleased. Her very own garden.

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been here. Time has been hard for Persephone to track while down here, relying on the times of her meals to let her know what time of day it is, but Harry hasn’t interrupted her since she started. At first, he watched her with intent and interested eyes as she brought life from the ground. A God constantly surrounded by death, Persephone wonders if he’s ever seen life enter this world at all, in any form. But once she started moving around more, skipping from one end of the garden to the other with flowers sprouting up everywhere her toes touched, Harry wandered away from her. He took time with every batch of flowers she created. He felt them, smelled them, studied their colors and the way they were shaped. Persephone had to admit, she found it quite endearing.

“What you do is… beautiful,” Harry admits as he comes up to Persephone from behind. She just finished a batch of sunflowers and was looking around for an empty spot. She couldn’t find one.

Persephone shrugs. “It’s not much, compared to what the other Gods and Goddesses can do.”

“It’s everything.” Harry tells her instead and takes the spot next to her, looking over her work as she was now. “Life isn’t worth living without some sort of beauty in it, and you help create that.”

Persephone flushes. “You’re too kind.”

Hades looks down at her, a soft look in his eyes. “I’d say I’m not being kind enough. The word beautiful doesn’t feel eloquent enough for what I just witnessed, but it’s the only one that can come to mind.”

“I didn’t think I’d fill it up this quickly.”

“I’ll send some spirits to add an extension onto it later.”

“No, there’s no need. I can work with this space.”

“I’ve got the extra land, Persephone, just waiting to be used. It should go to you.”

“Well, thank you.”

Harry grins, his smile almost blinding. “Let’s head in now, yeah? It’s gotten quite late and you haven’t eaten yet.” He holds out his hand, and Persephone takes it without a second thought. With each minute, she was feeling more comfortable around him.

He leads her back into the castle, and then back into her room. She thought maybe they’d eat together, but then realizes she’s probably taken up too much of his time today already with all the work she’s done in the garden. Still, disappointment clings to the sides of her stomach.

Moira opens the bedroom door from the other side, but Persephone doesn’t move when Harry lets go of her hand.

“Will I be seeing you tomorrow?”

Harry’s lips tilt up into a smirk and his eyes light with mischief. “If you can find me.”

“Is that a challenge? Just so you know, I’m a natural born winner.”

Harry laughs, an actual full belly laugh. It echoes throughout the quiet halls. Persephone nearly explodes on the spot. She doesn’t know what caused her to speak like that, so boldly compared to how shy she’s been for most of the day. But it’s all worth it to her now.

He leans forwards so they're eye level. His mouth is only a few inches away from hers. It knocks the breath of of Persephone, having his eyes shining right into hers. She thinks he’s going to kiss her. She wouldn’t say no. She’d swim in the memory of this kiss for days, months even.

“We’ll see about that,” he whispers. Then he stands up straight, grinning at Persephone’s open mouthed look. He laughs again and winks, before turning away and leaving her there dumbstruck.

She would win. Persephone would always win, because she knows as much as Harry would enjoy the competition, he’d enjoy being in her presence even more. So he could try holding out for as long as he could, hide away in the shadows where she couldn’t see, but always, he’d make himself known. But really, weren’t they both winning at that point?

~

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[adonis-koo]

I keep seeing your posts about being into healthy foods and I really admire you for that. I wish I would be able to do so myself but my cravings for certain things are so strong that it’s really hard to keep track of what I eat and what I shouldn’t be eating. It’s hardest around that time of the month you know 🙃 Any advice you can give me for trying to maintain a healthy diet?

Awwwh! I’m always reluctant to talk on here about fitness and food as I know a lot of people struggle with EDs and I don’t want to be a potential trigger but I’m very passionate about all things related to health and wellness so I’d be more then happy to give advice for anyone who is looking!

(I wrote a v long paragraph and m very sorry but I love talking about health and fitness in general :( !! )

For the longest time I thought healthy eating took a lot of discipline but after getting into fitness this past year and really looking into food and nutrition. It’s not really about discipline at all. You shouldn’t need to feel ‘displined’ to eat. I think, for me, it’s really about making minor adjustments to what you already eat. Another thing is really making sure you’re eating enough throughout the day. I’ve been on tiktok the past few weeks and I cannot stress this enough.

I don’t,,, really like talking about calories because a lot of people get fixated on numbers and,,,that’s not what I’m about. Unshockingly a lot of fitness culture isn’t really healthy. Regardless. The key thing for me is being okay that you aren’t always eating healthy, being okay if you don’t hit your macros or calories of the day or even hitting over your needed amount. It’s natural and normal! You can’t live your life constantly ‘eating healthy’. Listen to your cravings, don’t deny them!

You can have a soda, cheezits and ice cream while still eating a breakfast burrito a smoothie bowl and stuffed peppers! It’s taken me a long time to figure out and I hope this helps others come to this conclusion sooner: you don’t have to be 100% ‘healthy’ you don’t have to live on salads 24/7. You just need a healthy balance between meals. Making sure you’re eating enough throughout the day can actually help eliminate mindless snacking (in my case at least)

And that’s really how I’ve gotten ‘healthy’, by just making sure I’m eating at least two big meals a day, usually lunch and dinner, and if I’m feeling ambition (though doesn’t happen most days) I’ll try for all three. Snacks really don’t make that much of a difference, it’s only when you eat excessively and into the long term that things like soda can cause weight gain. So like I said before, listen to your cravings! Don’t feel guilty for listening to your body.

Rather then take away food from your diet, just add better foods in to what you already eat, get your proteins and fats in at the start of the day with some eggs and avocado, don’t skip your carbs and pick up that bread! Don’t hesitate to eat pasta for dinner! Eat the veggies you like for snacks along side your fav snack crackers! Combining foods rather then trying to restrict or take away has completely changed my prospective on eating! The only real change ive made is that I’ve made an effort to really make sure I’m eating my main meals throughout the day and making sure to incoperate veggies and fruits, even it’s only dinner some days.

Last but not least. Don’t force yourself to eat foods just because they’re ‘healthy’. Nothing can make a person more unmotivated then forcing themselves to eat something they don’t like. Rather, look up recipes of things you do like and start from there. I’m a massive foodie,,, but also a picky eater 😔

So trying to eat healthy is a biggg struggle, because half the ‘good’ foods I don’t like. But after I started looking into recipes that I liked, like making homemade coconut breaded chicken tenders (which SLAPPED) or one of my favs teriyaki cauliflower with seasoned chicken burgers 🤤 my love for healthier foods completely changed. One of my New Years resolutions was to try new foods and I’ve kept too it. I’ve even conquered my fear of tomato’s by using them in mozzarella pesto sandwich’s, or bell peppers, which taste amazing stuffed with your choice of meat and celery with some rice 🤤

Conclusion; don’t restrict, listen to what your body craves, make sure you eat at least two big meals a day, incorporate fruits and veggies in your eating habits! Last but not least, I am only giving advice based on what worked for me, feel free to tweak things to your needs and of course don’t hesitate to research for yourself!

I hope this helps a little! In case you couldn’t tell,,,I’m very enthusiastic when it comes to health and fitness :’) so if you have any other questions please don’t hesitate to ask, I could go on for hours about this 😂🖤

[alchemist-shizun]

I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 3: Time and again boys are raised to be men

Word Count: 10,176

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Deceit.

Pairing(s): Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety. (hints to Royality, they’re forced into an arranged marriage)

Warnings: -Mild cursing (there's just one cuss word) -Minor character death -Negative thoughts -Panic attack -Insomnia -Some kind of selective mutism -Toxic parental behavior -Mentions of hallucinations -Food mention -Self-esteem issues and self-deprecation

Summary:  Growing up isn't easy for anybody. Especially when you're the new around, when you feel like you lost everything or when it seems you have the world against you.

A/N: Or of how I’m projecting slightly into one of the characters. As for the next update, I don't have much ready so you'll have to be waiting a bit for it, nothing specific this time. I'm currently working on a Prinxiety one-shot that I hope I can release soon, plus in September I'll be participating in the little event with daily prompts dedicated to the series. Also, I'll be soon starting the last year of high school, so updates will be definitely slower, but I won't give up, promise. Thank you for sticking around till now, I'll hear from you soon!

✾

❝ You are broken and callow Cautious and safe You are boundless in beauty With fright in your face ❞

The first years through his “learning how to be a valuable prince” had passed, and Roman was already grateful for the castle servants, who seldom sneaked in his room extra food. It wasn't like they were making it too hard for him and basically throwing knowledge at him or expecting him to be a natural and ace every single lesson.

His teachers adjusted to him, they let him take his time and were more than happy to explain concepts more than once.

It was just that he felt like he had to learn how to live all over again: first came posture, back at the orphanage none really cared if you were walking, skipping along the pavement, even running at times.

Here you had to keep your body in a particular position, your head straight, especially among other aristocrats. Your step had to be measured, every part of your body talked for you most of the times.

A step back could mean disdain, fright, a step forward could be interest, trust, a hand towards you is a chance to dance or an offer for a hug.

Roman had met many nobles, apart from the royals from Tinfea, after he came back to the palace; they all wanted to congratulate his parents and meet the famous lost prince. The story they knew was that a naïve servant had let the gates open and he had wandered outside by himself until he got lost for good.

As a child, he liked the attention of numerous people, but how to behave around them wasn't exactly his expertise.

Every time he did something unusual, the strangers would mention how adorable he was. His parents would smile and stroke his hair gently, a sign that, regardless of his inexperience, he was doing a good job.

To help him to get used to it, servants that casually met him in the hallways reminded him of his posture. Eventually, he got there.

While also practicing that, which reminded him to always look up to people and never look down on them, he learnt what kind of behavior he had to keep during meals, which silverware to use, how many servings there were in each meal, which one was his reserved seat.

To make it fun, he established a game between him and his parents: it consisted on guessing the food that was going to be served by the kitchen servants. It was a secret between him and the cook, but he'd occasionally sneak in the kitchen to get a “general idea”, as he liked to call it, of the possibilities. He totally wasn't cheating. Besides, he loved how his parents compared him to a magician every time he succeeded.

They made everything easier for his age, enjoyable even.

Everyday he learnt something new and everyday he was aghast: it happened even as he woke up in his chambers for the first time.

He had been woken up by the gentle daylight of the morning that was peering through the translucent curtains, pulled apart by one of the servants he had seen going around the corridors before going to sleep.

He had tried to snuggle closer to the covers and the pillows, shielding himself from the eventual tasks he had to complete during the day.

The servant had approached him and, with honey-like words, they persuaded him to get up. Only that he was simply expected to sit up on his bed.

Ever since he came to the castle, a servant would meet him in the morning to wake him up, then they'd be helped by a couple more to bring in the room a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, some objects and utensils they needed, meanwhile one of them would look into a wooden case full of rich fabrics that Roman didn't even know to distinguish.

The servants always helped him get up on his feet, they led him to the chair to sit down and they washed his face, his hair got combed and treated with products that made them soft and perfumed. Different types of oils and creams were smeared every day on his skin as they undressed him, careful not to get the night vest dirty.

No wonder they forced him to take a hot bath every night.

When they were done with that he got up, almost completely naked, and they proceeded to help him put on his clothes, which were layers on layers of various types of cloth. He didn't even know all of their names.

He looked at his minute figure on the tall mirror nailed on the wall which was perpendicular to the bed: splashes of red, gold, white and black blinded his sight as he noticed his hair tied at the nape of his neck.

After breakfast he had his first lessons of reading and writing in the library; his teacher was the same one that taught him about the history of their kingdom. She was an old lady with a streak of bright green in her white hair and a perpetual knowing look that made her seem like she had lived as long as the planet had existed. As if she knew everything there was to know.

Roman had always found her somewhat intimidating, which led to an ever-growing respect towards her: in a couple of months he had been able to read fluently and write with little to no mistakes.

The lady was amazed at how he kept practicing and demanding for books narrating fables. To the point that, unable to stop herself, she finally asked.

« What is it that interests you so much? » she lent him the second book that week, she was afraid she would run out of them soon. She made a mental note to send a man to the nearest kingdom.

« They remind me of the village I was in. » he said, eyeing the book cover with enthusiasm.

« How so? »

« I used to make up stories with a friend! » he looked up at her with a warm smile « Father said I'll visit him soon. » he added, excitement in his eyes.

Something sour set in the lady's mouth. She knew better, as always.

She couldn't help but smile back and place her hands her hips.

« Perhaps after you learn a bit of those history lessons I gave you, will you? A prince has to know everything about his kingdom if he wants to rule someday, understood? »

He let out a small huff « Of course, ma'am. »

She pat his head. « That's good. » and, as she stared at his back to check his posture while he walked away, a sad look couldn't help but make its way through her face.

After Roman had mastered all the first lessons, he was taught how to speak properly in the presence of nobles, elders, young people and the plebs in general. It was a surprisingly young servant that helped him, since sometimes it could happen that some wise and skilled enough servants could be “promoted” as teachers for the king's children.

All the letters in front of the prince seemed to swirl around his head and pressing at both sides when he looked at all the different meanings a single word could have. All the different ways that you could say something so that you could be understood by all types of audiences. The best moments were when he used the wrong linguistic register and he ended up talking to a kid the way you would treat an emperor.

At the same time he took up art lessons with that same servant. Roman found out they were not only good at how to behave with someone but they could also make the nicest instant portraits. The first one she did of him, he hanged it right after in his room, on the side of his half-empty bookshelf he asked his parents to bring in after a couple of gifts from his history teacher.

The second reaction was simply a request to teach him how to be as good as them. So they started going out of the palace daily, then into the gardens, to just sit down and draw from reference. He kept trying, transforming nature in swirls of colors and pencil figures.

Before he could say he was pretty good at it, a couple of years would have to pass, but he was content enough with just staying outside and enjoy the artistic point of view his servant offered him.

Twice a week, on the other hand, they stayed inside and flipped through a history of art book, full of pictures and analysis of the paintings or architectures.

Then, there was one of Roman's favorite things: he began sword fighting lessons. A valuable prince needed to have an eclectic knowledge and skills, but most of all if he wanted to protect a whole kingdom, he had to be able to protect himself first.

One of the Royal Guard's knights was lent to teach him; Roman believed he was going to have one of those basic lessons in which you went into the backyard of the castle, out of earshot not to disturb anyone with the clanging noise of metal.

Never in his life he would have imagined to be led into a ballroom and met with a curly dark petrol-haired man and a mischievous smile: he had two perfectly created wooden swords behind his back, like a ninja about to unsheathe his own katanas.

Roman approached the man with a confused yet composed look and when he stopped a few feet away, he held that stare.

The knight's expression shifted to a thoughtful one, never leaving that slight curve of his lips; he saw Roman, a tiny child, refraining from taking his eyes off of him, a well-trained man from the Royal Guard. And he didn't find fear in those honey-like irises, he was expectant. Rigid, but ready.

At this point silence had been enough to still keep her around. The knight threw a sword at the boy with no warning, it was definitely a test for his reflexes.

It was a habit that he always did with his new apprentices, it felt like some kind of superstitious gesture, if the person didn't catch it was probably going to have a lot of trouble teaching. On the other hand if they did …

The knight could only watch as the hilt of the wooden sword flew in Roman's hand, perfectly adjusting to his grip.

… well, it was going to be fun.

« I like you. »

The prince flashed him a satisfied smile.

The older man got a few steps closer and leaned down, Roman could see the red in his eyes that previously he thought was an unusual shade of brown.

« Shall we dance? »

Always busy with lessons and writing down stories to read to his loving parents, Roman found himself being fifteen, the village and its inhabitants was a distant memory he couldn't have the luxury to think about.

He didn't even realize he stopped asking about Virgil. He didn't realise he stopped thinking about him or the orphanage. It was less hurtful to pretend it all didn't exist than accept he would have never been able to come back. They hated him by now, probably.

His history lessons were so persistent he could now recite all his ancestors' lives backwards. Or in alphabetic order. Or in any kind of order, really. As he let go of the lessons he had mastered, new ones would come up almost instantly and, sometimes, take away even more time than the ones he had before.

Not that he wanted to complain, he'd be exhausted enough to have no trouble sleeping and never waking up a single time in the middle of the night. Which made the actual waking up ten times more challenging.

But most of all, he loved a lot of the lessons he got. Especially singing. You don't know where Roman is and it's time for his daily walk around the front garden's sculptures? He's probably moving around a large room and singing his heart out.

What was frustrating but also very surprising was how good he sang, as if he was a natural, born to entertain those around him with enchanting melodies.

His teacher couldn't believe it the first time he heard him. Soon enough, they had started a duet of voice and harp strings, creating symphonies in every different possible way.

Sometimes they really had to drag him out of rooms to participate to at least thirty minutes of his other teachings, and yes, a prince needs to know about the gods, the pontifex can't do everything by themselves.

Roman walked down the castle's external stairs, as white as the clouds above him, he occasionally thought that maybe there was a spell keeping them so clean and candid.

There was an old sage leading him towards the marble sculptures that ran along the garden's limit. Same impeccable color of the castle.

Nothing got ruined in their royal bubble, it seemed there was an invisible defense around their property. That was were the odd legend of their kingdom came from.

« Remember this one? » the sage, another one of the teachers, pointed to the marble figure they were standing in front of, halfway through the garden.

« Yes. » Roman studied the sculpture, an androgynous-looking anthropomorphic god stared him down, eyes white and empty, they had a crown on their half extended left arm, with bifurcated tips at the top.

The other hand kept their vest up, pressing it on their chest, over their heart. The pattern on it displayed, in a bas-relief, detailed and messy curves and swirls.

« The God of Death, ruler of the Underworld, also called “Dark Kingdom”. That's the reason of the crown. » the old man nodded, satisfied with the answer, but that wasn't where Roman had finished. « The vest suggests the symbol of dark magic, as they were believed to be the First Sorcerer. »

« You could have stopped before … »

Roman arched an eyebrow, it was unlikely for a man like him to be skeptical towards the Forbidden Topic. « I'm not afraid of two words. »

« You're aware of the reason why we refrain to mention it, aren't you? »

« I am. But I don't think it is right to belittle a God, or conceal one of their most important features, only because of a human dilemma. Isn't it impious to bend a deity's description to a mortal rule? » Roman turned back to his teacher, expecting a frown on the man's face.

Instead, the facade the sage was keeping up suddenly fell, only to be replaced by a satisfied and content expression; he pat the top of the boy's head while nodding slightly.

« Very good, Roman. I take you've read those books I suggested? »

The little prince showed a sheepish smile. « I guess I enjoy myths. »

Their conversation went on, the topics somehow brushing philosophy at times, but was soon abruptly interrupted by the loud noise of hooves on the stone pavement between the two sections of the garden.

Their glances turned towards the entrance, where a carriage was let in through the gates.

Both prince and sage straightened their postures and waited for the mysterious person to show themselves. They didn't expect a boy around Roman's age to come out of the carriage, all dressed up as an obvious piece of nobility, by himself.

As he got closer, Roman could notice the sneering look that engulfed him, red hair almost looked like fire under the hit of the sun rays.

The boy stopped a few feet away from them, then bowed down. « I am Desmond Ananke, marquis of the kingdom of Elis. » when he looked up, he found himself transfixed by those pitch-black eyes, as dark as a moonless night, or the moment right before your eyes adjust to the blackness of a room.

He felt dizzy for a second, was that even natural? Magic?

He came back to life when he felt the sage's hand being placed on his shoulder, when he looked over to the teacher he surprisingly found a sour expression. Roman decided to just nod at the boy, a cue for him to state the meaning of the visit.

« My parents agreed upon sending me for the monthly donation we had planned decades ago. » he turned his head to the older man. « I'm positive you wouldn't mind if I helped myself up the stairs to meet the sovereigns. » a smirk was all he needed to show for the man to understand.

He stayed silent for a few beats, then let go of the prince and stepped aside.

Desmond, before excusing himself, got a closer look to the boy. « So you must be the famous Roman Bia, I suppose. » he held his hand towards him, if he expected a handshake, he wasn't ready for the marquis to take his own hand and place a kiss on the top of his knuckles.

He looked up at him, Roman's hand still close to his lips « Your surname means “brutal strength”. I wonder if your delicacy can contrast that. »

Roman had no clue what that meant, he felt Desmond's stare on him, the warmth his hand was irradiating on his skin and the general discomfort of the whole situation. Was he supposed to answer? Was it a compliment? Did he know …

« I wonder if you're aware our prince is only fifteen and has been promised to the prince of Tinfea for five years by now. » Roman was glad his sword fighting teacher had come to the rescue, he was probably being late to his lesson.

The marquis eyed him, his smile slightly faltered and he carefully snatched his hand away.

Without any further word, he excused himself and began pacing towards the palace.

Roman had retrieved his hand as if he had just touched a burning pot, only that the only fire he felt right under his skin was dancing around his cheeks and ears because of the embarrassment. He looked at the place where the marquis once stood with a confused expression.

What was his deal?

« That motherf- »

« Language! »

« Gods! » the knight put his hands on his face and slid them up on his hair in a desperate gesture. « Stop lecturing me, dad. »

« I am not your father. » the sage gave him a puzzled look while the knight rolled his eyes.

« Maybe when you stop treating me like a child, you won't be. Well! » he clasped his gloved hands together and turned to a silent Roman that was wondering whether or not he should have let them have their moment and leave. « Ready for your lesson, kid? » Roman simply nodded.

They excused themselves from the elder and the knight, Crowley was his name, as he finally recalled, slid his arm around Roman's shoulder in a friendly way, only to lower down a little and speak to him more clearly.

« Look, that guy from before? Bad news. » he made a face. « I'll tell you, just because our kingdom is so awesome, the more outer people try to take advantage and benefit from us. »

« They're envious? »

« That's an understatement, but yeah, pretty much. » Roman felt some kind of burning feeling in his chest.

« Can't they just focus on improving their own kingdom instead of taking things from us? »

Crowley grinned. « Oh, is our prince getting bitter? »

« Hah. Not at all. I'm keeping my cool here. I'm in perfect conditions. » he flashed him a perfectly constructed smile. « See? »

« Sure, my lord. In perfect conditions of pretending, should I call the jester and tell him to call some actors to join you? »

« Oh, gladly, thank you so much. »

As they entered the fighting room, chuckling, they made their way towards their steel swords and started their usual sparring.

« Still, you should know … » the swords kept on clashing with no result. « … that boy from before talked about a donation. »

Roman started to lose some ground. « Yes? I never heard of that. »

« In my opinion, it's stupid. Arcadia has to donate part of our treasure to help other kingdoms. »

« What? » Roman's movements looked even more aggressive, tenacious.

« Apparently, it's the only way to assure they don't move war against us. » he sighed as Roman made a mistake in his posture, but regained it quickly.

« Wouldn't that lead us to eventually fall? It's not like the gods gift us gold every month. »

« That's what I've been saying. And the king's advisor too. They're ruining us anyway, this is only the slower method, the king said. »

« This is ridiculous. » the knight noticed Roman was basically throwing all his hits on him.

« I know, not to mention that marquis clearly wanted to woo you. »

« Woo me? »

« He wanted to marry you, to, of course, get your nobility status from the kingdom's alliance. There's no love there. » Crowley noticed Roman's expression hardening with rage. « Only strategy. » the prince scoffed, annoyed. « Like a mere tool. »

That's when Crowley realized his tactic was working and, in a matter of seconds, he found his sword clattering to the floor. Roman stopped moving, awed by his own doing and looked up to his teacher both smiling widely.

« Well done, kid. » he reached to pat his head, but Roman ignored that and wrapped his hands around him in a happy hug. He literally started screaming of joy.

« Gods, I did it! Did you see that? Did you see how I landed that sword? That was awesome! » he trailed off complimenting himself and pacing around the room, excitement printed on his face.

Crowley, amused, kept on watching Roman's little burst of happiness. Still, he realized it was now time for him to let other lessons take up his time. Like …

« Courting. This guy needs to learn courting. »

He was sixteen when it happened. Roman was enjoying one of the books his literature teacher had recommended, sitting at the library's table. He loved those lessons and was waiting for them to start.

His eyes lit up when he heard the door opening, but he never expected to find one of his servants and a gloomy expression. They approached him and took his hand while watery eyes threatened to start tearing up.

« Crowley is dead. »

That was the last thing he heard before zoning out, his heart sank and he felt numb; his hearing stopped working, it was as if the servant was talking to an inanimate object. They continued talking about how he died while helping a kingdom in a battle and was found lifeless, but Roman's mind couldn't process any more information.

Crowley is dead.

He could still see his mischievous red eyes in the corner of his own, now covered by a tragic and dark veil, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but there was nothing else to say at the same time. It was written all over his face.

Crowley is dead.

The servant brought him back to consciousness by touching his shoulder, the memory of his teacher doing the same burned in his mind, tears welled up in his eyes and found the strength to sprint away from a startled servant and run down the castle halls.

Crowley is dead.

He knew who he was looking for. His sight was clouded, making it harder to recognize his surroundings. He didn't care he was running, he didn't care his sobs could have been audible from outer space. He received concerned but knowing looks by anyone he crossed paths with. Then he found the room.

Crowley is dead.

His trembling hand turned the shiny and cold handle that almost blinded him. After closing the door behind him he rushed over to the person he knew needed comfort the most, just like him.

Roman hugged the sage, Nicephorus, he hugged him tight and pretended they didn't notice each other's red eyes. They also pretended they didn't hear their crying, seemingly unstoppable. Nicephorus pretended he didn't lose who could have seemed like his son, Roman pretended he didn't lose the brother he never had.

You can never judge whether someone's life was happy until it's gone.

Roman was seventeen. He was also finally allowed to make little trips outside of the palace and meet his people: he went mostly around the center, where his parents didn't prohibit him to go. Seven years kept inside the castle, busy with his education and getting to know his parents and kingdom, and everything about the village was now long gone from his mind, a distant memory he didn't dig into anymore.

Saying that he was well recognized by his people was an understatement. The people loved him. They cheered for him when his carriage made its way towards the center's plaza. He'd greet every single one of them, he let them hold his hands, he kissed little children's heads and willingly let them lead him through the city.

He wasn't like those royal people that looked down on the plebs with indifference from their carriages, he enjoyed interacting with others, being able to confront his life with the one of the others.

He often listened to their problems and realized that this type of confrontation helped the royalty greatly in fixing the kingdom's problems for the better; dealing directly with the people that faced issues that could be resolved was one of their best mechanisms.

And not only had he a great relationship with his people, but also the one with his servants couldn't be of any less importance. They were happy to spend time with him when his parents couldn't, as much as he was grateful for them for anything they had done.

People outside stopped believing he was a real prince, how could someone so kind-hearted have no dark feature?

They didn't know about his nightmares, for sure.

Or all the times he felt like he was remembering something of the night he disappeared, only to break down right after, the only comfort being his mother's embrace.

And despite being surrounded by a multitude of loved ones who loved him back, they didn't know about the loneliness he felt when he finally reached eighteen.

« Roman, dear, the Pais family is coming very soon, will you come to meet them? »

Yes, even with a guaranteed fiancé.

Royal courting was weird in their days: the two promised could see each other little to no time at all, preferably spending as less time together as they could. Meals with parents were fine, they even had the luxury to sit in front of each other, talk sometimes, but out of those? One or two hours a day were enough, thank you very much.

So, what the Tinfea and Arcadia families were doing to follow these unfathomable laws was meeting once a year, celebrating one year less to the upcoming wedding.

And now that Roman was eighteen, well, things were only starting to get faster.

« We're going to speed up the preparations with them today, you can finally spend some more time with the lovable Patton, aren't you happy? » his father was at his left as they made their way towards the entrance of the castle.

« Truly charmed. » he mused, not particularly focused on his question. It wasn't like he didn't want to meet him, or thought he wasn't at all an appreciable companion, but the little time they spent together wasn't enough for him. He wasn't even allowed to send letters; their relationship only started as acquaintances and went back to strangers after a couple of months of not seeing each other.

Roman thought that was ridiculously inconvenient for both of them.

« Wait, is Logan going to be here? »

« Honey, of course, he's always been. » Roman made a slightly frustrated pout at that.

« Don't be like that. He's their closest advisor. »

« I know, but I don't like him. He makes me feel incompetent. »

« He's older than you, Roman, it's normal if his knowledge is higher than yours. »

« And you should respect him as such. Then you will get along just fine. »

The prince sighed, he couldn't argue with that. What they always said was that he could at least act like he was glad to have someone as guest.

Furthermore, he loved acting. He couldn't remember how many times he had sneaked out to get to the local theatre to watch actors perform, or perform himself after he made sure none was there.

« Oh, I forgot to tell you! » Roman's mother turned to him, beaming. « This time, they're going to stay here longer. We're going to put into action what Logan had suggested two years ago. »

Well, that was certainly new.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Patton had often wondered why things were a certain way.

He sounded like a kid when he kept on asking different questions about the subject he was debating with someone.

Why were clouds like that? Are stars motionless? Why is grass green and not blue? How come animals didn't talk, do they even understand us?

As he grew up and reached adulthood, the questions would change into more soul-searching ones.

Does happiness really exist? Is the mind more important than the heart? What's the difference between justice and revenge? When is it required to be selfless and when is it allowed to be selfish?

One time at fourteen he found himself stargazing and wondering if he could even reach the stars one day, that sky glitter that winked and smiled at him every night. He had approached Logan's chamber and ran in the room out of breath, at which a startled seer blinked a couple of times, frozen still, and looked at him with arched eyebrows.

« Hey Lo- » a couple of short breaths. « You're a magician, right? »

A slow nod came from the older boy, whose gears began turning in his head, trying to predict which kind of outcome that conversation was going to lead to.

« So can you fly?! » Pat had clasped his hands together in little fists in front of his mouth and leaned in towards the chair his friend was sitting in.

Logan wondered if he could have either expected that kind of question or if he definitely wasn't aware this scenario could have ever taken place.

Eventually, he decided to get up from his chair and, kindly, escort Patton out of his room, while the prince whined about wanting to reach the sky.

After he closed the door behind himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought back an amused smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Of course, he lost, but in his defense, he was pretty tired.

After the prince's fifteenth birthday, Logan wondered sadly why they had to unquestionably stop attending lessons together; they had less time to spend with each other now that Patton was up to courting lessons most of his day, while he retreated to his room pretty much always to self-teach himself the remaining of magic knowledge. His sovereigns told him he didn't need teachers anymore, they meant to praise him for his own talents at such a young age. But he didn't somehow feel satisfied.

On the contrary, his heart sank when he stopped in front of their closed room and heard that they were actually glad their son was going to spend less time with him and that they couldn't wait to get rid of him.

He stayed silent and moved on.

When Patton reached sixteen, Logan decided he hated feelings.

He hated feelings because he could not conceive his kingdom's rules and what sometimes they did to people, how it changed them and made them treat him from a respectable member to a simple servant undeserving of any kind of attention. He decided to stop showing such feelings as he now found them useless: what could he do with his emptiness? The anger? Disappointment? Loneliness? All the other emotions he didn't want to name? Things that only slowed down his work?

Well, there was one thing he surely could do, which was bury them deep inside and never listen to them again.

And so he did.

At seventeen, Patton was having a mental breakdown. Too many things were happening at once: preparations for the wedding (already, though Roman was still fourteen), the fate of the curse approaching which he tried to ignore, his teenage mood swings, him reaching soon adulthood and the always more persistent lessons. About literally anything.

It was especially the lessons that stressed him out. In one of them in particular, in which he had to learn how to dance but was failing miserably, he concluded it was best to abruptly storm out of the room and take his frustration out on the grass he was stomping as he made a beeline for the flower garden of the east side of the castle.

Stressful tears were prickling his eyes, he carefully wiped them away on his sleeve, growing discontent was spreading inside him since he didn't want to cry, and yet he was too vulnerable to stop himself. Why did he feel so weak?

Patton took a deep breath and made his way through the garden, hands curled in fists at his side, when he eventually had to stop himself once again.

Logan was sitting on the ground, a couple of feet away from him, he was leaning on some flowers, examining them, while some objects – related to magic, Patton thought – were lying all around him.

Suddenly aware of a viewer, his friend- wait, were they even still friends? How long ago was the last time they talked for real?

Patton grimaced, he couldn't even remember that.

Nonetheless, Logan looked up at him with a blank stare, it only faltered for a moment as he noticed the slight redness around the prince's pupils.

They kept staring silently, until eventually the mage broke the silence between them, after he turned his attention back to the flowers he was observing attentively.

« What can I help you with? » there was no real interest in his voice, no signs of concern (although he definitely knew Patton was missing his lesson), the lack of anything bothered the prince in a way he couldn't comprehend. It's like that uneasiness you feel when someone slightly moved everything in your room and you can't tell what has changed.

Patton as well couldn't tell what had happened to make their relationship so different from before.

And maybe it was exactly because of that, maybe because of how much pressure they were putting in him, the expectation of his parents that he could master all his teachings in no time, the absence of the comfort he once found in friendship with his servants, whatever case it may have been, that he found himself dropping on his knees and throwing his arms around Logan's shoulders.

Patton tried to hide his face on the other's robes, tightening his grip as little sobs shook his body.

Whatever grudge Logan could have been holding against him (which, mind you, he didn't, since Patton was just that impossible to despise), he cast that aside and surrounded the younger one's chest with his own arms, hesitantly.

They sat there for a couple of minutes as the prince let out all the displeasure and the other boy just tried to help with soft rubs on his back.

As soon as he felt an ounce of relief, Patton broke the hug and took a deep breath, after muttering an apology.

« I don't know what's happening. To me, or in general. » he sighed, a hand touching his forehead while he looked down.

Since they had basically been ignoring each other, he was expecting a remark, he thought he was going to tell him he was an idiot and it was his fault, he would have believed that.

Instead, Logan nodded. « That's perfectly understandable. »

Patton looked up at him in confusion and disbelief. « How? »

A humming sound escaped the mage's throat. « How about you describe what is bothering you? »

« Uh. » he was looking at the sky, but focusing on his thoughts. « It's like I'm in a cage. Everybody's telling me what to do, what to wear, how to act. Or who I have to talk to. » he looked Logan in the eyes. « When was even the last time talked properly? » his azure irises darkened in a greyish color. « I feel like I have no friends anymore. »

Logan's heart sank at the words, he knew he was included in that group and he couldn't help but feel ashamed for accepting the distance they suddenly began to keep, instead of doing something about it.

« It is only normal that you're getting badly affected by the situation. Look at yourself, » Patton lifted his hands to observe them. « you're clearly stressed out. Are you getting enough sleep? » there were so many questions he wanted to ask. They barely saw each other out of meals.

« Do I, they expect me to be asleep the moment they escort me to my chamber. »

One problem less ticked off of Logan's mental list.

« We both know your drinking and eating schedules are practically perfect, so I guess this is partially about pressure. Everything at once. »

« Yeah, it's mostly because of this “perfect” you said. Everyone expects me to be perfect, my parents- »

« That's it! » Logan abruptly interrupted, pointing a finger towards the sky, a knowing smile making his way through his face. He dropped the objects he was carefully putting away in his bag.

« Uh? I barely finished … »

« Listen. Don't you think your parents are a bit … too much into this? They have started preparations way ahead of time, they can't stop talking about the wedding's details when neither you nor Roman reached adulthood yet. It seems to me that they want this more than you do. To the point that they don't care about your feelings. » the words tasted sour in his mouth, talking badly about your king and queen wasn't exactly the main topic in a kingdom, but he saw the prince slowly nod in agreement.

It wasn't the first time he had noticed that, either.

« My feelings … yeah, they're definitely messed up. » he found the will to giggle.

After a beat, Logan continued with his reasoning « I can't honestly believe you forgot my most important lessons. » he looked away to open the only vial that was lying on the ground and poured a drop of its content on a dying withered flower that immediately blossomed in a soft pink hue. When he looked back at his friend he met a confused but pensive gaze, mixed with amazement by the little magic trick.

« You're your own person, Patton. You don't have to act like anyone but yourself. Break free of those puppet strings, they're not unbreakable. You can be a prince in your own way. »

Patton showed him one of his brightest smiles, gaining all the inspiration he could have ever possibly asked for. He could still be himself while having lessons or while in front of other nobility members.

« You're right! » he beamed, getting confidently on his feet. He felt like he could take on the world by himself. « Plus, how much can they go against a prince? »

Logan rolled his eyes. « As much as they like if he starts getting full of himself. »

« Aw, come on, I was just kidding. »

They made their way towards the castle's ballroom, while catching up on the things they had been up to in the past year.

Time, of course, flew by in an instant and they were already facing the entrance of the ballroom. They stopped in their tracks.

Patton turned to the magician. « I don't know if a “thank you” is enough. But I appreciate that you didn't reject me being all emotional. » he then shrugged with a small smile. « Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the smallest things. »

Logan shook his head. « You don't have to thank me. I only helped a friend in need. »

The prince almost jumped in joy at the label, it was a sign their relationship wasn't destroyed by outer circumstances, which was what Patton had feared the most. How could he have gotten such an amazing friend? He felt the desire to surround himself with more people like him.

« And remember, if you don't understand something, write it down. Only then it might become clearer. » the seer shared one of the most important pieces of information he could give in order to prevent future breakdowns anytime soon.

Patton considered carefully his words as if he had just found out a glowing treasure, then nodded. « Will do. » he made to turn away, placing his hand on the door's handle.

« Sorry for forgetting what you taught me! » he apologized with a sheepish grin. Logan only chuckled and started to step away, when he got called again.

« And Lo? » he gave him his full attention and suddenly found Patton's hand on his arm.

Patton gazed deeply in his dark eyes. « Please, talk to me more. »

And just like that, he disappeared into the room, resuming his dance lesson with a lighter feeling in his chest.

It was the moment in which Logan felt a colder spot where the prince's hand once was and his cheeks burning red that he decided he hated feelings even more.

At eighteen Patton understood that he could be a bit freer, but his parents wouldn't let it slide so easily. At least not without some guilt trip or psychological pressure.

King, queen, prince and seer (who had also become their personal adviser since they didn't find a way to get rid of him) were sitting on a carriage, seemingly talking about topics of no relevance. But one would know better than believe aristocrats didn't measure their every word, sticking hidden meanings or snide remarks in sentences here and there.

It was their charm, how they could hold a conversation while talking about something completely different.

« Did you hear about this? They say that Roman kid had already caught up with his lost lessons in less than two years, isn't that a prodigy? » their favorite topic was throwing Patton down with their “oh-so-perfect” examples.

They always told him so many things about him, things he wasn't even sure were entirely true. So many voices went around castles. Ever since Arcadia's prince came back, he had been in everyone's words and minds.

Of course, Patton's parents used all the information they could get, thinking they could have been able to attach those puppet strings back to his body.

They tried and sometimes they succeeded in grazing even just slightly his self-worth.

Self-esteem issues weren't late to the party as well.

Patton noticed a pattern in the arguments: they would find anything that didn't please them, blame him and eventually start to criticize him. His looks, his behavior, his intelligence, either the first thing they saw or the first thought that came to their mind.

Initially he apologized as much as it felt fake. But he didn't like lying every time there was a fight, though doing the opposite made the situation worse.

His parents would get frustrated by his silence, the yelling would increase for minutes until they got tired and gave up on him.

So Patton only stared at the marble pavement, his eyes danced around its colored details, a blank expression surrounded his face; when they finally let him free he'd only run back to his room.

After that there were two different outcomes: one would simply picture him crying to let out all of the horrible things they told him, as if he could shake them off and forget about it.

The other would display him lying down with a weird feeling in his guts. It was something that mixed with wanting to fight someone and wanting to fight himself. As if he deserved to feel pain. But the only thing he allowed himself was to think of all the remarks he could have done, if only they didn't make the situation worse.

Many could wonder how he managed to endure the whole thing. Patton had the kindness of his servants to get him through the day, the food they sneaked in every time he left during meals because he couldn't just bear it.

And he had a best friend he could rely on anytime he wanted or needed to vent. Especially when he saved him from annoying situations.

The conversation between his parents continued, their eulogy towards Roman never seemed to stop.

Patton breathed out slow and deep through his nose, he knew the last thing he needed was a reminder of his inferiority complex when he was on his way to Roman.

The funny thing about it was that he couldn't even blame Roman for how he felt, on the contrary the boy was always so sweet and welcoming. It was more how everybody portrayed him to be the perfect prince he could never achieve.

« On the topic of talents. » Logan, the foretold savior, spoke only after giving a sidelong glance to the younger boy.

The sovereigns immediately shut their conversation to Patton's relief.

« Since we are second in prosperity to Arcadia, I was thinking we should value our people more. » he had them hanging on his every word. « Maybe we should organize some kind of event that aims at that specific goal. »

The two adults' faces lit up, ideas flowing in their minds. Every argument on how to somehow be better than Arcadia was valid for both of them, it was the perfect diversion.

« We definitely agree. Please do tell us what you have in mind. »

Instead of going off with one of his explanations, (that often became monologues), he turned to Patton.

« What about you? Would you like that? » a faint smile crossed the prince's lips, ignoring the voices in his mind that said “How can he give his opinion? He understands nothing of it!”

« I would love that, Logan. » he nodded. « It would be ideal for our people to stand out in their specialties. I'd want to know if the best poems ever written belonged to one of our humble and simple villagers. » he stopped looking out the window to glance at his parents' shocked expressions, their mouths left hung open upon hearing his valid opinion. Suddenly they didn't have anything to remark.

He felt something very similar to pure bliss. Then he shifted his gaze to Logan. « Don't you think? »

Pride glimmered in the magician's eyes. « Exactly my thought. We could also participate or just watch, if so you desire. »

« Thank you for your suggestion! » Patton smiled even wider and Logan knew that he also silently thanked him for the attention.

After Logan finished displaying his idea, the sovereigns kept quiet for the whole trip to Arcadia's castle and Patton couldn't have been any more glad about it.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

How could he have been such an idiot?

Hopes and dreams, fake abstract concepts made up only to ruin people's expectations.

What was hope? It only meant relate to the future in a way that will eventually result in experiencing anxiety and anguish, whether it is a happy future you're looking for or a negative outcome that you're fearing. It is never something that helps you relax, but it keeps you in a restless mood, always unsettled because you know you're waiting for something and you're paying very much attention to it.

It is as if you're waiting for a delivery that has even the infinitesimal possibility to get lost into the nothingness. Or waiting for a person that promised to come back, a promise that has a high percent chance to be broken anyway.

But your hopes get in the way and erase any pessimistic belief, without realizing you're actually deteriorating yourself. With hope comes illusion and after that you're only left with pain.

Growing up, Virgil learnt to take nothing for granted and have very little trust in all the people who presented themselves in front of him.

To say that his parting from Roman had been a hard hit for him was an understatement: ever since then, he had never been able to get close to someone just as much or have any friendship quite as strong. It didn't feel worth it anymore.

Everything constantly reminded him of Roman and he just was so tired, he wanted the world to stop.

There had been many attempts by the school's children to get him to cheer up, but every single gesture failed its goal like they weren't even trying hard enough. But they were, when he wandered in the streets the villagers would greet him with a genuine smile on their lips, Virgil would only nod at them, unimpressed by the sudden interest.

Kids had tried to play with him, offered to go spend time in the woods together, but nothing could do. It reminded him too much of him and their memories were the last things he wanted to experience all over again.

He was eleven when hope started to fade out and disappointment took over him, a wave of sadness brushed his feet as strange thoughts began to force themselves into his mind.

These thoughts were the ones that tried to keep him awake at night, they persuaded him to think that it was better to embrace the darkness of the night, in which none would bother him as they all drifted off to sleep.

At first they scared him, so much he tried to scream to throw them away, panic didn't help his breathing problems and every other night his parents were kneeling down in his room, trying to steady him in every possible way.

At twelve, things were getting impossibly worse, because he couldn't help but comply to those musings. The first time, he found himself getting up from the small mattress, a myriad of thoughts screaming at him, so much that he preferred to stay silent, afraid that if he were to part his lips the harshness of howl-like shrieks would escape his mouth and leave him with little to no voice. The second time, he was found deadly still, bloodshot stapled open eyes, in front of the village's town hall at five in the morning by a pair of very concerned and frightened parents.

At thirteen night didn't exist anymore and the fair skin under his eyes slowly faded into a dark and purple-ish tone, he decided it was not worth to have those oniric impossible encounters in dreams or nightmares, even if his sleep deprivation did quite help making the unreal look real during his waking hours. His daylight hallucinations.

He had stopped talking at all, only considering someone when he really thought it necessary, scared they could catch him interacting with the unreal, unable to tell one from the other.

At fourteen he had visited all the doctors and magicians his family could reach, and at times their solutions were too … expensive. Out of the eight of them, there was one that stuck with Virgil, his words often played in his head as a reminder that, yes, something was definitely wrong with him. He couldn't remember his full name, something with Emile … was it? He was the only one that talked about his head. His mind; Emile's eyes had glowed, a light that made him look quite mischievous, though he truly was kind-hearted, and Virgil felt like he was piercing through his soul.

He had told him it was a mess, inside his mind. Virgil could have sworn he had heard a crack in his voice, as if he had been about to cry or needed consolation, after feeling how he did daily; but then again his reality was fake most of the time.

At fifteen the tables turned. Most of the villagers just chose to avoid him. Even if bullying didn't exist in his school, his classmates would have been too scared to approach him. A little part of him was glad he could occupy his mind with all the issues that rained down on him at once, so that he could shove his oldest problem in the deepest part of his heart and never think about it again.

It had been five years.

He couldn't say he was always successful, the best case scenario displayed a train of different thoughts that would suppress the topic he didn't want to think about. But other times … the outcome would destroy his mind.

He had never gotten angry at Roman for disappearing into the void.

He couldn't help but put the blame on himself; for god knows what reason why, he started feeling like Roman had now found better people, what if they had been friends out of pity? Sure, they were good at make-believe, and yet … Roman had never left him alone. He did feel genuine, after all.

There was too much contrast between his beliefs, but somehow he still couldn't help but crumble down in his own self-deprecation. It was none else's fault but his if he never came back. For all that he could know, by now Roman had probably already found plenty of people like him; better than him, perhaps, which wasn't that much of an impossible quest. It wasn't like he had any particular talent or was special in any way, really. Being replaced could have been just as easy even in his small little village.

He was still fifteen when he finally stepped into their forest after 5 years, for some reason he had gotten sentimental and, almost magically, his feet led him in front of the forest's entrance. He was retracing the same path they had followed the last time they were together, the sparkles caused by the sun hitting the water were already blinding his eyes as he stepped down the hill that now looked much smaller than how he remembered.

And then, the one thing that would change his life forever.

He looked at his left and that same fox from five years earlier was standing there, a cold glare piercing him through golden irises, Virgil thought he had lost his mind and the hallucinations due to lack of sleep were getting worse.

But the creature looked different, yet quite the same, he could tell it was the same one he saw, even though it seemed older.

Black fur was now added to its former colors at the base of its paws. It seemed it wanted to frighten him, but also persuade him.

Virgil held its stare, the animal didn't seem to move an inch.

« What? » he snapped, arms slightly opening in the act.

The yellow-eyed fox started pacing towards him, an elegant posture was still somehow kept in its cautious movements.

Virgil didn't take his eyes off of it, it felt like 5 years earlier: it was as if there was some sort of force tugging him in a particular direction. It was stronger than before and the lingering feeling of the animal's glare on him provoked some sort of persuasion and curiosity altogether.

The little villager just stood and watched as the creature paced forward until little to no space was left between them, then something switched in its expression after it looked around and set its focus back on Virgil with gloomy eyes.

Was it looking for Roman?

« He's not here. » Virgil wished he had said it with the most collected tone, but surprisingly found his voice cracked as if it had been smashed through a thousand palaces. It sounded rough, colliding with the ethereal aura of the place. The fox tilted its head slightly.

« What are you waiting for? It's not like he will come back. » another crash, he felt himself rapidly break down like most of the times when he listened to the thoughts screaming and raging in his head. He let his burning eyes fall to the ground and close, as the dark corners of his mind took completely over him.

« … ever. He won't- » his breath hitched and when he opened his eyes again he was on the ground, almost at eye-level with the pitying creature. He looked at his hands in terror, they were trembling visibly, his breathing grew shorter, sharp, but never like those wheezes he learnt to recognize. This was something else. How long had it been since he had last spoken to someone?

This was worse. So much worse.

His fingers brushed his cheek to find it soaking in overflowing tears already making their way on his skin; he digged his hands in his hair as to hold on for dear life. He hated when this happened. He had no control over himself, he felt hopeless, more helpless than usual, rationality flew out of his body, it was as if all of his feelings had smashed the button of “overload”, while a clutching sensation weighted down his stomach.

His mind raced between flashbacks of his childhood, belittling himself, the urge to just give up and lie down forever until someone would eventually pick him up and live his life in his place.

He was completely huddled on himself when he felt something soft trying to make its way through his limbs, as if it wanted him to relax his body and get his arms away from his face. Virgil had no choice but to comply and let the fox … help him? He felt too weak to care about what was happening anyway.

When the animal started brushing its head against Virgil's hand, he suddenly remembered about one of the doctors' suggestion; he opened his eyes and focused on his surroundings.

Five things he could see. The green blades of grass, the glimmering lake, those funny shaped clouds, the trees all around him and the fox by his side. He took another deep breath that he let out from the mouth.

Four things he could touch. The lightweight of his simple clothes, the soles of his shoes, his bangs brushing his forehead and the soft fur through his fingers. He closed his eyes.

Three things he could hear. Birds flying out of their nests to get some food for their nestlings, his rapid breath slowing down, little fishes occasionally jumping out of the lake and then back on the water.

Two things he could smell. The flowers that had started blossoming in that period, the simple essence of the forest's nature.

One thing he could taste. Oh. Had he eaten yet today?

His evened out and steady breathing had him finally relaxed, he kind of felt a smile tugging at his lips for some reason, maybe it was the comfort of the little animal, maybe because he finally got a hold of himself.

But while he pet the unusual friend, there was something he didn't notice. Someone he didn't see, but that could see him. It was somewhere Virgil had never reached. One of the deepest parts of the forest.

The man grinned in his dark room while the only source of light was a cloud of magic smoke in front of him, beaming with the picture of Virgil sitting on the grass and smiling at the fox.

The brightness touched his face with delicacy, yet you could make out the details of it with simplicity.

Like the burnt skin on the left side of his face that made it look like little scales were all over his cheek. Or the literal glowing, bright yellow eyes that slowly turned into a mild shade of white as the vision and smoke both faded away.

The man in the dark smirked.

« Perfect. »

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[yeongjikrp]

don’t be late for orientation!

kim haera, 21, second year magical law major + curse studies minor & vice house representative. 

at only ten years old, it becomes clear that haera is a romantic. how could she not be, really, when she grows up hearing stories about her parents’ great love story? imagine the picturesque french mountainside, sprawling blue skies, opulent chateaus lined with gold and ivory. a young boy (born and raised in france, escaped his grand boarding school for the weekend), meets a young girl (living in europe on her own, missed her train back to paris) so beautiful that he falls for her instantly. it takes some time for her to trust him, but they fall in love regardless. in fact, he’s so enchanted by her that as soon as he graduates, he follows her back to korea, where they get married and have a precious baby girl. how magical, haera thinks. in an entire decade of living, she’s never seen her parents act anything less than enamored with each other.

until today, that is. when a letter from a school with a french name she can’t pronounce arrives in the mail on haera’s eleventh birthday, the first thing her mother does is smack her husband’s arm and hiss, “i told you this would happen!” all her father can do is smile sheepishly.

it’s only then that she learns the true version of her parents’ love story: a young boy (a rebellious beauxbatons student who is constantly breaking rules), meets a young girl (a mundane human attending a parisian high school as an exchange student). when he helps her at the train station, he seems like a knight in shining armor, but when he eventually tells her that he’s a wizard, she immediately calls him a nutjob and breaks up with him. it’s only when he shows her his magic— which the school and the ministry were not happy about— that she believes him. he follows her back to korea, where he enrolls in yeongji, but drops out to pursue a life with the woman he loves. though not the version that haera grew up with, it turns out that this iteration of the tale is quite magical as well.

her father tells her that he has no regrets renouncing magic for the mundane life that he has now, but she has a right to pursue this side of her blood if she truly wants to. haera’s mind goes to the stories of her father’s youth, where all of the students wore sky blue satin and each meal was a different type of sumptuous french cuisine. she hates the ugly, scratchy uniforms of her current school, and just last week, she was served fish stew for lunch three days in a row; the choice seems quite clear. with a grin, she tells her parents that she wants to go to france. it’s quite easy for her to make up her mind when she’s only been told cherry-picked memories.

at beauxbatons, adjusting is much more difficult than she’d anticipated. she speaks french well enough, thanks to her parents, but there is so much about this world that she doesn’t know. “are you sure you’re half-blood?” one of her classmates asks. “you may as well be a muggle, for all that you know.” haera may not know much, but she knows that the word “muggle” hadn’t been a compliment. it’s from this moment that she drops all excuses. she no longer gives herself the chance to whisper, “i’m sorry, i’m still new to magic” when she gets things wrong. she learns all of the ins and outs of the magical world. she wants to fit in, so she does. although her father’s reputation precedes her (“you’re damien kim’s daughter? i’ll be keeping an eye on you…”), haera tries her absolute best in everything, and boy, does it pay off. her grades land her squarely at the top of her class, and her professors are more than impressed with her involvement on campus. most importantly, it’s so fun for her to be good at the things she does.

when she graduates, her mother asks if she’d like to come back home and live a mundane life (she misses her only daughter far too dearly) but haera’s answer is a firm no. what can she do in the mundane world? she is nobody there, but in the magical world, that’s not the case. but haera has always had a soft heart, and so she compromises— she returns home to korea to attend yeongji, the school where her father’s magical story had ended, but hers is only starting to begin.

[girls-scenarios]

To Feel Human (Part 2)

Idol: Irene (Red Velvet)

Prompt:  Could you make android au with Irene and fem!reader? The reader created Irene and wanted Irene to learn about human feelings. Although, sometimes Irene feels like she’s a burden to the reader and leaves temporary. At the end, she comes back they love each other ❤️

Writer: Admin Lee

A/N:  Hey everyone! I’m so sorry about the hiatus I’ve been on recently. To make a long story short, there’s been a lot going on for me, so I hope you can understand! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the second part to this scenario, I put a lot into it! I hope the ending is what you wanted btw, I’m not too sure it came out the way I wanted it to. (small warning for cursing)

Part 1 

Weeks had passed, and Irene had now adapted fully to living in your home. You kept your colleagues updated on its progress periodically (however, you were cautious about revealing its name change to them, so you kept that information to yourself), always being sure to mention anything particularly exciting that occurs. The android was also attempting to warm up to your dog which was, without a doubt, entertaining. Walter would sometimes jump up onto the robot while it was sitting on the couch, causing Irene to become startled and assume a very rigid position until the droid called for you, pleading for you to call the dog away from it. Though, the progress was visible, and you could slowly see an improvement in Irene’s behavior towards your furry friend. You hadn’t seen the LED show as anything other than blue since the night that the android had chosen a name. Which coincidentally, you also hadn’t seen any other notably ‘human’ actions or thoughts be shown by Irene since then either.

That evening, you were making dinner when Irene had come into the kitchen with Walter in tow, ready for his evening meal.

“Hey, Irene,” You called, prompting the android to look at you. “Would you like to come into town with me tomorrow? I have some things I need to get and I might need your help.”

“Yes, I can surely accompany you on this excursion. However, will I not be noticed by the general public? This,” The droid gestured to its LED. “will be problematic to conceal, will it not?”

“I can take care of that.” You replied, a gentle smile making its way onto your features.

-

Following dinner, you brought Irene to your room, which was for time being, converted into a home office of sorts.

“I took a computer from the warehouse to make it easy on myself in case anything minor needed to be adjusted.” You stated, starting the computer up. What you had in mind was a simple physical change. The skin on the android could be manipulated over small areas in case of a cut or other injury in order to protect what lies inside the android. This function could also be used for cosmetic purposes, though not necessarily meant for them. So, you asked Irene to turn around where it was standing, and move its hair to the side, revealing the port that was visible on the nape of its neck. You then hooked up a cable to the computer, then to the port in the android. After finding the correct setting to adjust, you had the android’s synthetic skin cover the LED, and within a few minutes, completed the entire procedure. You removed the cable and shut down the computer, patting the android on the back to let it know you were finished.

“There we go, it shouldn’t be visible now.” You assured.

“Thank you.” Irene uttered, turning around to face you. “ Will it stay like this?” It gestured to its temple.

“No, you can change it if you want,” You replied with a gentle tone, watching as Walter padded into the room over to where you were sitting, and as you absentmindedly pet him you continued. “It’ll be easy to monitor the state of your neural net with the LED visible, but in public it needs to be concealed, you know? This way I won’t have to ‘plug you in’ every time we go out or something.”

“I see. Then is that all you required of me?”

“Well, yeah, for the moment. I was gonna go to bed soon.”

The conversation had ended rather awkwardly, with your reply being the final addition to you and the android’s exchange. Irene exited the room, presumably to go to its own, while you sat in your room with your head in your hands. The android was definitely not up to par with its personability, however, it was slowly (very slowly) improving. You always had the option to go in and alter her interface to be more friendly, but you felt that was...wrong in some way. It had already been ‘awake’ for weeks now, working and improving, and you didn’t want to risk taking all of that progress away for the sake of it being artificially friendlier. You were sure it would get there someday, and patience is a virtue, so you decided you would let it take its own time.

-

Once you came downstairs in the morning, dressed and ready to go, you found Irene already waiting for you near the door.

“I have put Walter in his kennel for the time being. He has been fed and given a bone to chew on so he does not become restless.”

“Oh, thank you,” You replied, patting its shoulder before going to open the door “You ready to go?”

“Yes, I am.”

With that, you went out to where your car was parked, and you were off. It was only a couple minutes’ drive into town, and once you got there, it wasn’t too long before you had arrived at your destination. After parking the car, you opened the door on the other side for Irene. The android got out of the car, and shut the door behind itself. It then looked at the space before it. Small buildings and shops were spread out in the outlying town where you lived, only about a half  hour drive from the nearest big city. It was quaint and comfy and peaceful. Not many people were out today, as it was rather overcast. Irene seemed enamored of the small town, and you remembered it had never really been walking around one before. So maybe today could be more than just getting things for home.

-

The mandatory shopping was soon out of the way, and with Irene’s help, it had gone even faster. The android stayed close by you at all times, and only spoke to you in hushed tones, to all appearances, nervous. You thought it was just a precaution, maybe even a little bit of paranoia, but you brushed it off, not thinking much of it. Not wanting to leave the town yet, the two of you took a little scenic route around town, and you pointed out certain things to Irene and whatnot. It looked almost as if it was enjoying itself, and you could see its eyes light up ever so slightly sometimes. Eventually though, it was time to go home. And within the hour, you were back in time to feed Walter a late lunch.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Irene had made the LED visible again, and you were able to see the continuous blue glow on its temple once more. The night came soon enough, and you had wanted to watch a movie, so you sat on the couch, browsing through possible selections.

“Hey Irene,” You called.

A small “Yes?” was heard from the upstairs room, with subsequent footsteps coming down the stairs and into the living room.

“Do you wanna watch a movie with me? I thought you might like to.”

“If you would like me to. Have you decided on a genre?”

“Yeah, I want you to.. Please, sit down,” You gestured to the space on the couch next to you. “And no, not yet. Could you pick? I don’t really care. I’m going to get something to drink, I’ll be back!”

Irene looked at you with a quizzical expression as you walked out of the living room. It then chose a relatively new action movie. “This particular movie has received positive reviews. I believe you will enjoy it as well. I will wait to play it until you return.”

-

The movie was intriguing, to be sure, but with 3 or so beers and rather large glass of cheap wine, your focus wasn’t often found on it. Rather, it was the android that had caught your attention. It had mentioned it essentially watched the movie in its entirety already, but that it would stay to accompany you. However, it seemed just as interested in it as you previously were - before your head grew fuzzy and she had become all the more interesting. (you meant it. It’s a robot).  You quickly turned back to the movie, worried that it would catch you staring like a deer in headlights, and attempted to catch yourself up on the minute or two that you had missed. The dim yellow flash from Irene’s LED wasn’t noticed when you snuggled up closer to it. (Sure, being a homebody had its perks, but could also be very lonely. You would just call this a lapse in judgement tomorrow, and you doubted the android would think much of it.)

-

At some point during the movie, you were practically draped over Irene, and it wasn’t too concerned with moving you.

“Is this position comfortable for you?” It inquired innocently, though you could sense tension in its body.

You nodded. “Are you? Comfortable, I mean.”

“My comfort is irrelevant.”

You sighed, resting your head in the junction between its neck and shoulders. “It was really lonely, even with Walter around, before you got here. Did you know that?”

“No, I did not.”

“I’m glad I got to be the one to take you home.” You mentioned softly, yet Irene’s audio receptors could pick up your voice with crystalline clarity.

“Has my companionship been beneficial to you? Have I fulfilled the purpose you’ve created me for?”

“You’re more than that. More than just ‘fulfilling a purpose’, I think..” You trailed off. It was late, and you didn’t notice how tired you were until your eyelids began to feel as if they were being pulled close. Inevitably within a few minutes you were fast asleep.

Irene waited for a few minutes, then picked you up from off of the couch, careful not to jostle you too much, and carried you to your room bridal-style. This was an easy task for the android, as it was significantly stronger than any normal human. Upon setting you down and covering you with a blanket, Irene watched you for a moment in thought.

It didn’t want to concern you with the small hiccups of its LED, didn’t want to alarm you with the fact that it was picking up so much more than just how to be a household companion. You had just confirmed its thoughts in your own words.

It was feeling like it was more than just a robot meant for amity.

In truth, ever since CX100 had renamed itself, it hadn’t gone into a proper rest state. Instead, choosing to stay up and mentally prepare for the next day - what to cook, wear (and it had stopped having to use your clothes once you finally remembered to Irene some of its own. It noted you could be very forgetful at times), etc. But additionally, it thought of you. The things it discovered you liked, or hobbies you had, personality quirks, the list goes on. It treated you awkwardly because it was unsure of what to do. The android wasn’t sure what had happened, but the installment of the behavioral programming in tandem with the already embedded neural net gave way to some unforeseen system errors (the android deduced this would be the only proper diagnosis of the situation). The reason it was treating you weirdly was largely because it was scared. Scared of the possibility of you discovering the errors, the chance that you could decide to trash it for a new, better android who wouldn’t have these malfunctions, or completely wipe it. It kept silent. It knew what it was like to feel human, and Irene couldn’t go back.  

-

You woke up later than normal the next day. It was oddly quiet downstairs from what you could hear from your room. Getting down into the kitchen, you discovered that Irene wasn’t there, as it was usually preparing breakfast around the time you woke up. Additionally, you could hear Walter whining from his kennel.

‘Had he not been let out? Where was Irene?’ You asked yourself, muttering these and other similar questions to yourself as you let Walter out, then deciding to search the house and yard outside in case the android was there.

She (you meant it. fuck.) wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere in the house or around it. Your mind was going a mile a minute. Did Irene leave? If it did, where did it go, and why? Panic set in, and you dashed up the stairs to your room, grabbing your phone and finding Jihyo’s contact with a shaky hand.

After a couple of seconds of ringing, Jihyo picked up.

“Hey, what’s up? I wasn’t expecting your -”

“Jihyo,” You interjected. “It’s missing. CX100 isn’t at the house and I’m freaking out. I don’t know where it could have gone or why it did -” Your frantic tone was evident as your speech sped up and you stumbled over your sentences, your thoughts too fast to get out coherently.

“Woah, hold on,” Jihyo, being the level-headed individual she was, attempted to calm down over the phone, so you could accurately tell her was was going on.

“I- I don’t know where Irene went, and I’m scared. What if it gets hurt? Or found out? What am I gonna do?” You took a deep, shaky breath. “Jihyo, it’s all my fault.”

“I’m coming over. I’ll be there with help soon and you can explain everything. We’ll find the android.” Jihyo stated calmly, and then said her goodbyes, hanging up the phone afterwards. Irene found itself almost outside of town as 1 o’clock struck. It was cold, overcast, and about to rain. Irene was suddenly thankful for the fact that it couldn’t get cold so easily. It accessed its GPS function, opting to go towards the warehouse that it was created in. Though this wouldn’t be the most ideal place to go off the grid, it was a start. The walk would be long, nearly 3 hours at a steady pace. However, if it ran, it could cut the time in half. There were back roads that could be accessed so as not to cut through the woods or go near the highway, and soon it was off. 

-

Within the hour, Jihyo had arrived along with Kyulkyung, Eunwoo, and Yoojung. 

“We were all free at the time, so we wanted to come help.” Yoojung spoke first, looking at you with a sympathetic expression. 

They walked in, taking a look at the house that was now in a state of complete disorganization. Walter trotted up, and wagged his tail, licking each one of your guests’ hands and receiving a pet in return as they went into your living room. 

“Do you know when the android left?” Jihyo asked.

“No, I woke up around noon and it was already gone.” You replied, now somewhat collecting yourself as you sat in chair adjacent from your couch where your friends went to sit. 

“Is there any reason why it would have just left? It’s weird that the android would suddenly just develop free will like that, you know?” Eunwoo inquired, resting her chin on her fist, brows furrowed in thought. 

“Unless it was something that went wrong after we had finished running diagnostics the first night, it would be hard to tell,” Jihyo added. “Had you checked its programming for any sort of errors?” 

“The only time I would have seen anything was when I altered its skin to cover the LED for when we went into town yesterday and nothing stood out to me as malfunctioning. The LED wasn’t covered up when we got home, and that would’ve showed if anything was wrong.” You replied, running a shaky hand through your hair. 

“Yeah, that’s true.” Kyulkyung remarked. “Well, whatever the case may be, we still need to find it. God knows what that android is up to all on its own. Is there any way of tracking it?” 

“There should be. I doubt that my computer here can do it, but if we get to the warehouse, there should be a way to find out where Irene is.” You answered. 

“Irene?” Jihyo repeated. 

Oh. 

You remembered that you hadn’t told them that just yet. 

“(Y/N) you have to realize that it’s just a robot that’s meant for companionship. It can’t be human, it can’t feel anything. Why’d you name it?” Jihyo continued, brows furrowed. 

“Jihyo, is that really important right now? I mean, that android just means a lot to me.. None of you have been around to see how much - how much  more than a robot she is.” You explain, exasperated and worried sick. Your friends were watching you with concern as you paced around the living room. “

Okay - hey - (Y/N), we’re going to find her, alright? Let’s go to the warehouse.”

-

The drive to the warehouse was silent, the lack of sound looming over the car passengers like a heavy fog. It was raining outside. You had arrived within the hour and you wasted no time pulling open the large metal sliding doors, revealing the insides of the warehouse you had used not that long ago. Suddenly, a chorus of metal parts resounded throughout the moderately-sized building. 

“What was that!?” Eunwoo exclaimed, clutching Kyulkyung’s arm in slight fear.

 “I’ll check. It might just be a raccoon or something. After all, this place has been vacant for a little while.” Jihyo replied, stepping towards the direction that the noise came from. 

You trailed a couple feet behind her, also curious as to what the sound was. And you weren’t as much of a scaredy-cat as Eunwoo was. Yoojung also looked on in concern, seemingly hoping that it wasn’t a raccoon (you knew she wasn’t particularly fond of them - at least when they were feral). 

When the two of you got near the back corner of the warehouse (where the sound had come from), Jihyo was the first who had discovered what actually had caused it. You were just a second later, and saw Irene huddled in the corner. She looked terrified, and her LED was glowing a bright, angry red. You realized that this meant she was under extreme duress, and you couldn’t blame her, this probably was scary. You were the first one to speak. 

“Irene?” You called with as gentle of a voice as you could. You didn’t want to frighten her any more. She didn’t reply, just looked at you with wide, teary eyes.

“Irene. Please come out.. No one’s going to hurt you.” You continued, attempting to calm her down in any way you could now. What mattered most is getting her stable, then you could deal with everything else. 

“I am malfunctioning. You’re going to shut me down right? Wipe my neural interface?” She finally replied. Her voice was shaky and unsure, and her LED was still a vivid red.

 “I wouldn’t do that to you, don’t you know that? I remember what I said to you. You’re meant to do more than just fulfill a purpose. I don’t think you’re malfunctioning, you’re just learning what it’s like to be human.”Irene’s LED had dimmed out to a orange-y color, and you could tell she wasn’t visibly as on-edge as she appeared to be moments ago. But still, her face couldn’t betray the flurry of emotions she was experiencing in this moment. 

“Please Irene,” You spoke again and extended a hand. She took it after a moment, seemingly still unsure about the whole situation. She was standing in front of you now as Jihyo and your friends looked on, partly in awe and partly shocked; they didn’t know that CX100 - Irene - could be capable of real feelings. -

At the end of the day, most everything was relatively calm. You had taken Irene back home after an afternoon of tears and explanation. The whole team was called down for a play-by-play on what had transpired, and though they had a lot of questions that couldn’t really be answered at the moment, they had all accepted this phenomenon as a positive one. However, they would still definitely have to keep it under wraps for the time being, after all, it was quite the anomaly. After it was all over, the rest of the night was spent trying to get Irene comfortable again. 

You think that she realized you had no intention of hurting you, because who would go to the lengths you had if you weren’t concerned with her well-being? Walter was all over her, too, as he was very glad his other companion was back home again. It was going to be a long road for sure, but it would be worth it.