#it felt like a memory where the details are a little blurred and softened

[ocdhuacheng]

okay when i say the animation in this episode looked weird i dont mean it was a bad thing, i think honestly the kind of simplistic drawing in this episode felt super soft and i kind of dig it actually? like maybe in other episodes it would look strange but in the context of this episode, where they are living out tome��s childhood dream, the “childish” animation fit perfectly. it looked like childrens drawings to me sometimes, and it evoked a very nostalgic feeling for me, and considering this episode is kind of a mini coming-of-age episode for them all, tome especially, i think it was likely a conscious decision on the directors/animators’ part to do this

[eddiediazbuck]

Home - Eddie Diaz

Eddie Diaz x reader

I slammed the door behind me, my hands trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration. Tears blurred my vision as I fumbled with my keys, trying to steady my breath. Brandon's voice echoed in my head, his harsh words cutting deeper than any physical wound. This wasn't how it was supposed to be; we were supposed to have a future together. But now, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of betrayal and loss.

I managed to start the car, my mind racing with thoughts of where to go. I couldn't go to Buck's place—my brother, Evan Buckley, had enough on his plate without me adding to it. Plus, I couldn't bear the thought of him seeing me like this, so broken and vulnerable. There was only one other person I could think of, despite our recent argument: Eddie Diaz.

My hands were still shaking as I drove through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, and I could barely focus on the road. Eddie and I had fought a few days ago, and we hadn't spoken since. I knew showing up at his door might not go over well, but I didn't have any other options. Eddie had always been there for me, and despite our fight, I hoped he wouldn't turn me away.

When I pulled up to Eddie's house, I hesitated for a moment, staring at the front door. Memories of our argument flashed through my mind, and I almost turned back. But then I remembered the look on Brandon's face, the way he had dismissed me, and my resolve hardened. I needed someone, and Eddie was the only one I trusted right now.

I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool night air did little to calm my nerves as I waited, each second feeling like an eternity. Finally, the door opened, and Eddie stood there, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept well in days, a stark contrast to the steady, calm demeanor I knew so well. I realized I must look a mess—my tear-streaked face and disheveled hair a testament to the emotional storm I had just weathered.

"Y/N?" he said, his voice softening as he took in my appearance.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "I'm sorry, Eddie," I choked out, the words catching in my throat. "I had nowhere else to go."

Without a word, Eddie stepped aside, a silent invitation that spoke volumes. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the dam broke, and I collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Eddie held me tightly, his strong arms providing the comfort I so desperately needed.

"Come here," he whispered, his voice soothing and gentle. "It's okay. You're safe now."

Eddie led me to the living room, his hand never leaving mine. The familiar warmth of his home enveloped me, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside my head. He guided me to the couch, sitting me down gently before heading to the kitchen. I heard the soft clink of a glass and the rush of water from the tap. Moments later, he returned with a glass of water, pressing it into my hands.

"Drink," he said softly. "It'll help."

I took a sip, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat. Eddie sat down beside me, his presence a steadying force. He didn't press me for details, didn't demand an explanation. He just sat there, his hand resting on my back, rubbing gentle circles as I tried to pull myself together.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered, staring at the floor. The reality of the situation weighed heavily on me, and I felt utterly lost.

"We'll figure it out," Eddie said firmly. 

--- --- ---- --- 

After what felt like hours, my tears finally subsided, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. Eddie handed me a tissue, and I wiped my face, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the table lamp casting gentle shadows on the walls. I glanced around, trying to ground myself in the familiar surroundings of Eddie's living room.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to apologize," Eddie replied, his eyes filled with concern. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

I hesitated, the memories of my argument with Brandon still raw and painful. But looking into Eddie's eyes, I saw nothing but genuine concern and understanding. Taking a deep breath, I began to recount the events of the evening, my voice trembling as I relived the harsh words and the final, crushing blow that had sent me running.

Eddie listened quietly, his expression growing more serious with each passing moment. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer hollow reassurances or try to solve the problem immediately. He simply listened, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions.

When I finished, he sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. You don't deserve any of that," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

"I just... I don't know what to do," I admitted, feeling the weight of my situation pressing down on me. The reality of having no place to call home, of being untethered and adrift, was suffocating.

Eddie took my hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "You can stay here as long as you need to. We'll figure this out together. You're not alone in this."

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me, but there was also a lingering doubt. "I don't want to be a burden, Eddie. You've already done so much."

"You're not a burden," he said firmly. "You're my friend, and I care about you. We'll get through this."

Eddie showed me to the guest room, a cozy space with soft blue walls and a neatly made bed. It was clear he had taken care to make it welcoming, and I felt a pang of emotion at his thoughtfulness.

"Get some rest," he said, standing in the doorway. "We'll talk more in the morning."

"Thank you, Eddie," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "For everything."

He gave me a gentle smile. "Anytime, Y/N. Goodnight."

As he closed the door, I felt a sense of calm begin to settle over me. I changed into the pajamas Eddie had laid out, and slipped under the covers. The bed was warm and comfortable, and despite everything, I felt a sense of security here. It wasn't long before exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

--- --- --- --- 

I woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. For a moment, I forgot where I was, but then the memories of the previous night came flooding back. I took a deep breath and got out of bed, determined to face the day.

In the kitchen, Eddie was making breakfast. He looked up and smiled when he saw me. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I expected," I admitted, taking a seat at the table. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome," he said, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me. "I thought we could eat and then maybe talk about what's next."

I nodded, grateful for his calm, practical approach. As we ate, the conversation flowed easily, and I felt some of the tension begin to ease. Eddie had a way of making things seem less daunting, and for the first time in days, I felt a glimmer of hope.

After breakfast, we moved to the living room. Eddie handed me a cup of coffee and sat down beside me, his expression serious but kind.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked gently.

I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "I need to find a new place to live, and probably a new job. I can't go back to the apartment I shared with Brandon, and I don't want to stay with Buck. He'd worry too much."

Eddie nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "I understand. But you don't have to rush into anything. Take some time to figure things out. You can stay here as long as you need to."

His words were a lifeline, and I clung to them gratefully. "Thank you, Eddie. I don't know what I would have done without you."

He smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that made my heart feel lighter.

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

Over the next few days, I settled into a routine at Eddie's house. He continued to go to work at the fire station, and I spent my days looking for apartments and updating my resume. It was a slow process, but having a safe place to stay made all the difference.

Eddie and I fell into an easy rhythm, our earlier argument forgotten in the face of more pressing concerns. In the evenings, we cooked dinner together and talked about our days. The familiarity and comfort of these moments began to heal the wounds of the past.

One evening, as I was sitting on the couch, Christopher came up to me, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Y/N, can we make dinner for Dad tonight?" he asked.

I smiled, touched by his eagerness. "Of course, Christopher. What do you want to make?"

Christopher's eyes lit up. "Dad loves spaghetti and meatballs! Can we make that?"

"Absolutely," I replied, standing up. "Let's get started."

We headed to the kitchen, and I began gathering the ingredients. Christopher followed closely, his excitement palpable. I handed him a small apron, which he eagerly put on, and together we started the prep work.

"Okay, Christopher," I said, setting a cutting board in front of him. "You can help me with the garlic. We need to peel it first."

Christopher nodded, his hands steady and sure as he worked on the garlic cloves. I was impressed by his determination and focus. Despite his cerebral palsy, Christopher had an incredible spirit and a willingness to try new things.

As we worked, I showed him how to mix the ground beef with the breadcrumbs, egg, and seasonings for the meatballs. He watched intently, mimicking my movements with a concentration that was both endearing and impressive.

"Now, we roll the mixture into balls like this," I explained, demonstrating the motion. "Can you try?"

Christopher nodded, carefully rolling a meatball and placing it on the tray. "Like this?"

"Exactly like that," I praised, giving him an encouraging smile. "You're doing great."

With the meatballs ready, we moved on to the sauce. I let Christopher stir the pot, his face glowing with pride as he watched the ingredients blend together. His joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling just as widely.

As we finished preparing the meal, the kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of tomato sauce and garlic. Christopher and I set the table, placing a small vase of flowers in the center as a finishing touch.

When Eddie walked in the door, he was greeted by the sight of his son and me standing proudly in the kitchen, our faces flushed with accomplishment.

"Wow, what's going on here?" Eddie asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement and curiosity.

"We made dinner for you, Dad!" Christopher exclaimed, rushing over to hug him.

Eddie looked at me, his eyes softening with gratitude. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"It was all Christopher's idea," I replied, giving the boy a wink. "He wanted to surprise you."

Eddie ruffled Christopher's hair affectionately. "Well, I am definitely surprised. And it smells amazing. Let's eat!"

After dinner, once Christopher was tucked into bed, Eddie and I found ourselves on the porch again, sipping tea and watching the stars. The silence between us was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding.

"Thank you for tonight," Eddie said, breaking the silence. "Christopher had a great time, and the dinner was amazing."

"It was my pleasure," I replied, smiling. "Christopher is a wonderful kid. He's so determined and full of life."

Eddie nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of pride and love. "He's my everything. And you've been so good with him. It means a lot to me."

"I care about both of you," I admitted, feeling my heart swell with emotion. "Being here, spending time with you and Christopher... it feels right."

Eddie reached out, taking my hand in his. The gesture was simple, yet it spoke volumes. "It feels right to me too," he said softly. "I'm glad you're here, Y/N."

--- --- --- --- 

As the days passed, Christopher's fondness for Y/N only seemed to grow deeper. He looked forward to their cooking sessions with an eagerness that warmed Eddie's heart. But beneath his cheerful demeanor, Eddie sensed a growing unease in his son.

One evening, as they sat down for dinner, Christopher seemed unusually quiet. He picked at his food, his usual enthusiasm replaced by a somber expression.

"Is everything okay, buddy?" Eddie asked, concern lacing his voice.

Christopher hesitated, glancing at Y/N before turning back to his plate. "I... I heard you and Y/N talking earlier," he admitted quietly.

Eddie exchanged a glance with Y/N, feeling a pang of guilt for discussing their plans in front of Christopher. "We were just talking about some things, Chris. Nothing to worry about."

But Christopher shook his head, his eyes welling up with tears. "I don't want Y/N to leave," he confessed, his voice trembling. "I don't want things to go back to how they were before."

Eddie's heart broke at his son's words. He reached out, pulling Christopher into a tight hug. "Oh, buddy. I know it's scary to think about Y/N leaving, but we'll figure things out together, okay? We'll make sure she's okay."

Christopher nodded, but Eddie could see the fear and uncertainty lingering in his eyes. He glanced at Y/N, silently pleading for her understanding.

After dinner, once Christopher had been tucked into bed, Eddie and Y/N found themselves on the porch again, the air heavy with the weight of Christopher's worries.

"I'm sorry he overheard our conversation," Eddie said, his voice heavy with guilt. "I didn't want him to worry."

"It's okay," Y/N replied softly, her eyes filled with empathy.

Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't want him to feel like he's losing someone else, you know? He's been through so much already."

Y/N reached out, placing a comforting hand on Eddie's arm. "He won't lose me, Eddie. I promise. Even if I have to leave, I'll always be here for him. For both of you."

Eddie looked at her, his heart overflowing with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N. That means more to me than you'll ever know."

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

As Eddie sat on the porch with Y/N, her reassuring words echoed in his mind. He knew she meant them—that she would always be there for him and Christopher, no matter what. And in that moment, a realization dawned on him.

"Y/N," Eddie began, turning to face her, his expression earnest. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. About always being here for Christopher and me."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with curiosity and warmth. "Yes?"

"I don't want you to leave," Eddie admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want Christopher to feel like he's losing someone else. And I... I don't want to lose you either."

Y/N's hand tightened on his arm, her gaze unwavering. "Eddie..."

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Y/N, will you move in with us? With me and Christopher? I want you to be a part of our family, officially."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Eddie held his breath, waiting for Y/N's response, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her hand moving to cover her mouth. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she nodded, unable to find her voice.

Eddie's heart swelled with relief and joy. He reached out, taking her hand in his, the warmth of her touch grounding him in the moment.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with love. "Thank you. Thank you for saying yes."

Y/N threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Of course, Eddie. I love you both so much. I want to be with you, always."

In that moment, as they held each other close, Eddie knew that their family was complete. With Y/N by his side, he felt like they could face anything that life threw their way. And as they watched the stars twinkle in the night sky, he felt a sense of peace settle over him—a certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would overcome them together, as a family.

[dicethrow]

(imperitvs) Osian threw back the entrance to Finn's tent like he owned the place. His movements were almost dramatised, forceful. He let it close behind him as he entered with a sigh, hands on his hips. The ties of his shirt were undone, leaving a generous amount of chest skin on show - something Osian would never usually do. He tutted, shaking his head slightly at Finn before helping himself to a seat behind the human.

"I heard it was a rough day of it. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help..." He ran his hands up Finn's arms and up to his shoulders, squeezing hard as he rubbed and massaged. "My visit to Rivington took more time than I expected." The hands moved closer to his neck, thumbs dragging up where the spine meets the skull. He seemed to shudder as he did it, his grip getting almost too tight...as if he was fighting back the urge to squeeze. The way he pressed against the other was dominating - eager. "Though, while I was away, I had a thought..." Osian leaned in close to Finn's ear, whispering and allowing his lip to occasionally brush against his skin. Hands squeezing all the more. His skin paler than usual...blotchy in places.

"Do you think Daddy would approve?"

Finn had his head buried in his journal, the one he guarded fiercely—his private sanctuary where he jotted down thoughts, memories, and the occasional doodle from their adventures. At that moment, he was furiously detailing his disgust at the Bhaalists they had recently encountered, the ones who had mercilessly slaughtered an innocent man in their god’s name.

Naturally, the closed-minded, fear-addled locals had blamed the refugees. Of course. Why on earth would they believe it was the work of a cult worshiping death, when it was so much easier to pin it on those who had already lost everything? Idiots, Finn thought with a surge of anger, his brow furrowing as he scrawled the unpleasant truth into his journal. Bastards, he added for good measure, feeling the heat in his chest flare up.

Finn described how Gale was busy with his endless curiosity, insisting on being part of the investigation as they explored the cave beneath the Open Hand Temple. Finn wrote down in detail the bloody state of the cave. And then there were the shapeshifters—those uneasy, unnerving folk who could change their appearance at will. Finn hated the thought. Anyone could be one of them, lurking, hiding in plain sight with a smile and a lie. He had no tolerance for that kind of deception. We’d be fucked if one of them slips through, he mused darkly, scribbling the worry into his journal.

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of his tent’s entrance, the rush of fabric pulling him back from the spiral of his mind. Finn didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Osian’s presence was unmistakable—the familiar warmth, the scent of nature and electricity that seemed to cling to the elf. He felt Osian slip in behind him, his silent steps comforting rather than startling.

Without a word, Finn lowered the journal and leaned back into Osian’s chest, surrendering to the embrace, feeling the elf’s hands on him. It was easy now, these moments. Private, stolen, but growing in frequency—each one carrying more weight, more unspoken depth. Finn closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the warmth of the touch, something he had once hesitated to enjoy but now found he craved more than he was willing to admit.

The fingers pressing into his skin, the soft breath against his ear—it was becoming more familiar, more natural. He took these moments as they came, the boundaries blurring just a little more each time, pushing the limits of their agreement. But neither of them complained.

Finn’s expression soften, even as he stayed pressed against Osian’s chest. "Mention my Da again while you feel me up like this, and I’ll toss this journal at your head," he grumbled, though the edge in his voice was softened by the contented sigh that followed. "Make me forget about him for a while, forget about all of this shit."

[timelessxmemories]

[ The Sins We Carry ;; Professor Hojo — WIP ]

Note: this is a major WIP that will probably never be finished. It might be finished later on but the likeliness of such is insanely slim.

Silently staring in the mirror, met with silence, his arms hang by his sides, his glasses on the nightstand, the light dim, a sigh escapes his chapped lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes momentarily, reaching out to grab his glasses and placing them upon his face before tying his hair back in it’s usual style – the low ponytail.

With narrowed eyes, he fixes the tie around his neck, moving towards his closet and grabbing his coat, shrugging it on over his shoulders, turning back towards the door, but before he leaves, an old dusty photo sits on his dresser, nearby sat his wedding ring, he raises a brow, his footsteps light as he walks towards it, picking it up in his hands and blowing off the dust, his expression softens, a frown forms on his lips as he stares down at it with a solemn and sad expression.

An old photo of his little girl – Lock – asleep in his late wife’s – Starlight’s – arms, Behind the two of them is his past self, early 30s, late 20s maybe, he doesn’t know, but he remembers exactly when this photo was taken and where, he remembers every last detail of this photo. Carefully, he places the photo back down upon his dresser and takes the wedding ring, with a sad smile, he places it on his ring finger, staring down at it fondly, taking a deep breath, he speaks in the midst of his quiet, lonely room to nobody in particular.

“I love you, Star..”

Keeping the ring on his finger, he leaves the room quietly, shutting the light off and heading down the stairs, grabbing his keys and briefcase, he slips on his dress shoes and shrugs on his white lab coat, clipping his name-tag upon his right chest pocket attached to his lab coat. Keys in hand, he heads out the door, glancing down at the wedding ring upon his finger with a subtle smile before sighing and shutting the door behind him, locking the door as he places his keys back in his pocket, finally heading out for work after what felt like too long of a morning.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, the same old routine, the same old experiments and the same old people in the same old lab. It’s the same as every other day, tiresome, boring, and always the same. Deep down, he longs for a change, he has his regrets, and yet, he doesn’t acknowledge them, or rather, he’s afraid to acknowledge them. Deep down in that stone-cold heart of his, he feels a sense of remorse, a sense of guilt and regret.

He feels a parental protectiveness when his daughter is hurt, whether it be physically, or emotionally, he still feels that parental instinct deep down. He feels a deep sense of love and compassion but he refuses to let it surface, he insists on putting on a cold and calculated front and shoving his true feelings way down instead of revealing them how one should.

He's not used to this new and unfamiliar feeling, but he brushes it off and continues on with his day, viewing his monitors in front of him, watching the security cameras within the lab, keeping a close eye on the subjects within the chambers, reaching out and messing around with a few select controls on the systems, adjusting the settings.

He lets out a long and tired sigh, sitting up and taking his coat off and hanging it up on the coat rack within his office, rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt up, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose in a stressed and exhausted manner. He lets his shoulders slump in his chair, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes, resting them briefly before opening them back up, sitting up and stretching his back, causing it to pop as he sighs.

He feels a warm hand rest on his shoulder as he closes his eyes, blinking away the exhaustion from the day, turning his head to see a face that he had seen many times before, only now, she was bound to his memories, forever gone. Her green eyes had once been alive with energy, laughter, and joy, but now they carry a deep sadness, like a weight bearing down on her. She squeezes his shoulder slightly as she gives a small smile, though the sadness is still palpable.

A fond smile crosses his features as he reaches back to place his hand upon hers, only for her to fade away as quickly as she appeared.. the warm feeling still lingers where she once stood, like a haunting reminder of what he has lost and will never have again. His gaze softens as he stares off into the empty room. He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh, shutting his eyes as he tries desperately not to think of it all, to bury the pain of it all away where he can forget.

He reaches out again, his fingers trembling slightly as the empty space reminds him of her. Her hand no longer there, her love no longer there. He is alone.

He lets out another sigh, his mind starting to wander, his thoughts turning towards regrets and mistakes of the past. He shakes his head, trying to move past it all, but he finds it difficult. He still harbors that same parental instinct towards his daughter, still feels that same need to protect her, but he feels a sense of guilt now, a sense of guilt that he has never experienced before, and it weighs heavy on his mind.

He walks to the coat rack, taking off his lab coat and hanging it up just as he’d done before, looking at the photo of himself and his daughter as he does so. He pauses for a beat, staring at it before shaking his head and sighing, taking down the photo and putting it away, not wanting to keep reliving that pain over and over again. He turns back towards the door, ready to leave, to move on with his day, but something stops him.

[talkfastromance4]

Temporary--Luke&Lily series

a/n: so sorry it’s taken me a month to complete this. It’s a heavy topic with a lot of emotions and I was feeling what my characters were feeling. This is very detail oriented, some medical jargon (I did my best research and some of it was from watching Grey’s Anatomy which I know isn’t realistic but I tried)

warnings: NICU mentions throughout, premature birth, C-section, sadness, moments of grief and loneliness, some sexual content. **Please read very carefully, this is a sensitive topic**

word count: 9.7k

Masterlist

Luke&Lily Masterlist

Magical Memoriess&Misfortunes (<-- catch up here)

feedback is always welcome, I hope you enjoy it.

****

It’s like you’re in a horrible dream. You’re frozen in terror at the multiple bodies moving above you, their voices warped but all you feel is immense pain and fright. You search for Luke through your blurred and clouded vision. The lights are too bright. It hurts your eyes.

You think you hear your name through the thick cotton cloud that has somehow gotten in your ear. Why can’t you hear properly? Where’s Luke? How did you get on this moving bed?

Another white-hot-blazing pain slices through you. You think you scream. Hands are on you and then it goes black…

…When you wake up, you’re still in this horrible nightmare that won’t seem to end. Usually when the terrible things keep happening, you wake up in a cold sweat.

“…. lovie…”

Your head lolls to the side and you see Luke’s eyes peeking out above a blue mask and a blue cap. It still feels like you’re stuck in a cloud and you feel a tug below you. Before you can look down, Luke cups your cheek and shakes his head.

You don’t know what he means but tears start rolling down your cheeks and then you close your eyes again. Why can’t you wake up? You just want to wake up, get out of this night terror…

…Coming to again and you hear more voices and commotion. You hear the urgency. Their words meet your ears, but the meaning doesn’t register with your brain. What is happening? Luke still has a firm grip on your face, but you look beyond him and see a group of people in blue gathered around a small thing. Their hands work quickly. You wish your tears would make what’s happening clearer.

“He’s breathing! It’s very labored!”

“Intubate him. Page Dr. Chambers.”

“Move people!”

He? Who’s he?

You look to Luke and he’s smiling through his own tears, his forehead pressed to yours.

Just as you’re about to connect the very blurry dots, more pain ensues. This is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your life. It’s all over your body and it’s in your chest, collapsing onto you.

More voices.

More urgency.

More terror.

More questions.

Then, you drift off once more, the pain ceasing with each gasped breath.

**

Soft, methodical beeps drift you awake. You’re not on that strange cloud anymore but your body feels heavy, weighted. You search your brain for where you are, the sheets are crisp and your feet are cold. Disney World swims by and you’re confused because you remember waking up after you fainted.

Was that real?

Or is this real?

Then it hits you, like the snap of a rubber band breaking all the distorted memories and voices and hands all come back. The pain. The tug. He…

You gasp and flash your eyes open. You’re met with a white ceiling and wires and tubes suspended above you. There’s commotion to your left then Luke’s face is in your vision. His eyes are red with dark circles underneath them; his hair is a disarray as if he’s been pulling his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Oh, thank God, Y/N I was so worried. They told me you’d be asleep for a while because you lost so much blood…so much blood…but you’re okay now. You’re awake. I’m right here, lovie, I’m right here,” he rushes out in a frantic whisper.

He touches your forehead carefully and he’s so warm. You’re still trying to string everything together but there’s so many gaps in time. You’re pinpointing things by the different types of pain you experienced.

“What…what happened?” you croak then try to swallow. But your mouth and throat are so dry it’s like trying to swallow sand. It hurts.

When will the pain stop?

Luke’s eyes soften, he continues to stroke your forehead and into your hair. He licks his chapped lips then shakes his head.

“I…”

“Did I lose the baby?” you whisper, voice sounding like broken glass. Tears well up in your eyes again.

“No, no, no…shhh, shhh,” he soothes wiping at your tears with his other hand.

“They don’t…” he takes a deep shuddering breath, “you had a C-section. He’s in the NICU being monitored, I only got a small glimpse of him before they took him away. He’s so small and I don’t know what’s happening, no one has come by and I’ve been worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

And then you’re comforting him by pulling his head to yours, he sobs into you and you pet his hair. Your voice is lost, you feel the sudden loss of your baby not in you anymore, your heart is very fragile and seeing Luke like this terrifies you.

But Luke also said ‘he’ and a small smile appears on your lips. You have a son.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, baby,” he whispers. You feel his hot tears soak through the gown on your shoulder.

“Can you call for a nurse?” you ask kissing his hair delicately. At least, you hope you do because your lips are also very chapped and dry. You need some damn water.

“What hurts?” his head snaps up and you see why his eyes are so red; from his tears.

You swallow and swipe at his own tears.

“We need damn information about our son, and I need some damn water,” your voice shakes with ferocity. Luke punches the call button repeatedly until a nurse runs in.

**

After hydrating yourself with water, Luke took your hand keeping his gaze on you as you demanded the nurse to get your doctor, or your son’s doctor, to come and give you information. You’re never normally one to yell at someone, but your memories have so many holes in them you need to know what’s happened.

The nurse tries to console you but you’re hell bent on finding out about your son. Your son you haven’t even seen yet.

“I will walk there if I have to,” you threaten through gritted teeth. The more frustrated you become the more prominent the throb and ache below your waist also becomes.

“I will go find your doctor right away, ma’am,” the nurse nods frantically and runs from the room. You glare in his wake.

Luke squeezes your hand; you look at him.

“I love you,” he says simply but you hear way more than that.

I’m scared, too. I don’t know what to do either. We’re in this together. I’m never letting go.

Shortly after, a doctor walks in the room, her expression timid and she’s scrolling on her iPad.

“Mrs. Hemmings, how are you feeling? Any pain we can help with? I’m Dr. Wilson and I administered the C-section.”

“I’m fine. Take me to my son and let me know what’s happening,” you demand.

“Mrs. Hemmings, with your son being born at only 25 weeks the next 24 hours is very critical. We are monitoring him as we speak, I have my best staff on his watch,” Dr. Wilson explains, her voice cool and collected.

“What happened?”

Dr. Wilson steps closer to your side of the bed, her round face and almond-shaped eyes show both kindness and fire in them. You’re still on the fence on how to feel about her because she didn’t tell Luke anything.

“Part of your placenta was twisted, and it caused you to go into early labor which also caused stress on your baby. Thankfully, you got here in time and we were able to get him out before it became worse. His breathing was labored and with him being so small and born extremely early, his organs haven’t fully developed yet.”

“Why are the next 24 hours critical?” Luke asks, his hold on your hand is like a death grip.

“Because he’s still so small, his lungs aren’t at the correct size they should be. Lack of oxygen can cause severe brain damage or heart failure. We have an ET, endotracheal tube in his mouth which is hooked to a ventilator to help him breathe. An IV is also administering the nutrition he needs, we’re monitoring his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and he’s being kept in an incubator that helps simulate the inside of the womb.”

You take in all the information, your heart longing for your baby boy that you have no idea what he looks like.

“What’s the survival rate for a baby born at 25 weeks?” your voice cracks. Luke shifts closer to you, his other hand covering yours.

Dr. Wilson glances between you and Luke before answering solemnly, “Between 67 to 76% survival.”

Luke lets out a choked gasp and you shift your eyes to the ceiling to keep the burning tears from falling.

“I can promise you Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings, that we are doing everything in our power to make sure he makes it through the next 24 hours. He’s a strong little guy.”

“Is there any way we can see him?” Luke’s voice wavers and is thick with emotion.

“Infection is very prominent right now; any outside contact can make him head in a worse direction.”

“Please,” you beg in a whisper meeting Dr. Wilson’s eyes. You notice that they’re brown. “I need to see him. I don’t want him to be alone if he…if he…”

You bite your lip and shake your head; you’re too overcome with emotions to finish a sentence you don’t even want to think about.

“Mrs. Hemmings, I can’t risk your stitches tearing. You’ve lost a lot of blood; your blood pressure is extremely high due to the stress of early labor.”

“I don’t care! Please, let me see him. I need to see what my baby looks like,” you cry. Luke rubs at your shoulder affectionately saying your name. You can’t look at him now. If you do you’ll lose this fiery courage that’s inside you right now.

“I understand. I’ll see what I can do, but are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“My stomach hurts,” you whisper.

“I’ll have a nurse fix that for you. I will be right back,” Dr. Wilson smiles then leaves the room.

The male nurse you screamed at comes back in and makes quick work with your IV. You’re too distraught to look or even speak to Luke so you keep your eyes fixed on the white board on the opposite wall. The name of your nurse is Tom, and you look at each yellow face on the ‘rate your pain’ scale. You’re fixated on the number zero face, it’s the happiest looking one with a wide-open smile.

That scale is wrong. The pain and fear and worry you’re feeling doesn’t equate a ten. It’s too powerful, it weighs down on you but at the same time you feel nothing. The pain is too much that it’s also gone. Your pain is at a zero, a big circle of nothing and everything all at once.

**

You’re not sure how much time has passed before Dr. Wilson comes back.

“I cannot take you to see him, but I found a way where you can see him,” she smiles then hands you her iPad.

It’s heavy in your hand and you gasp upon the first look of your baby boy. He’s surrounded by blankets under a large light with tubes, wires, and circular patches attached to his tiny, tiny self. You see his small chest moving rapidly with his breaths and you see the tiniest hat on his head. Luke drapes himself next to you, his lips pressing onto your temple.

“There he is,” you whisper touching your finger to the screen. “He looks so helpless…”

“How is he?” Luke asks.

“His oxygen level is still very low, but he’s taking the nutrients very well.”

You’ve already got his features memorized, and yet you can’t stop looking at him. You wish you could touch him, let him know you’re there and that you love him.

“Can we keep this in here?” you ask.

“Of course. I’ll be back with more updates, but I need you to rest and heal yourself, Mrs. Hemmings. Is there any family we need to contact?”

“The girls!” you gasp and turn to Luke.

“Shit,” he exhales then checks the time on his watch. “Lily’s with Cory by now and Posy…shit! I’ll call Ashton and then call Cory…”

He continues to mumble to himself as he searches for his phone. You turn back to the screen, your heart longing for your little boy.

**

Hours have gone by, the room you’re in is darkened from the night sky peeking through the blinds. The iPad is still on your lap and you’ve heard every conversation Luke has had while he made phone calls. Daycare called Ashton when neither you nor Luke picked Posy up and both of your phones went unanswered.

According to Ashton, Luke sent out a text to the band group chat that said ‘at hospital. Emergency get the girls will call’ but he doesn’t even remember sending it. Everything happened so fast and yet it felt like it dragged.

Posy is at your home with Ashton and KayKay who said will stay with her for as long as you two need. Just when you think of Lily, Luke already asks if they’d be all right picking her up from Cory’s on Sunday and they said yes.

“Lily might want to stay with Cory,” you tell him after he hangs up with Ashton. He’s tapping away at his phone, probably texting Calum and Michael or his family. Or all of them. You’re not sure but now you have Lily and Posy on your mind.

“It’s too late to call him,” Luke mutters and falls into the chair beside your bed. He scoots closer and peers at the iPad screen.

“Where’s my phone? I’ll call him so he and Ella can discuss it,” you hold out your hand.

“Lovie, it’s almost ten thirty at night—”

“Give me my phone so I can call him, Luke,” you interrupt a little too harshly. “Please.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before reaching into his other pants pocket. He hands you your phone and you scroll to Cory’s name under your favorites. You stare at your baby boy as the phone rings.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s going on?” Cory asks and you feel your emotions rising to the surface at the sound of his voice.

You force them down.

“Um, me and Luke are at the hospital. Something…” you suck in a large breath but your voice still trembles. “Something went wrong and I had an emergency C-section and the baby is in the NICU. Posy is home with Ashton and KayKay and they said they’d pick up Lily tomorrow but I know she’d probably want to stay with you. And I…I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but Lily needs to know. She’s been seeing everything going on around her and I don’t want her to be scared.”

“Of course, they can both stay with us. I still have Lily’s toddler bed. How are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

You tell him everything. Luke holds your hand as you do, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles and your wedding ring.

“The doctor said he’s all right for now but he has to get through the next 24 hours?” Cory clarifies gently.

“Yes.”

“First of all, congratulations on a little boy,” he says and you can hear his smile through the phone. “You’re doing fine and he is too and he’ll continue to get better because he’s a fighter.”

“How do you know that? He’s so small, Cory….”

“I know it because you’re a fighter, I’m sure you’re giving the nursing staff hell and highwater to get answers,” he chuckles.

“Maybe a little. I feel bad about it.”

“You’re scared and you’re worried and this all happened so fast. But Luke is with you and you’ve got all of us supporting and loving you. You should try and get some sleep and I’ll tell Lily everything in the morning. Do you want me to call you so she can talk to you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Cory.”

“Tell Luke I say hi and that I’m here for you two, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too,” you sigh then the call ends. You turn to Luke, the circles under his eyes seem to have darkened and you reach over to touch the shadows on his cheeks. “He said he’ll keep the girls and will call tomorrow so we can talk to Lily. He says hi.”

Luke nods slowly then laces his fingers with yours. He kisses the tips of your fingers, his eyes closing.

**

You and Luke were sent hourly updates on your son. He’s been in the same condition each time, you try to find positivity in that because he’s not getting worse, but he’s also not in the clear yet. When Cory called again with Lily on the phone, you and Luke tried to make your voices sound positive. She asked a lot of questions and wondered when she could come see her new brother.

“He’s a little sick right now, honey. We need him to get better so we can all be together, okay?” you told her and she was silent for a while.

“When are you and dada gonna come home?”

“Hopefully soon, my love,” Luke tells her.

“What about Piggy?”

“Uncle Cal has her at his house,” you make up then quickly look to Luke who’s already pulling out his phone to text Calum.

You’re being horrible parents, forgetting everything like this but all of it still doesn’t seem real. Probably because you haven’t actually seen or held your son in your own arms. Your stitches are healing nicely but your body still seems to think it’s pregnant and that stirs up even more conflicting emotions.

“Be a good girl for your daddy and Ella, okay my sweet?”

“Okay. Can you give my brother a kiss for me?”

“We will, Lily. We love you so much.”

You and Luke tried to occupy your time by watching tv but you’re only watching the bodies move across the screen. You nod on and off but always jerk awake in case you miss the doctor or nurse coming in. Luke comforts you each time, assuring you that there’s no change and points to the screen where you can see your son.

The circles under his eyes only seem to darken with each passing minute. He helps you walk to the bathroom and back into bed. You try telling him he can go home to shower and get more clothes but he refuses.

“I’m not leaving you or our son until I know he’s okay.”

One of your favorite movies is playing on the tv, it’s a black and white film about a couple who adopts a baby girl. It goes through their funny moments trying to figure it all out but it ends tragically with the little girl getting sick. You drifted off before it came to that part and then you were shaken awake by Luke.

Dr. Wilson enters the room with a big smile on her face. You and Luke take hold of each other’s hands, holding onto each other in desperation.

“He’s in the clear. His oxygen levels have elevated and he has a steady heartbeat. It’s still going to be a while until you’ll be able to take him home, he’s still at risk for a lot of infection and we want to make sure his organs continue to develop correctly,” Dr. Wilson explains.

“He’s okay?” you whisper.

“He is. He’s a little warrior.”

“When…when can we see him?” Luke asks.

“Let me check on your stitches first, and if they look all right I can take you down now, if you’d like.”

“Please, please,” you nod scrambling to move your blankets off you.

**

Luke is wheeling you down the brightly lit hallway in the NICU ward, you see other parents hovering around the incubator their baby is in. You and Luke had to be fitted into the light pink gowns with masks and gloves before you could see your son. You were more than okay wearing the odd things if it meant being able to finally see him.

Luke rolls you in between families until Dr. Wilson stops at the last station near the window. A nurse is standing by writing down something on a chart and then you’re right next to his incubator. First, all you can see is a mountain of swaddled blankets with tubes and wires sticking out from every direction. Then you see slight movement and you lean forward and come face to face with your baby.

Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you stare at him. He looks like he could just barely fit in your palms, you see the quick flutter of his heart through his thin chest that has wired tape. You press your hands to the reinforced plastic, the warmth from the light radiates through the gloves.

“Hi, my baby boy, I’m your mama,” you whisper and you’re aching to touch him. You see the two round openings for hands and you move your hands before looking to Dr. Wilson.

“You can touch him, let him know you’re here,” she encourages.

Very carefully, you insert your arm stretching your finger to his small body. You press against his cheek as lightly as you can, he’s warm and that makes you feel better.

“Hi sweetheart,” you continue to talk to him and you hear Luke sniff behind you. “You’re doing so well. Keep it up so you can get big and strong and we can take you home to your big sisters. Your daddy’s here, too.”

Dr. Wilson moves and Luke takes her place. He puts his arm through the opening and strokes his finger down your son’s arm. Your baby trembles a little then leans into your touches. You can’t help the wet smile from forming, he’s perfect. You rub at his forehead gently.

“We need to name him,” you say looking across globe of your son’s new home.

“I haven’t…do you have a name?”

“One popped in my head just now.”

“What is it?”

“Oliver,” you smile glancing down at him. “I was searching through names online and this one stuck out at me. It has a lot of meanings like peace, wisdom, health, and luck.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Luke smiles. “I know he’s only 24 hours old, but he seems very wise to me, don’t you think?”

“Wise and healthy.”

**

Tension has been high between you and Luke. You were at the hospital for a week and a few days more because you had contracted an infection at your incision site. It’s pretty common for an infection but that meant you couldn’t go visit Oliver. Once your infection was cleared you were discharged to go home.

You and Luke moved around each other like orbits just passing by. When you wake in the morning you move about the room like robots, barely looking at each other until you’re ready to go. Cory, Ashton, and the others stayed with Lily and Posy during the day while the both of you went to the hospital to visit Oliver. You missed Lily and Posy terribly and only saw them when they were fast asleep by the time you got home. 

You’d even forgotten about Posy’s birthday and it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Your hormones are abnormal and your body still feels like it’s pregnant even though you know you’re not. It’s a weird feeling, it’s a sad feeling because you can’t even hold your baby that is no longer inside your stomach. 

To your surprise, Ashton and KayKay had orchestrated Posy’s birthday for you and Luke. 

“We have to put on a happy face for Po,” Luke says softly on the morning of her birthday.

Your bodies are set to an automatic alarm because of the hospital visits. You’re staring at the ceiling then roll over to face Luke who is also facing the ceiling with his hands behind his head. You take in his profile, the sharp angle of his nose, his full beard and the smooth skin of his arms over lean muscles. It’s been so long since you’ve touched each other. 

Does he miss you too?

“I’m trying to,” you whisper and silently beg him to look at you. To kiss you. To hold you. To tell you that everything is going to be all right.

Instead, he sighs then rolls out of bed. You watch the muscles in his back pull and tighten when he puts on a t-shirt and heads into the bathroom. You flick your eyes back to the ceiling, swiping away the tears that fall anyway. You’re only allowing yourself those two tears because you know you won’t stop once you start. 

Luke can’t see you break. Lily and Posy can’t see you break. 

“Ash said he and KayKay will be here at ten to start decorating. I want to make the girls breakfast, hopefully make up for lost time,” Luke announces out of the bathroom. 

“Good idea,” you nod then will yourself out of bed. You force yourself to not touch your belly, but like every morning, you always do. It’s still a little swollen from the pregnancy and the incision, but you know it’s empty. 

Before you grab your satin robe, you glance at Luke who had his eyes fixed on your hands over your belly. He meets your eyes for a moment, looks like he’s about to say something, but he leaves the room. 

You’re tired of feeling broken and empty.

**

The girls were ecstatic waking up to you and Luke. Posy was situated on Luke’s hip as he made her favorite breakfast and Lily filled you in on what’s going on at school and with Roman. She talked until Ashton and KayKay arrived and your heart had sunk all the way to your stomach because of how much you’ve missed in Lily and Posy’s life the last few weeks. 

You helped where you could with the decorations and then you remembered Posy wanted a dinosaur cake but before you could panic, Cory and Ella arrived with the cake. 

You tried to keep on a brave face throughout the party. You helped Posy open her presents, you talked with your friends and family. You couldn’t help the way your eyes gravitated towards Ella who is about 35 weeks along now. 

It’s another reminder that you aren’t pregnant and that your baby is in critical condition. You shake it off because you have to. Your phone sends you updates on Oliver by the hour, and he’s remained stable for the whole day which is improvement. 

“Thank you so much for doing all of this,” you tell Ashton and KayKay as they’re leaving. Aside from Cory and Ella, they’re the last to leave.

“No problem at all,” Ashton smiles pulling you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head. “We’re more than happy to help. We’ll plan another one when our boy Oliver is home.”

“We’re all here for you, love you,” KayKay smiles and wraps you in her arms. 

“We love you, too.”

“Unca Ash bye-bye?” Posy asks next to you. She looks up at Ashton with big puppy eyes, her arms up. 

“Yeah, little one. We need to go to bed, just like you!” he lifts her in his arms and blows raspberry kisses on her cheek. “Did you have fun at your party?”

“Yeah!” she claps her hands. 

“Good! Now, you go to bed like mama says and we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Otay.”

“Love you.”

“Luh you,” she sings and hugs his neck while KayKay takes her hand and kisses her fingers. 

“Let’s go to bed, Pose,” you take her from Ashton then wave one last time as they head out the door. 

“I’ll be outside, babe. My feet are killing me,” Ella tells Cory then she moves to you with Lily’s hand in hers. “We’ll be here bright and early so you can go see how Oliver’s doing.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry we’re--”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s what families do. Try and get some sleep tonight,” Ella touches your arm, her face turns into a frown. “You look exhausted.”

“I’ll try.”

You know you won’t. 

She kisses Posy and gives Lily one more hug then waddles outside to the car. Cory and Luke are cleaning up last call cups and you take your girls to their rooms to do their bedtime routine. You try and keep Posy in your arms as long as you can, hugging her and loving on her. 

She doesn’t even make it halfway through her favorite book, Where the Wild Things Are, and then you take Lily into her room. 

“When can I see my brother?” she asks as you tuck her in. 

“I don’t know yet, sweetheart,” you reply sadly, “he needs to get better first. Dada and I talk about you and Posy all the time to him.”

“You do?” her eyes widen in amazement. “Can I bring him a present?”

“I think he’d like that very much.”

“Mama?” 

“Hm?” you tuck her snuffy and bunny next to her under the covers. 

“I missed you,” she says quietly.

Your heart jolts. You stop fixing up her toys and look down at Lily, your first baby, and she’s playing with the ear of her bunny. The pink bunny she’s had since she first met Luke.

“I miss you, too. I’m so sorry we haven’t been here with you and Posy. Dada and I are going to fix that, okay?” you ask and she nods. You lean down to give her a kiss and a hug, her arms tighten around your neck.

You don’t let go until she does. You shut off her light and close the door, with just a small crack left open. You’re going to talk to Luke, you’ve decided as you head back downstairs. You tried having just one of you go to the hospital while the other stayed home with the girls but neither one of you wanted to be away if Oliver’s health took a turn. 

Just as you’re about to enter the kitchen, you hear your name between Luke and Cory. 

“Y/N’s in bad shape,” Cory says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“This has happened before, where she shuts down and tries to fix it herself but she can’t.”

“I know that, too, considering she’s my wife.” Luke’s voice is clipped, each word sharp as a knife. You’re shocked at it; he and Cory have always been on good terms with each other. 

“Have you tried talking to her about it? Because the way you two were acting tonight was like you didn’t even want to be near each other. She doesn’t need that, not right now when--”

“Look, I know you and Y/N have a close bond. It’s something I’ve tried to understand but I can’t and there’s nothing I can do to change that. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did in the beginning, but I don’t need your advice on how to help my wife.”

What did he mean ‘in the beginning’?

“Yeah? You had no problem taking my help when you broke up with her those three months,” Cory’s voice now has more of an edge to it. 

“I’m surprised you helped in the first place. You think I didn’t notice how you looked at her? We’re handling this on our own.”

“You’re not handling anything! Neither of you are! Yeah, I care about Y/N, that won’t ever change and she’s hurting. Bad. If you won’t do something about it, then I will.”

“The hell you will. I appreciate all you’ve done for my family, but you’re crossing a line.”

“Stop.” 

You whisper the word as you stand in front of them but it catches their attention. Luke’s hands are balled into fists at his sides and Cory’s body is in a similar defense stance. They look to you.

“I am trying, okay? I’m trying to stay strong and hopeful for Oliver. I’m trying to keep on a brave face for Lily and Posy. I’m trying to decipher which feelings I should be feeling or which ones are still phantom pregnancy ones and I don’t even know if those are real. My body has already fallen apart, I don’t need my family to as well.”

“Y/N.”

“I feel horrible that I forgot Posy’s birthday. How could I forget that? My mind is constantly running and I’m so exhausted but I can’t sleep because I’m worrying. Please don’t fight, I can’t handle it.”

“Y/N... what can I do?” Cory asks almost pleadingly. 

Luke scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I think you should go home. I know you mean well, Cory, but you don’t want to keep Ella waiting in the car.”

“I can--”

“Just go, Cory,” you say in a softer tone. You glance to Luke who is pointedly staring at a spot on the wall then look back to Cory. “Luke and I need to talk.”

Cory keeps staring at you as if checking that you really want him to leave. You nod. He sighs. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he steps away from Luke then grabs your hand. “Call if you need anything.” He gives you a squeeze as you nod at his offer. 

The door closes with a soft snap and it’s just you and Luke now, all of your demons joined together. 

“What did you mean when you said, ‘it didn’t bother you like in the beginning’?” 

“I can’t talk about this now,” he shakes his head and shuffles towards the basement door where his music room is.

Good. It’s soundproof and if there will be yelling, it won’t wake the girls. You follow him downstairs.

“We are going to talk about this now. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with you and I don’t know what to do! We don’t talk about Oliver, so let’s talk about you and Cory!” you follow him until he turns around quickly. His eyes ablaze.

“No, let’s talk about you and Cory. You’re only talking to him about Oliver. You called him right after everything happened.”

“Because he had Lily! You called everyone else!”

“None of them are in love with you!”

“WHAT?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

“When we started dating, I had a feeling Cory still loved you. I saw it in the way he looked at you and he’s been looking at you that same way now. You don’t talk to me about Oliver, you talk to him. How do you think that makes me feel? Oliver is our son.”

“I try to talk to you! But you always pull away! He doesn’t love me like you think he does, and the fact you’re bringing this up now, years later, is ridiculous.”

“Right,” he snorts, “it’s ridiculous that the ex of my wife who is the father of her child still loves you.”

“Yes!” you screech and fist your hands in the air in frustration. “Do you even hear yourself? He’s engaged to Ella. He’s having a baby with Ella!”

“Then why do you talk to him about Oliver and not me? Huh?” he advances towards you, towering over you. 

“Because I blame myself every day that this happened and you do, too. You can’t even look at me and I…” you choke on your words; Luke’s hardened expression softens as your words sink in. “I feel like I’m losing you.”

Then you’re gasping for air as the tears you’ve been bottling up come crashing down. Your weird emotions, your worry, your fear, everything you’ve been feeling finally falls out in the open. It crashes between you and Luke like a tidal wave. Your body feels weak and you almost collapse onto the small couch but Luke grabs hold of your waist, his other hand cupping your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me,” he rushes out. “I don’t blame you; I could never blame you. This isn’t your fault; do you hear me?” his eyes have a half-crazed look in them and somehow that grounds you.

“W-why wo-won’t you l-l-look at m-me?” you sob coughing out the words. 

“Oh, baby,” he sighs then awkwardly shifts around until you fall on top of him on the couch. He holds you tight against him. You’re immediate to wrap yourself around him like a pretzel “It’s because I don’t know what to say. I wish I could make this all better, make Oliver healthy, take all your pain away. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now and it kills me to see you like this.”

“I’m a horrible mom,” you cry harshly into his chest. 

Luke pushes you off of him and he’s blurred through your tears. 

“Don’t you ever say that again. You give everything and a million times more in love to our children. I see how hard you’re trying to keep it together, and it kills me.”

“I’m s--”

Luke mashes his lips to yours and you close your eyes. It’s wet and salty, it tastes of heartache and regret and yet his kiss feels like home. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he mumbles. “Stop--” he kisses you again “--just stop--” he kisses you once more with his fingers tangling in your hair. 

You wanted to be closer to him, feel every part of him touch every part of you but you aren’t past the six weeks mark yet. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you, too. Let’s take a warm shower and talk things out.”

After a warm shower of kisses and roaming hands, you snuggled against Luke in your bed and tried to come up with a plan where you could be home and at the hospital equally. And you both decided that as soon as Dr. Wilson gives the okay, you’re going to bring the girls to meet him.

When you’ve talked and finalized plans, you gaze at Luke as his eyes start to close. You stroke the slope of his nose, itching to ask him about the fight he had with Cory earlier. You open your mouth to ask and then close it just as quickly. Luke’s eyes open up and he pulls you against him, his fingers tickle the skin of your back. 

“I know you want to ask, so ask.”

“Why do you think Cory is still in love with me?”

He sighs heavily.

“I don’t. I guess I went back to old thoughts and insecurities.”

“So, you thought he still was at one point?”

“I knew he was because he told me. When we weren’t together those three months, he came by and told me how you and Lily were doing. The way he looked at you...it’s how I look at you. And when he tried to help us tonight…” he closes his eyes and shakes his head in embarrassment. “I was stupid. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling this way for so long,” you caress his bearded cheek.

“I honestly don’t think about it anymore, it just sprung up in my mind tonight,” he sighs. “I appreciate everything Cory’s been doing. I’ll call him tomorrow and apologize.”

“You know how much I love you?” your fingers brush his damp curls from his forehead that you press your lips too. You breathe in his shampoo, his skin soft and his own fingers slip under your shirt to keep caressing your back.

“About as much as I love you.”

He kisses your chin as you kiss his cheek and eventually your lips find each other.

**

It’s been a month and Oliver is still in the hospital. He’s progressing well and getting stronger every day. Posy and Lily were able to come visit him with Michael and Calum in tow. Posy ran to Luke who he picked up and peppered kisses to her cheeks and Lily ran to you with a little gift bag in her hands.

“What’s this?” you ask her as Luke points Oliver out to Posy, Calum, and Michael.

“Unca Mikey said this will help Oliver feel better,” Lily pulls out a small green octopus.

“I read online that it helps them feel comforted if they can’t be held yet,” Michael explains and you give him a smile.

“Can we give it to him mama?” Lily asks setting the bag on the floor.

“I think that’s a great idea,” you kiss her cheek then stand. “Let’s head inside.”

When you’re all gathered around Oliver, Calum lifts Lily in his arms so she can see him from up above and you slip the little octopus inside the round hole. You press it under his arm delicately, his tiny, tiny fingers latch on to one of the tentacles.

“Baby!” Posy points.

“He likes it!” Lily exclaims and Calum grins at her.

“Of course, he does, it’s from you and Po,” Calum says.

“And me,” Michael grumbles stepping a little closer to the incubator. His eyes soften when he looks over his nephew and you can almost sense his sadness.

“Thank you for getting it for him,” you link your arm through his and rest your head against his shoulder. “It was very thoughtful.”

“How long do you think it will be until you can bring him home?” Michael asks watching his tiny chest flutter with each breath.

“Until he’s at a healthy weight and can be taken off the ventilator,” Luke answers.

“Is he going to sleep with me?” Lily asks.

You and Luke share a look. You hadn’t thought about that. Before all of this happened, you still had a lot of time before you got his nursery ready. There is the playroom you could transform into a nursery…

“No, he’ll have his own room, sweets. When he’s home he might cry a lot and wake you up at night.”

“That’s okay. I can help.”

“You’re the best big sister ever, you know that?” Calum looks to her and she smiles sheepishly.

“Would Crystal help us change the playroom into a nursery?” you ask Michael.

“Definitely.”

“I think we should tell them his middle name,” Luke smiles at you.

“What is it?” Calum asks.

“Well, we decided on Michael,” you grin at Michael whose eyes widen. “You jump started us trying for another baby and when we decided on it Oliver sneezed. So, he likes it and it fits him perfectly.”

“Oliver Michael…” Calum tests it out then nods. “Yeah, sounds good to me. If you guys have another one, Calum’s a pretty kick ass name.”

“That means a lot guys, thank you,” Michael shifts his arm so he can pull you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head.

**

A few weeks later, Ella had her beautiful baby girl, Violetta. You wanted to give them some time alone before bringing the girls over to their house to meet her. Lily sat on the couch with Violetta resting on a pillow on her lap and Posy sat next to her, staring at Violetta with curious eyes. It was odd to see the size difference between her and Oliver.

“She’s beautiful,” you tell Ella. She just took a photo of the three girls together.

“Thank you. I can’t believe she’s finally here,” she sighs tiredly then glances to Luke and Cory who are talking outside. “Cory told me what happened after Posy’s birthday.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “he did, did he?”

“I know you two have a special bond, you have a history and Lily…I’m sorry that things escalated like that. How’s Luke?”

“He’s okay now, we talked about it. Ella, I hope you know that I don’t love Cory how I love Luke.”

“Oh, I know! We’re all a big, blended family, sometimes things get messy but I’ve never had a big family before. I adore you and Luke. I’m not upset at all, I understand.”

“Good. We adore you, too,” you smile then gaze at Violetta. You see more of Ella in her than Cory but she also resembles Lily a little.

“Would you like to hold her?” Ella asks gently.

“I’d love to,” you smile then push her back in her seat. “Rest, I bet you’re still sore. Lily, I’m going to hold your new sister now, okay? Why don’t you and Posy go play for a little bit.”

You lift Violetta off of Lily’s lap and the two girls run into Lily’s room. Violetta rests comfortably in the crook of your arm, she sleeps peacefully as you sway from side to side.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you coo. “You are such a pretty little one, aren’t you? Yeah, you get that from your mommy.”

“How’s Oliver doing?”

“Better, they’re talking about taking him off the ventilator soon and see how he does. He’s gaining more weight, not as fast as they want but it’s something,” you smile.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. And you and Luke?”

“We’re…coping. We’re still trying to find the balance between the hospital and home, but now that Lily’s out of school it’s much easier to come and go.”

“If you and Luke ever want to take a long weekend, the girls can stay here.”

“Oh, no, not with Violetta just being born! I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed—”

“I insist. It will give me practice if we have more kids,” Ella smiles.

“We’ll be outnumbered then,” you laugh. “The kid to adult ratio is even now.”

“You’re right,” Ella laughs. “They’re going to rule our world.”

“I don’t mind, they’re pretty awesome,” you shrug and gaze down at Violetta. You hope you’ll be able to hold Oliver like this soon.

**

Luke’s birthday is approaching and he’s told you repeatedly he doesn’t want a big party or anything this year. The only thing he wants is to hopefully bring Oliver home by the end of the month. You were finally able to hold him and have some skin-to-skin contact.

You sat in the rocking chair next to his incubator and the nurse placed him on your chest. His skin is warm and beneath the starchy hospital smell, he had that natural smell all babies have. You couldn’t help but cry after finally holding him after almost three months of just looking at him. His fingers flexed on your chest before you slipped your pinky between them. He held on tightly.

“Hi baby boy,” you whisper kissing the top of his little hat. “Remember me?”

“How does he feel?” Luke asks, his voice thick with emotion.

“He’s that piece I’ve been missing.”

You could sit there for hours just holding him but you know how badly Luke wanted to hold his son so you changed places. He unbuttoned his shirt and the nurse helped you place Oliver on his chest.

“He’s so small,” Luke smiles fondly. “Hi buddy, I’m your daddy. You’re doing so good getting all big and strong. Your mama and I can’t wait to take you home. We’re going to have a big party, but I promise I’ll make everyone keep it quiet.”

“It’s nice to see you holding him,” you sniff and he starts to rock.

“It was nice to see you hold him, too,” he smiles. “We’ll take him home soon. We’re almost there.”

**

On Luke’s birthday, you and the girls surprised him with breakfast in bed and a brand-new record collection he’s been talking about. Michael and Crystal offered to watch the girls while you visited Oliver. You promised you’d be back by dinner time and you secretly arranged Luke’s favorite food to be delivered.

The two of you sat with Oliver and talked about how far he’s come along. He’s at four pounds already and is now in an open crib rather than an incubator. His organs have developed how they should and he’s had no complications. Dr. Chambers wants him to stay until he’s five pounds just to be sure he’s still gaining weight like he should.

The nurse told you you could try and start breast feeding him soon.

With multiple kisses to Oliver, you left him for the night to continue Luke’s birthday at home. Michael told you the girls wanted to bake a cake and he sent you photos and videos of the whole experience. You couldn’t wait to surprise Luke with the meal.

When you got home you noticed Michael’s car was gone and the house was quiet. There was a big balloon on the kitchen table next to the delivery bag of Luke’s favorite restaurant and the cake the girls made along with a note.

“’Our birthday gift to you is two things: a night alone and a new room. Enjoy your birthday! Love Michael and Crystal,’” Luke reads off from a note. He turns to you with a lopsided smile.

“A new room? What does that mean?” you examine the note.

“It better not be some kinky sex room,” Luke mutters and you nudge him in the shoulder. “Let’s go explore.”

He takes you by the hand and you make your way upstairs to the bedrooms. The light of the playroom is on so you turn in there and gasp. It’s been transformed into Oliver’s room. There’s a beautiful white crib filled with small stuffed animals and a dinosaur blanket. His name is above his crib in block letters and there’s a bookshelf with some trinkets and books.

You page through them and see each one was given to you by your friends with a little message written inside for Oliver. You can’t wait to have Oliver in here, safe and warm.

“I have a feeling Michael is going to spoil Oliver.”

“Probably,” you giggle and turn to face him. He’s looking at the other shelf that holds some clothes and blankets.

His shoulders are broad in his simple black shirt, his curls have gotten curlier because he’s let his hair grow out along with his beard. Your stomach flips as a dirty thought of feeling his beard on the inside of your thighs enters your mind. How’d you get so lucky to have this strong, handsome, talented, kind man to be your husband?

“They’re spoiling us too, you know,” you step closer to him tickling your fingers up and down his arm. He looks down at you. “We have the whole house to ourselves birthday man. What do you want to do first?”

“I’d love to do you.”

You’re both careful as you get reacquainted with each other’s bodies. He removes your clothes carefully and you fall onto your bed, arms stretched out for him. You watch him with hungry eyes as he removes his own clothes then climbs over you. Before he can kiss you, you press your palms against his chest and stomach, feeling his heartbeat and warmth of his body.

“I’ll never get over you like this,” you sigh leaning up to kiss his collarbone.

“I’ll never get over you like this,” he repeats and pushes you back. He falls with you, pulling deep kisses from you before leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your body. He makes sure to kiss at the scar from your C-section. “So beautiful. Every inch of you.”

“Have I told you how much I love your beard?” you ask scratching your nails through the soft hair. “It’s very sexy.”

“Yeah? I don’t look like a lumberjack?”

“You’d make a sexy lumberjack. I wouldn’t complain.”

Soft loving words are exchanged along with wandering hands as he works you up. When you finally connect, you sigh and squeeze your nails into his shoulders. His thrusts are shallow and controlled making sure not to hurt you but also wanting to make this reconnection last.

“Feels so good to be in you again,” he mumbles in your neck. You glide your hands down his back and to the globes of his ass, you give a squeeze and try to make him move faster. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” you sigh turning your head and your tongues connect.

It’s gentle and intimate and your orgasm is slow building but when it washes over you, you’re left in a warmth that you’ve been craving. It’s a warmth only Luke can provide, it’s his love and your love coming together.

Afterwards, you heat up the food and eat it in bed along with the cake. Being cheeky, you swipe the frosting on your finger and drag it onto his stomach.

“Who’s gonna clean that up?”

“Mmm, me,” you straddle his thighs, the shirt of his you wear to bed rides up and you press your hands onto his waist. You lean down and lick the frosting up with your tongue, he sighs heavily beneath you as you lick some more.

When he’s finally clean, your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his boxers continuing your kisses to his half hard cock. You swipe your tongue over his shaft, circling it around his tip and he springs to life.

“Lovie…” he groans.

“Shh,” you hush glancing up at him. His chest is heaving as you take him in your mouth. He groans again, his fingers tangling in your hair but letting you move as you see fit.

You love pleasuring him this way and it’s been so long since you have. You bob up and down, your spit dribbling down his shaft. He moans with each pull of your mouth, his hips rising to meet your motions. You feel his thighs clench so you know he’s close.

“Y/N…baby…lovie,” he pulls you off him then drags you up to him. “Wanna make you come again.”

He pushes himself inside you and you let out a loud moan as you sink down onto him. You start to move but Luke grips the sides of your ass and fucks up into you. Your mouth falls open at the pace, his balls slap your ass and your toes start to curl.

You’re chanting ‘yes’ and his name, the words tumbling over one another and you’re coming again. With a small scream you feel Luke pull out as his release is expelled between you. You’re pulsating and his fingers twiddle with your clit so you’re still coming together.

When you’re both finished, your breathing is hard and you giggle when you open your eyes. His cheeks are a little pink and he has this glazed over expression on his face.

“I think we should go clean up, hm?” his fingers tickle your thigh and you tremble at his touch. You nod.

You used a washcloth to clean up leftover frosting and his orgasm. Luke kisses your neck and your shoulders before he moves to the large tub and turns the taps. When the tub is full of bubbles and the jets are on, he holds you in his arms. The records you bought playing softly in the background.

“This reminds me of when we first started dating,” you say playing with his fingers. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

“If I had my way I’d want to do this all the time with you,” he chuckles in your ear before nibbling on the lobe. “But we have other responsibilities.”

“We’ll be able to bring Oliver home soon, right?”

“Of course, we will. This is just temporary until he’s five pounds. You’re going to be able to breastfeed and he’ll gain that one pound so fast.” He kisses your temple next and you sit in silence for a while.

“Did you imagine any of this happening when you met me at the coffee shop?”

“No, but I wouldn’t want my life any other way. You’ve filled my life with so much adventure and love. I never pictured myself with three kids, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them, or you. Did you imagine our life like this?”

“No,” you smile against his arm and kiss it. “But it’s the best. I’m thankful Oliver has come along this far, and Posy is our rambunctious girl and Lily is starting to become her own person now. It’s all happening so fast but with you beside me…I don’t have enough words to describe it. You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re the love of mine,” he collects you in his arms. “We’ll bring our boy home soon.”

**

On August first, you were told you could bring Oliver home. You couldn’t even believe it but when Oliver’s NICU team and Dr. Chambers and Dr. Wilson showed up with balloons and a farewell card you started to cry. You hugged and thanked them all from the bottom of your heart and promised to keep in touch.

Oliver would need frequent doctor visits until he was about three to check his prognosis but you were so happy to bring him home finally. Luke called everyone while you got Oliver settled in his carrier, you made sure to put his octopus next to him. You sat in back with him while Luke drove, you couldn’t stop looking at Oliver. He’s grown so much and he’s healthy and strong.

You notice all of the cars parked along the street and you’re welcomed with your family as you and Luke enter your home. There’s a banner above welcoming Oliver home finally. You appreciated them all keeping their distance and not overcrowding Oliver, but you were happy they were all there to welcome your sone home.

Lily and Posy couldn’t stop looking at him in his carrier while he slept and Posy kept bringing some toys to show him. Everyone stayed for another hour and then you had to feed Oliver. He squirmed and cried because you woke him but you were on a tight feeding schedule so he would stay on track. Lily and Posy watched curiously as you breastfed. Luke watched fondly and then he told the girls their lunch was ready.

All four of you stayed around Oliver until it was time for him to go to bed—then you’d be feeding him in a few hours. Posy and Lily snuggled with you and Luke on the couch as you all watched a movie, their giggles at the animations jokes filled your heart with joy. Luke reached over and took your hand so he could kiss it, mumbling an ‘I love you.’

You were finally a family of five, home and safe.

***

Taglist:  @calpalirwin @myloverboyash @loveroflrh @cxddlyash @princesslrh @spicyca @notinthesameguey @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt​ @sarcastically-defensive17​ @another-lonely-heart​ @devilatmydoor​ @thatscooibaby​ @suchalonelysunflower​ @dead-and-golden​ @mymindwide​ @blackbutterfliescal​ @redrattlers​ @karajaynetoday​ @quasighost​ @i-like-5sos​ @creampiecashton​ @calpops​ @littledrummeraussie​ @sexgodashton​ @f-mu​ @mystic-232

[fuckyeahmoriharu]

In This Corner

In This Corner | MoriHaru | SFW | 2k word count Love can begin in the most unlikely of places but stranger still, it can flourish in a place long forgotten. Now in university Takashi and Haruhi choose to meet where the light doesn't reach, where students never wander, where dust collects and book spines age in shadow. Sweet kisses, honest smiles, and requited feelings thrive in this corner.

Light was sparse in this corner of the grand library, one of few dark corners hidden far between the elegantly arranged shelves of texts and literature. Social couches, well lit tables, and an inviting floral atmosphere with potted plants and flower vines hanging from painted ceilings centered the library where students would normally gather for quiet study. The thick aisles of books mazed throughout the space leaving little welcome within its far shadows.

However, in this dim corner tucked away behind the oldest shelving in philosophy of law, where the nearest window faced a moss covered concrete wall and towering bookshelves walled them into the shadows, was where they found their solace.

Satchels placed against the wall, textbooks and notebooks opened to corresponding pages, and a blanket to soften the dusty carpet, set underneath the one ray of light that snuck past its many obstacles. It was their little corner of peace, of quiet, of earthy cologne and strawberry spritz.

They had claimed this corner for themselves, seeing it as all but abandoned by their university populace. No one cared to stroll though the law section of the library since most of the books shelved here were outdated and no longer required in class, skeletons of education’s past.

It was perfect for them, a quaint space in the universe held only for them, a haven they could step into and step out from the stressful responsibilities of being university students on the brink of graduation and just beginning.

Haruhi absentmindedly bit her bottom lip as she read over the same worded question, trying to make sense of what it asked her. A black compound notebook sprawled across her lap, balancing on her crooked knees, with her pen held in a lazy grip while she tapped it’s end on the paper’s edge.

She felt his weight shift beside her, inching closer to peer over her shoulder. He sat relaxed with one arm perched on a bent knee and the other slung over her shoulders, his long fingers gingerly tracing her goosed skin.

“In case of any misstatement in the prospectus, the persons liable are; promoters, directors, or experts,” Haruhi read out loud, pausing her methodic tapping, “I don’t understand what it’s asking me.”

Takashi leaned a little closer, barely brushing his lips against her ear, not seeing the blush creeping up her neck at the feel of his skin, and mouthed the words as he silently read them.

“What do you not understand?” He asked, his breath carrying remnants of his earlier chai brushing her flushed face.

Haruhi leaned into his closeness, letting her cheek find a curve in his side beneath his tented arm, and sighed, “It feels like a trick question because all the answers are right, yet there’s no option for multiple choice. It’s like I have to choose one of the right answers.”

Takashi nodded, having to agree. The correct answer would be to choose them all but unfortunately there wasn’t the option. He thought whoever wrote out the textbook assignment had forgotten this one crucial detail.

Haruhi gripped her pencil and began to write in the white space between the question and answer options. Her fist blocked his view until she was done and moved her hand away. There in small lettering she wrote; answer not available, all of the above.

Takashi smiled and rubbed her arm approvingly while she bookmarked her notebook before closing it and returning her pencil to the side pocket of her satchel.

“You’re done for the day?” He asked her, raising an eyebrow as he watched her work to pack everything up. His own textbooks lay beside him on the floor, stacked in volume order. He always brought his old textbooks in the rare case she needed to look something up, which has happened four times already. They were bulky, heavy, cumbersome, but he still chose to bring them every time they met to study. The strong kendoist didn’t mind, he’d carry an entire library on his back if it meant to see her again.

Haruhi nodded, her back turned to him while she organized the space in her satchel, “I’m pretty tired after today so I don’t have a lot of brain power to push through the last set of problems. I’ll finish them after a nap.”

Takashi grunted in response, not needing to say more than his acknowledgement. University demanded more than their astute intelligence. For Haruhi to keep her scholarship for Ouran University she’d have to continue her striving efforts to remain at the top of her classes. Although her friends were more than willing to offer their own money toward her education to relieve her of such liability, her commoner pride wouldn’t allow herself to fall back into their debts. She had already learned that lesson once.

“Oh!” Haruhi nearly jumped as she suddenly sat up, remembering a very important detail to their afternoon. She twisted herself around to face her startled boyfriend, for a moment finding his jarred expression humorous. She beamed triumphantly, “I got a question right.”

Takashi relaxed into a soft smile and nodded. She had chosen the right answer, although it hadn’t been listed for her to choose.

She twisted herself around to face Takashi again, her knee brought against the wall as she scooted from her satchel. Takashi didn’t have to move, only to wait for her to still herself, until she was comfortably sitting in front of him.

The dim light in their corner allowed enough for reading their textbooks, nothing more than hazy sunlight filtering between oak and stone. However, as Haruhi sat in front of Takashi, nervously rubbing her knees, her bright chocolate eyes still shone as glimmering pools of honey. Her lengthening hair nicely framed her maturing features, allowing this young maiden who had once been mistaken as a boy to flourish into a beautiful young woman. She sat before him with expecting eyes, watching between his gaze and his lips, her patience beginning to wear thin as her knees ran red beneath her palms.

Takashi allowed a smirk as he bent over, glancing from her pools of honey to her soft lips beginning to purse. He couldn’t deny her just rewards after getting a correct answer. She was driven enough to take her assignments seriously but his minor incentive helped soothe the headache of fussing over strongly worded questions and mathematical equations that eventually blended into blurs. A sweet kiss for every correct question, promptly delivered after she’s finished scribbling in her notebook.

His lips met hers, gently pressing soft skin against the shine of cherry chapstick. A slight shift enough to snare her bottom lip coaxed a humorous moan from her throat.

He pulled back, fixated on her satisfied half-lidded eyes but was stopped short when he felt her fingers tug at his university vest.

“Technically I got three answers correct.” She whispered with a conviction, darting between his stone gray eyes and his parted lips, catching a shimmer of her chapstick where he kissed her.

His smile widened as he considered her suggestion, resisting the urge to laugh at her quickwits. She would make a fine lawyer one day.

He leaned forward and replaced his lips against hers, pressing in his adoration and reverence for his keen girlfriend. She never failed to surprise him with her canny observations, sometimes her remarks even making him uncharastically burst out laughing.

She liked his laugh, as she had said many times before, stating his baritone carried it well.

He placed fleeting kisses as she moved to keep pace, remaining a step ahead amidst her following his rhythm. One kiss, two, three, four, five, losing himself in the familiar high that was Haruhi Fujioka kissing him back until he knew he’d given more than he’d needed to. His hand lifted from its perch on the floor to find her chin, moving his fingers to cradle her blushed cheeks and feeling her smile within his calloused palm, swatting away the modesty tugging at his propriety because frankly he didn’t give a damn.

In this corner of the library, where only flies happened to cross, their privacy was held safe behind dusty bookshelves and unflattering windowed views. Where light seemed scarce compared to the brightly jovial center filled with lively hushed chatter and foliage bringing the beauty of nature indoors. Where students wisely chose to congregate.

In this corner of the library a rare beauty pulsed to life, growing with strength and solidity with every kiss, every smile, every quiet laugh, and every ruffling of hair as they could manage to fit into one evening. A flickering flame; fragile as the single ray of sunshine that caught the golden stars scattered throughout her chocolate eyes yet strong as the Morinozuka’s undying loyalty that forever coursed through their veins.

In this corner of the library, where dust collected under the shadows of long forgotten shelves filled with outdated books, where the skylights and fluorescents barely skimmed this corner so out of reach, where no one cared to walk through for there was nothing for them to find, this was where true love in its purest form grew. Like a spring sapling, roots forged in their days of the host club and grabbing purchase amidst fond memories and secret feelings.

At first they dug their heels into their friendship, unwilling - or too afraid - to dare cross the line that tempted them with every shared strawberry and gracious head pat. However, like every young sapling, the seeds that were planted needed time to grow, to strengthen its foundation before it could bear fruit.

Haruhi pulled away, dragging Takashi on a kiss’s tail, and flattened her palms against his chest. The sun would set soon, what little light they had would fade, and she began to feel the lull of much needed sleep. Kisses always tasted sweeter at the edge of conclusion.

Takashi caught his breath as he slowly retreated, pressing his forehead to hers to keep her close. His fingers lazily traced her face while his hand fell away, releasing her from his intimate hold. A part of him never wanted to let go, to forever keep her safely tucked inside his palms. To have and to hold…

Haruhi folded the blanket while Takashi situated both their satchels on his left shoulders and his pile of heavy textbooks with the crook of his right arm. No matter her protests he insisted on relieving the burden, allowing her to carry the blanket on what she considered an unfair compromise. He had to smile upon seeing her captious glare comparing their differing loads but she chose not to speak on it. At least this time.

Together they left their corner, skirting around study groups hunched over tables and freelance vines nearly touching the floor. Bright skylights and lively whispers, a refreshing ambiance far contrasting where they had spent their last hour. However their tired smiles held no regret, content with returning the next day.

Takashi held the heavy oak door open for Haruhi, keeping it open for a group of young seniors entering the library just as they left; nodding their appreciation as they walked beneath his arched arm. He rejoined Haruhi’s side in the marbled hallway and together headed toward the nearest exit. Takashi’s apartment was closer than Haruhi’s dormitory this way but he insisted on walking her back, arguing her safety was more important than his convenience.

Haruhi checked his hold on the satchels and textbooks, searching for signs of struggle as she normally unconsciously did each time they left together. Takashi knew to treat it as her courtesy. She seemed to forget he’d spent the larger portion of his life in his family dojo.

Haruhi broke the minute silence blanketing their clacking steps, “I’m not very tired anymore.”

Takashi looked down, meeting her gaze and immediately seeing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion in her relaxing features. An arched eyebrow begged the question she knew he’d ask.

Haruhi shrugged, breaking eye contact to check their surroundings, “I’m just saying I don’t need a nap anymore. I guess I just needed to stretch my legs.”

Takashi jostled the satchels further onto his shoulder and allowed a smile to betray his skepticism, unable to hide his relief in their evening far from ending, “Mitsukuni brought back uji tea from his visit in Kyoto. He gave me a bag. It’s at my apartment.”

“At your apartment?” Haruhi didn’t need to ask, already knowing his answer before she finished speaking.

Takashi nodded with an affirming grunt, neither hiding his enthusiasm. He learned to cherish every moment with her when in high school he had to share her among friends and eager suitors alike. As the years passed those suitors slowly fell away at her kind rejections until Takashi was the last one standing among them. Until one day he realized he had gained her undivided attention just as she had stolen his many tears ago.

Haruhi turned to meet stone gray eyes that seeped into oblivion, the deepest shade of requited love, and smiled, “Tea sounds lovely.”

[loveinterestcastiel]

erosion

I wrote some endverse fic based on a @lateral-org post asking a FANTASTIC question:

When/why/how did endverse! cas get rid of the trenchcoat and what was dean's reaction?

Rated M. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. Word Count: 4.1k

tagged some mutuals and people I thought might be interested in this under the cut, if you want tagged in this/future fic or want me to remove your tag dm me!

erosion

Of course, Sam said yes in Detroit. So why dream about that? He lived it every day. The redundancy was irritating at best.

Where the fuck did I leave my boots last night? Cas cursed under his breath and embarked on a thorough search of their cabin, the coarse words warm and familiar on his tongue as he yanked on his socks. I really am starting to sound like Dean.

Dean’s boots were already gone, his gun and thigh holster absent too. He’d left his green jacket behind, tossed carelessly aside last night and hidden under the trenchcoat on the floor at the foot of their bed. He slipped his coat on over his clothes and shoved Dean’s jacket into their pack- he knew he’d want it later, even if it was just for the drive back. He slipped on the worn coat, habit- he’d stopped wasting Grace on its upkeep a while ago, but it was still important. It felt like comfort, in some strange way, so he kept on wearing it despite the worn-through elbows or the stubborn little bloodstained spot on the hem.

He’d dreamed of Detroit, last night, again. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to dreaming, as unsettling and involuntary as it was. It felt like the unfair hijacking of an otherwise enjoyable human bodily function, and he resented it altogether. He snagged a bit of weed from his stash and tucked it in next to his flask, sweeping out the cabin door and into the frigid morning sunshine, giving Chuck a lazy wave as he ambled past his cabin to the truck lot, kicking little pebbles across the packed dirt at imaginary targets with a super-human precision that grated strangely on him today.

“Big run today,” Chuck said with a tentative smile, his hands clasping a chipped mug filled to the brim with his ridiculously indulgent tea, wafting a cascade of steam out over the railing of his cabin porch before dissipating into the air. “Don’t forget the perishables if you can get at them, ok? We’re seriously low on-”

“Toilet paper, milk, cheese, butter,” he interrupted, “plus sugar, flour, canned fruit, hygiene products, toothpaste, toilet paper, coffee, meat if we can get it, .35 and 9mm ammunition, mechanical oil, gasoline, propane, rubbing alcohol, gauze, surgical tape, toilet paper, paracetamol, and oh, toilet paper again!” Cas recited dryly, rolling his eyes. “You gave us a written list yesterday. Twice. Couldn’t fuck up blackout drunk.”

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “Just doing my job, Cas.”

“We’ll do ours,” he called over his shoulder, continuing down the central path briskly. “We’ve all got our part to play.”

What was it Lucifer had said to Dean, that night Zachariah stole him out from under Cas’s nose and threw him into the future? No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter… we will always end up here.

It certainly seemed like he was right. Most days, it seemed like they were all hurtling towards the exact same place Dean had caught a wretched glimpse of, once, with the brakes slashed and emergency failsafes offline, and no indicator that the impossible choices they were making every day were anything but inevitable. He knew that Dean still had nightmares about his ending, but he didn’t know much else about Dean’s nightmares anymore but what little snippets he could garner from what Dean mumbled and cried out in his sleep. He’d lost the ability to dreamwalk a while back. Three nights after the Croatoan virus wiped out Fort Worth and they were forced to fall back, he tried to enter Dean’s sleep to watch his dreams in the dubious refuge of a closed down Motel 6 off of interstate 70 as they ran west, to see if there was some piece of information they’d missed, some new choice they could make one day that could change the path they were on.

It simply hadn’t worked. He mourned the loss of one more skill in the darkness of their room that night as Dean slept uneasily in the bed beside him, one more thing which, in its absence, made him ever more useless to Dean, much like the loss of his ability to time travel, or to smite their enemies with ease. Flight was becoming difficult by the day, and he knew in some part of his mind that his wings would be the next to go, and he would be grounded, permanently, on Earth and not in Heaven.

And so it goes.

Anyway, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice about anything these days. Once Michael had taken Adam, they lost their only trump card. Heaven didn’t need Dean anymore, but Hell desperately needed Sam. It was a shame, it really was, that Sam’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

It was a miracle Lucifer let Dean go. He had brushed him off as a non-threat. Unimportant on a cosmic scale, however important Dean was to the vessel. To Sam. So Dean walked out of that run down building alive, and he was the most beautiful, terrible thing Cas had ever seen. His soul shone brighter than even an archangel’s grace in his rage and trembled with the fierce sharpness of grief, and it was glorious, righteous.

Godly.

Even as Cas’s memories softened and blurred, becoming tinged with a mortal haze, that memory of Dean remained in a sparkling clarity. He could imagine no life, no moldable version of the past, in which he did not choose Dean. From the very first moment his soul had reached back to cling to Cas’s Grace in Hell, Cas had fallen, was falling, would fall, for Dean. It was inevitable, his love. They were inevitable. They fell together in the time after Detroit, into battle, into bed, and into cosmic obscurity. Soon, too soon, their losses began to outnumber their wins, and they had to make more and more certain regrettable sacrifices just to stay alive. Cas was used to collateral damage, far more than Dean was, but whatever the other humans in their ragged camp believed of him, he wasn’t unaffected. Just the opposite, in fact. He had never felt anything before, not for billions of years, an incomprehensible existence of light and intent and obedience and war, and now he felt everything. That- not Dean’s disappointment, or the slow loss of his Grace, or his Father��s unyielding silence- was undoubtedly the worst part of becoming something like human.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days he took precious little blue or white or green pills, all different shapes and sizes and he felt good. Numb, pleased, far away. Quiet. Others, fewer than the days he had his pills, he took shrooms, LSD. Molly, twice. Often he took nothing at all, craving the wicked pain and emptiness it created in him as his sobriety enhanced the ache his dwindling Grace left behind, needing the punishment to feel real before forcing himself into a tumultuous sleep after days spent horribly awake with half a bottle of rotgut sloshing in his stomach. He still liked joints, rolled meticulously, their verdant smoke curling up deliciously in his lungs and setting him up on a lovely little metaphorical cloud the best, and then, they were even more so lovely when he shared them with Dean. There was nothing, nothing like passing it between them, before transitioning into trading hit after hit between their mouths, brushing against his soft lips, breathing his air, watching Dean’s cheeks flush a stunning pink and holding tight to his deep golden hair, dragging him down into slow, languid kisses that desire deepened and turned into a precious sort of holy consumption as the high hit its stride in them both.

He was sober today, mostly, just riding out the last of some gorgeous pink pill from a nearly full bottle he’d just scavenged out a few days before. It made him feel floaty, focused, fearless. He felt almost like he did two years ago, before his reeducation stint in Heaven. Angelic. It was nice. He’d take another, later. Maybe Dean would want to take one, too, and they could fuck high out under the stars on their quilt again like they did last October and feel like the real Gods of this stupid little planet, on top of the world, on top of Dean, cradled in the soft embrace of his thighs, and worship each other.

Take that, brothers. Castiel smiled viciously at the sky. You’ll never fuck God like I have.

Standing impatiently among their motley caravan of vehicles in the sickly yellow light of a midwestern April morning sun, his back to Cas, Dean’s silhouette and the flashing imprint of his soul- the only one Cas could still see clearly- caramelized into a sweet union of tangible and not that pulled at his stomach and swept him into the siren song of Dean’s being and woke up the hungry creature that lived in his heart and craved DeanDeanDeanDean.

No one else was there yet, probably all still dicking around at the camp mess and drinking shitty chicory. His feet fell silently on the earth, leaving behind the sound of the universe and the vibrant humming of Dean’s soul- and oh, he hoped he could always hear that symphony, even when all the rest of his powers had run dry.

Just as he reached out to take Dean by the shoulder and turn him around, Dean moved with a sudden burst of energy, like a coiled snake striking out. He whirled around and met Cas’s eyes, took him by the neck and the waist, and kissed him. His lips moved with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity of the grip of his cold-fingered hands as they worked their way into his hair, wormed their way under his trenchcoat, and touched the bare skin they found where the hem of his t-shirt met his jeans. He met the kiss eagerly, licking teasingly at the seam of his lips, biting down gently and coaxing Dean into opening his mouth. He pushed Dean back until his back hit the nearest rusted army-green truck with a small thudding noise, pressing himself up against Dean and tugging on his hips so they were pressed flush against each other, the contact sending and electric thrill racing up his spine.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out at the sensation of their bodies meeting, the air punched out of his lungs.

“Mmm, morning,” Cas murmured between kisses. “You’re out here early.” Dean’s neck was uncharacteristically bare above the neck of his rough brown sweater, creamy and invitingly unmarked. Cas indulged in the impulse to change that, working his way over the tender skin, sucking and biting until a bruise began to bloom below the junction of Dean’s jaw and neck, worrying it with his teeth until it was a deep reddish-purple.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean whispered, letting his head fall back against the truck window, baring his throat further, and closed his eyes. He seemed almost happy, today. He seemed to light up in the lead-up to their more dangerous missions, and Cas didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” Dean elaborated.

“I appreciate that.” Satisfied with the rather outrageous hickey he’d created on Dean’s neck, Cas pressed it with one last kiss. “How’d you know I was behind you?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together and slowly grinding their hips together lazily, just breathing Dean in.

“Felt you,” Dean said, bringing their lips together again briefly. “Always can.” One more little kiss.

“Dean, last night, when you couldn’t sleep, I dreamed again about Detroit-” Cas started to confess feverishly, almost against his will, Dean stiffening up at his words in his arms, and was interrupted by the sound of people approaching, footsteps, voices, and an earsplitting wolf-whistle directed at their compromising position.

Dean’s face shuttered immediately, and Cas felt every scrap of easy bliss flee his body.

He pulled back with more than a little reluctance, his stomach twisting as a fakely jovial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go, fearless leader. We’ve got a mission to run, don’t you know?”

“Don’t start with that fearless leader shit,” Dean said tightly, rolling his eyes away from Castiel’s face and fixing on a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder. “Who’s driving?”

“Looks like Cas is driving,” Joe called out mischievously.

Risa smacked him in the chest. “Get in the truck, idiot.” She turned her gaze to Dean, an odd glint in her eye. It felt sticky and wrong in his core but Cas stamped the feeling down. “Group brief over the radio on the way?” she asked.

“Yeah, at 8,” Dean said, sliding into his unshakeable militaristic persona with a firm nod. “Should be fairly straightforward in and out supply grab. Intel says the Croats cleared out of Roanoke a couple days ago, left major infrastructure and commerce sites relatively untouched. It’s a good thing too,” he added, “we were getting spread a little thin with most goods.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

———————————————————————

It was not, in fact, easy.

Their intel was wrong, so wrong, and Cas didn’t know how the fuck it happened, but they were fine, they were almost finished, closing up the trucks in the alley behind the supermarket and waiting for Dean and Trish to return from sweeping the perimeter, when out of what seemed like thin air and with no more than a broken shout for warning there were more Croats swarming them than he’d ever seen in one place before, and Joe and Maya and Kris were dead, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

The Croats had the remaining seven pinned down against the main truck, snarling and screeching and reeking of blood and gore, strips of flesh and clothing that once adorned their companions now dangling from their teeth. Their single-minded need for the endless consumption of human flesh and that it was currently being denied drove them to a terrifying frenzy, but the hunters were starting to push back, and the Croat numbers were thinning slowly but surely. Cas thought he saw Allen get bitten, but next he glanced at him he looked fine. He’d need to check on that if they made it out alive. He resigned himself quickly to the idea of killing the man before they got back to Chitaqua- Allen was a nice enough man, quick-witted and skilled with a blade and a loom, but nothing was worth bringing a Croat back to camp. He owed it to the man as a human being to grant him a swift death if he’d been infected before Allen himself could realize it. A shot to the back of the head, unawares, had to be better than a clumsy battle and inevitable stab to the chest (Cas knew he would always have the upper hand against a human, even when he had fallen in full) with fear in his heart.

He buried his angel blade to hilt in yet another Croat’s throat, yanking it out and ducking out of the way of the spray of blood that followed in a well-practiced motion uncanny in its speed. They would win this one.

But still no Dean.

Cas felt a bubbly panic rise up in his chest through the haze of battle as it became clear to him that Dean wasn’t coming back. Even from the other side of the building or from inside, there was no way that Dean had not heard the commotion of such a large fight.

Something was stopping Dean from coming back to him.

“Risa,” he shouted over the din to the woman on his left. “Dean and Trish-”

“I know,” she interjected tersely, hacking the head off of a skeletally thin Croat in a tattered suit. “Retrieval? We’ve got this handled here as long as this all the fucking bastards around.”

“I’m going in,” Cas said quickly, slicing at a particularly bold (stupid) Croat trying to charge him. It crumpled to the ground and twitched once, and was still. Some of its companions fell on the body ravenously, and were subsequently cut down in turn as they began to tear at the corpse. “Leave as soon as you’re able; I’ve got the keys to the main truck. Cover your right,” he warned Risa, and, sensing an opportunity in the parting sea of Croats before him, ran.

He was through the service doors of the building before the Croat hoard could even begin to respond to his escape, and their noises were quickly muffled by the service door as it locked automatically behind him, leaving him in relative quiet.

There were a surprising number of crates and boxes remaining in the storage and unloading zones, either empty or nearly so, and he quickly ascertained the area was, apart from himself, devoid of life or anything of interest to the camp.

Cas.

Dean's sudden prayer hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Aisle... his mental voice trailed off for a second into indistinct sounds, colors, and waves of pain. Aisle seven. It's bad.

Cas shoved through the access door into the freezers, and out into the store with a recklessness he would have been ashamed of had he been so terrified.

He turned down aisle seven and skidded to a halt, frozen at the sight that greeted him, and tried to make sense of the hideously macabre tableau.

Trish's decapitated body lay the furthest from him, her ribcage torn open, her organs spilling over her arms and scattered in pieces over the floor. Three dead Croats, all headshots, around her remains. Then a bloody lake on the cheap linoleum tile, thick and viscous and so, so red, two more dead Croats, clearly more hard-won victories, their arms hacked at, heads partially removed, and nearly blocking the last body from view, wedged up against the shelves and bloody as it was.

"Cas," Dean wheezed, lifting his head laboriously to meet his eyes, blood bubbling up between his lips and staining them. "Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, don't talk like that," Cas said desperately, kneeling beside Dean. He took their pack of his back with shaking hands and shoved his angel blade somewhere inside. "We can fix this. You'll be okay."

"Cas-"

"You will!" he said, too loudly and startling himself.

"My ribs," Dean panted out in pained little gasps. "Broken. There's something in my back." He twitched minutely as if to show Cas the problem and immediately convulsed involuntarily at the pain the movement caused him, a horrible rattling moan in his throat. "My leg. Right one. Broken too." His jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could speak at all through the teeth-grinding pain he was in.

"Okay," Cas said faintly.

Cas...

Oh, he hated feeling. Sometimes he thought it made him useless. He missed being cold. Brutal, uncaring about pain or death. But this was Dean, and he'd never actually been particularly good at being a machine, anyway. "Okay. Dean, I need to see your back," he warned him, before moving him as gently as he could and angling his body so that he could get an unobstructed view of his back.

There was a crude metal stake wedged just an inch to the left of his second and third thoracic vertebrae, rusted, twisted and cruel-looking.

"Dean, I- I have to try to heal you," he said slowly, knowing that Dean wouldn't want him to be wasteful with his Grace. But this was beyond what human field medicine could help.

Dean didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

"Oh no, no, no, baby," he babbled under his breath, trying to figure out the best way to extract the bar of metal. "Hold on," he muttered, grasping the stake firmly and bracing Dean's body against his own, trying to avoid fucking his broken ribs up more.

"Father, please, if you're still here, if you're listening, if you care at all," he begged, "help me."

Of course, his Father didn't answer. Gritting his teeth, Cas yanked out the stake and tossed it aside, immediately covering the wound with his hand. He summoned his Grace together and it responded sluggishly, but his hand was glowing and Dean's back was knitting back together.

As the skin merged into a puckered, raw-looking pink scar, Cas dropped his hand away from the wound and found himself utterly breathless, gasping for air and drained.

Dean was still unconscious.

He leaned Dean back up against the shelving and took a moment to figure out what to do next. Dean was still dying. He was still in danger. He couldn't be moved, nor could they stay put. He quickly opened up their pack and realized in horror that all the medical supplies were with Risa and AJ on the trucks and so, so far away by now.

He yanked his coat off with a twinge of regret. It was bloodied and worn and what he was about to do with it felt like a milestone he was loathe to reach.

He shredded it into long, wide strips, not letting himself think of how it was the last piece of Jimmy Novak, or how he had repaid the man's sacrifice by being party to the end of the world they both wanted to protect, or how Claire Novak had stopped praying to him weeks ago, now. He got on with the job, this is just a job, I can fix this-

He managed to wrap Dean's leg up decently tight, straight and stiff, but he had quickly discovered it was broken in several places. He didn't know what he could do for Dean's ribs, and he felt, as if from a distance, how Dean's breath was coming shallower and shallower, and he made his choice.

He laid his left hand on Dean's broken leg, as gently as he could. Leaning forward, he smoothed the wispy little baby hairs he loved to tease Dean about back, off his sweaty, pained, precious face, and, placing his right hand on Dean's crushed ribs, near his heart, touched their foreheads together. He looked at Dean's soul, his shining, beautiful (fading) soul and knew.

"I love you," Cas whispered, his voice wrecked. With that finally said, he grabbed his exhausted, weary Grace, and though it fought him and slipped through his grasp, he got hold of it and he pushed everything he could, everything he was into his hands, into Dean.

When he had done it, when he had drained himself down to mists and vapors, and had saved Dean, he gathered him in his arms, and carried him back to the truck on numb feet, leaving the scraps of Jimmy's coat behind in aisle seven.

When the truck broke down thirty miles from Chitaqua, and their radio too, he turned to Dean, pulling on a blue-ish jacket they'd picked up earlier during the run. It fit well.

"It's a good look for you," Dean said gruffly, staring at Cas with an expression he could not recognize. There was blood still smeared on his cheekbone, he noted absently.

"Oh. Yes. Well, thank you," Cas answered, adjusting the sleeves.

Dean tugged at the tan fabric strips on his leg, wincing at the pressure.

"You did a good job, Cas. With this fabric splint from your coat-"

"I know you won't be able to walk it," Cas said quietly, unable to meet his eyes even as he interrupted him. "I did what I could, but you'll be weak for days. You need time."

"You can leave me, Cas," Dean said, a strange, pinched guilt-pain-tenderness on his face. "You can come back for me."

"No," Cas said, smiling, and choking, and took Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand with a terrible ache rising in his throat. "I can't."

April 19th, 2012, under the peak of the Lyrids meteor showers, Cas flew for the last time, right up to the gates of the camp.

When they landed, a millisecond and millennia later, his wings burned away into nothingness in a wave of electric, minty-white pain that forced him to the ground. In the aftermath, panting and sweating and shaking in Dean's arms and clutching at his handprint on Dean's shoulder, he realized his Grace, or what was left of it, anyway, had consolidated into a bright little ball in his chest. Like a soul.

The realization was followed by another. Despite his earlier conviction that it would one day be lost to him, he could still see Dean's soul- behind his teeth, in his chest, radiant like a halo around his head, and worth, a million times over, and a million again, falling for.

Tagged:

@heller-jensen @sunforgrace @rambleoncas @adhdeancas @evermorecastiel @holmesemrys @plantdadcas @good-things-do-happen-dean @jeanne-de-valois @autisticandroids @sonder-stars @yana125 @faithcastiel @cascreamtiel @seffersonjtarship @i-sing-for-me @purgatorybi @bibelphegor @cowboyslikedean @gracefuldean @dimples-of-discontent @judaskissdean @wafflehousegothic @icaruscastiel @67chevyimpala67 @lesbianjenderenvy

[madmansan]

28 days

Fantasy au - Demon!San x F!Reader

Trigger Warnings

Blades, scars, gore, violence, blood, swearing, death, murder, kidnapping, slight mentions of suicide.

Day 2

.

Your eyes slowly opened as the blazing sun rises above the walls of the Labyrinth. You shuffled slightly, trying to stretch out your limbs, when you heard voices behind you, and instantly retracted them, hoping it just seemed like you were moving in your sleep.

"The child you took yesterday. The one from Aldbarrow. That's her sister." That was San's voice, but the other was completely unfamiliar.

"You're going against your duty, San." The other voice belonged to someone more soft-spoken. It was cold, sinister and, despite the aggravation in their words, very calm.

"I'm aware of that, your majesty." San responded. Your majesty? You stayed completely still. You thanked the Gods that they hadn't realised you were awake. "She was so confident I almost felt bad for her, so I gave her a chance, but she most likely won't make it."

"I think it's a dumb idea." Another voice piped up. This one was slightly higher, and a lot closer to you. "You could have just stuck to your job, but you can't even do that, can you?" He let out a gentle laugh, his voice a lot closer than before. Slowly, you opened one of your eyes to see him leaning against the tree in front of you. He was just as beautiful as San, with a jawline so sharp you were sure it could do some lethal damage. "Although," he laughed to himself, "it's not like we haven't seen you do it before."

"Shut it, Wooyoung! Not everyone's job is as simple as kissing the ass of the king." San said, the more vicious tone he took completely paralleled his usual teasing one. The demon against the tree, the one you assumed was Wooyoung, laughed loudly at San, and flicked his longer black hair out of his face.

"That's enough." The Demon King took control of the two bickering boys, masterfully, yet his calm tone never strayed. "San. If she's yours and you want to play this little game with her then go ahead. But don't you dare let her step foot near the castle. Do everything you can to prevent it."

"I will, your majesty." San said, his voice a lot lower than before.

They weren't going to kill you. Not now anyway. You could only assume it was because of the demon's etiquette San had told you about. However, if he was going to start trying even harder to stop you from getting to the castle, you were going to have to be more resilient.

Footsteps moved towards you, and you watched as Wooyoung turned to join the Demon King. The two of them walked ahead of you, towards the wall and you could only catch a glimpse of the King's huge hooded robe before he disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke, followed swiftly by Wooyoung. It gently floated to the ground before fading away, leaving you and San alone in the clearing once more.

                                      ❁

You lay "asleep" for a little while longer, making your act more believable.

After slowly opening your eyes, you stretched your limbs and sighed satisfactorily. San sat against the tree trunk by your legs, staring blankly at the wall. You wanted to tell him you heard everything, but you didn't know what he would do if you did. You decided not to risk it.

You sat up and shuffled next to him. "Encounter many demons last night?" You asked, leaning forward to face him. Of course you knew he had met the king and the other one, but he surely had to have seen more whilst you were asleep. You didn't ask this just out of curiosity, you may just find out what you're up against in here.

He didn't take his eyes off the wall, but he did respond. "No. There was a mob of humans at the entrance, so they were all gathered there. Being the main guard, I did have to leave you for a moment to go and see what was going on. I saw a huge crowd with torches, guns and daggers. One called out for you and Roslyn." Your eyes widened. It was stupid of you to think they wouldn't come for you.

You moved yourself across the floor so that you were now facing him. His gaze only drifted to you for a moment before returning to the wall. "She said she was your mother." He let out a muffled giggle that eventually turned into hysterical laughter. "And here I was thinking no one cared about you! Your whole village came out to find you!" His laughter continued when he noticed how quiet you had become.

The whole village had come out to look for you. The. Whole. Village.

The whole village that said you were the reason for Roslyn's disappearance. The friend that stopped you from saving her. The mother that blamed you, hated you, and didn't want to believe you even existed. They all came for you.

You couldn't help but wonder if Hongjoong had joined them.

"She was looking for Roslyn not me." You said, bluntly. You knew she wasn't looking for you. She may have tried to stop you from entering the Labyrinth before, but after her outburst you could hardly say she still cared about you.

His laughter began to fade being replaced with confusion. "You seem so sure of that? Do you not like her or something?"

You didn't know how to answer. You hated her for blaming you, for ripping up your work and ignoring your grief. But you didn't hate her, you couldn't hate her. She was still your mother.

"It's complicated." You mumbled, looking away from him.

"How so?" San's tone was less condescending. He sounded genuinely interested.

"She blamed me for Roslyn's disappearance. She blamed me for it when it wasn't my fault at all. I was just as heartbroken as her but she didn't care."

"Aha!" San cheered, a smirk crawling onto his face. "So that's why you're here! You're trying to prove her wrong! Die a hero and she'll respect you again." He sighed with a triumphant smile, "I knew no one in their right mind would enter here just to save someone they thought was dead."

"That's not true!" You said in protest. "I was going to enter the Labyrinth whether Roslyn had gone in or not! I always wanted to see what it was like. I'm writing a book, remember?" Fury bubbled inside you at his cockiness. "And, by the way, if I was so keen to die, do you think I would have made this deal?! Do you think I would have come this far?!" San nodded his head in thought, contemplating your argument. You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your rage, "I know no one in their right mind would do this. But I'm not in my right mind, I never have been. I was desperate to enter the Labyrinth, my mother called me crazy. I wanted to save Roslyn and my best friend told me to give up; to stop being an idiot." You sighed, "I'm here because I felt guilty and I was confident enough in myself to save Roslyn. I'm not giving up. Not now. Not ever. It's all for her sake."

Your shoulders slumped, your eyes suddenly finding the floor the most interesting thing to stare at as they filled with tears. A gentle hand was placed on top of yours and you looked up to be met with the softened gaze of San.

"Wow.", he said, "You really are bat-shit crazy." He smiled at you, but it wasn't teasing or evil, it was tender and comforting.

He stood up abruptly and pulled you up at the same time with complete ease. "Alright then, my lovely heroine, you lead the way."

His grin had returned to his usual flirty one, but the memory of that moment you shared didn't fade. His gentle hand on yours, the sympathy in his dark eyes and the welcoming smile all remained inside your head as a symbol of hope in the death trap that you had found yourself in.

                                       ❁

You prepared yourself for the next leg of your journey, the image of San smiling genuinely through your tear-blurred vision not leaving your head for a second.

He stood at the entrance to the clearing, as you searched through your bag, making sure he hadn't stolen anything from you. Especially your dagger.

Several impatient huffs left him. "Oh look! Is that the blood moon rising!"

You rolled your eyes at his petty sarcasm. "You can't be too sure." You smiled to yourself, "Especially when it comes to you." You lifted your gaze to see his sharp glare before returning it to your bag, a proud smirk on your face.

That's when you spotted the food you gathered before leaving for the Labyrinth. "Huh?" Eating hadn't crossed your mind since you entered, you hadn't even felt hungry. "San." he looked over at you, "Why don't I feel hungry?"

He closed his eyes with a sigh, resting his head against the wall, "Haven't I told you enough about demons? Are you not satisfied?"

You shook your head with a wide smile, "A few random facts aren't going to make a very informative book."

He sighed again, "Without your knowledge, and without even sensing it, you are already under my control." You raised a brow and cocked your head, prompting him to explain further. "No matter how much you say you're not interested in me or how much you think you're in control, you're lying. It's human nature to be completely and utterly submissive to us, to the point where we are the only thing that can nourish you." Your cheeks started to heat up with embarrassment, which, much to your disdain, made San grin from ear-to-ear. "I take away your hunger, I take away your thirst, I stop you from getting ill. I stop you from dying from anything that isn't me. Remarkable, don't you think?" It was his turn to cock his head, waiting for your answer.

"Remarkable indeed, if not slightly disturbing." You said, suddenly very uncomfortable with not being able to feel normal human feelings.

San gently laughed, "I think it's rather romantic."

You looked at him like he was crazy, but he only smirked, his eyes half-open and still managing to stare right into your soul.

You sighed heavily, turning around to find the tree gone and in its place two doors. You walked up to them to inspect their intricate details. One was a deep red, with spirals that curved around the golden door handle and around the edges. The other was made out of a rotting wood, the mossy green paint hardly there as most of it had chipped off.

You tried the handle of the red door but it wouldn't open. You tried again with the green door but it had the same result. "What?! They must be here for a reason? Why can't I open them?" You tried to use the handles of both doors again but neither of them opened.

"Aaah! Those doors? You have to knock to open them." San said over your shoulder. You whipped you head around at him with a questioning glance before returning your focus to the doors. You knocked gently on the red one but it didn't open. You turned back to San as you gestured to the door with a face that said 'See? Didn't work.' "Well, you have to knock harder than that! You think demons are that polite? No. We command doors open with our knocks."

You huffed, turning back to the doors once more. You made a tight fist and slammed it down on the door three times, before it flung up, a freezing cold wind rushing from behind you and down the long, dark corridor in front of you. You placed your hands up to the door frame to stop yourself from being pulled into its depths.

The wind faded as it wailed further down the hall, leaving you breathless and shivering. You swallowed hard and turned to the other door, knocking harshly and then leaping to the side to avoid another onslaught of wind. However, you were surprisingly met by welcoming birdsong.

You looked up to San who looked at you slightly bored and you cleared your throat, moving back in front of the doors.

On the other side of the red door was a dark, thin hallway, with a leaking roof. The small broken windows on the one side reflected a white light onto the wooden floorboards below. The cold chill returned as you stared into its unending passageway.

You slowly pulled your eyes away and looked into the other door. It opened to a beautiful forest, the trees taller than the Labyrinth walls, a stream gently running through them, the calming birdsong. It all felt too inviting. Far too inviting.

You looked back to San, "It's a trick, isn't it?" You asked.

He shrugged, "All I know is that if you enter through one of the door ways, you won't be able to come out again."

You looked back to the doors, eyeing each one cautiously. "But, I'm guessing both lead to the castle, right?"

San was silent for a moment before he piped up. "Depends on how you look at it. For example, one way could lead you straight to the castle and the other could throw you off track for a bit but then it's up to you to get to the castle. But if what you're trying to say is that they both lead somewhere in the Labyrinth then, yes, they're both still within the Labyrinth walls, and will most likely, I suppose, lead you to the castle."

You sighed, "You made that far more complicated then it needed to be." You didn't have to look at him to know he wore a prideful smirk. "Okay, so it's a battle of wits. That's fine. I can do that."

San scoffed, but you paid him no mind. "Okay. The spooky corridor seems to be the one that people would most likely avoid, but then that would surely seem too obvious, so that means that the spooky corridor would be the right choice, but then again that could be a double bluff....ugh!!! This is so irritating!" You groaned, giving up quicker than you had hoped.

San started laughing at you as you slumped to the floor. "Y/n, you're overthinking it."

You stood up again and looked at both doors, "Can you give me a hint?"

San rubbed his chin, humming in thought. He walked up to you and placed an arm over your shoulder, "What will I get from helping you?"

Now, it was your turn to think. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

San laughed, taking his arm off your shoulder and walking up to the doors. He leaned against the wall inbetween, "Take a look at them, and decide which one you think is safer. As simple as that."

"As simple as that?"

"As simple as that."

You thought for a moment. If he was trying to stop you from getting to the castle before, he would be trying a lot harder now. After his run in with the king he is going to try and throw you off track at every chance he can get. You were sure of it.

Nevertheless, he did say that both ways would inevitably lead to the castle, one taking a lot longer than the other, but that wasn't really that big of a concern. You were only on day two after all.

"Very well." You strode up to the green door, looking into the gentle forest environment that lay beyond it. "I'm going in here."

Before you could step inside, San grabbed your wrist. "Are you sure you want to choose this one?" He leaned in closer to your ear and whispered, "You might just regret it."

You shoved him away with your free arm, "I'm going. This is the door I have chosen. Feel free to follow me. I won't be bothered if you don't."

He let out a small frustrated huff, as he followed in behind you.

You admired your surroundings, it was just as beautiful as it seemed from the other side of the door. Your happiness soon faded when you turned around to see that the door had disappeared. Leaving San laughing to himself so hard it echoed through the surrounding trees and off into the wilderness that lay ahead.

"I can't believe you actually chose this door!" His statement was followed by more laughing, "The other way would have taken you straight to the castle in under two hours! Now look who's the idiot!"

Were you annoyed? Yes. Extremely so. Were you going to let him know that? Not a chance.

You smiled, "Oh well, we'll have to go this way then. Come on." You started to walk away, humming to yourself, but it was soon interrupted.

"What?!" San roared from behind you. You let out a small laugh to yourself. "Are you seriously not annoyed?!" He yelled at your back.

"Should I be?" You shouted back over your shoulder.

"Of course you should be!" He stomped up next you and stared you right in the eyes. "I tricked you! Outsmarted you! Why are you not angry?"

"You didn't trick me. I made the decision. That was my bad. I'm not gonna be angry at you. Besides, I'll still get to the castle. Might take me a bit longer, but it's best not to dwell on it." His jaw dropped in utter disbelief, and, with a slight surge of confidence, you placed your finger under his chin and closed his mouth for him.

You walked away giggling to yourself, as he swiftly followed behind you, mumbling curses and mimicking your previous comments.

                                       ❁

You had been walking in the forest for a couple hours, whenever you tried to ask San something he just ignored you. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If anything it was quite relaxing.

The stream rushed passed as a gentle breeze rustled the branches above. Little balls of light with lacy wings darted passed you, and inbetween the trees. You longed to know what they were, but you knew San wouldn't tell you in his tantrum state.

You looked over your shoulder at him, and he quickly looked away from you, rather flustered. You smirked and looked back in front of you, catching the shimmering stream in the corner of your eye. You knew it would be best if you didn't irritate him further, but there was something so entertaining about it.

You placed your bag down on the ground by the stream and sat against a tree close by. You reached into your bag and grabbed some of the food, unwrapping the cloth and taking a bite. You weren't hungry, you actually felt very full, but you still forced yourself to eat it. You were rejecting San's power over you.

"What the hell are you doing?" San finally said, glaring down at you with deadly eyes. You only saw it through the corner of yours, refusing to give the attention he seeks.

"Finally talking, are we?" You replied calmly.

San sat down in front of you and you further craned your neck to watch the stream instead of him. "I'm eating whilst admiring the stream. Is that such a problem?"

"No. But why are you eating?" He muttered, trying to cover the rage that was building up inside.

"A girl has to eat, has she not?"

Suddenly your eyes were pulled away from the stream by San's forceful grip on your jaw.

"Spit it out." He said, punctuating every word. His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them, "Spit it out!" He yelled, but you unconsciously swallowed it, no one had ever yelled at you like that and your heart beat started to race.

He threw you to the floor, leaving you a shaking, spluttering mess. He breathed deeply, "How dare you mock my power?" He crouched down by your head, before grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling your face up to meet his. "Why won't you just submit to me?!" He moved closer, "Huh?!"

You had to get to the castle, that's why you couldn't submit. Wait, why am I going to the castle again? Your eyes widened, and you only managed to slip out a small 'Roslyn' before he dropped you to the floor again. You clutched at the grass underneath your palms at the thought of her. She was slaving away to a powerful demon, whilst you were just messing with one. You hated to admit it but you were having fun and getting him angry was making you feel certain feelings for him that you had only felt briefly with Hongjoong, except this time it was in overdrive. You had submitted to San but not in the way he expected. It had happened again. You had forgotten about Roslyn, but you weren't even in a trance this time.

No more games. Roslyn was all that mattered, and you had forgotten about her all because you wanted to tease a demon. You should have been at the castle straight away. You shouldn't have played San's pathetic games. You shouldn't have forgotten that all he sees you as is food, and not a potential love interest. You were appalled, but only with yourself. Fighting against his demon nature and his starvation must be so hard. Where has your compassion gone, you fool.

"I'm sorry, San." You whimpered from the floor, as tears started to roll down your cheeks. "I'm really sorry. I forgot all about Roslyn. I just wanted to mess with you since it was so fun seeing you get worked up. Yet, you still held back from eating me even when you could have." You clutched your hair desperately trying to cope with your realisation. "I never even thanked you for making this deal! I'm just as weak as all the other humans. I'm sorry for thinking I was better than you. I'm really not. Not at all."

"No. You're not." San replied calmly. You unclenched your hands and steadied your sobbing slightly, looking up at him the same time he looked down at you. He sat on the grass next to you and motioned for you to get up with his head. Your arms pushed you enough to sit up without the support of the them, but your shame made it hard to look at him. "However, you're not like other humans. Not at all." Your eyes widened and you cautiously raised them to his. "The amount of people that come to the gates from other villages and instantly submit to me is practically uncountable. They don't try to strike up a deal or fight back. Sure, it's nice, but it does get boring. Y/n," he placed a hand on your jaw and gently caressed the new bruises with his thumb, "I haven't met anyone who has made me feel so angry and threatened before. You were so determined, and no matter how much it pissed me off that you stabbed me, I couldn't deny that I was impressed." He took his hand from your face. "That's why I made this deal. I gave you this chance and best be sure that I'm gonna keep my end of it, having been starved and all. So, don't you dare give up now."

"Thank you, San. And, once again, I'm sorry." He nodded his head, but he wasn't being rude. It was more of a "no problem" nod than an "as you should" nod.

You sat in a heavy silence for a moment, the air so tense, it was almost suffocating. You felt the need to break it, but San's hand flying up into the air stopped you. He caught one of the little flying orbs by the wings.

"Heal her." He commanded, letting go of the wings and letting it flutter around your head. The pain in your jaw eased as you watched it zoom off into the woods once more. "Don't think I did that because I like you. I just knew you wouldn't stop complaining about it if I didn't heal it."

"What was that?" You ignored him, eyes trained on the pathway it left on, and mouth wide open.

San followed where you looked before returning his gaze to you. "One of the many types of forest sprites. Those ones heal." He laughed gently, "Let me guess? Remarkable?"

"Quite so." You said, in awe of the lack of pain you felt.

In the reflection of the stream, you saw a red blob surfacing. You looked up to see that the moon was entering the sky.

You stood up immediately, "What?! How can that be possible?!"

San joined you, squinting at the new blood moon growing larger over the tree line. "Huh. Looks like it's becoming night."

How could the day have gone by so fast? You looked at him completely perplexed but your face soon dropped when you saw how scared San looked like he had just seen some sort of untold horror. You grabbed his shoulders and made him face you. "San. Why is it night?"

He looked up at you, "I-I think we should find you somewhere to stay." He started heading off and you quickly caught up.

"San, you can't just say that. You have to tell me why the day has just vanished." You yelled, but it didn't seize his walking. "San!"

"The Demon King knows you're here. Of course he does. But he doesn't want that. So he's pushing forward the days so that you have less time to get to the castle. Or ... at least that's what I think."

You sighed, still pushing your legs to their limit to catch up with his pace. "Surely that would be a good thing for you?-"

"No." He sharply cut you off, stopping in his tracks. "If the King knows where you are then all the other demons are going to know where you are, and that means that we're gonna have quite a few guests tonight and I'm not dealing with that. So you better start moving your ass or I'm gonna start dragging you."

You quickened your pace rushing after him.

                                       ❁

It wasn't long before you stumbled upon a small wooden cabin in the middle of some larger trees. The sun was setting fast and you instinctively ran up the creaky staircase to get to the door.

San almost materialized in front of you. "No. Not this one." He whispered.

You stared at him in utter bewilderment, "You have to be the most confusing person I have ever met!" He shushed you with a finger on your lips.

"Quiet. She'll hear you." He said quietly, but this time with more emphasis.

You slapped his hand away, "So first you wanted me to find a place to stay. No. To hide. And now you're telling me I can't when there is a perfectly good place right here."

"No, y/n, you can't go in there! I won't be able to protect you!"

"That's enough. This my best shot at surviving right now. So, I'm entering!" You gestured to the right with your head, "Move." He did.

You knocked on the door, the shrill of the night time bugs echoing through the trees. It was darker than the first night, only a few beams of deep red penetrating the canopy.

You looked out in to the black wilderness. Demons could be watching you right now and you would have no idea.

The door opened gently. On the other side stood a small old woman, her long messy hair was tied in a loose ponytail that draped down her back, which was clad in a tattered knitted cloak.

"Good evening, ma'am. I'm ever so sorry to intrude, but me and my fri-" you looked over to see that San had gone and you quickly looked back to the old woman, "uh ... I need somewhere to stay for the night." She eyed you with caution and you knew you would have to find a way to convince her. "I have demons after me and need to escape."

She opened the door a bit more and stood slightly taller, "And how do you know that I am not a demon?"

"Hope, ma'am." you said, "Only hope."

"Very well," she said, "And how am I to trust you?"

"You are just going to have to, ma'am. I have no way to prove myself, so if you don't trust me I won't force you."

She smiled, and opened the door fully allowing you to enter.

Inside the room was a bed with ragged sheets, a wooden table with a single chair, and a large expanse of cupboards hanging open on broken hinges.

Inside them were varying bottles full of different coloured liquids and other types of herbs and spices. There was no sign of real food, which meant that she was still affected by the demons within the forest. That, or she fed off humans. No. She wouldn't have questioned me intensely if she was. She's obviously scared. Best make a good impression.

"So, how long have you been in the Labyrinth." You asked her as she fumbled with some of the things in her cupboards.

"About seventy years." She said, quickly turning around to face you. "What about you?"

"Two days. How on Earth did you survive all that time here?" She looked worried, and she went back to fixing the jars and bottles. "Why did the demons not kill you?"

She was silent, you thought you had pried too far, when she slowly looked over her left shoulder. The shoulder that held a bite mark that you hadn't noticed before.

"There are many weird wonders in this world, and I have been subject to many. But the worst has been that boy."

Your interest was definitely peaked, but you tried hard to suppress it, and covered it with a more sympathetic look.

She continued, "I entered the Labyrinth in hopes of dying. I had no friends, and my family hated me. There was more to it than just that, but I'll keep it short. I wanted nothing more than to get rid of that suffering. But that boy ... he knew. He knew I wanted to die and so he ... "

You placed a hand on top of hers, "Take your time. You don't have to tell me if you don't wan-"

"No!" She yelled, slapping your hand off of hers. "That boy took a bite out of my soul that I will never retrieve. He took my humanity and my small chance of happiness. This-" she pointed to the bite mark, "This converted me into one of them. However, I did not obtain their abilities, only their thirst. He banished me to the woods, knowing that no human would ever get this far, for me to quench that thirst, or-" she pulled the dagger from your bag, "to end my suffering."

She placed the handle of the dagger in your hand and the blade to her neck. You looked at her horrified. You couldn't kill someone, not even if they were begging for it.

"No way! I can't just kill you!" You yelled, trying to pull the blade away.

She held your arm firmly, causing you to stumble back into the cupboards and a jar to fall down and smash on top of your hand that lay on the desk below. You pulled your hand away and fell to the floor. There were shards of glass sticking out at jagged angles from your skin, your blood covering the rest of it.

You looked up at the old woman to see her staring at your hand, her eyes turning from her warm hazel to a bright red.

She pounced on to you, pinning you to the floor. Panic rushed through you body as she tried to reach for your bleeding hand, her jaw dislocating so she could gape her mouth even wider.

You stared into her eyes and saw her plee, her desire to die, and the pain she was going through by not having control over her actions. It was unbearable.

You grabbed the dagger and stabbed it right into her neck, watching as she fell backward choking and spluttering on the blood that gargled in her throat. Tears fell from her eyes as a peacful smile graced her face. She dropped to the floor, completely lifeless, but the joy she felt was still present in her eyes.

"What have I done?" You whispered, completely horrified. "Please, forgive me."

A slow clap sounded from behind you, and you swiftly turned to see the demon from the clearing. Wooyoung.

"What a spectacle! I think I might just shed a tear." His laugh echoed around the small cabin and you stiffened with fear.

Your breaths quickened as he took slow steps towards you, crouching down and taking a good look at your face.

"You're such a pretty thing, I'm so annoyed San got to you first."

San. Where was he?

You swallowed, "Where is he?" You asked, pulling your face away from Wooyoung's as he inched closer.

"He ran away as soon as you entered the cabin. Couldn't bare to face her again." Your heart started racing. Was San the boy that made her suffer like this? "Or should I say isn't allowed to."

You took a heavy breath, the whole situation hurtling you into an almost unbearable state of fear.

"You know, if I knew any better, I'd say you actually like him." He teased, his body never stopping from following you along the floor, trying to get as close as possible, only to have you shuffle away.

"Well, do you?" You asked, feeling quite perturbed by his baseless assumption.

"Do I what, baby?"

"Know better?" He laughed at that, moving in closer and smirking when you tried to move back and were met with the wall.

"I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have a human attracted to me by my demon charm. However, since I hardly ever get to see any, save the children the Demon King enslaves, I've never got to experience it."

He moved in closer to your face, his lips grazing yours. You looked away, "Why don't you see them often? Don't you work at the gates?" You knew he didn't from the conversation he had with San in the clearing, but he couldn't know that.

"I did, but the King was so impressed by the state I put that old hag in that he invited me to join his royal guard." He said, grabbing your chin, making him face you again. You were oddly relieved that San wasn't the one that ruined the lady's life. "Come on, baby. San is a weak guy. I'm so much better than him."

His lips came in contact with yours for only a second before a familar voice, and one you have been waiting for, piped up from the doorway.

"Wooyoung." His head whipped around and you could only move your eyes to see San as your jaw was still in his grip. "I don't remember giving you permission to have a taste of my girl." Wooyoung laughed, standing up and walking over to him.

San stood only slightly taller than Wooyoung, his demeanour powerful and raging. "I'm glad you could join us, Sannie!" He grabbed his cheek and San quickly slapped it away.

"I'm sure you wouldn't like the King to find out that you forgot about our little demon rule?" San said, his eyes narrowing with a sharpness you hadn't seen before.

"The etiquette? It's more of a guideline, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. I don't think the King does either." San's voice lowered, "I also don't think he'd like the fact that you said that."

Wooyoung laughed again but it soon faded when he noticed that San's seriousness was unchanging. "He wouldn't believe you, San." He teased him, but he remained unphased.

"Of course. Why would the King believe the all seeing guardian of the gates, hmm?" Wooyoung's confidence started to falter and San's teasing smirk disappeared, "Get out."

He didn't need to be told twice, as he barged past San's broad shoulder to leave the cabin.

You sat in silence, watching as San crouched down to the old lady's body. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "May you rest in peace, you will suffer no more."

You moved your body up next to his, "Wooyoung said you knew her." San didn't take his eyes off of the body.

"I lost my job in the royal guard because of her. I said that Wooyoung should have just eaten her, and let her die. I suppose I thought it was too cruel. But my opinion went against the King's and I was forced into Wooyoung's previous job. I'm sorry I left you, there was a charm placed on this cabin that made sure I couldn't enter. They knew I would go and kill her. Didn't mean that I couldn't see her, of course. All the pain, the teasing of other demons. I even tried to bring her parts of my kills to try and nourish her, but they always faded to nothing outside. But, hey I tried, right?" He let out a sad laugh, before looking at you. "You probably think I'm soft now, and you would be right." He looked at the ground shamefully.

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing. I think that's a beautiful trait. I love people like that."

You took his hand and placed it in yours. You didn't know what you were doing, but comforting him just felt right in that moment. "You did the right thing, San."

"So did you. Thank you, y/n."

He looked down and noticed the blood still dripping from your hands. "I'll heal that. Then, I'll clean this up and you should rest."

Your eyes followed him as he went into the cupboard and grabbed one of the bottles, opening it and pouring it onto your hand. The blood cleared up and the glass came loose falling to the floor. The scars, however, still remained.

San took your hands in his and lifted you from the ground. Your legs felt slightly weak and you took hold of his arms firmly.

He placed you gently down on the bed before heading to the lady on the floor. He picked her up and left the room, only to return later without her. He looked different though, his skin wasn't as pale, his eyes less dark. He looked almost human.

When he went to go and clean the blood and glass off the floor, he had returned back to his normal look.

Whether it was just your mind tricking you or not. San definitely wasn't as evil as you thought. His personality shifts so drastically, yet his softer side seems more genuine. You couldn't wrap your head around it.

"Let's not make it a habit to stare at me before you go to sleep. It makes me feel too exposed." He said, stoically, turning back to his work.

You managed a small apology, relaxing back into the bed more.

You let your eyelids fall closed, but sleep didn't seem to take you as quickly this time. There was far too much to recover from. Physically and mentally. You don't understand anything well enough to overcome it. However, there is one thing you know for certain.

This Labyrinth is going to make you lose your mind.

.

To be continued

.

Author's note: HOLY LORD! This chapter is very long, so thanks for sticking with it to get here! Thank you very much for reading! ❤❤

[olivinesea]

No One Else But Me

a/n: Trying this Whumptober situation. No real warnings, things get a little suggestive at the end. ~1.7k

Emily is trying to adjust to new life by running away from her old one.

Whumptober 2021: Day 3: insults - taunting - “Who did this to you?”

She stared out her office window, eyes unfocused as the fog swirled around the buildings, masking their shapes, muting every color to a thin, interminable grey. She didn’t really see any of it, instead it acted as a background upon which she could project her memories. This time of day was always the hardest. Nearly time to leave, the rush of investigations and consultations past, only a few lingering forms to fill out. This was the time when she felt the most homesick. She hated that she knew how that felt now, after having spent the first several decades of her life without a home to be sick for. There had been residences and staff, grounds and gardens, each location only differentiated by the language that wove through the hallways and kitchens. In the ambassador’s presence it was always English. But Emily, so often lost to the shadows and corners of her mother’s political ambitions, was captivated by the intricacies of each new language she encountered. Her quick mind absorbed vocabulary and structure, trying to capture the one thing she could take with her when they inevitably left, searching for something that might connect her back to all the places she’d been.

Her childish hunt for a home in words became a useful skill when she chose her profession, helping her to blend seamlessly into various backstories, to move without notice through foreign countries, never attracting attention as the loud American who insisted on English. She found it a little bitter that of all the foreign places she could have ended up, she’d picked the only one with closer ties to English than America. Conversing in foreign languages didn’t just help with her job, it helped Emily become someone different, someone with roots, with a history of more than loneliness. Supervisors were always pleased to discover the breadth of her ability, thinking they’d lucked out on such valuable tool. They didn’t realize she was using them as much as they were using her. They were her ticket to places farther and farther removed from Emily Prentiss, places she hoped she could find someone different to be, someone worth being.

Now Emily was in London, running a unit for Interpol, having taken the ultimate journey away from herself, all the way into death and back. Despite getting exactly what she’d thought she wanted when she threw herself into different identities, she found herself wishing she could be the old Emily again. She’d been there about six months and still hardly knew anyone. She was purposely keeping distant from her co-workers, not yet recovered from the mess she made back in Virginia.

For a few years there she had allowed herself to believe she had found a home, been part of a family. She’d given everything to keep that family safe, to the point where she could no longer exist for them. Then, against all odds, she’d had a chance to return, to fit back into the space she’d left only to find it would never work. She was a different person to them now. Not in obvious ways but just enough to make it hurt. She wasn’t really leaving them, she reasoned, because they had already left her. Despite their best intentions to make her feel welcome they couldn’t undo their mourning, couldn’t forget the weight of her casket.

Turning away from the window, she repeated her promise to herself. She would’t make that mistake again. She’d lived a life without attachments for so long, this was just a return to form. She could do her job without making friends, without finding a family. The other agents had stopped inviting her out for drinks after too many declined offers. She was aware of their whispers—she was cold, she was aloof, she was calculating. All things she had heard before, insults so unoriginal they were bereft of any power. As she watched the group leave, laughing, jostling, she had a brief moment of unreality, a layering of wistful memories over her vision. Shaking her head, she turned back to her work, twisting away from the feeling. If she didn’t think about it, it didn’t matter.

Later that evening, after the lights in the office had long been turned off, the take out she’d mostly ignored gone cold on the counter, she went out to a bar. It was not one of the ones her coworkers might congregate at. This place was full of dimly lit alcoves, more corners than seemed logical for a standard shaped building. Far too loud for conversation, but no one went there to talk. She drank until her hands were numb, a sensation that reminds her of being dead. Unconcerned, she sipped at another drink while simultaneously drawing in the attention of a stranger, like she has so many nights before. It didn’t even take any effort anymore, she knew all the right moves to make. Her chest felt hollow as she flashed a smile, tilting her head just enough to make her intentions clear. Soon they were stumbling out the side door, ricocheting off one another as they made their way to the other person’s apartment.

Time blurred, sounds and colors fading in and out. Laughing up the stairs, fumbling the lock. Another drink offered and forgotten. A door opened into unlit bedroom—no just leave the lights off. The sheets smelled of a fabric softener she recognized but couldn’t place. Come here. All so familiar, she wasn’t sure if it was happening now or if she’d passed out on her couch again. It all felt the same. But no, she was in this particular bed, the other woman asleep beside her, breathing lightly. Emily stared up at the ceiling, thoughts trailing behind her actions, gradually catching up to herself. She was trying to remember how many times she’d been in this position. Wondering if the count reset when she died.

She was so deep in her memories she didn’t feel a hand slip under her shirt, sliding up her stomach slowly until it stopped abruptly, met with an unexpected change in terrain. The thick knot of scar tissue raised on her chest, just below her sternum.

“What—what is that?”

Startled, she pushed the hand away and sat up, trying to remember the other woman’s name. She twisted her fingers into the soft t-shirt fabric, grounding her thoughts in the present moment. That’s the real difference, she thought. She kept her shirt on these days. This was what differentiated now from her youth of doing all the same things—losing herself in the same kind of bars, the endless string of one night stands, the faces blending together. She didn’t usually stay long enough for anyone to notice this quirk. They’re usually too intoxicated to care, to push at this flimsy boundary. She’d gotten good at managing it, making it seem accidental, too rushed to get every piece of clothing off. Besides, the kinds of people she sought out didn’t care about her specifically, only looking to fill the same sort of void in their life as she was in hers. A body to occupy the invisible hours, the times when there wasn’t anything louder than unchecked thoughts. They were all just looking for passage through the night.

No one had ever asked her about her scar before now. Not even her team back at the BAU. She could tell they had wanted to sometimes—Spencer needing to see the proof of her resurrection like the stigmata, Hotch craving restoration of balance years after she had seen his own marks of mortality. But they were all too afraid to ask, too afraid of this new, not-quite-Emily.

She didn’t respond, but looked at the other woman, trying to hold the specific details of her in her mind. She was tired, too tired to keep running. What did it matter if this one stranger saw? She would’t remember her in the morning. She couldn’t even remember her name right now. When she saw that Emily wasn’t moving away, only waiting, watching for the next move, the woman lifted her hand to the hem of Emily’s shirt again.

“Can I?”

Emily’s nod was tight, already angry with herself for wanting this connection, for allowing this vulnerability. But she didn’t stop her. She lifted the shirt up slowly until the scar was fully exposed. Emily looked away as she traced a fingertip across it, always hating the not-feeling sensation of being touched along the dead nerve endings. Knowing she should feel something and being unable to.

“Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hushed, sounding awed, as if Emily was some sort of mythical creature rather than a human being with a lifetime of stupid mistakes. Like she expected to hear a fairy tale of magic and heroes, like there is some purpose behind the scar. As if it was not the never ending reminder that she had lost everything she ever wanted and only had herself to blame.

She had thought she was so smart, that she could keep everyone safe and handle it on her own. She’d thought that right until the moment she died. Like every other fool, she hadn’t realized what she had until she lost it. She had insisted to herself that things were as they had always been, that she had to handle them the way she always had. She knew now that it could have been different but it was too late.

The scar was a hateful reminder every day when she looked at herself in the mirror. She wished she could avoid looking at it but it pulled her attention like a black hole, taunting her with her frailty, her desire for connection thrown back in her face. He could have just as well stabbed her in the heart, the symbolism would have fit better.

Emily scowled. This wasn’t what she came here for. She just wanted to forget about herself and she knew exactly how to do that. She pulled the hand away again, this time rolling on top of the other woman, knees braced on either side of her hips. She laced their fingers together, bringing the woman’s other hand up to meet the searching one, trapping them against the pillow above her head. Emily leaned forward, her face close to the stranger’s, pupils dilated as anticipation flashed heat across her cheeks, arching her back to try to meet Emily’s body with her own.

“It doesn’t matter.”

[birdiefw]

TONY STARK | HOME

Summary: Losing your husband was the worst thing that had ever happened to you, but you weren’t about to let him go without trying to get him back.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, implied Stucky (though, you don’t have to see it as that), fluff, Endgame changes.

Word Count: 1,751

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago to try and cope with what happened in Endgame because it literally broke me + there were many things I didn’t like about it. And in this imagine, the compound didn’t get destroyed nor was Morgan born as it works best that way for this imagine.

Sadness.

That was all you felt.

It was like all of the air had been sucked straight out of your lungs while you watched your husband take his last breaths after sacrificing himself for the sake of the universe.

You didn’t know if it was real at first, but when he failed to move despite your loud pleas and sobs that wrecked through your body, your heart tore into millions of pieces and fell into the deepest pit of your stomach where you could no longer feel a single thing. It took everything in your body to not completely crumble right then and there, but with strong arms pulling you up to your feet and into their tight embrace, you crumbled, letting out every emotion you felt through your flow of tears.

Tears of anger, grief, sadness, and every other emotion you felt tumbled down your face and soaked into the fabric of Steve Rogers suit as he held you tightly. You could hear his own sniffles, saddened with the loss of Tony, as was everyone else.

The world would never be the same without Tony Stark—everyone knew that—but none of them would feel the pain of it as much as you.

No matter what anyone said or tried in an attempt to comfort you over the loss of your husband, it meant nothing.

Tony’s funeral had felt like a complete blur for you, dozens of faces mixing together and words never really registering in your mind even if you nodded along or mumbled out a short response. You know you heard them, but your mind was completely blank as was your heart without your husband by your side, whispering in your ear that everything would be alright.

Everyone walked on eggshells around you, not wanting to make you even more sad or be at the wrath of your anger.

You felt terrible for not talking to anyone, but each time you tried, memories of Tony trying to speak his final words to you popped up into your mind and made tears brew in your eyes. You didn’t know what was to come next for you, but alone at the compound where you were meant to be picking up some things, you found yourself aimlessly wandering around the enormous building.

It was something that you and Tony would do in your spare time and when no one else was around, sometimes using that to your advantage to have some fun in the many open spaces with the full risk of being seen or caught. However, you found yourself standing in Scott’s guest room, eyes suddenly locked on some Pym Particles that were placed on his messy dresser.

You hadn’t spoken to Scott much, but he did offer you his condolences and said if you ever needed anything to let him know. The same had been said by the Pym family, having caught you off guard with the known fact Hank Pym had never been the biggest fan of any Stark, but you smiled as a thank you nonetheless. You didn’t even mean to go in Scott’s room—you thought it was Bruce’s—but a small spark inside told you it was meant to be.

Thankfully, the time machine was still around and perfectly intact, Bruce having wanted to keep it to study it for a while. No one besides him paid much attention to it anymore, everyone else having begun to move on with their lives and try to live the life Tony would’ve wanted them to. You, on the other hand, got an idea and found yourself standing in front of the time machine, two vials of Pym particles held in each of your hands, lips tight pursed together and an idea swirling around in your mind.

After Steve returned the stones and came back to live his life with Bucky after he passed the mantle of Captain America to none other than Sam Wilson, they’d all left the time machine alone. Bruce was taking some time to research the particles and how it reacted with the machine, which made you believe that’s why Scott had more of it.

You knew you shouldn’t, but every fiber in your body ached to be with Tony, to see his warm smile, to hear his intoxicating laugh, to feel his gentle touch run along your skin and make your heart flutter. His smile was your favorite thing in the world, and you craved to see it again.

Standing in front of the daunting machine, you sucked in a breath and swiftly turned it on.

You were there when they all went off the first time, taking the infinity stones from the past and returning with them a minute later. You’d watched every move Bruce made, taking note of what he pressed and turned, happy that you’d paid so much attention to it at the time.

You softly smiled to yourself, glancing to the suits that were thrown off to the side; no one planned on using them anytime soon. You quickly snatched two up and rushed up the platform, feeling the suit begin to form over Tony’s AC/DC shirt you were and jeans after you pressed the button, a quiet gasp leaving your lips when it was finished and you had the other stuffed in a case that was clutched in your hand.

You sucked in a sharp breath, glancing down to the particles; you had four with you. One to go, and one to come back. The other two were in case you actually managed to convince Tony to come back with you, but you knew there was a chance he wouldn’t believe you, but still, you wanted them.

You shook out your arms and legs, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to attempt. There were many things that could’ve gone wrong, but the hope of seeing Tony again was enough to push you to do it.

“Y/N? You in here?” A voice called out. Your eyes widened and your head snapped to the side, shock appearing on your features when you saw Tony entering the room. The helmet of your suit slid down, revealing your face to him as he walked closer. He instantly froze, your eyes flicking behind when you saw Bruce Banner following Tony.

Bruce offered you a sheepish smile. “Hey, uh, yeah, I guess I kind of beat you to it.”

Your lips parted, looking back to Tony in utter shock.

He looked so much different, but still the same somehow. He was a little younger, wearing the same shirt you had on, but yours was more worn and faded.

Tears brewed in your eyes and you shakily stepped down from the platform, hand covering your mouth as Tony and Bruce approached you.

Your gaze shifted back to Bruce, slightly lowering your hand and brows furrowed. “But. .how? Why—?”

“I missed him, too,” Bruce admitted. “Besides, our world still needs him, but not as much as you. I’ll give you guys a few minutes.”

Your eyes softened and you sniffled, taking a small step towards Tony. You two had been together ever since he defeated Ivan Vanko and Justin Hammer, having gotten married a little after Peter Parker had managed to web himself into your lives. You’d yet to have any children of your own, always saying you would when the time was right, but things always got in the way of that.

“Oh my god,” you murmured in disbelief.

“Well, it is me. Many people feel that way when meeting me,” he said, causing you to let out a genuine chuckle at his cockiness. Tony sighed, taking your hand in his and linking your fingers together without hesitation. “I’m still not entirely sure what happened. Jolly Green Giant over there wouldn’t give me all the details, but it took some time and he told me a few things that only I would know, and while I did have my doubts, I thought it would be nice to see the future, and of course, you.”

You let out a little laugh, playfully rolling your eyes. “Seriously? That’s why you came here?”

Tony grinned. “Maybe, maybe not. I didn’t really peg you to be one to ruin the past all for—”

Your face slightly faltered when his voice abruptly stopped, concern washing over your features. You opened your mouth to speak, but your eyes followed his gaze, noticing he was staring at your wedding ring that shined on your wedding finger. He slowly looked up to meet your gaze, a small smile working its way onto his lips. “You always did have the best taste,” you softly told him.

Tony beamed, his grin widening. “Yes, I did. But. . .what do you say we get married? I know we already were, but technically that wasn’t—”

“Tony, are you trying to propose to me with the ring your future self already bought?”

“Uh, maybe?”

“You’re such an idiot,” you giggled, pulling into you to give him a hug. You were still sniffling some, but joy was overtaking you.

“But I’m your idiot, right?”

“Of course. Forever and always.” You pulled away, a content sigh leaving your lips. You still couldn’t believe he was standing right in front of you. You allowed your eyes to take in every feature of him, your smile never once faltering. You finally had him back, and he had you. “And, you know, we never actually got to have those kids we wanted. . .”

“Say no more—”

A throat suddenly cleared behind you, your eyes tripling in size at the sight of the woman. “I’m sorry, did I step on your moment?”

Your eyes instantly darted over to Bruce who was off to the side of you and Tony, fiddling with part of the machine. He innocently shrugged his shoulders, timidly grinning as Natasha Romanoff made her way into the room. “Did I forget to mention we brought Nat back, too?”

You laughed, shaking your head.

You finally had your family back.

Tony squeezed your hand, recapturing your attention. “About that family—”

You playfully rolled your eyes and moved forward without a second thought, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. You hands pressed the sides of his face, one of his arms shaking around your waist while the other firmly pressed against your back, pushing your chests’ together. You tightly held him onto him, promising to never let go of him and basking in the joy that Tony Stark, and Natasha Romanoff, were both home.

———

[mytwilightimagines13]

Memories from the past (Part Fifteen)(Caius Volturi)(Final Part)

Masterlist

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Word count: 1160

Everything was so clear. Sharp. Defined. The brilliant light overhead was still blinding-bright, and yet I could plainly see the glowing strands of the filaments inside the bulb. I could see each colour of the rainbow in the white light, and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth colour I had no name for. Behind the light, I could distinguish the individual grains in the dark wood ceiling above. In front of it, I could see the dust motes in the air, the sides the light touched, and the dark sides, distinct and separate. They spun like little planets, moving around each other in a celestial dance. The dust was so beautiful that I inhaled in shock; the air whistled down my throat, swirling the motes into a vortex. The action felt wrong. I considered, and realized the problem was that there was no relief tied to the action. I didn’t need the air. My lungs weren’t waiting for it. They reacted indifferently to the influx. I did not need the air, but I liked it. In it, I could taste the room around me—taste the lovely dust motes, the mix of the stagnant air mingling with the flow of slightly cooler air from the open door. Taste a lush whiff of silk. Taste a faint hint of something warm and desirable, something that should be moist, but wasn’t.… That smell made my throat burn dryly, a faint echo of the venom burn, though the scent was tainted by the bite of chlorine and ammonia. And most of all, I could taste a mixture of roses, pinewood and sunshine scent that was the strongest thing, the closest thing to me. I also heard a faint, thudding rhythm, with a voice shouting angrily to the beat. Rock music? I was mystified for a moment, and then the sound faded away like a car passing by with the windows rolled down. With a start, I realized that this could be exactly right. Could I hear all the way to the freeway? I didn’t realize someone was holding my hand until whoever it was squeezed it lightly. Like it had before to hide the pain, my body locked down again in surprise. This was not a touch I expected. The skin was perfectly smooth, but it was the wrong temperature. Not cold. After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that shocked me even more. Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an incomprehensible blur—but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the marble walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them. So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively—about a sixteenth of a second later—I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted. Oh. Of course. Caius and Dora wouldn’t feel cold to me. We were the same temperature now. I held my pose for an eighth of a second longer, adjusting to the scene before me. Caius and Dora stood up from the bed, carefully eyeing my every movement. A feeling in my chest fell down and my inner beast purred. In an instant I had crossed the room and had wrapped my arms tightly around my mates, inhaling their sweet scents and purring as a reaction to them being near me. They answered my embrace by wrapping their arms around me and purring along with me. Soon heavy footsteps could be heard and a frantic heartbeat that followed. The sweet scent hit my nose along with a fierce burning in my throat. Before my mates could hold me back I dashed towards it. It was a human man that spread the sweet scent. Fear in his eyes as he tried desperately to find an exit. But none he will find as I tackled him down. My teeth unerringly sought his throat, and his instinctive resistance was pitifully feeble against my strength. My jaws locked easily over the precise point where the heat flow concentrated. It was effortless as biting into butter. My teeth were steel razors; they cut through the skin and flesh, letting the sweet ambrosia flow down my

wet. The blood was hot and wet and it soothed the ragged, itching thirst as I drank in an eager rush. The man’s struggles grew more and more feeble, and his screams choked off with a gurgle. The warmth of the blood radiated throughout my whole body, heating even my fingertips and toes. The man was finished before I was. The thirst flared again when he ran dry, and I shoved his carcass off my body in disgust. I wanted more. Caius and Dora had followed me and soon a lower guard I didn’t recognise came into our chambers. “Master, Mistress, I appologi-“ but before the vampire could finish his sentence I had already tackled him. I saw him as a threat to me and my mates. He had to be dealt with. I ripped his arms and head off with my newfound strength while growling and hissing the entire time. As soon as the vampire was dealt with I rushed back to my mates, needing to make sure they were not harmed. Dora smiled and pulled my head against her chest, purring soothingly while stroking my hair. “It is alright, my love.” She purred in my ear. Caius was about to move towards the lower guard but I grabbed his arm, stopping him. I wanted him close to me, so I can be assured he is safe. Caius’ harsh look softened almost immediately as he moved to stand behind me, holding me close to his chest, purring in my ear. “You have nothing to fear, my love. We are here.” He purred while gently stroking my hips.

Caius and Athenodora shared a look. Xandria’s instincts had completely taken over and they knew the only way to help her ease into this life was to cocoon with her for a while. She had to control her inner beast so that her secondary emotions could return. But in their own selfish thoughts they were very content. Their mate was now an immortal, the mating bond had fallen into place completely and nothing would ever separate the three of them again. They would rule alongside Aro, Marcus and Sulpicia. But most of all, they will have all eternity to love one another, to cherish and to hold. As the memories from the past had faded from Xandia’s mind, the future would be the only thing on her horizon. A future with her mates filled with love.

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter 12)

(Art credit: @clumsycopy​)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 4.1k

Read Chapter 11 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Sad Times Still, Hospitals, Mention of Needles, Mention of Medical Procedures, Storms, Anxious Feelings, A Fuck Ton of Crying™. 

A/N: Hellloooooo. Okay just some housekeeping - as it stands, OF is plotted to be 14 chapters. We’re in the home stretch y’all! As promised, there is a brief summary of last chapter below the cut for anyone who may have sat it out because of the content. Thank y’all for reading, love youuuu. 

Chapter 11 Summary: Still reeling from the fight with Clyde, Reader goes to collect the data and footage alone. There, she crosses paths with and is attacked by one of the cougars she has been studying. Luckily, Clyde finds her and is able to save her, whisking her away with the help of Mellie and Sylvia to get her wounds treated.

~~~

Clyde Logan did not like hospitals. 

He had tried to avoid them ever since his own accident, all those years ago in Iraq. He was perfectly happy to get patched up by Sylvia if he had a run-in with a rogue piece of glass from a shattered cup at the Duck Tape or if he had a cough that he just couldn’t quite shake. But in his recent memory, the only time he had stepped foot into the sanitized halls of a hospital had been for the birth of Sadie, that wonderful, joyous day. He remembered how Jimmy handed over the little bundle that held Clyde’s niece, and how she had smiled and babbled up to him, bringing a small tear of happiness to the corner of his eye. 

Today wasn’t like that.

~~~

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

The steady thrum of the heart monitor was torture. Clyde had listened to it mark time since his darlin’ had been rolled out of surgery to repair her ankle, and that had been hours ago. Tubes of substances unknown to him seemed to sprout from every part of her body, and he felt his eyes starting to water for what felt like the thousandth time as his gaze wandered over her prone form from where he sat in the chair in the corner. Any other person would say that those eyes hadn’t been dry once. 

Clyde leaned forward in the creaky wooden chair and his right hand drifted up to cradle his face. He looked at her through his middle and ring finger, the digits framing his view of her. His horseshoe ring felt particularly cold against his face and he sighed deeply as he stared, waiting for her to wake up. 

“Hey, Clyde.” A soft voice beside him startled him out of his thoughts and his eyes flicked to his side to see Mellie crouching beside him, her hand resting on his leg. 

“Mel,” he nodded in recognition, his voice skipping in his throat. She squeezed his knee but didn’t say anything else. Clyde was happy to remain like that; the feeling of her thumb rubbing his knee and the sound of her breathing was comfort enough for him. 

“Have you eaten-” she began, but Clyde spoke at the same time and cut her off.

“S’my fault,” he whispered, his eyes not leaving the bed once. 

Mellie’s brow scrunched up and she frowned. “Oh no, Clyde this isn’t your fault. You didn’ do anything,” she tried to assure him as she rubbed his knee a little harder. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I didn’t tell y’ we got in a fight last night,” Clyde whispered as he shook his head, still cradled in his hand. “She wouldn’t’ve been out there by herself if we hadn’t. Wouldn’t have...” he trailed off as his eyes drifted shut in an attempt to curtail the water that was gathering in them. 

Mellie’s forehead softened and she pushed a strand of hair out of Clyde’s face to tuck it behind his ear. “Clyde, you don’t know what would have happened. And it doesn’t matter anyway. You found her, you got her help. She’s safe now,” she reassured him as she rubbed his bicep. 

“She’s so hurt. I don’t know how I’ll face her,” he whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the girl in the hospital bed. Clyde’s lip began to tremble again and the water clinging to his lash line started to spill down his face. “I’m sorry, I gotta…” Clyde was left searching for the right words, a quest he quickly gave up as he stood up and left the room, desperate for some air and some privacy. His long legs carried him away from his sister swiftly, and Mellie was left alone standing in the hallway, helpless as she watched the broad back of her brother fly out of the doors to the hospital. 

~~~

“I’m sorry, I gotta…”

Your eyes began to flutter open as you heard sounds of distress in your room. Your attempt to swallow was a feat in and of itself, the action rough and painful on your dry throat. Carefully, your eyes began to crack open, just in time to catch the sight of Clyde fleeing from your hospital room, Mellie hot on his trail. Your heart sank.

Of course he was here to witness you, broken and helpless, laid out on the cold hospital bed. You squeezed your eyes shut. If he had any shred of respect for you, it was surely gone. You had torn his heart clean in two, and now? He couldn’t even look at you, let alone be in the same room as you.

You were sure of it. 

As tears started to roll down your face, your breathing picked up and so did your heart. Soon, nurses descended on you, ready to take vitals, take readings, and take care of you. You didn’t want to speak to them, to look at them. They set to work around you as your head fell back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The pokes and prods of their needles and probes pricked your skin, but you didn’t hiss your breath didn’t catch. They could do anything to you, but the pain wouldn’t register.  

It paled in comparison to the pain nestled in your heart. 

~~~

The next day, after a restless night, the doctors discharged you. You had no reason to stay in the hospital longer; your antibiotics had been completed and your fever was long broken. And anyway, with Sylvia so close to you at the hotel, you would be able to get all the treatment you would need from her. As you sat on the edge of the bed with your back hunched, you breathed in and out slowly, trying to center and collect yourself. The dull pain in your side throbbed with each beat of your heart.

You heard your name called from the doorway and looked over to see a nurse standing with a clipboard. “You ready to get out of here?” she smiled softly, gesturing to the wheelchair parked at her feet. You gathered the strength to return her smile, and nodded. She wheeled the chair over to you and helped you hobble into the awaiting chair. 

The overhead fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, and you blinked tightly to adjust to the glare. Sooner than you had thought, you were at the sliding double doors that made up the entrance of the hospital, and the kind nurse pushed you over the threshold and into the crisp air.

Your heart clenched when you saw who stood before you, keys in hand, ready to drive you home. Clyde gazed down at you, his stare unwavering and unreadable. There was a pit in your stomach and you shifted in your seat. “Hi,” you breathed. He sniffed and nodded at you. “Ready?” he asked, his feet shuffling slightly on the concrete.

You chewed on your lip. “Is it okay if you drive me back?” you asked, looking down at his shoes. 

He exhaled through his nose and jerked his head towards the parking lot. “C’mon.”

Between the bulky cast around your ankle and the stitched tears in your side, walking, even with the aid of crutches, was out of the question. The nurse followed closely behind Clyde to wheel you towards the car parked out front. The ridges in the gravel and small pebbles that you rolled over caused the chair to vibrate and jerk. You seethed at the pain that shot through your side with the movement, and you pressed your eyes shut, breathing shallowly through your nose. 

You were still focused on your breath when you realized you were no longer moving. Your eyes fluttered open and you found that you were sitting right next to Clyde's grey car, and he was standing in front of you, his back pressed against the swung fully open door. 

Before you had a chance to try to pull yourself into the car, Clyde slipped his arm around your side and lifted you up out of the chair and into the passenger seat. You could feel how your face began to warm at the gesture, embarrassed that you needed this kind of care to get into a car, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. A soft “thank you” left your lips as Clyde buckled you in tight, and you were answered with a small nod. 

The drive back was silent, safe for a sniff or cough here and there. You snuck a few glances at Clyde, while his gaze remained straight ahead. As you rolled your head to the side, you sighed and tilted your head into the window to stare at the trees flying past. The blur would have put you in a trance had you not been desperately trying to sort out what had happened the morning prior.

The doctors had asked you if you knew what had happened, and you had nodded in response. You didn’t want to know the gritty, embarrassing details. You didn’t want to sort through those memories alone and cold in the hospital bed.

But in reality, your mind was jumbled, your memory a whirlwind of snippets and memories. You could see the attack clearly, almost too clearly if you were honest with yourself, but you couldn’t put together what had happened after. A glimpse, a whisper of a memory formed in your mind, but the only thing you could ascertain from it was the memory of pain and burning. You remembered someone trying to soothe you. You shook your head, clearing your mind, and opted to stare out of the car window instead.

The glass of the window rattled your head as you leaned against it, gazing out the window at nothing in particular. A large sign caught your eye.

“Clyde, the hotel was back there,” you muttered, refusing to look at him.

“Y’aren’t going back to the hotel,” he replied, his stare fixated on the road ahead of him. 

“It’s okay Cl-” 

“Stop, fighting me.”

Your breath caught in your chest, and you didn't respond. A soft sigh sounded next to you, and you didn’t turn either.

~~~

Back at the trailer, Jimmy, Sylvia, and Mellie were already there to greet you, ready with blankets, food, and a stash of medical supplies so large, you reckoned it could keep you stocked for years to come. The minute Clyde helped you through the threshold, Sylvia and Mellie corralled you into the bedroom. They helped you out of the clothes drenched in the sterile hospital smell that clung to you and coaxed you into the large bed with soft touches and soft voices. After Mellie had helped settle you as much as she could, she squeezed your hand and left, leaving you alone with Sylvia. 

She plumped the pillows around you and set out a glass of water on the nightstand as she listed off what the doctor had told you before you had been discharged. She recited your medicines, when she wanted you to take them, and how. You couldn’t look at her. Your gaze remained on the covers of your bed. Your heart constricted at that thought. Not your bed. His bed, you reminded yourself. You had made sure of that.

You had done this to yourself. You didn’t deserve Sylvia’s pity. 

She whispered your name and with light fingers, she tilted your head up to hers. You allowed yourself to be posed and stared at her with eyes void of emotion, lest you break down in front of her. 

“Did you get that?” she soothed, her brow furrowed and the concern in her voice wildly apparent. You flicked your eyes back down and nodded so shallowly, it was nearly imperceptible. She tsk’ed at your apathy but didn’t push you. You were thankful for that. 

Her hand moved into your line of sight, palm outstretched, with a small pill in the center of it. “Here sweetie,” she muttered. “It’ll help with the pain.” You shook your head. 

“Really, you’re going to be in a hell of a world of pain if you try to wean off so soon. Don’t punish yourself.”

You shook your head again. 

“Take it,” a voice rumbled through the doorway. 

Your eyes flicked up to see Clyde leaned against the threshold to his room, his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down into a deep pout. As much as you didn’t want to hold eye contact, his deep, piercing gaze would not allow you to break away. His jaw set. “Take it,” he urged again, jerking his chin towards the painkiller Sylvia offered you. You moved silently as you reached out to accept the medicine and swallow it. 

The movement forced you to tear your eyes from Clyde, a gesture came at just the right time. You could feel the sting of tears you refused to spill bite at the corners of your eyes, but turning away meant he wouldn’t see them. You blinked them away before you looked back at the doorway, now empty. 

Sylvia shuffled at the bedside table with your medicine and extra bandages, prepped to be changed as needed. She took your temperature again before she turned to the door… and paused. She turned back to you so slowly, you thought she was moving through syrup, though it easily could have been the effects of the painkiller already setting into your muscles. 

Her soft and warm hand enveloped yours where it lay atop the plush blanket of the bed. Soft and warm, her eyes found yours. You could see why Jimmy had fallen for her. She was a particular sort of comforting, the kind that thrived in the medical field, the kind that made patients calm and made them feel safe. 

If you didn’t deserve her pity, you didn’t deserve her comfort either. 

“Dear, we want you to get better. Please let Clyde help you,” she whispered, caressing your knuckles with her thumb. “He was a complete wreck when he called us after he found you. He loves you so much.” Her words and her touch only made you feel worse. Each swipe made your stomach twist, each pass was another reminder that you had done this to yourself, and each word a reminder of what you had done to Clyde. 

You shook your head and slid your hand from hers, the motion sapping what little energy you had left from you. You settled back into the pillows set around your head, your eyes refusing to meet hers. Sylvia’s mouth set into a thin line and she tsk’ed once more as she sighed out of her nose. “Alright. Call me if you need me.” She gathered her things and stalked towards the door before the small “wait,” whispered into the room stopped her. She turned back to look at you. 

Quietly, and without making eye contact, you breathed a small “Thank you.” Sylvia’s features softened and she smiled. “Get some rest,” she whispered. And with that, she left you alone in the room.

Unable to toss and turn and pile up the nest of pillows that you so loved to sleep with, you stared at the ceiling as you sought out rest. The light in the room was still a golden shine streaming in from outside. It was far earlier than you would usually retreat to the comfort of bed, but between your healing body, the energy you had already exerted, and the painkiller you had taken, you were racing towards sleep, towards that quiet oblivion. Where you wouldn’t have to think of the fight, the attack. You wouldn’t have to picture Clyde’s face, so downtrodden and utterly disappointed in you. 

If you could have taken it back, you would have.

But now the closest you could get to him was through hearing the lowered sounds of his voice talking to his siblings, to Sylvia. You couldn’t make out what they were saying in the living room, and the harder you strained to hear, the more jumbled the words became. They swirled in your head, and you couldn’t tell who was speaking at once, the cacophony of noise painfully quiet and horrifically overwhelming all at once. 

You fell asleep to the sound of it.

~~~

When you awoke next, you realized your body hadn’t moved an inch in your slumber. The voices down the hallway were absent, and the golden light that had once filled the room had long since faded beyond the horizon. Instead, a silver haze drifted over the space, illuminating the walls softly. 

It was silent, save for the heavy rain that danced across the roof of the trailer, a steady thrum that buzzed through the trailer. The muffled voices were gone, and the air in the house was still. You stared, with laser focus, up at the ceiling. You closed your eyes and pretended as if the rain could wash away the disgusting feeling you harbored deep in your stomach. As if it could wash away the memory of how you had treated Clyde, how you had pulled him along for months with no promise of a future. Maybe, if you were lucky, it would wash away his memory of it all along with yours.

Your thoughts were split in two by a large crunch that fell upon your ears and you jolted. You knew in your heart that it was a branch falling, cracking under the oppressive weight of the water that fell from the sky. You knew that had to be it. But a small voice, speaking from where it resided tucked away in the back of your mind, piped up. It could be anything, it taunted, jeering at you for your scare. 

You tried to push the startling noise from your mind and fall back asleep, but that comfort remained just out of reach. The whistling wind brought a chill to your bones, and the noises that splintered through the forest brought you back to just a few days before. Each noise was a beast, a predator stalking you through the night and into the haven you thought you had created in the trailer. A shudder ran through your body at the thought.

You were embarrassed, but you couldn’t be left alone with your thoughts much longer. You swallowed thickly and pushed out a small noise over the lump in your throat.

“Clyde?” you called, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

You were answered with a soft snore. You cleared your throat and tried again. “Clyde?” Your voice broke. 

You heard a hitched breath and the sound of shuffling. In just a few seconds, Clyde was at the open door, dressed in only a hole-pocked sleep shirt and a pair of boxers. He strode to your side in a few easy steps, flicked on the lamp on the nightstand, and gingerly laid his hand on your forehead, his face serious and his brow knit together tightly.

“What’s the matter? You in pain? D’you need me to call Sylvia back over?” he muttered, his eyes darting over your face. The golden light of the lamp illuminated half of his face and accentuated his sharp features knit together in concern. 

You shook your head and dragged a shuddering breath into your lungs in a feeble attempt to steel yourself. “I can’t go back to sleep.” With a slight strain of your neck, you pushed your forehead up into his palm and your eyes squeezed into slits as tears began to gather along your lash line. “Will you sleep with me?” you whispered, searching his face. For any expression of his thoughts. Your lip trembled. 

He flinched and his warm flesh left your head. He was taken aback by your request.

You should have known better.

The sharp sting of rejection shot through your spine and you shut your eyes, unwilling to bear the sight of the devastating heartbreak that could follow your next utterance. 

Your voice wavered. “Please.” You were met with silence. 

A heartbroken sob threatened to wrack your body when you were given no response until suddenly, the bed creaked and dipped under an unseen weight. 

Instead, a sob of relief broke from your chest. 

“Oh shh,” Clyde hushed as he hooked his left arm around your head, his right hand reaching across your body to palm your thigh and shift you close into his side without aggravating your newly stitched wounds. You pressed your lips together in a feeble attempt to stifle the noises that rattled in your chest as you turned your head to press into the refuge of his armpit. 

Clyde’s right hand slipped under your shirt to trace patterns into your skin and stroke your side, his fingers dancing at the edge of the gauze that was plastered to your body. There was pressure on your hair. He whispered soft assurances into your scalp, nuzzling his nose into your hair as he let you shake against him. “Shh, baby, shh. You’re alright there, you’re okay,” he crooned. “You’re safe now.” A ragged sob broke from your throat, as you collapsed into him. 

And finally, finally, you let yourself break. 

The embarrassment, the guilt - it all came gushing forward with the same force as a dam splintering under the pressure of the water it was designed to hold back. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you choked out, barely able to speak over the snot and tears that streaked your face. You knew you were making a mess of his shirt, but each attempt to suppress your sobs did nothing but heighten them. 

“Shh, sweet baby.” Clyde cooed, pulling you tight against him. Taking great care to avoid agitating your wounds, he pulled you up onto your uninjured side so you could bury your face into the crook of his neck. His hand wrapped around your torso to swirl small circles into your back. It would have felt incredible if you could feel anything besides the constricting pain in your chest as you dragged air into your lungs. As you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, he breathed in deep, forcing your body to rise and fall in time with his breaths. 

“Darlin’, c’mon, I need you to take a breath,” Clyde murmured as he pressed kisses to your hairline. “Can you try to do that for me?” You dragged shuddering breaths into your chest between your cries, trying your very hardest to match his breathing, but spitting and sputtering over every breath. 

Clyde didn’t seem to mind. He rained soft shushes and small kisses onto you as he cradled your shaking form. He would hold you like that forever if you needed it; if he could. 

Eventually, you began to still. Your breathing evened out and your tears stopped racing down your face. Clyde shifted his body down to be even with yours and leaned his face in to kiss the tear tracks and stray droplets from your face before he nuzzled his face against your own. The moment you had the strength to speak, you did. 

“Clyde, I’m so sorry-” you started. He cut you off immediately. 

“Shh, baby. It’s alright.” He squeezed your shoulders and kissed your temple. You shook in his arms and stuttered your head back and forth. “No Clyde, really,” you tried again. He caught your lips in a soft, swift kiss. 

“No. You don’t have t’ think about that right now. Anyway, you were right, you told me what you wanted. I’m sorry I didn’t respect that.”

A sob jumped in your throat. His words were tempting you to spill over yet again. You tried to whisper his name, but could only manage a high-pitched rendition. “Clyde, I was so unfair to you. I still am sorry,” you whispered breathily, barely pulling sound and tone over your strained vocal cords. 

He sighed slowly and dipped his head to kiss the corner of your eye, pulling the salty water drops that clung to the skin of your face away on his lips. “Thank you, darlin’. We can talk about it more later,” he soothed. Soft fingertips swept up and down your back. “I want you t’get some sleep. Can’t have you spikin’ a fever again,” he cooed to you as he peppered kisses along your hairline.  

You sniffed and nuzzled deeper into the solace you found between his neck and shoulder. With a careful wiggle, you maneuvered your body so that every part of you that could be touching him was, the knowledge that he was with you bringing you comfort by itself. He folded his body around yours.

It was warm, safe. He was warm. 

Safe. 

“Will you stay?” you muttered, the warmth radiating from his body beginning to pull you towards sleep already. You had been so anxious to distance yourself from Clyde, and now you couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving for just a second. His right hand tensed on your back and he squeezed you closer. “Always, darlin’.”

The rain pattered over the roof of the trailer, a dull hum that danced across your ears. 

The designs he traced over your skin lulled you to sleep.

~~~

Taglist: @mind-p0llution​ @thedivinemissm​ @clydesducktape​ @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @ladygrey03​ @desiraypark​ @1800-fight-me​ @hopeamarsu​​ @kkysolo​​ @clumsycopy​​ @mylifeisactuallyamess​​ @daydreamsofren​​ @mariesackler​​ (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

[rosewater-chlxe]

matter of time | ashton irwin

✖ Summary: After a reckless night of finally leaving your toxic relationship, you roamed the street searching for some kind of hope. That’s when you stumbled across a car with a certain hazel-eyed stranger and took a chance; throughout a now much warmer moment in time, you learned his name: Ashton. 

✖ genre ; fluff, comfort, angst (happy ending)

✖ warnings ; mention of abuse/manipulation

✖ requested - yes | no

a/n: this is heavily inspired by ‘drive’ & matter of time (interlude) on superbloom, and written for comfort <3

masterlist

The sound of your apartment door slamming felt almost relieving, yet somehow still reckoning in your blur of a mind; as every memory started flashing like headlights in the corners of your head, your vision became less and less useful. Those saltwater tears falling from your cluttered eyelashes started hitting the cold pavement below you as you felt a piece of you shatter within each step you took. 

You checked the time on your phone, 2am. 12 unread texts, 4 unanswered calls. You wanted to run, but where would you go? You wanted to drop the phone held in your hand and make the screen unreadable. You wanted to take a flight back home, but with what cash, with what luggage? 

The words that terrible, monstrous man had spoken echoed in your ears like a broken record; Your now ex-boyfriend. 

After all that time of him telling you that you aren’t good enough; that you need to listen to his every single syllable, every dreadful sentence he dare spoke, you finally left. All of that heartache and rage for what? Every night alone, every day stuck in his shadow, only as a silhouette; every time you looked in the mirror to see nothing but shades of violet, yellow and blue on your skin. Every single breath you took was held in, and now your lungs aren’t sure of how to handle all of the fresh air. 

You didn’t have your mind set on moving to California, but that night terror of a man made every single decision. You wanted nothing more than to take a breather and sit at your actual home for a while before the move, but it was almost instant. The apartment with him was never a home; barely a living space.  

The street you walked upon was empty of people; only houses with their lights off. Quickly you noticed a car behind you, playing music at the loudest volume. The car pulled into the driveway ahead of you; there were two people left in the car, but only one left the front passenger seat. A dark haired man wearing a green hoodie with the word ‘empathy’ written on the front entered the house as the car backed out of the driveway once more. 

Though when the car backed out, the driver waited. You cautiously continued walking and as you were about to pass the car, the passenger seat window rolled down all the way. You stopped and looked in to see a stranger with the kindest smile you had ever laid your eyes upon; the man had dark, wavy, medium length hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed in a satin, black button down shirt with black jeans that had rips near his knees. 

You were timid and incredibly cautious as you took a quick look around in his car, searching for any warning signs or red flags; you found not a single one. You glanced at the paused song on what was most likely his playlist. Lullaby by The Cure. 

Finally, as the man before you speaks, you snap out of your own thoughts. 

“I apologize if I seem like some creepy lingerer, but I seen you walking by yourself and it’s 2am,” he spoke, “are you okay?” he questioned with a kind, welcoming tone. You watched his eyes glance at the tear stains covering your cheeks, and you noticed his eyebrows slightly furrow. 

“My name is Ashton by the way, and It’d be no problem to take you where you need to go,” he said followed by a small pause, “though if it would make you more comfortable I can call my friend Sierra to help,” he finished. 

Your exterior softened as you realized you had no reason to even have the smallest concern about this so-called Ashton, realizing he’s a genuine person just by the few sentences he’s said to you. 

“Are you sure? I could just walk by myself, I’m sure you need to get home-” you questioned before he quickly interrupted, 

“Positive. I wouldn’t want anyone wandering the streets of California this late, hop in!” he enthusiastically answered, making sure you felt as if you could trust him. 

You entered the car, feeling more comfortable than you ever had in the apartment though you were next to someone you had never met before. The aroma in the car was coming from Ashton himself, his cologne so vibrant in scent that in lingered wherever he was; your senses were filled with the smell of dozens of flowers in the sunshine during the summer. The scent was the first thing that had given your soul warmth for what felt like the first time in years. 

“Thank you for being so kind, it truly does mean the world to me,” you said to him in a genuine tone with a sigh of relief, “I’m Y/N.” 

“What might you be up to walking around here at 2am, Y/N?” he asked as you watched him turn his right turn signal on, glancing over you with a slight smile. 

“That’s a very long, dreadful story,” you said with a hint of bitterness and forced laughter, still being sweet as you smiled at him. 

He smiled with a bit of sorrow in his eyes, realizing something bad must have happened. He studied your facial expression and body language for any signs to find a light, almost unnoticeable bruise on your wrist as well as your timidly fingers dancing upon one another when he asked; he had a slight frown as you fidgeted. 

“I don’t know what happened and I’m sure it’s none of my business, but I’d like you to know that you aren’t alone though it may feel that way. It’s the sappy shit everyone says and I don’t know if you wanna hear it, but it does get better with time. You just gotta give it a chance y’know?” he said to you in now a more calming, comforting tone. 

You felt tears well up in your eyes once more, not remembering what this kindness felt like; it was completely unfamiliar to you, yet it made you feel like you were home. 

“Thank you, Ashton. You’re a very lovely human being,” you said to him with a soft smile, “to sum up the entire thing, I have- had been with someone who wasn’t the best, or wasn’t really good at all to me for way longer than I should’ve been. People always underestimate how hard it can be to leave situations like that.” 

He let out a soft sigh as he stopped at the red light in front of you; he tapped on the steering wheel as he thought carefully of what to say. He adjusted his bracelet before turning to face you; it was dark, so he decided not to comment on the outline of tears falling from your cheeks. 

“I know that what happened in the amount of time you were with him couldn’t have been easy, probably quite difficult -- and though you don’t deserve going through what you did nor should it have happened, painful lessons can be the perfect tool to grow; to proceed to the next better chapter of your life.” He said to you, truly believing what he was saying rather than just telling you things for reassurance. 

You could almost feel the liquid gold that flooded through his veins; the flowers that bloomed in his lungs as he took each breath. Those raven curls fell perfectly along his forehead and right above his eyes, creating such a highly-saturated feeling as you lingered in his atmosphere. 

“You’re a beautiful person,” you accidentally let out the repeating sentence in your head, “I mean you’re very sweet,” you attempted to fix your slip up through clumsily placed stutters. 

Ashton chuckled with a bright smile on his face, and you could feel every sunbeam exuding from his emotions. His hazel eyes were the softest you’d ever seen, yet they had such potential to be utmost intimidating. 

“I think you’re admirable as well, Y/N,” he replied with the sweetest of honey in his tone.

As he pulled into his driveway, reality set in once again. He carefully studied your reactions to see any hesitance or uneasiness.

“Remember, if you aren’t comfortable staying at my place, Sierra lives a few streets away and it wouldn’t be a bother at all to take you there,” he warmly reminded you. 

“You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, I promise I’m comfortable; you are, right?” You responded with a small smile, awaiting his reply.

“Of course,” he nodded, getting out of the car and opening your door. 

When you finally entered the well-lit home, you noticed a variety of things: the instruments, the little vintage musical references scattered along the walls, the open notebook sitting on the coffee table; every little trinket revealing more of his personality. You also finally got a more in-detail look of his features. You noticed his tattoos, and as you closely examined each one you yearned knowing the story behind them; you took note of his laid-back demeanor and the smooth ways in which he carried himself. 

“You’re a songwriter?” You questioned, hoping your analysis was correct.

“I am actually, more of a drummer though,” he joked, making you let out a light laugh. “Would you like anything to drink or eat? I can grab some more comfortable clothes for you if you’d like?” he considerately asked, giving you a warm smile.

“I would love that, thank you so much; and a water would be great,” you timidly replied, tapping the ends of your fingertips nervously.

“Of course, is there anything else you need? Do you wanna talk about anything?” he asked in a very sweet, quiet tone as he noticed your anxiety.

“Thank you so much, I’m honestly just really exhausted,” you stated, knowing you were actually quite awake; you just needed to let everything out alone as always.

“I understand darling, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs -- I’ll go get the clothes, just make yourself at home,” he kindly said to you, internally questioning your stability. He noticed every single flinch and facial expression of sorrow; this, let alone, filled him with devastation.

You made your way up the stairs, passing photographs on the wall of him and three other men; one of them being the man you seen get out of his car earlier that night. You faintly heard Ashton open the fridge and grab a water, knowing he’d be coming up with you soon. You stopped your curious gazing and entered the spare bedroom; It was mostly empty with a few light decorations, a nightstand, a dresser, and a bed with pale green, silk sheets. You sat down and patiently awaited his arrival, looking down at your swaying legs. 

You heard his light footsteps as he entered the room with a small smile on his face, handing you cozy clothing and a water; he gave you an oversized, black hoodie and grey sweatpants. The clothes smelled of his cologne, which brought you some sort of unexplainable comfort. 

“If you need absolutely anything, I’ll be right downstairs, okay? Have a lovely sleep, sweet dreams,” he softly spoke, leaving the room and carefully shutting the door behind him. 

As quickly as the door closed, tears began to overflow in your eyes; streams of the coldness you felt in your once known monster’s arms went down your cheeks like rivers. The ache in your chest felt like no other; you felt empty and severely heavy at the same time. The room was silent, but the static in your body became blaringly and deafeningly loud. You wanted to scream so hard that your vocal cords would no longer make a sound, and by the silent sobs you produced it was almost as if you did. 

Then it stopped. 

The static stopped playing, and you were brought back to the moment you were in rather than the past; you heard faint acoustic guitar strings that sounded like a home you’d never felt. You heard singing, but the lyrics through the walls weren’t as clear as you wanted. You heard the raindrops from outside mixed with Ashton’s honey-drenched voice, and that let alone turned every single tear filled with sorrow into softly spilled tears of rosewater. 

You sat up from the now wet pillow, and changed into the clothing he offered you. You carefully opened the bedroom door and sat down on one of the stairs, listening from just the wall keeping the two of you distanced. 

He sang,

“From the ground up, don't you burn it down Everybody's got the chance to turn it around Rebuild it like a vase, or a shattered crown Dive into the ocean and you'll never drown Darkness shows up, don't you let it grow The light will shine in, then your heart will know That all of these things That cause us pain inside Will come and go When the roses bloom and the record don't scratch Close your eyes, don't you ever look back Painful lessons are a perfect tool Schools in session and the number one rule  It’s all just a matter of time,”

after he finished the last few lines, he set down the guitar and wrote down the last few words he sang in his notebook. At this time, you were now leaning against the doorframe admiring his every thought being expressed through the look in his hazel eyes. 

“You’re very talented,” you softly spoke not to startle him; though still, for a second, he had wide eyes as he glanced up at you. 

“I thought you were asleep,” he lightly laughed, “I’m sorry if I’ve waken you.” 

“Not at all,” you smiled to quickly reassure his concerns, “I’m exhausted, but I don’t think sleep is an option,” you admitted; “Honestly, the most calming thing I’ve heard in years is what I just did.”

You watched as the heat on his face began to match your own; suddenly, an idea came to his head.

“I hope this isn’t crossing a boundary or anything, but if you’d like, you could lay down next to me? I mean, I could continue if you’d want that.” He timidly asked, looking for any hesitance in your demeanor. All he seen was a glimpse of hope in your eyes as you joined him on the sofa. 

You laid your head down on the opposite side, almost curling up into a ball. As he started playing the first few notes and singing the opening lyrics, you already felt yourself peacefully drift off into sleep. You felt safe. You felt warm, and secure. The newness of every single little feeling in your heart made it’s way to every corner of your body as you had your last conscious thoughts.  

A few minutes after Ashton realized you had fallen asleep, he couldn’t resist the sweet smile spreading across his face. He softly set the guitar down and grabbed the blanket laying on the couch, covering you up with it. He placed a gentle kiss on your head and started walking out of the room, but stopped when he reached the doorframe.

He turned around once more and sighed to himself. He glanced at the staircase then back at you; he shook his head in disbelief of his emotions, and laid down with you. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/N.” 

-

fin. 

[flower-demise]

⋆⁺ 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯| 𝖐𝖙𝖍 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

They say that when you are looking at the stars, you’re actually looking into the past. Many of the stars we see at night have already faded away.

And yet I found you

A bts au inspired by hotarubi no Mori e, howl's moving castle and stories without a linear concept of time

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚⁺˚

✦𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 : 𝔗𝔞𝔢𝔥𝔶𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯, 𝔜𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

✦𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊 : 𝔉𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔲 ,𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱, 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱/𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱, 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

✦𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢, 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔩 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔲𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔡/𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰.

✦𝕬/𝖓: 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰, 𝔞 𝔰𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔟𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔣𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔰. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔣𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔰.

𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊 | 𝖈𝖍.1 | 𝖈𝖍.2 | 𝖈𝖍.3 | 𝖈𝖍.4 | 𝖈𝖍.5 | 𝖈𝖍.6| 𝖆𝖔3

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚⁺˚

(This is the 2nd chapter please read the others before this)

Chapter 2 : You are my best friend, even at the end of the world..

Dreams, memories you didn’t know what they were, only that as you passed through them you reclaimed a missing piece of you.  

You were standing as a little girl in front of your grandparent's cottage, suitcase in hand ready to spend another summer. The moment you left it to the ground, you heard the waves crash in the shore and you turned to see your grandma peeling an orange and humming that lullaby she used to.  

‘What is this song grandma? The one you always sing.’

‘Oh’ she smiled and offered you a piece, which you took gratefully. Her eyes landed in the place where the sea and the sky met, making the colors blur. ‘I see this..world extending in front of me and around me, I hold this orange in my hands and I taste its juice and I sing about all this, about their beauty’

You didn’t know if that was what you expected to hear, but you were intrigued.

‘In my mind’ she closed her eyes and turned towards the sun ‘It is the melody of life dear one. It is the same melody of the waves meeting the shore and the songs of the birds welcoming the spring’.

A quiet smile formed on your lips, at the wonder and magic behind the words.

‘Who taught it to you?’

‘Oh, no one I can recall, I came to find it, to create it by simply..singing’

You hummed pleased at the sweetness of the fruit. How can oranges taste better here than they do in the city? You wanted to ask but

‘Sometimes I hear it too...the music’ you confessed, a tingle of fear lingering in the back of your mind, of the woman been repulsed by it. A tingle that washed away immediately by the crinkling of smiling eyes and the warmth of a loving face.  

The sun was beginning to set now and the sky had turned a light pink color

‘That’s very special little one, being connected to the other worlds. It means you will have a very interesting fate’  

Comfort filled you. Even excitement.  

‘Fate?’

She hummed. ‘I can’t wait to see what you’ll choose to create with your life’

You sniffed and she laughed. She always laughed so easily.

‘So, you can hear it too?’ you turned to face her but you saw yourself, staring back at you.

You were at your high school bathroom, in front of a full-length mirror, trying to keep yourself together.

Tired red eyes, ready to burst with tears. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you be normal? You had heard it again that day, the music.

It became so loud during class that you had to run in here before having a breakdown in front of your class. You were probably losing it. You didn’t give yourself this long anyway, it would happen..shit why did it have to happen?

You stared at your idol in the mirror, the plea in your face so hard.  

just be normal, just be normal

‘Just be normal’ you screamed at your reflection and you heard shoes hitting tiles, the sound of them moving away.

fuck

Even the drugs prescribed to you didn’t help, they even seemed to make it worse. Your dreams at night were so vivid, so horrifying, so dark.  

please be normal, please be normal

Now you knew. That the music had followed you throughout your life, it followed you like a comfort blanket when you were a kid spending time in nature and as a burden, a sign that made you stand out from everyone else throughout your teenage years. How could you have forgotten that? How could you forget him?

The boy with the mint hair.

It was late in the afternoon and you were walking home with your grandma after your regular walk at the sea.  

You were kicking a little stone between steps when you thought you saw someone among the trees. You moved a few steps back and went closer to the bushes.  

There, in a clearing among the trees was standing a man with his eyes closed, bathing in the remaining sunlight. His head was turned upwards towards the sky, complete peace in his face, that you almost didn’t notice the vines with thorns covering his wrists. He must have been in pain, though he didn’t show.

You were ready to crouch closer when you heard your grandmother who had walked up ahead call out your name.  

‘I’ll be home before dark’ you promised quietly not wanting to disturb the scene unfolding in front of you. She seemed to move on then, leaving you to whatever fantasy you were indulging for the day.  

You had stopped yourself inches before your feet touched the grass, as not to intrude a personal moment. Your eyes were wide though, taking every little detail in.

The boy seemed a few years older than you and looked like a fairy, the sort you read books about, beautiful and elegant and hidden in the forests. How did you of all people stumble upon him? The light was shining through his hair, giving him a warm glow. He just looked soft..safe.

The only thing that stood out in the pure moment were the dark vines with thorns covering his wrists. Even from here you could see little drops of blood. Your heart ached at that.  

You were pondering how to approach him, if you even should or simply run home and let your dreams do the hard work, when you noticed a butterfly flying close to his face.  Like he knew it was there, even with eyes closed, he smiled and lifted his hands, extending his finger for it to land on. When it did, he finally opened his eyes and his smile made flowers bloom in your stomach.

This was the time to run away you thought...

And the universe’s answer came immediately.

‘Come here’  

His voice was warm and inviting like the summer itself. You didn’t realize at first that he addressed you, you didn’t even know when he noticed you. Were you being too loud? It didn’t really matter at that moment, as you timidly walked out of the bush you were hiding, an apologetic expression on your face.  

His eyes lit when he saw you and motioned for you to come closer.

‘Move your finger’ he said, when you had approached.

You watched as he slightly connected your fingers, giving space for the butterfly to land on you.

It felt so light on your skin and it tingled, a giggle escaping your lips. You froze your finger to the spot to observe the creature and the patterns in its dark blue wings.

You let out a breath.

‘It’s pretty’ you mumbled.

You turned instinctively to the man next to you, only to see him observing you with a warm expression. You felt heat in your cheeks and he smiled.  

‘Will you take care of her for me, when I'm gone?’ his question surprised you and your eyes flickered from the butterfly and back to him.  

‘Where are you going?’ you couldn’t hide the disappointment in your voice.

‘A place far from here.’

Where? You wanted to ask so badly, but he continued.

‘Where I come from, there’s not much light for her. Her home is here with you, flying freely under the sun. Do you understand?’ he asked and you got the feeling his words held another meaning.  

Nonetheless, you nodded and the butterfly flew away.

‘Promise?’ he offered his little finger.

And you wanted to giggle as you whispered ‘I promise’ and sealed your words in a pinky promise.

‘You are bleeding’ you broke the sweet moment when you felt a thorn cut your skin. This close you could see he bled green blood and you decided he was definitely a fairy.

He looked at his wrists then and a sad smile crept on his lips.

‘It’s alright’ he said simply and then turned to look at the sky once more.  

'It's getting dark little one, better go home before your grandma gets worried’.  

Right your grandma.  

It felt like no time had passed at all when you were with him and a pout formed in your lips when you knew you had to leave.

‘I’m y/n by the way’ you said trying to savor a few more moments and because you really wanted to know his name. You knew that fairies and names had an interesting history. And so, by giving him your name and asking for his you hoped to create a bond of sorts, something..anything to keep the boy from fading away.

He made a theatrical bow that you found too adorable. Especially when you saw the way his hair boped  messily on his head.

‘I’m Yoongi’. He spoke softly, a last remaining ray of light falling to his face.  

Yoongi. You let the name find a home in your heart.

You glimpsed at the road that would lead you home, it had already started to look dark and long and you groaned internally.  

‘Will I see you again?’ the question you wanted to ask slipped out and you thought you would burst in tears if he replied what you didn’t want to hear. But his eyes softened more.

‘I will be here little one, for all time, so you can visit me through your memory whenever you wish. And I will feel the sun every time again’.  

You didn’t understand what he had meant then, only that it filled you with an unexplainable sadness. Still his answer satisfied a part of you and so you decided to venture home, but only after bidding him goodnight and waving as long as your eyes could reach him.

--

You felt yourself waking up, with his voice still in your ears, the tingle of the butterfly in your finger. How could you have forgotten all that? Yoongi was a central part of your childhood and early adolescence, like a lighthouse, a compass navigating the dark.

‘Yoongi?’ the name rolled easily out of your lips like it had many times before.  

You felt someone brushing your hair, fingers trailing the lines of your palm.

‘I’m here little one.’

The feeling of someone you loved calmed your nerves and you stirred in your sleep, diving deeper and welcoming new dreams.  

--

It was your second summer with Yoongi having become a part of your daily routine.

A regular day consisted of breakfast, swimming, launch, playing cards with your grandma and Yoongi. From late noon till the sun would set. She had asked a couple of times where you were sneaking to, but you told her about a boy living near the sea and when she said something about bringing him over you replied that he was very shy. And that was that.

You were fiddling with a leaf in your hand, the homecooked meal still lingering in your mouth as you laid in the grass next to him.  

‘You never told me where you are from’

‘I told you I can’t speak of that place ‘

‘Not that ' you whined ‘I meant where you grew up. You never told me about your life ‘  

your parents, your friends..

‘I.. ‘ Yoongi registered his words and after a while without an answer you turned to look at him. His expression was morphed into one of confusion.  

‘I grew up next to the sea’ he said, his eyes here and not really here at the same time ‘I think I remember a shore. ‘ he started to look anxious. ‘I..’ he galped down.  

‘I think..I think there was a dog too, running in the beach next to me. I don’t remember its name. I don’t remember any of their names ‘the realization hit him before you could react.  

‘When did I forget? ‘

‘Hey’ you spoke softly trying to get him out of his thoughts but he only flinched away from your touch.  

‘When did I forget?’ he asked again to someone you couldn’t see, panic taking over him.

‘There was the sea’ he repeated, chanting almost ‘and a dog and sweet music’  

A ghost of a smile.

‘I remember an old piano with dark wooden color and yellow flowers on top of it. I don’t know who played it. I remember feeling I shouldn’t’

‘It's okay.’ you cut him of ‘It was stupid of me to ask’ Yoongi observed you, like registering your presence all over again.

He seemed to compose himself then.

‘No. You helped me..in ways you don’t understand’

‘It must have been good though, even if you can't remember’

‘What?’

‘Your life’ you smiled at him. ‘The sea, the dog, the piano it sounds like a good life to me’

He looked at you but didn’t smile. It was the first time he looked this..adult-like.

‘It’s late..better go home little one’

It was like a blow and you stood there frozen.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ your voice sounded crashed.

His eyes shot up.

‘Of course not. It’s just been a lot for me, I think I need to figure it all out’

You nodded.

It was the first time you dragged your feet while returning. The house with the unlocked door seemed welcome and familiar, a faint light coming from the window of your grandma’s room. Before you entered you turned around, where you knew the clearing was but couldn’t see.  

Was Yoongi out there? Crying alone?

Something salty lingered on your tongue and it took you a while to realize it was your tears.

‘Shh’

--

You had been running, you remember that because your cheeks were flushed red and your hair was flying in all directions when you fell on the grass like it was a mattress, next to the boy you had grown to love.

It must have been your third summer together. And all year long you counted the days till you could see him again.

When the time did finally came, the first thing you did when you opened the door out of your grandma’s car was to run to the field, leaving your suitcase behind. And every time, he was there, standing in the clearing, looking the same as that first day. And the same sense of a longing filled you, had you running straight to his arms, burring your face in his shirt, each summer and a little higher.  

Yoongi didn’t grow up like you did, you never asked him why, mostly because you secretly liked how you would be the same age one day.  

Long term thoughts of how fast time passes and how easily childhood blurs to adulthood and becomes a memory didn’t really occur to you. Why would they ? Back then every summer seemed to last for an eternity and growing up meant turning eighteen.

The sun warmed your entire body and you felt like you were flowing rather than laying on the ground. Your breath echoed , the only sound between you.  

‘A little more and you’ll catch up’ he teased and you rolled your eyes .

You knew him by now, all his teasings and all his antics : his long silences, the way he closed his eyes and scrunched his nose when something pleased him, or when he became too lost in his thoughts and a strange shadow covered his face.  

And he knew everything about you, from all the gossip about your classmates to the dreams you didn’t dare share with anyone else.

‘Mhhm’ you stretched ‘ I love summer’  

Yoongi let out a huff.

‘You mean you missed me’  

Not that you would admit that without a fight, no matter how apparent it was.

‘You wish. I was pondering whether to come to this forgotten place or visit Sarah’s home for the summer’

‘Right’ he chuckled. ‘Because you like Sarah so much’

That sleeky..

You shrugged your shoulders.

‘I knew grandma would miss me if I didn’t come so..’

‘How’s your grandma?’ he asked with sincere interest.

‘Like she always is. Wears that hat, makes tea, reads her novels by the porch. This year she seems quieter though, less jokes, less sweet pies’

He let out a pained whistle.

‘That must have hurt'

‘Shut up’ you rolled your eyes.

‘Honestly..’ you signed and he picked a look at you from beneath his hand that sheltered him from the sun. ‘I think she just misses grandpa. More by the day. Thought it would be the opposite but..I heard her say his name on her sleep’.

‘Love like that isn’t washed away by years’.

You didn’t reply for a while, trying to form what you were feeling.

‘Love is a weird thing. I don’t understand it’.

‘I refuse to understand it’ you announced with eyebrows raised and he laughed.

‘Love is simple little one. Your grandmother loves you, like she loves your grandfather. And you love her and your mother even if she is the most irritating human you have encountered’ he mimicked your words 'and sometimes you want to spend time with people you love, sometimes you want to be cities apart. Sometimes you do part indefinitely but the love is still there’

‘Is it that simple then?’

He hummed.

‘It should be’.

Do you love me?  

‘It must hurt her though, loving him while he isn’t around’.

This time he moved away his hand and let it fall between the two of you. It was peaceful like this, you found comfort in the spaces between the words.

‘It must be the same like me and you’.

‘Us?’ he questioned.

You nodded.

‘I miss you all year and even though you aren’t there I still want to hear your voice or lie next to you like this’. It wasn’t so hard to admit it after all. It felt like a weight was lifted from your chest. Your hand barely touched his in the grass and he moved his pinky to circle around your own. You stayed like that for a while.

‘Maybe I understand love after all’ you sing sang cockily. A comforting silence. Then the need to say it out loud became too overbearing, like a bird trapped in a cage, aching to fly.

‘Yoongi’. You hummed his name. He had closed his eyes again and this time droplets of light scattered throughout his face and he scrunched his nose in the way you knew it meant he enjoyed this.  

‘Hmm?’

‘I think..I think I want to kiss you’. The way his eyes shot open in utter horror would be comical if not for your quick heartbeat which monitored over every tiny movement like a hawk locked on its prey.  

‘Y-you want to kiss me?’ he asked like this was a melodrama series on tv.

There’s the calm reaction! Love is simple my ass..

‘I mean not now. But one day’ you held your gaze to the ground, afraid to see his reaction to that but in your surprise you heard the boy laugh. Not a teasing kind, a light summer laugh.  

You joined him, you had no reason not to. Yoongi seemed relieved and youthful in that moment, like he recognized how young you were and what it meant to have a crush. He stretched like a cat. He did strangely remind you of-

‘Sure one day’. He promised.

‘What really?’ the excitement alone had you roll back to the ground, flowers getting all over your hair.  

He hummed again.

‘It’s too much pressure to be your first crush. I have to appear decent.’ He began teasing you again.

‘Stop’ you giggled.

‘I am not a decent man. But for you miss..I might pretend to be’  

‘Who was your first crush?’

Yoongi’s eyes lighted at that and you got the sense he wanted to say much.  

‘Someone very brave, someone who made me want to be brave’

‘Is she married now?’  

He looked at you for a moment and then laid back on the ground. Again with his secrets.

‘When you get older’ his voice was more serious now 'you will not even remember me. I will have become a part of your childhood, a blurry memory you won’t be able to distinguish between reality and dream. But that’s okay. It will always be okay little one, even when you fear it won’t. ‘

Why did he become this profound all of a sudden?

‘When we grow up the world tells us how it’s supposed to be, our life. We have a responsibility to ourselves to fight back an ignorant world, an old world with no soul remaining in it. To fight your way through alone is a scary thing, to fight with someone you love will the be the greatest adventure of your life.’

The sun was starting to set now, and the birds were flying home for the night.

It was almost time to wake up. Yet, you held to this like it was a fountain of clear water and you had been thirsty all your life. Like this alone held all the answers you needed. And you had to hold on, to cling for a little longer.

‘And you will find that someone you will love. That someone who will love you back against all prejudice and all possibility and all sense of the all knowing world. Someone good, who you can walk each other home. I can’t walk you home.’ he smiled almost sadly. But you countered his words. A strange feeling of discomfort blooming in your belly. Heartbreak.

‘Why not?’ you asked finally. You wanted to ask from the moment you saw him. Why can’t you come home and eat soup and play cards with my grandma?

‘Because I’m bound to this place. Not the field, the other one. The distant one, the one with not much light’  

‘But I love you.’ You emphasized, not registering what he was really saying to you. ‘I don’t care that you can't walk me home. I don’t need you to, I know the way and grandma’s house isn’t that far’.

‘That’s not what I meant'

He looked at you, a knowing expression on his eyes.  

‘Y/n’ he called your name and a bell rang in your mind.’ You have to wake up’ he moved closer and cupped your face with a gentle hand. You looked up to him with big eyes, expecting this to go differently than you remembered.

‘You have to go home before it gets dark, in the dark you lose all sense of direction, of yourself.’

‘But you won't be there..back home’.

‘I will always be here with you, you know that. You know that now’  

‘No I don’t’ younger you mused with a pout.

‘You can’t cheat time little one, you will have to grow up, while I'll remain the same age. It’s only natural for you to let me go’

‘But I don’t want to let go.’ Tears were coating your eyes, you were acting like a child trying to hold to it favorite toy when you had grown beyond it , perhaps trying to hold to childhood itself with your teeth and tight grip.

‘But its okay if you do’ he assured you and he countered a fear you didn’t realize you had.

‘It doesn’t mean this will be erased, it can’t be erased, even if you forget me. You’ll always be my best friend..even at the end of the world’  

The tears fell in your lap like the cherry blossoms fell in spring. You never had seen spring with him, or winter, or fall. Only summer. The time of childhood.  

Understanding was taking root inside you and yet a part still desperately fought to hold on. Even to this day.

‘Won’t you be lonely if I don’t come anymore? Wont you miss me, young hopeful me If I put on my work clothes and get out of the school uniform?’

‘You will always appear like this to me. The girl with the big eyes and the kind heart.. the girl I had to convince for an entire month I wasn’t a fairy and in the end still say to me that that was a shame and that she wished above all things to be one’ 

You laughed through tears and he wiped some away.

‘Memory or no memory, fantasy or no fantasy, there’s no great truth to this world but this: I will always be here where the lines blur and I will watch over you. And you..you can tell me anything you want. But still my little one, who have outgrown me so beautifully you’ll have to wake up’  

You blinked away the tears. It was you now, older and not much wiser that looked at him, lying next to him on the field, the sun long gone.

He was right. No matter the time or place you could find your way back to a sunny field and to open arms. Still, you felt as heartbroken as you had back then. And no matter the sting of it and the fear of reality crushing over you, he let a gentle kiss on your forehead and it all turned too sweet. How could heartbreak be this sweet?

A last lingering memory found its way on the surface. One, more bitter than any rejection could be.

-

It was one of those afternoons you spend time with your grandma.

After the meal she had gotten her old albums out for you to see and your eyes flickered between them and the clock on the wall, a little more until you’d go to him.  

‘What’s this grandma?’ you asked when a particular one caught your eye.

‘Oh this?’ she smiled at the old picture, its edges torn by the years. ‘This is the choir I was into, when I was a kid’

‘You were in a choir?’ you laughed in disbelief.

‘Of course I was’ she mused, pretending to be annoyed ‘Come on, spot me’  

You rolled your eyes but scanned the faces nonetheless. There weren’t many kids, ten or eleven maybe.

Your heart flickered when you recognized a familiar face among them. One that didn’t belong to your grandma.

‘Who's this?’ your voice was quiet, scared of hearing the name. Scared of confirming what you had feared.

‘Now I’m offended’ she joked.

The boy in the picture smiled at the old camera, a full gummy smile. He was younger and his hair were his natural color, but still you knew it was him. You'd recognize him everywhere.

‘Who is he?’ you insisted.

Your grandma pulled her glasses higher and took the album in her hands.  

It took her a moment before she exclaimed a quiet ‘ah’.

‘I think his name was Min Yoongi’ she said between pauses. ‘But that’s a sad story dear’

‘Why?’ you hadn’t come this close to the truth before, no point crawling away now. ‘Why is it a sad story?’

She signed. ‘Oh well..he was a year younger than me, a quiet kid, used to come to the choir with bruises on his face’

You galped down.

‘He found solace in music, I think. Not much of a singer but, he used to play the piano. Fell in love with it. I don’t remember much and people tend to twist the stories so some of this may be false. ‘When she saw you were paying attention she continued ‘He dropped out of school which was normal back then for boys to join their fathers in the fields but he wanted to become a musician. So, he got a job and he left after a while to America to follow his dream. It was..unheard at the time to do such a thing’

Her fingers, long and crinkly traced the picture.

‘What happened in America?’  

‘I don’t know’ she moved her glasses higher again ‘but people said that he found himself there.’

A smile.

‘He wasn’t very lucky with his work though. He went to auditions and played at bars, maybe even on the streets, but he never stood out. He was..mediocre and New York was a crowed place, a blooming place. All that time and all that effort and all that love for a city that ate him alive. Maybe that’s why he left’

‘He came back here?’

She nodded.  

‘I saw him around the time I had first met your grandpa. He had grown taller and he had an odd hair color’ she frowned and you smiled.

‘I saw him next to the woods his family used to have a home, which got demolished after they left the place. We weren’t that close so I didn’t say hi. But I thought it was strange for him to have returned to such a small village, to that place. Next thing I hear is that he died, hours after I saw him’

‘His parents had disowned him and run away to hide from their shame, it was me and other three people at the funeral. A quiet boy really, used to smile at the notes as he played them-

You run straight to the bathroom, not bearing to hear anymore. You locked the door behind you, as you tried to calm yourself in front of the mirror. She came knocking but you had your hand covering your mouth, little cries muffled by the skin.

You never asked your grandma about Yoongi again.  

This chapter's moodboard.

Ps: I'd love your feedback!

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

��Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

[enby-hawke]

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence                     

Category:F/M

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, exploration of race and class dynamics, eventual smut

So here it is after 3 years of talking about it and then trying to turn it into a comic, I’m kicking it out because it doesn’t pay rent and I have other stories to tell. Here it is. Hope you enjoy. 

----

“I still do not understand what taste is,” the spirit somehow huffed. Malcolm knew it was a mistake to respond at all. The red specter hovered on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, it’s angry red glow a contrast to the murky green that the Fade was hazed in. It had somehow got in again, into the sanctum where he allowed his mind to rest as he guarded the dreamers of Kirkwall. Malcolm could have made his sanctum look like anything, but he didn’t bother giving himself the illusion he was anywhere else but his Circle cell. The thin sandpaper sheets did nothing to soften the metal bed underneath him. The cell had barely enough room for his dresser and desk that he used to do his studies, which he spent more time doodling on than learning. Even here he could still smell the faint aroma of the toilet that was next to his bed. Still, as unpleasant as his sanctum was, he needed a strong sensation to anchor his body, especially if he was going to battle a demon tonight.

Malcolm took in a stale breath, held it for 4 seconds, and gently let it go. It was important that no matter what happened, he remained calm.

The shimmering of the phantom became more urgent, more vibrant. Malcolm continued to ignore it, even turning his head and body away to make a point, but it didn’t seem to stop the creature from trying to dart into view, insistent on having his question answered. After the third turn of his head, the demon reached and gave one of Malcolm’s pointy ears a firm yank, screaming, “Can you hear me?”

On instinct, Malcolm swiped at the demon with a crackling fist, but the demon darted away. The sparks in Malcolm’s hand arced wildly as he leveled it at his target. “Fuck off, demon. I told you, one question.”

The wraith started to warp along with the Fade as anger emanated from Malcolm’s body. Claws started sprouting from it’s fingers and through it’s translucent skin, he could see it’s teeth starting to jut out at odd angles, but the demon made no move to fight him. “Were you listening? I am not a demon. I’m a scholar. And you are the first somniari I have come across in ages.”

The demon kept it’s distance but became more animated, gesturing with it’s gangly arms. “The last somniari only survived long enough to tell me about eating, but though I’ve tried it, the phenomenon remains perplexing.” Malcolm jumped as the demon inched closer. “Sometimes eating brings joy. Sometimes eating brings sorrow. Sometimes eating brings no emotion at all.” Quivering in curiosity, the demon then sprung forward so close to Malcolm could easily punch it. “Why somniari?”

The sparks in Malcolm’s hands died down as his eyes glazed over, caught in a memory. He saw his mother, with dark freckled brown skin, and beautiful curly hair that cascaded down her back, but her face was blurred as he failed to recall the details. Still, he remembered the smell of the plate of piping hot pancet that she placed in front of him, how the steam coming off of the unending noodles made his mouth water. She brushed his mop of curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead with a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Malcolm.”

The creature sniffed at his head as if he was about to take a huge bite. “Oh, what is that? That smells delicious!”

Malcolm swatted at the spirit as if it was an annoying fly. “Stay out of my head!”

But the spirit had already plucked the memory out of his head and dashed away a safe distance from the room. It wiggled in delight of it’s prize, and in it’s hands it materialized into a bowl of pancet. Malcolm felt a sick twist of envy as the spirit grabbed a handful of long fried noodles and shoved it into it’s mouthless face, slurping it down with wet smacking noises. “This,” sluuuurp, “memory tastes both,“ sluuuurp, “happy and sad, though the sadness is fresher.”

Malcolm, quaking in anger, rose to his feet, summoning threatening flames so high, they licked the ceiling. “Were you not warned of who I am?”

The spirit continued to eat in bliss, Malcolm’s threat no more than an annoyance. “The wisps call you,” sluurp, “Spirit Slayer.”

Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow, wondering why this spirit had no sense of self preservation. Or was this demon stronger than he thought? “So why do you risk pestering me?”

At this, the demon lowered the bowl, a mess of sauce dripping down it’s face. “Because only you can answer.”

The demon looked sadly at it’s last noodle and picked it up between it’s claws. “I, too, have lost much, somniari. I had a name once. I’ve given up trying to find it.”

“I’ve asked every stone, every wisp, but so much was lost after The Sundering. What I am, is what I have left.” The demon turned to Malcolm and though it had no eyes, he could feel it looking through him with earnest that he could feel thrumming in his heart. “So if this quest is my end, so be it.” Then it ate the noodle, looking oddly like a worm being sucked through a hole.

The flames died in Malcolm’s hands, his anger deflating with plumes of smoke. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to spare a moment.”

The words had barely left Malcolm’s mouth before his pocket started to buzz with a generic ringtone, that vibrated the air of the Fade like a tinging glass. The spirit cocked his head, confused as Malcolm dug through his pajama pockets and fished it out. “Sorry, demon, duty calls.”

“Scholar,” the spirit corrected, but Malcolm shushed him as he put it to his ear.

A terrified voice began sobbing through the speaker. “Help! Somebody help!”

Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice, so they weren’t one of the Circle mages being plagued for a meal. An apostate perhaps?

“Hello? It’s going to be alright,” Malcolm began like he always did. He raised his free hand to feel the cords of the Fade that were weaving together, trying to connect to the dreamer who rang his phone. The air around his hands shimmered like sparkling dust, faint harp-like threads connecting from the tips of his fingers.

“Hello?” the voice answered back, full of confusion. “Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter. Can you tell me where you are?” He stepped off his bed and towards his bedroom door.

“Where I am?” the voice repeated, slick with tears. “I’m…I don’t know.”

He could feel that she was panicked, confused, disoriented, and that there was a dark aura surrounding her, stronger than he had felt in awhile. Malcolm had been sure that he had cleansed this area of the Fade of demons, but this just meant that more would come in to feed on the remnants. Malcolm closed his eyes, reaching through the phone to try to peek at her dream. “Yes, you do,” his soothing voice taking a commanding tone. “Just open your eyes and describe what you see.”

He heard her gasping for air as she struggled to breathe but eventually she sputtered out. “I’m in my bedroom. It’s filling up with water, fast. You have to hurry.”

He put his hand on the door. Through the darkness of his eyelids he began to see light, and the running rush of water filled his ears. “Describe your room to me.”

“What would it matter!?”

“It matters if I’m going to find you.”

A beat of silence registered on the phone, before she continued. “Well, it’s a room…with a closet and a bed.”

“Helpful,” Malcolm snorted before he could stop himself. Still, a misty silhouette of a closet, which was more like it’s own room, and a grand bed with a flowing cloth canopy started to form. There was a body tucked within it, nestled on a throne of pillows.

“Well I’m in a state of panic right now! Can you blame me? My clothes are getting ruined. It’ll cost a fortune to redo these carpets, not to mention-”

Malcolm sighed, trying to press on as she chattered. It never did any good to argue, but this monologue wasn’t helping. “What color are your blankets?”

“Cream…embroidered with gold thread.” The vision in his mind began to fill in with color.

“And the pattern of the embroidery?”

“Really?”

“Messere,” Malcolm gritted his teeth. “It’s important you stay calm. The more you panic the faster the water will flood.” It wasn’t a lie, but he also needed her to hurry.

She relented with a sigh, and said, “a gold-leaf rose spread.”

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually Malcolm got her to describe her wallpapers, floral and pink, and her carpet, which she insisted before the flood was a beautiful white color. She also described a bookcase, her lute, and a vanity mirror where she would get ready for the day each morning, a family heirloom, made from wood of the grove of the Emerald Graves, with brass knob handles and the symbol of her family’s crest that was carved into the wood, that showed either two ravens perched in angular stone columns, or a dragon head, depending on how you looked at it. Soon he could see the room, and could finally solidify the flimsy connection.

He pressed his forehead against the bedroom door, eyes still closed, the hard metal cold and unforgiving. “Now I need you to walk up to your door and let me in.”

“Are you crazy?” she shouted so loud that Malcolm had to take his ear away from the receiver. “It’s going to let all the water in!”

“No,” Malcolm said calmly. “Because I will be on the other side.”

“You know that makes no sense.”

“You’re talking to a strange voice in your head, your room is flooded, and from my estimate about the cost of that vanity mirror alone, you live somewhere in Hightown. Does any of this make sense?”

This time she whined, which sounded more cute than annoying. “But I’m going to get wet.”

Malcolm burst out in laughter. He had run into a lot of dreamers, but while most were suggestive, she seemed to easily resist the strings connecting them. He could see deep into the pit of her heart that she was as stubborn as he was, which was saying something. It was intriguing really, but before his curiosity could run away with it, his sensible self reminded him that she was in danger. And with how long it took for him to find the location of her dream, the demon had now sensed him coming.

“Look, the door is locked, and only you can open it.”

“Can’t you just break the lock open?”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, “but that door represents the connection of your body to your slumbering mind. If I break it open, it would hurt…a lot.”

Silence filled the air except for the splash of rising water and the slurping noise of Scholar licking the last remnants of sauce from their bowl.

“You promise you’ll be on the other side?”

“Promise.”

She heaved a huge sigh and after a few moments, he could hear the sloshing of water as she started to wade her way through her bedroom, but Malcolm could not only hear it from the speaker, but the other side of the door as well. Malcolm shoved his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand on the doorknob that would normally be electronically locked, but right now, it was just another illusion of the Fade. As the lock clicked open, Malcolm turned the doorknob, blissfully unaware of how his life would change until he met the girl’s black doe eyes.

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