#it's such a dreadful feeling when someone definitely cares about you but it's increasingly obvious that they don't really *like* you

[yokowan]

weh.

[yuuhta]

just once

pairing: gojou satoru/reader

genre: smut

you weren't one to engage in one night stands, especially with strangers and well known fuck boys. heck, you don't even think about it, you just know so damn well that you would never want to get involved with them, dreading the thought that you might get feelings, only to be a check mark on their list.

but when gojou satoru came in the room, and his eyes were fixed on you, and only you, you can't help but think that maybe you can make an exception just this one time.

he hasn't even done or said anything yet, but you already feel so down for whatever he has in store. you aren't one to jump in to conclusions and assume that someone is interested in you, but the way his gorgeous blue eyes focused on you and only you as he walked inside the room, you just know it.

he is only proving your theory to be true when he sat on the chair beside you.

gojou satoru doesn’t count as a stranger since he’s a previous classmate and current workmate, but it has been well-established among your group of friends that he's one hell of a fuck boy. he's literally the no-strings-attached kind of guy, and you can say this is a fact because your mutual friend, which is satoru's best friend, ieri shouko, has told you that a one night stand is really just a one night stand for satoru, just a way to relieve his needs, no love, no romance, no feelings. he simply just doesn't really care. oh and also, he has never fucked a girl twice.

honestly, before today, he was someone in your to-avoid list. although you acknowledge that he’s very attractive, you never really paid much attention to guys who gave off arrogant vibes, so you barely interacted with him. you knew to yourself that you'd rather not get involved with someone like him. hearing the stories about satoru just made you feel nauseous, you've always thought of him as an asshole who only thinks with his dick. he's the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, yeah, but you give absolutely zero shit about that.

he's a heartbreaker... but if you were going to be honest, it's not like he's the only one to blame. he didn't really intentionally make the people he slept with fall in love with him.

you also heard from shouko that satoru always makes sure to tell his one night stand partner about the no strings attached rule. however, some still end up falling in love with him, or on some cases, they're already in love with him even before it happened.

fell in love with satoru?

it's their fault. in satoru's defense, he made sure to tell them to not fall.

it's satoru's fault. in their defense, satoru obviously led them on.

now that you think about it, besides stories about his sexual activity and the number of confessions he turned down, you don't really know much about him.

he always gave off a confident and pompous vibe, but whenever you had your little interactions with him, he actually seemed a bit decent. however, that was probably only because he knew how to separate his personal life from work.

but honestly, he is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, and on top of that, he has an ethereal face and an excellent body proportion. he has all reasons to be extremely confident.

"hi." the blue-eyed man started, removing his blindfold to change it with his shades.

your theory? so far, he's only proving it to be true. he definitely had his eyes on you.

you were feeling extremely and unusually conscious, but of course you try to hide it by acting like a bitch.

your eyebrows knit slightly as you take a look at him from the corner of your eye. "what?"

okay, now, you're starting to wonder if he's actually trying to flirt with you, or just become all buddy buddy with you. maybe you’re just being a mean bitch for no reason.

his eyes widened subtly at your response, probably not expecting such a dry and a bit rude answer. "you look cute today." he whispers.

his breath didn’t touch your ear, but it still sent shivers down your spine. you don’t let it physically show, but your paranoid ass is thinking he might’ve been able to sense it through cursed energy.

you wanted to roll your eyes to the point of seeing your brain inside your head, but you don't, and obviously, you can't. 

"thanks?" you sneered.

you definitely don't want to deal with any bullshit and unnecessary feelings, so you at least try to ward him off while you still can.

"ah, sorry. are you in a bad mood?"

irked, you decided to ignore him, not knowing how to respond to his question. why is he trying to talk to you, in the first place?

your conversations with him were always brief and professional, mostly just to cooperate on a mission. you barely even looked at each other during those times. so you being cold and rude right now was a bit surprising to him. you're not usually like this, but it's the only thing you can do to try not to give in to his flirting.

well, sorry to him, you absolutely hate guys who try to get in your pants. no past bad experience or whatever, but you really don't like them. their style is just not your cup of tea. you’re someone who needs the emotional and wholesome connection before doing some... stuff. 

and maybe that’s why you’re still a virgin. suguru is just a friend, ijichi and kusakabe are simply not your style, and nanami, oh, nanami. he’s the one who comes the closest to your type, but he just ain’t it, as well. you wanted someone who can deal with your jokes and occasional sarcastic remarks. you wanted a bit of playfulness.

"okay, i guess it's already obvious and i shouldn't have asked that."

you've never thought about it, but being the one on the receiving end of gojou satoru's attention actually feels different. now you feel a bit of regret for being mean.

you didn’t reply to him in any way, and he didn’t bother prodding anymore after.

you don’t know if you’re pleased or dismayed about this.

honestly though, you badly wanted to indulge him and flirt back. you just don't do so because how were you supposed to do that now, with all that’s been said and done.

glancing at him discreetly, you noticed that it seems like it doesn’t really matter for him, whether you ignored him or not.

good, you think to yourself, sighing in relief about the fact that gojou doesn’t care much about you. at least you feel chill now.

-

an hour has passed and the meeting has come to an end. not another word has been exchanged between the two of you.

you couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of that room.

you hurriedly stood up and headed to where the door was, but the superiors and older officials were heading out first, so you were just standing there in the middle of the room, somehow stranded.

you were walking in place because of impatience, when suddenly, you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist.

startled, you flinched at the sudden skin contact. your hyperawareness was at its peak since gojou satoru was just standing right behind you, you were very conscious of what the fuck he’s doing.

“oh. sorry, did i startle you?” he immediately pulled his hand away, raising it slightly.

'yes, insect, go away.'

“no. what is it?” you said in a rushed manner.

“are you in a hurry?” he asked. he wasn’t being sarcastic, but you wanted to punch him, nonetheless. why can’t he just let you be?

“can you stay?”

you felt your heart jump to your throat.

'what the fuck.'

all of a sudden, you can be compared to a statue. you were incredibly flustered, feeling all the blood flowing so fast in your body at his question.

now, the sexual tension, for you, has rose to very high levels, to the point that your tongue refuses to move.

you can’t even think straight right now.

“satoru, y/n, aren’t you two going to head out?” principal yaga indifferently asked, his head peeking on the door.

you didn’t know what to say in response, and gojou didn’t say anything either, so the principal only shrugged and closed the door behind him.

sighing, you internally thanked principal yaga for breaking the heavy atmosphere that was rapidly building up for you.

“i’ll get going, then.” you said, roughly pulling your hand away from satoru.

when you were already near the door, he suddenly appeared next to it and opened it for you.

with a small frown on your face, your mouth fell agape, what the fuck does he want?

it’s not like it’s the first time someone has ever showed you this kind of attention. it’s just simple and basic interaction. you were just getting all worked up because it’s gojou satoru. gorgeous fucking shit.

the heck is he opening the door for?

he's someone who you can't even call a gentleman. he always carefully chose the people he'll be nice to. a pretty woman can trip in front of him, and he won't bother giving two shits, he won't help her if he doesn't feel like it. he's the type to not respect old people just because they're old people.

but the thing is, you do know he’s not a bad person. he’s just... rude and annoying, and has his own way in doing stuff, but he’s actually a good person. his intentions are harmless, you know it.

nonetheless, you still don't want any personal involvement with him.

however, your own body is telling you otherwise.

the warmth that was increasingly becoming unbearable down your core is starting to reach its limits, as well as the rational part in you. so, as if you weren’t trying your very best to avoid him just a few seconds ago, you closed the door with your own hand, “what is it?”

you were thinking, maybe he just wants to talk about something in private. maybe it's nothing bed-related. maybe you were just overthinking.

“do you want me to get straight to the point?” he asked with lidded eyes, looking down on you intensely.

actually, at this point, you were sure. your theory is absolutely correct. he’s definitely giving you the bedroom eyes.

holy shit.

he bends down to your level, his face just a few inches away from yours.

“i want you.”

satoru says this with such intensity that you had to pause for a second to swallow the lump that got caught in your throat.

the longer you look into his eyes, the more you want to succumb to the hints of pleasure that was starting to build up down there.

but first of all, you had to at least clear this up. you needed to be sure. maybe it’s just a misunderstanding on your part.

“want me? uh, what exactly do you want from me?”

gojou noticed that your question was completely innocent, it had no underlying meaning.

he pulls away, removing his shades to examine your face carefully, amusement painted on his features.

at the same time, you also get the chance to scan his face. he sure is handsome. his eyes are so fucking beautiful, you could get lost in it.

the man probably has no idea that you have zero experience in these kind of... activities. though, to him, you seemed like someone carefree and wild. it's probably because sometimes, you sounded like a thirsty hoe when talking about crushes with friends. little does he know that all of your knowledge just came from watching and reading.

you were expecting him to get annoyed, to just walk away, and look for someone else out there to indulge him. but to your surprise, he chuckled.

'is he making fun of me right now?'

gojou finds it amusing... and cute, even, that you can make casual talk in a situation like this. he knew that you were trying to reassure yourself.

the sexual tension between the two of you was just so thick, it has been building up so fast ever since you and gojou made eye contact.

it sounds absurd, but it’s true.

"is it alright if i kiss you?" he simply said, giving you the reassurance that you needed.

eyes widening, your mouth dropped slightly at the question.

maybe your heart jumped a little at the request and the gentleness his tone gave off, who knows.

"if you don't want to--"

mind completely going blank, you rudely cut him off, pulling the neckline of his top to press your lips against his abruptly.

feeling him smirk against your mouth, you quickly pulled away in embarrassment, the realness of your actions suddenly sinking inside your brain.

you were about to head straight for the door as the rational part of you has realized that you actually kissed the fucking douchebag gojou satoru.

neither of you were even drunk, you should have known much better.

the plan was for naught, though, when said man’s long fingers wrapped around your face, gently making you look up at him as he bent down to reconnect his lips with yours.

satoru’s lips were softer than expected, and it moved smoothly against yours. the prick definitely knew what he was doing. so, without hesitating, you kiss him back, letting your lips mold together fervently.

he started kissing down your chin and onto your jaw, pausing just at the base below your ear, biting and sucking at the skin firmly.

you knew deep inside your mind that it was definitely going to leave a mark. but you decided to brush it off and just think about it later.

the rational part of you is screaming that you're going to regret this the next day. not even a drop of alcohol is in your system right now. you have absolutely zero excuses to use as to why you're actually giving in to full-of-shit-fuck-boy gojou satoru right now.

“the door is not locked, you know, we might get caught,” satoru whispers just right in front of your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine as he started to shamelessly grind against you.

right, you both were still at the meeting room.

“yeah. so, get the fuck off of me.” you said in a hushed tone.

despite the words that were coming out of your own mouth, you just stood there, stiff like a statue, feeling his member grow harder. you didn’t know if you wanted to push him away, or pull him closer.

well, at least it means that your self-control is still somehow working.

however, the warmth that was building up down your core was clouding your mind, making your body refuse to move.

you were about to enclose your arms around his neck, when a loud noise was made. you felt your heart drop to your gut, roughly pushing him away as your face started to lose all colors at the thought that there might be someone else at the place, and that you both might get caught.

"don't worry. that was just a rat." he mumbled, looking at you with bedroom eyes.

"h-how can you say for sure?"

with a smirk painted on his annoying face, he bends down once again, but this time, he placed his hands on the backside of your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. "i'm gojou satoru."

with his smug reassurance, relief washed over you and calmed your panicked state.

this time, you were the one who crashed your mouth against his, successfully circling your arms around his neck this time.

you were incredibly turned on with everything. the position he has put you in is definitely not helping with you trying to resist him. fucking fuck boy. 

when you finally noticed the presence of the aching heat that has grown too strong to ignore in between your legs, you grind your hips onto his, sighing at the much needed friction.

gojou groaning at the action has only worsened the situation. again, the rational part of you knows that you will regret this the next day, but at this point, you were already in too deep to even back out. well, maybe you aren't that deep yet, but yeah. you thought that you might as well just finish what you’ve already started, and save the regrets for later.

satoru sat down on the floor with his back on the wall, making it easy for you to move on top of him, with you straddling his hips.

feeling completely lost in how good it felt, your eyes shot open when his tongue went inside your mouth and met yours, sending a powerful wave of electrifying pleasure straight down to your core.

trying to muffle your moans to not stroke his ego was extremely difficult, especially when his hard cock keeps on rubbing your already sensitive clit through your panties and pants.

the friction was driving you mad, making you pull at his hair aggressively, as you grind on him harder and faster to make the most out of the pleasure.

you could say the same for satoru, his hands traveled down your body, landing on your ass to squeeze it firmly. he pushed you down even more, needy, as he thrusts his hips upward to grind his swollen cock on your pussy.

you looked at satoru, his beautiful blue eyes were lidded, and focused only your face—as if he was trying to memorize the face that you were making.

"y/n... shit... more, please..." a deep groan escaped his lips as you roll your hips hard against his. "ngh, please do that again."

"l-let's make this quick, satoru, a-ah... i'm pretty close." you tried to say coherently, genuinely just wanting to reach your own release get this over with.

without hesitation, satoru starts thrusting his hips fast, picking up his pace. "as you wish. i'm close, too." he breathes, letting out a shaky sigh.

taking a close look at satoru, you see that his beautiful eyes were lidded, and focused only your face—as if he was trying to memorize the face that you were making.

the fact that you can make the arrogant and self-centered fuck boy, gojou satoru, beautiful man and strongest jujutsu sorcerer, pleading for pleasure is incredibly satisfying, and he hasn't even entered you yet. you both still have your clothes on, and you were only dry humping him, yet he was so fucking close to coming undone.

you closed your eyes in ecstasy, biting your bottom lip to at least try to muffle an incredibly loud moan, walls squeezing at nothing as you felt yourself come undone, wetness definitely soaking your panties.

satoru rubs himself onto you harder to make sure you ride your high to the fullest, his own thrusts losing rhythm, as he reaches for his own climax.

"you feel s-so good- ahh... fuck..." desperately surging forward rapidly a couple more times, he groans deeply as his seed shot out of his cock, and onto staining his loose white jogging pants.

it takes you a full minute to recover from what just happened. then you untangle your legs from his waist to stand up in front of him. "uh... bye?"

you turn around, heading straight for the door.

satoru follows you with his gaze. "that was great, y/n."

looking back, the two of you only stared at each other. "you didn't even get to put it in yet, satoru." you said, a smug smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

a blush blossomed on his face, embarrassment evident. "shut up, y/n."

"okay. bye."

"wanna do it again?"

"no."

and then you dashed out of the room, sick feeling of regret suddenly starting to bubble over your head.

but at the same time, you also feel sick at the fact that maybe you actually liked it.

[stargazing-enby]

The Mysterious Case of the Unclaimed Jumper

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 2k | Teen and Up | Eighth Year, Pining, Fluff | Read on AO3

“Harry!" 

Ron and Hermione halted, leaving Harry no choice but to do the same. He was exhausted, and it had already taken too much energy to get up from their table at the Three Broomsticks so they could make it to the Hogwarts grounds before Filch closed the gates in their faces. The last thing he wanted was to talk to people, lovely as Madam Rosmerta was. 

“Sorry to keep you, kids, but someone forgot this on one of the tables. Would you please do me the favour of taking it back to Hogwarts with you? I still have patrons to attend.” 

“Uh...sure.” Harry took the khaki jumper she was handing him—gosh, but it was much softer than it looked—and she smiled at him appreciatively. 

“How do you know it’s from a Hogwarts student, though?” Hermione asked. 

Madam Rosmerta snorted. 

“Because none of my patrons are naive enough to step into the inn whenever you kids are taking over the town. Teenagers are loud as all hell, in case you hadn’t noticed!” 

“All right,” Harry said quickly, dreading the idea of the exchange turning into a full-fledged conversation. “We’ll take care of it. Have a nice evening, Madam Rosmerta.” 

On their way back to the castle, though, Harry started to regret his decision. It was the beginning of the school year, and the transition from summer to autumn had fooled many Hogwarts students into putting on warm clothes to fight the morning chill, which meant practically everyone had ended up carrying jumpers and jackets over their shoulders and around their waists for most of the day. The jumper could be anyone’s. 

“What are you going to do with the jumper, anyway? It could be anyone’s,” Hermione echoed his thoughts, turning from Ron to Harry.

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted.

“Maybe you could hand it to one of the Heads of House. Or...” Her voice shifted into that tone of hers that meant she knew she’d come up with a brilliant idea, “we could tell the ghosts to ask around the castle and see if anyone is missing a jumper!” 

Even as Harry nodded, Ron shook his head in disbelief. 

“Or you could just smell it,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to either of them. Harry and Hermione just stared at him. “What?” 

“That’s kind of creepy,” Harry said. 

“Wha— No it’s not! Don’t you know clothes smell like their owners?” Silence. Ron looked increasingly exasperated. “Come on, don’t tell me your families didn’t smell the clothes lying around the house all the time to figure out who they belonged to!” 

“Er…I’m afraid not.” 

“That’s probably only a necessity when you have seven kids’ clothes to keep track of,” Hermione offered. 

“Yeah…fair enough,” Ron grumbled. “Still, it won’t hurt to try. If it’s from someone our year we’ll probably be able to recognise them.” 

Harry doubted that would be the case, but then Hermione and Ron turned to him, expectant, and he didn’t have a choice but to bring a corner of the jumper to his face and give it a sniff. 

“...Oh.”

“Well?” Hermione asked. 

“It’s…” Harry smelled it again. “It’s familiar.” Familiar and nice, he thought, giving it one extra sniff for good measure. “But I just can’t tell who it is.” 

“Oh?” Ron grabbed a sleeve, brought it to his nose. “Hmm…Yeah, I see what you mean. It’s definitely not a Gryffindor bloke. ‘Mione, why don’t you try?” 

“I’ll pass, thank you very much.” 

“Eh, that’s fine. I’m sure if we leave it in the Eighth Year Common Room someone will claim it sooner or later.” 

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, folding the jumper properly over his arm. 

As a new conversation started, Harry held the jumper a little bit closer. 

***

The stupid thing was still where they’d left it—hung over one of the Common Room couches, the one nearest the hearth—when they came back from Hagrid’s, its pale khaki tone contrasting starkly with the purple sofa. 

Hermione led the way to their usual corner of the room, keen on getting some more homework done before bed, and Harry tried to ignore the jumper, just visible out of the corner of his eye. His friends had clearly forgotten about it, and Harry didn’t bring it up again. 

But the feel of it, the scent of it, was ingrained in his thoughts, and concentrating on his Potions essay soon proved to be an impossible task. Merlin, he knew that scent. He knew it well; every time he’d sniffed the jumper, it’d been like a word was on the tip of his tongue; like a thought in the back of his mind wouldn’t come forth.

Like there was a need, buried deep within him, that he couldn’t fulfill, because he didn’t know what it was he was yearning for. Who it was he was yearning for. 

So he looked. Every few minutes, as much as he tried to avoid it, he looked back at the couch, waiting, hoping that someone would walk past and go, Hey! That’s where it was! And the missing piece inside Harry’s mind would finally click. 

But no one picked the jumper up, and when practically everyone had gone to their dorms, and Ron and Hermione had finished neglecting their homework—Ron’s fingers tracing Hermione’s knuckles, her cheek resting on his shoulder, a goofy smile brightening his face—and seemed ready to call it a night, Harry decided he simply couldn’t leave it alone. 

“You guys go ahead,” he told them. “I feel like I’m finally making progress with this essay, and if I stop now it’s going to be impossible to pick it up again tomorrow.”

As soon as he was alone, though, Harry stuffed the parchment in his bag and made for the couch at a pace just slightly faster than could be reasonably considered walking. 

Ah. The scent was just as enticing as he remembered it from earlier. 

Harry basked in it for a few moments. When someone walked into the Common Room—Terry and Hannah, who nodded at him on their way to their dorms—he let go of it as though it had burned him, but as soon as he was alone again he draped it over his lap and raked a hand over it, thinking, wondering. 

It wasn’t Hannah’s or Terry’s, Harry knew: not just because they hadn’t recognised it on sight, but because the smell did not belong to either of them. It was…deeper. It was masculine, definitely—a hint of sweat at the armpit area, like the owner hadn’t taken it off straight away after growing hot underneath it—and it was intense, in that it did things to Harry; riled him up, and brought him back down from the high, only to make his heart quicken again as soon as the thrill of it had diluted in his veins. 

Sighing, Harry lay on his back and placed the jumper, once again, over the armrest behind his head, just close enough for the scent to reach him. 

The hearth crackled. A House Elf vanished the crumbs and dust from the floor with a spell and disappeared again. Nearly-Headless Nick floated by, but didn’t seem to notice him. 

The door to the Common Room didn’t open again. 

***

“Are we going to do this every night now?” Greg grumbled, dragging the last word—practically dragging himself to the Common Room behind Draco. 

“Only until I force Slughorn to give me an Outstanding,” Draco said. “Which won’t take long, because my first essay was clearly perfect, and if that one wasn’t enough for him, this one will for sure. I swear that old man has it out against me!” 

A portrait shushed him, and Draco flipped it the bird. It wasn’t like there was anyone sleeping in the bloody halls. Or roaming them, for that matter: only Prefects and Eighth Years were allowed outside the Common Rooms past curfew, and it had been a good hour since he’d seen any of the former around. 

“Gardyloo,” he told Sir Cadogan upon reaching the Eighth Year Common Room entrance. Glad as he was that he didn’t have to share a space with people from other years, entering his new Common Room had to be one of the most draining moments of his day. And so, before Sir Cadogan could start spewing nonsense about him and Greg, Draco Silencio’d him, watching as the knight gestured dramatically without uttering a sound until the door had closed. 

“Draco, isn’t that your…?”

Draco saw it just as Greg pointed at it. 

“My jumper.” Salazar, he’d put that jumper on that morning, hadn’t he? When had he even taken it off? He’d completely forgotten all about it. 

He doubted he would ever forget the sight that greeted them, however. 

“Uh, Draco…? What’s Potter doing with your jumper?” 

“It would seem that he is cuddling it, Gregory,” Draco said, tone flat. Completely out of tune with his raging thoughts. 

“More like curling himself around it,” Greg murmured, and Draco could only agree. 

Merlin. Potter looked so young when he slept. So small, like he was afraid to take up space. His hair fanned over his forehead and his face, some of it caught between his arm and Draco’s jumper. His chest falling and rising slowly, evenly. His feet pressed close as if to keep their warmth. 

Draco shook his head, annoyed that he had allowed himself to be caught off-guard by the sight, and walked up to Potter. Grasped his jumper, and pulled at it. 

Potter’s eyes snapped open and stared right into his. 

***

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Fuck,” Harry slurred, sitting up, half-asleep and entirely too awake, as Malfoy took the jumper from him and just stared at him. “Fuck. Sorry. Madam Rosmerta told me to bring it…the...you’d left it there. It’s yours, right?” he asked, even though he didn’t need to. It was Malfoy’s, of course it was Malfoy’s. His strong, deep, alluring scent was unmistakable now. 

“Yes,” Malfoy said. He sounded weird—strained. His eyes were fixed on Harry. “It’s mine.” 

“Right,” Harry nodded. Then, after a few moments: “Er. Sorry about that. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

Malfoy snorted. 

“Never would’ve guessed.” 

“Can we go to bed now?” 

Harry whipped his head around—he hadn’t noticed Goyle was there with them. 

“Go ahead,” Malfoy told him. “I’m right behind you.”

“M’kay then. G’night, Potter,” Goyle said with a yawn, dragging his feet to the stairs. 

“Er…night?” 

Malfoy huffed again. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s an idiot when he’s sleepy.”

“No offence, but he’s an idiot all the time,” Harry said. 

“You’re one to talk.” Malfoy looked at him, then. He wasn’t as stiff now, although he was still weirdly clinging to his jumper, a gesture that reminded Harry of his own fixation with it earlier. “No one with more than two brain cells falls asleep in the Common Room, honestly.” 

“Piss off, I was exhausted!” 

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” Malfoy retorted. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t utilise your perfectly comfortable bed to meet the need, though.” 

Harry glared at him, and Malfoy arched an eyebrow. 

“Well?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” Harry bit back—a little childishly, he knew, but it wasn’t like Malfoy was acting much more maturely right now. “Did you enjoy the sight that much?” 

“Wh—don’t be preposterous!” Malfoy spluttered, a grimace distorting his sharp features. A grimace that did nothing to distract Harry from the angry blush spreading across his cheeks. From the way Malfoy averted his gaze, clutching at the jumper so hard he was almost twisting it. 

“Oh my god,” Harry breathed. “You did enjoy it, didn’t you?” 

Malfoy’s panicked gaze turned back to him. 

“No, I didn’t!” 

Almost as mesmerised as he was amused, Harry stood. He took one more look at Malfoy’s increasingly flushed expression, just to be sure he wasn’t reading it wrong, and then stepped into Malfoy’s personal space. When Malfoy’s breath hitched, Harry, heart in his throat, brought a hand to his flushed cheek. It was soft: softer than the jumper. 

Malfoy stood completely still, wide eyes stuck on Harry’s face. A breath stuck in his lungs: waiting. 

Heart racing, Harry let his hand stray back. Let himself caress Malfoy’s cheek and jaw, let himself cup Malfoy’s head at the nape, play with the hair there—Merlin, was there anything about Malfoy that wasn’t illegally soft?—and lean forward to take a long, deep sniff of his hair. 

Malfoy shivered, and it suddenly hit Harry just how close their bodies were. 

“Potter.” a broken whisper.

Harry inhaled again, his own skin tingling with excitement—anticipation—lust for that scent. That scent that belonged to Malfoy, that now had every reason to drive him fucking insane, to draw him near, to leave him hanging. How had he not recognised it straight away? There was nobody else who could elicit such a response from him. Whose mere closeness thrilled him like this. 

“I needed to know,” Harry said, voice low, as he let his hand slide down slightly, a caress that ended on the jut of Malfoy’s spine at the base of his neck, fingers splayed over the edge of a shoulder blade. Then, pulling back his hand, taking a step back: “I needed to know who that intoxicating scent belonged to.”

As Harry retreated toward the stairs, Malfoy swayed, eyes closed. Jumper clutched close to his chest. 

***

The following evening, when Harry arrived at the Common Room after dinner, a deep grey jumper was draped over the armrest of the couch closest to the hearth. 

[nightshade-minho]

-Nightmare- (10)

Warnings: Um, like always, get tissues ready, I guess.

He hated this.

Being in the same room as five other people, three of which he hated, wasn’t how he wanted his evening to go. He wanted to be home with you, watching movies and cuddling under about ten blankets. He regretted ever going to that party and meeting the insufferable redhead. God, he couldn’t believe he’d fucked up this bad.

Even now, as he ate dinner, he tuned out the conversation around him. From time to time, he would glance up at Rina, jaw clenched, hate coursing through him.

It was her fault. Right? It had to be. 

Whatever. He just had to get through this dinner, and then he’d be able to go home with you. And...maybe, maybe he would confess to you. It was scary to think about...he could feel his heart thumping, and his palms were sweaty. But he knew it was what he had to do. You probably didn’t like him back...but he couldn’t keep it in. He’d kept his feelings locked in for so many years, and now that they were finally out, he couldn’t reel them back in. He felt like an emotional wreck.

He didn’t care if you didn’t feel the same. Seeing you with the necklace around your neck had only solidified what he already knew- you were meant to be his, and he would do anything to make sure that would happen.

When Rina had accused you of changing him, that was the last straw.

Fuck Rina. He probably shouldn’t have snapped at her like that, but he couldn’t help it. He made his way to the bathroom, not wanting to be in the same room as her anymore.

Splashing water on his face, he wiped it clean and sighed, running his hands through his hair. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, couldn’t wait for this to be over.

As soon as he stepped out of the door though, he was met with her face, uncomfortably close to his as she caged him against the doorway, expression furious.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m really not having it.” 

“My problem is you. Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone?” He snapped.

“I know you’re not dating her. I know it. I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt but...it’s so hard. I almost believed it at first...but now, it’s just so laughable. You two, trying to fool everyone into thinking that you’re dating. It’s pathetic.” She spat.

He remained silent.

“What I wanna know is why you left. Is there something wrong with me? Am I unfuckable or something?” Her voice quivered a little, a sprinkle of vulnerability before it regained its usual confidence. “There were millions of guys falling over themselves to want me, to fuck me that night.. Have you ever paused to consider how it would have affected my reputation? You running out of the room just minutes after we entered together?”

“Look, Rina...you’re being unreasonable-”

His brain almost short-circuited when he felt her lips on his. He was consumed with the need to push her away...the acute awareness that you were in the other room.

But for some reason...he couldn’t. He was tired of the game they were playing. Maybe if he just gave her what she wanted, she’d finally stop. She’d stop bothering you two, and he could live his life with you in peace.

So he kissed her back. She pulled away after a few seconds, panting and looking at him with shining eyes. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

He shook his head, eyes widening. “My girlfriend’s literally in the other room-”

She scoffed. “Seriously, Minho, drop the act. I know you two are in a fake relationship. You make it blindingly obvious.” She stares curiously up at him. “Do you...actually like her?”

Minho didn’t say anything, averting his eyes and trying to breathe normally.

She let out an incredulous snort. “Jesus...you’re such a cretin. That bitch doesn’t like you back, you do know that, right?”

“I...”

She pulled away completely, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forward a little bit, peeking around the wall. Minho felt the dread rising in him as she did so, his throat going dry. His eyes took in Juyeon and you on the couch, him leaning closer to you, his hand on your inner thigh. He couldn’t see your expression as your back was facing him, but he’d seen enough. He felt anger pulsing in him as he looked away, scowling. 

He hated the way his legs and fingers felt shaky. There it was again, that weakness you caused. He’d been prepared to submit, prepared to accept the weakness as a part of him...but you clearly didn’t feel the same way. So what was the point? 

He grabbed Rina, dragging her to the side and whispering in her ear. He’d had enough. 

“Where’s that asshole’s bedroom? I wanna fuck you on his bed.”

She grinned, pulling him in for another kiss as she led him to the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and straddling his lap. 

Somehow, Minho didn’t feel anything, not even arousal, as she moved her hips against him, unbuttoning his shirt rapidly. He felt blank, vapid...his body moving as if it were a robot.

Even as he kissed her furiously, he could feel his actions fueled by his frustration and anger. How he wished you were the one on his lap right now...but you’d made it increasingly clear that you didn’t want him in that way. He could make peace with that. 

“Fuck you.”

As soon your shaky voice hit his ears, he pulled away like lightning, his eyes landing on your face. The shocked, devastated expression on your face breaking his heart.

Before he could even say anything, you ripped off the necklace, throwing it at him and running away. 

He felt tears prick his eyes. That expression on your face...it was now etched in his brain, the memory of it making him nauseous. Why did you look so horrified, so heartbroken? You didn’t like him, so why were you so angry, so sad? The implications of it scared him. What if...

He pushed Rina aside, bending down to pick up the chain, his eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t broken, thankfully. He tucked it into his pocket, turning to the girl on the bed, who was glaring up at him.

“Are you really walking out, again? You do realize-”

“Shut up. I’m done with you. Do whatever you want, I don’t fucking care, okay? I’ve hurt the person who means the most to me multiple times, and you’re to be blamed for some of it. I know I’m the one at fault...and I also know I would have never recognized my love for her if you hadn’t thrown your little tantrum, and forced us into this fake relationship. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all this, it’s that my feelings for her definitely aren’t fake.” He rambled, breathing hard. For some reason, her dumbstruck expression gave him a weird sense of satisfaction.

He ran out of the room, walking to the door as fast as he could and trying his best to avoid Juyeon’s eyes.

***

Minho found you walking down the street. Your back was to him, but he could almost sense the hurt in the way you walked. His heart ached, especially because he knew he was the reason you looked so defeated. He opened his mouth to call out...but he couldn’t.

You deserved so much better.

He inhaled again, working up his courage.

“Y/n!”

You stopped in your tracks, slowly turning around at the sound of his voice. He walked closer, sighing and running a hand through his drenched hair. “Y/n...please...”

“What?” You snapped, crossing your arms. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I...um, I’m s-”

“No.” You scoffed, holding your palm up. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’ve done enough of that.”

He tilted his head to the side, his sadness slowly transforming into anger.

Actually, why was he apologizing? What right did you have to pretend like you were the victim here? You had no idea about his feelings. You didn’t know what he was going through. You were the one who’d started it, flirting with Juyeon.

“Why the fuck should I be the one to apologize?!”

Your eyes widened. “Wha...Minho, you were literally making out with the girl who wants to send you to jail just a few minutes ago! It was just...irresponsible.” In all honesty, you could care less about the immaturity of the action. You couldn’t tell him the real reason after all, could you? That you were jealous.

“Do you ever not think with your dick?” You asked, feeling your emotions burn. “You know...they were right. You are just a  fuckboy without any substance.”

The words hit him like a knife. He opened his mouth, closing it as he felt his heart burn at the words, partly because somewhere deep down...he was scared they might be true.

He felt his anger boil over as he took the necklace out from his pocket. “You know what, Y/n? It’s true, what you said in the letter. This friendship was a mistake, after all. I wish I’d never fucking met you, never wasted all these years on someone as boring and mundane as you!” He threw the necklace on the ground, swallowing. The slightest streak of hesitation ran through him, his inner voice telling him to stop and think...before he shook his head, snapping out of it and crushing it under his shoe. 

You let out a small gasp, swallowing your tears as you stared at his feet.

“I knew we’d be breaking up tonight. I just never thought it’d happen this way.” He whispered. He was glad for the rain right then, thankful that they were masking the tears running down his face. He hated the lies he’d just spewed. 

You paused, hiccuping as you felt fresh tears run down your cheeks. You were sure you looked like a raccoon, mascara dripping down your face.

“Minho...you were right. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry.” You took a deep breath. “Sorry I ever fell in love with you.” You choked out, lips quivering as you watched his face slowly twisting with shock. You turned around, not wanting to see it anymore, walking away from him as fast as you could, your heart pounding and legs shaking.

Your dress was sticking to your body and your hair was plastered to your head. The cold rain was making you shake, wishing you’d brought a jacket. Your heart felt colder, though.

They say confessions in the rain are supposed to be romantic. This felt anything but.

***

You cried into your pillow once you reached home, feeling empty. You were a muddle of emotions, your entire body still wet from the rain. 

He didn’t even run after you. Didn’t even care.

Then again, what reason did you have to be angry? He wasn’t really your boyfriend. But...you also had to accept that he wasn’t your best friend anymore. It had come straight out of his mouth. 

Your best friend had disappeared a few years ago. The guy you lived with now wasn’t that Minho, wasn’t the Minho who gave you the necklace, the one who cared about you. He was different. Maybe he did belong with Rina.

At least, did this mean that Rina wasn’t pissed at him anymore? You were glad that he wouldn’t have to go to jail, at least. You didn’t hate him that much...no, quite the opposite. You still fucking loved him. And you hated yourself for that.

By the time you felt the drowsiness settle in, the sun rays were already poking through the curtains.

***

Minho felt like he’d just been struck with a hammer. The sound of thunder was all he could hear apart from your words repeating themselves over and over in his head.

You fell in love with him.

When? How? Why?

He couldn’t comprehend it. He’d watched dumbly as you left, even after you became a dot in the distance. It had felt like he was rooted to the spot, his legs having lost the ability to walk and his brain, the ability to think.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair as it slowly dawned on him. The realization that he hadn’t been alone in pining for his best friend, that you’d also been going through the same thing as him. You were in love with him…

He let out a shaky sob as he realized just how badly he’d fucked up.

***

The sound of the doorbell ringing woke you up. It was still pretty early in the morning, and you groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed, having had only 3 hours of sleep.

You hated your heart for hoping it was Minho, coming to apologize…even though you knew an apology wouldn’t be enough for you to forgive him. It was hard…but you had to stay away from him. You needed space, time to think. Seeing his face so soon would be too raw to handle. You’d forgive him immediately, even if he said nothing. And he didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

It still disappointed you when you opened the door to see Juyeon standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I just…wanted to say I’m sorry. And after what happened, I wanted to comfort you.”

You nodded expressionlessly, trying not to show how broken you were. You wanted to be strong.

He tilted his head, and the look of sympathy on his face made you want to cry even more.

“Can I…come in?”

When you remained silent, he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean…I just want to explain.”

You thought for a moment and shrugged, stepping aside as you went back in, sitting on the couch. He came inside, hesitantly sitting next to you.

“Look…I have a few things to admit. First off…I like you.”

Your eyes widened. Yeah, he flirted with you…but you didn’t know he actually had feelings.

“Rina-“

He shook his head, interrupting you.

“Rina and I aren’t together. We’re literally cousins. Everyone on campus knows that.”

You wrinkled your nose. They were? “Um, ew. Then why did-“

”She doesn’t talk to me much. Just a week ago, she approached me telling me about the whole situation, about Minho running away and humiliating her. I’d already kind of heard about it, but the way she was talking about it painted him in a much more vindictive light, you know? And then she told me about how she thought that maybe you two were faking your relationship. Which I found pretty absurd at first, but I quickly realized it could be the truth.”

He took a deep breath, glancing at you to make sure you were still listening before looking back at his hands, folded in his lap.

“She knew I had a tiny crush on you. So, she made me help her carry out her plan to get you two to break up, saying that she’d be able to get you to like me.”

He looked up at you, his eyes sad. “It was wrong of me to help her. She’s just deranged and obsessed with her ‘reputation’. I understand if you never want anything to do with me ever again. I just have one question.”

He looked at you, asking for permission. You nodded, signaling him to go ahead.

“Do you actually like him? Like, as more than a best friend?”

You paused, trying not to let the tears spill as you nodded. He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding with his lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh.”

You rubbed at your eyes, turning to face him completely. “Look, Juyeon…what you two did was pretty messed up. I never thought one person could be so petty to the extent of wanting to send someone to jail just because they refused to have sex with them, but here we are. A series of mistakes and misunderstandings are what got us here…but, whatever.” You scoffed.

“I’m sick and tired of all this. I don’t like Minho anymore.” Lie. “It isn’t just this situation that changed my mind…Minho changed way before Rina stepped into the scene. And..I think this was just a wake up call, letting me know that he’s no longer the person I thought he was.”

Juyeon took your hand, holding it gently. “You…you deserve better.”

You shrugged again, avoiding eye contact. There was silence for a few minutes.

 “Y/n…?”

“Hm?”

“Give me just one chance, please? A chance to show you I can make you happy?” He asked, biting his lip as he looked at you hopefully.

You paused as you observed his face. Juyeon was…actually quite good looking. And besides assisting Rina in her shenanigans, he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. He’d always been kind to you. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you this was a bad idea…that you didn’t have feelings for him, that you were still not over Minho...but the word already came out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“Okay.” You squeezed his hand.

***

Minho woke up with a yawn. The first thing he noticed was how the bed he was in definitely wasn’t his. He was used to this kind of situation, but usually there’d be a naked girl sleeping next to him. This time, though, the bed was empty.

He got out of bed, heading for the door and seeing Chan sat at the breakfast table.

“Oh, good. You’re up. Breakfast?”

He shook his head, groaning as last night’s memories came flooding back. Your disturbed expression when you caught him with Rina, your tears as you confessed, the broken necklace.

He’d picked it up after you left. It was ruined, the little diamonds chipped and the clef cracked. He’d put it in his pocket, going to his car and driving straight to Chan’s. After what you’d said, he’d thought it would be better to give you some space.

“How long will you be staying here?”

“A while. I just don’t think I can face her again after yesterday.” He mumbled.

Chan nodded understandingly. The first thing Minho had done when he reached Chan’s place was cry, telling him the whole story from beginning to end. He’d felt slightly better after letting it all out.

“You know, you should get your clothes. I don’t have enough spare ones.” He chuckled, turning to look back at his plate.

“Oh fuck..I don’t think I wanna see her again so soon…”

“Just for a few minutes. You need your stuff after all.”

“I can’t just talk to her so soon! How can I act nonchalant and aloof when she confessed to me the other night? When we both hurt each other?”

Chan shrugged. “Hmm, you’re right. Fine, then. I’ll go get your stuff, and also inform her that you’re going to be staying with me for a while. Okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Chan made his way out of his car and to your apartment. He knocked on the door, waiting as he whistled a tune under his breath.

The door opened.

“Oh, hey, Chan. What are you doing here?”

Chan frowned as he stared at Juyeon, looking him up and down.

“Um..I could ask you the same thing.” He thought about how Minho had told him about what he’d seen on the couch.

Juyeon shrugged. “Long story. Y/n?” The man turned around, calling out for you. A few minutes later, you appeared beside him, and he put his arm around your waist. 

“Oh, hi, Chan!”

“Hi, Y/n.” Chan spoke slowly. “Um…Minho was wondering if he could get some of his stuff.”

“Why? Is he going to be staying at yours?”

“Mhmm. For a while.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Wait here.”

As you left, Chan turned to Juyeon with a glare. “What the fuck is going on between you two?”

“What do you think? We’re together now…sort of.”

Chan’s eyes widened. “B-but…”

“But what? I’ve always liked her.”

“Minho likes her too, you know.”

Juyeon stopped, raising an eyebrow. “He does?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t look like it. I don’t care if he has feelings for her. All I know is that I could treat her better than he ever could.”

You came back, handing Chan the bags with a smile on your face. Chan returned your smile. “Thank you, Y/n. Have a nice day.” He glanced beside you. “Juyeon.”

“Wait, Chan…tell Minho I said Hi.” You said slowly, playing with your fingers as you felt your tension grow.

Chan paused, nodding with a fake smile as he went back to his car, his mind swimming with thoughts.

How would Minho react when he tells him this? He had a hunch that it would not be pretty.

[minimitchell]

5- “I thought we were friends.” please ☺️

Ben has four good friends in his life; the kind you tell all your secrets and keep for the rest of your life.

Him, Jay and Lola have always been friends; they’ve grown up with each other and have known one another since they were kids. Frankie on the other hand is a newer friend, who has joined their little ragtag group of people after Ben met her when he was helping out at an after-school club; she’s teaching other students sign language and they’ve immediately bonded over that.

And then there’s Callum.

They’ve been friends ever since Callum rocked up here in Walford with his weird older brother and even weirder dad a few years ago. They clicked immediately, easy banter and teasing flowing freely between the both of them, and it took no time for him and Ben to become really close.

Callum’s home life isn’t exactly the best so he spends most of the time after school at Ben’s house, or they’re hanging out with the others at the park or somewhere else around here. They become sort of like a package deal - where one goes, the other soon follows.

Things are damn near perfect until that one day - the night of Callum’s birthday party.

He’s finally eighteen, the last one of their little group to finally become an ‘adult’, and they’re having a party for him at Ben’s house. Partly because his own birthday was only a couple of days ago so it’s the perfect opportunity for a joint do and partly because Callum’s dad would never allow him to throw a party at their flat.

It took a lot of convincing and begging for Ben’s dad to agree to this but fortunately for them he had in the end - under the condition that they would get the house clean again before he comes back that Sunday.

Ben doesn’t want to toot his own horn but the party is definitely a success. Half of their year is here - singing and dancing and getting increasingly drunk. He takes a no doubt regrettable amount of shots with Frankie in the kitchen, presses in close to grind against Lola on the makeshift little dance floor in the living room and gets roped into a game of beer pong against some of the guys from their year.

More importantly though, he makes sure that Callum is happy. There’s a big grin on his face that hasn’t left all night, even if it got progressively less sober and more dopey as the night went on, and he seems to have the time of his life, laughing and shouting lyrics to cheesy pop songs with all kinds of people here.

He’s happy and that in turn makes Ben happy as well.

It’s all he could ever ask for.

When the last people eventually leave it’s close to four in the morning. Their friends are long gone and Ben can’t wait to fall into his bed and sleep, he’s that exhausted. He’s already dreading tomorrow’s hangover.

Callum is spending the night, not just because this is his party as well so they both have to clean up the mess tomorrow but because it’s just what he does. What they’ve done a million times before.

But there’s something different happening today.

Today, right there in the dark of Ben’s bedroom, where they’re both already tucked in under the cover, on the night after his birthday does Callum finally spill his biggest secret to Ben. The two little words hang in the air between them for a long moment while Ben thinks of what to say in response.

I’m gay.

It keeps replaying in his head; Callum’s careful, hushed voice now ingrained in his memory, probably forever.

Callum knows that Ben is gay as well. He’s been there for most of his figuring out, knows all about him fooling around with guys at parties and the casual dates he goes on sometimes. Ben always had a hunch, an inkling, that Callum was into guys but he never said anything about it, not wanting to push Callum in case he wasn’t ready to face that yet.

Apparently, all he had to do is wait him out and let him figure it out on his own.

It could be perfect as well. He could just tell Callum he understands and that it’s okay, that of course it doesn’t matter to Ben. And there’s that little, hopeful voice inside his head, he’s tried so hard to suppress over time, that whispers that maybe this crush simmering away inside his chest could be something more now one day.

Only, it doesn’t quite go that way.

He does say all the encouraging things to Callum, gives him the support he needs and deserves right now. But because Ben is just so fucking stupid and there’s still massive amounts of alcohol swimming in his veins, he also does the worst thing he could possibly do - he leans forward and kisses Callum. His best mate. And even worse, when Callum’s hands start wandering and tugging off his clothes he does nothing to stop him.

.

The next day is horrible.

There’s a pounding in his head that doesn’t seem to lessen even after he’s taken two Aspirin and drunk a large mug of coffee. The house is a mess and Ben is more than thankful for the fact that his dad isn’t coming home until later tonight. He probably knew what would greet him otherwise.

Ben got out of bed the second he was awake enough to do so, leaving Callum behind to sleep the rest of the alcohol off.

He can’t believe he was stupid enough to sleep with his best mate; stupid enough to get caught up in the moment and damn any consequences. Terrible consequences at that.

Because how can they stay friends after this?

How can they go back to how they were before when Ben knows how Callum feels now; how he sounds and what he tastes like.

He doesn’t want this to ruin their friendship, because it undoubtedly will. They’ll maybe decide to give it a try, Ben will ruin it like he always does and they’ll never want to speak a word to each other again. Or, they become something and in the end, Callum leaves because that’s all they ever do. No one ends up choosing Ben.

He doesn’t want any of that to happen.

Callum is the first person who completely gets Ben, in and out, often without saying anything at all. He trusts him more than anyone, more than Jay even, and Ben doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Callum by his side.

And of course he went ahead and fucked it all up.

He has already cleared the cans and bottles from downstairs, starting a load in the dishwasher, when he hears the stairs creaking and footsteps coming closer. It sets off panic in Ben’s chest because now is the time to decide whether he wants to outright tell Callum he’s at least a little bit in love with him or ask him to forget about the whole thing.

In a fit of pure panic, he does neither. He pretends nothing ever happened at all.

“Hey.”

Callum’s voice is hesitant, barely audible over the low hum of the radio Ben turned on in a desperate attempt to drown out his own thoughts. He looks over at Ben like he’s some wild animal he’s trying to approach, obviously wanting to gauge his reaction to what happened between them.

Ben doesn’t dare to look at him, can’t bring himself to face him right now, so he busies himself by getting another big trash bag from underneath the sink, avoiding Callum’s eye as much as possible.

“Nice of you to finally join me. You can get started in the living room, do some hoovering maybe. There’s crisps everywhere.”

Yeah, getting Callum into a different room, putting some much needed space between them, sounds like a good idea. At least, until Ben can figure out what to do to get out of this situation unscathed and with his dignity intact.

“I thought we could maybe get some breakfast? Talk a bit?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately, mulling his words over in his head. He wants to say yes but he’s too afraid of what could happen if he does. Is this Callum wanting to let him down easy? Telling him thanks for this experience but I’m not interested in anything more?

He couldn’t even blame him really. Callum should go out and explore, figure out himself and what he’s into without being chained to someone else. Ben is glad he could give him a good first time - at least he thinks it was good for Callum, because it was pretty incredible for himself - but he’s under no impression that he won’t be just one of many for Callum.

As he should be. Because Callum is funny and smart and gorgeous in a cute way and he deserves to have a lifetime of romance and adventure. He deserves a line of guys falling over themselves to be with him. He deserves better than Ben; better than someone who already has quite the reputation for being an easy lay at school.

“I thought we were friends. Friends help other friends clean up before their dad gets back and yells at them for leaving the house in a state.”

It’s a flimsy deflection. Ben is all too aware that Callum knows his dad isn’t coming back until later. And although it’s close to midday already, they still have all the time in the world to clean up. There’s no reason they shouldn’t stop to have a hangover breakfast first - except the fact that Ben is a giant coward, of course.

“Are we?”

“What?”

Ben finally meets Callum’s eyes across the kitchen table and it’s immediately obvious that he’s said the wrong thing somewhere along the way. Because Callum’s face is hard, his expression unimpressed and mouth a thin line. There’s something softer in his eyes though; something sad or pleading maybe, betraying the thunderstorm clouding his face.

“Are we just friends? ‘Cause I don’t think friends do what we did yesterday.”

Ben blows out a breath, hand coming up to scratch at his face in a nervous habit. Apparently, they are talking about it now. This will all end in tears, Ben’s sure of it.

“Technically it was today.”

“Ben!”

They’re quiet for a long moment; the only sound in the room the whirring from the dishwasher and the radio playing some old song about heartbreak that hits a little too close to home right now.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cal.”

The tone of their conversation seems to shift then. Callum’s face shifts from mad to something that looks a lot like defeat; like he’s not even considering this having a good outcome anymore. It makes Ben pause somewhat because it means there was hope there sometime before.

He’s trying hard not to latch onto that hope, because what if he’s mistaken?

Callum takes a deep breath, like he’s racking up the courage to actually say what he’s about to say, and Ben is scared but ready at the same time to cling to every word.

“I want you to say you don’t regret it. Because I don’t, not at all. I know we’re mates but I always hoped it would happen. I always hoped that when I was finally ready, it would be with you.”

Ben doesn’t want to let himself hope, still stuck somewhere between denial and self-protection. Just because Callum wants him too, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t crash and burn and ruin their friendship in the process.

“Callum, you deserve better than me.”

Callum walks around the kitchen table, stopping only when he’s standing in front of Ben, placing both of his hands on either side of Ben’s face to get him to look up at him. He has to fight the strongest urge to lean into Callum; it feels too good to have him touch him again like this. He’s only felt Callum’s touch a couple of hours ago at this point but it already feels like he can’t breathe without it.

“No. I deserve what I want to. And I want to be with you. And I think you want that too. Let's just give us a chance, yeah?”

Ben tangles his hands in the fabric of Callum’s white shirt, using his hold to pull Callum a step further into him. The doubts are still there, and they probably will remain rooted in his head for a while, but they aren’t as loud when Callum is looking at him like he is now.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s try this.”

It’s hard not to be infected by the bright smile taking over Callum’s face at that, Ben trying to hide his own smile by scrunching up his face and looking at the ground as best as he can when his face is still being held by Callum.

He’s willing to give his best when it comes to this; to be the best boyfriend Callum could ever have. Because he wants him to be happy, and more so he wants to be the one who makes him happy. He’ll try at least.

Callum’s thumbs brush over the skin over his cheeks for a second before he leans into him and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s just a sweet, short peck but it’s enough to send Ben’s heart into overdrive, hammering against his chest in such a wild rhythm he’s sure Callum must be able to hear it.

When they part, Ben presses his forehead against Callum’s, not ready to let him go yet. It’s paradoxical - this whole morning he’s tried to tell himself they don’t have a future together and now that it’s within reach, under his fingers and on his lips, he doesn’t want to be without it ever again.

“You think cleaning the rest of the house can wait?”

Ben breathes out a laugh, letting go of Callum’s shirt so he can reach up and tangle their hands together, pulling him along with him out of the kitchen and up the stairs again.

No matter what happens in the future, they’ll figure it out.

Together.

[likelightningafterthethunder]

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter Three: Message from the Shadows

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

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–

As the reunion approached, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that everything was fine.

Katsuki had been added back to the group text with Eijirou, Mina, and Hanta; he wasn’t sure if Eijirou had told them or if they had figured it out on their own, but almost all of the pictures sent after he was added back in lacked a certain pair of amber eyes. He appreciated their attempt to make things less stressful for him, but it just made him think about how the rest of the class might not share the same sentiment and that there was a non-zero chance of having to see those eyes― or worse, that damned smile― during the reunion. He didn’t say anything about it, of course, but the idea of suddenly canceling and saying he was sick was looking more and more tempting.

Ochako and Katsuki had met up a few more times at Takeshi’s, but to Katsuki’s frustration, their sparring sessions seemed to do little to help prevent his mind from wandering off to that damned smile and digging its claws in. The most recent session, his guard had slipped enough that Ochako even dared to repeat his own words against him, even if the threat of him wasting her time was empty. Despite that, she still didn’t ask what was keeping him up at night, a small blessing Katsuki was thankful for.

Work was the one aspect of his life where he had a bit of normalcy, and no one could ask about the telltale sign of sleepless nights when his mask was on to hide them. He didn’t interact with anyone else at the agency often enough for them to note any potential changes in his behavior caused by the recent hauntings and there certainly wasn’t enough time for his mind to wander off in the middle of a battle with higher stakes than an ongoing scoreboard and bragging rights. His work didn’t suffer so he was certain that he would be able to get through this… thing, without anyone at work noticing, and if he was lucky, maybe the big red bow his mind needed to finally tie the memory up and shelve it away was the upcoming reunion and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone noticing, period.

Except his boss knew about what happened too.

It was hard for her not to know. Shion had been there that day, and while she hadn’t arrived early enough to stop Katsuki’s anger from kicking in, she had definitely seen the toll the fight had taken on the surrounding area. She had definitely seen the still smoking singes of clothing, seen the furniture and paperwork that were strewn across the room, heard the cackling of flames, of his palms, of the remnant electricity in the air, seen the―

Katsuki inhaled sharply, shaking the memory from his mind.

He’d like to assume that the main reason why Shion offered him a position at her agency was his hard work both at UA and on the field. He’d like to say that maybe it was because she saw a similarity between his explosive fighting style and her own, or maybe she noticed the quick calculations hidden behind seemingly impulsive actions. Hell, Katsuki would even be willing to say that she found some sort of sick twisted pleasure in watching his fuse burn.

Still, he couldn’t shake the idea that maybe it was out of pity.

That maybe all she saw when she looked at him was the teenage boy from that day ten years ago. That maybe he was some sort of passion project, an attempt to see if she could “fix” him. That maybe she thought that one day, Katsuki might break, and that it was best if she was nearby to take care of it.

That maybe, just maybe, Katsuki was stuck standing in that damned shadow.

Katsuki could normally easily avoid Shion asking him about his life outside of work. She only ever seemed interested in forcing him into having a life outside of work, but always left the details of what that entailed up to him and rarely pried past ensuring that Katsuki hadn’t secretly been doing paperwork or something when he was supposed to have the day off. She seemed to do the same to everyone else who worked at the agency though, so there was very little room to complain― though that didn’t stop him from taking every inch he got when he found the chance. (Not that it seemed to stop her either, especially when everyone else was more than happy to talk about their personal lives.)

But, between her knowing about Katsuki’s past and about the upcoming reunion, Katsuki was not surprised when Shion started being curious about his personal life “out of nowhere.” She asked if the reunion had some sort of plus one system and if so, if there was a lucky person Katsuki would be taking with him to formally introduce them to his former classmates; if there was a lucky person, how come she didn’t know of them yet; if Katsuki would introduce her to them so that she could get them on “Team Make Katsuki Bakugou Take a Vacation”; maybe if he took a vacation there would actually be a lucky someone; and a seemingly endless list of other questions every single time he saw Shion, even if it was in passing and there was no time to respond to it before they were out of earshot from each other.

He knew the worst of it was coming when he saw that he was scheduled to patrol with her in the afternoon. She left him alone during the morning― a small but welcomed blessing― and unlike every other time they had been scheduled to patrol together, she wasn’t waiting for him after his lunch break either. Katsuki wondered if maybe she was trying to give him space before she brought up the inevitable, or if maybe he had misread the schedule and he was going on patrol alone.

When he saw her in the agency lobby, standing at his approach, he held back a curse.

The walk exiting the building was uncharacteristically quiet, the only noises between them being the sound of Katsuki’s footsteps and Shion’s skates. Katsuki wasn’t sure what he dreaded more― the idea of a silent Shion for the entirety of patrol or the fact that when she did start speaking, it would immediately be about his personal life.

Thankfully (or not?) after a failed attempt at getting Katsuki to let her hook onto his arm and make him do the “hard work” of walking (“Fuck off, you’ve got legs,” “You walk too fast, I should be saving my energy for fighting villains, not trying to keep up with your rocket legs,” “Sucks to be you then,”), Shion started talking. It started off normally enough― Shion mentioned some workplace gossip that Katsuki didn’t particularly care about, some information about a new sponsor that was supposed to reach out later that week, how her roller derby match had gone the past weekend― but even though he was expecting something different, it didn’t prepare him for what she said next.

“The Commission’s looking into the Acolyte.”

Katsuki stopped in his tracks, Shion rolling to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Katsuki felt his throat tighten, like there was something trying to suffocate him from the inside out, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back something between a laugh of desperation and a scream of frustration.

The Acolyte. The fucking Acolyte.

For once, Shion didn’t speak. Katsuki wished she would, even if it was an insult, even if she picked away at his shell and attacked the part of him that was still just a scared, lost teenage boy that was in over his head, anything so he didn’t have to deal with the deafening silence. Anything to jump in and distract him from the tidal wave of emotions and thoughts rushing at him, to redirect his thoughts away from the dark corner of his memory, to keep him here, in that moment, in reality.

He let out a shaky exhale as he forced the uneasy feeling back down, trying to shake it off. “Thought the Acolyte was taken care of.”

“I thought so too,” Shion paused, giving Katsuki a look over that he knew could see right through him. He forced himself to hold his resolve, waiting for her to continue. “Rumor is that someone on the outside has been in contact with Mother and is trying to prepare for her return. Recruit new members, spread their message, and find someone called the Son,”

Katsuki scoffed. “The bastards at the prison aren’t doing their job if the bitch managed to make contact with the outside,”

Shion laughed, moving closer to give him a playful slap on the arm, “I knew you’d see it my way. That’s what I said at the Commission meeting― well, in a more poetic way, of course. Those Commission workers wanted none of it though, even though it’s obvious that heroes aren’t to blame for this particular mess up. Now, come on, let’s keep walking while we talk,”

He hesitated briefly, brows furrowed as Shion started to skate ahead. Were they really going to continue patrol while talking about something like this? “Shouldn’t we be discussing this back at the agency?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Shion waved a hand dismissively as Katsuki caught up to her, ignoring the glare sent her way at her phrasing. “Besides, the agency is full of gossips,”

“You’re the biggest gossip there.”

“How do you think I know?” She gave Katsuki a wink and a nudge in his side, laughing when it was met with a scowl. “It’s fine. That was the most confidential part of the conversation I had to tell you.”

“Why did you tell me, anyway?”

Shion looked up at him, amused. “I’ve been asked to help find someone for their task force. You’re on the short list, Katsuki. Well, correction, you are the short list. Though, you do have the right to decline, in which case you and Hibiki will be in charge of keeping the agency in one piece whenever the Commission drags me away. Or, you know, as close to one piece as possible, so our public relations people don’t try to have our heads on a platter.” If she noticed the hesitance in Katsuki’s face, she didn’t comment on it. “You don’t have to give me your answer now. In fact, I encourage you to take your time― since the Commission’s being so rude about who’s to blame for this whole ordeal, I say we let them wait a few days before I tell them which one of us will be working with them. They have other things to do while they wait for my decision anyway― like actually finding the prison leak and getting information that heroes can actually act on, instead of acting like we’re all Divine Prophet and can find people in the blink of an eye. You know, kind of surprising that they haven’t dragged Divine Prophet into this yet either actually. They weren’t at the meeting and no one mentioned them, so I guess they’re busy doing something else for the Commission or something.”

Katsuki let her ramble on for a while longer, thinking back to the Acolyte. He had hoped he had heard the last of them, years ago when a raid on an Acolyte base resulted in Mother’s capture and the destruction of their intel. Some members had died but enough had lived and been captured that through the combined work of the police force, heroes, and the Commission, every Acolyte member had been imprisoned.

Almost, Katsuki corrected. Someone must’ve slipped past and hid until they could get a message to Mother. He could only hope that the leak had been found early enough before Mother could weave another web of misery.

Even if the Acolyte hadn’t gotten the chance to rebuild itself back up, helping take it back down would be a pretty important achievement to put on Katsuki’s hero resume. The original downfall of the Acolyte and capture of their information had resulted in the downfall of several smaller villain groups and prevented some large scale villain attacks from occurring, so while it was unlikely that whatever the Commission wanted the task force to do would be flashy and public, it was also likely the Commission would take the potential damage prevented into account when calculating the next Billboards rankings.

Yet…

Katsuki was dragged out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his arm, his hand already gripped tight around Shion’s wrist before he realized it was her and let go.

She smiled softly, giving Katsuki a moment to reorient himself. “Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to say yes, but I know you’re the right man for the job.”

“Of fucking course I am,”

“Glad to know that you know. Anyway, let’s talk about that reunion of yours! You never did answer me about if you were bringing a special someone.”

Katsuki groaned.

Katsuki was half considering taking the last week before the reunion off just to avoid Shion’s questions by the time he finally made it back home. While the questions about the reunion had helped keep his mind off of the Acolyte shit, it took maybe half an hour before Katsuki was wishing they were talking about the Acolyte instead. There was only so long that Katsuki could deal with questions about his supposed love life (both present day and anything that might have happened back in high school) and the type of clothes he planned on wearing to show off his “post graduation glow up”, whatever the fuck that meant.

He cursed under his breath when his phone started going off while he was preparing dinner, not really feeling like talking to anyone. He let it keep ringing, focusing on chopping the vegetables instead and sighing in relief when the ringing finally stopped― until it started back up. He ignored it one more time, only giving in and checking his phone after he heard a few text ringtones.

Shitty Hair

Missed Call (2)

Well shit. Probably shouldn’t ignore him if it was important enough to call instead of text.

Shitty Hair: Katsuki!!!

Shitty Hair: Are you free bro??

Shitty Hair: I need your help for this project

Shitty Hair: I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong and I don’t know how to put it into words so I can ask the internet

Katsuki: If you can’t put it into words, how the fuck am I supposed to help?

Katsuki: I’m cooking right now but I’m free otherwise.

Shitty Hair: Can you video call??? I’ll just show it to you

Katsuki: Sure.

Katsuki propped his phone up on the counter, making sure that it wouldn’t get in the way of his cooking and that he’d still be in frame when the call connected. He scowled a little when the call connected and the only thing he could see was Eijirou’s eyes and forehead.

“Back the fuck up from the camera, Shitty Hair, I can’t see anything. Unless you’re calling to see if there’s an eyelash in your eye, then the answer is no.”

“Just give me a sec! I dropped my phone while it was ringing.” Katsuki waited as Eijirou readjusted himself and propped the phone up. “Okay, it’s not great, but ta-da! Not bad for an amateur, huh?”

“Are you knitting?”

“Yeah!” Eijirou grinned brightly. “There’s this group near my work that’s doing like, an auction of knitted and crocheted and other handmade things for charity, and I asked if I could try making some stuff for the auction. I’m not great at it but I figure some people would love to buy something that a hero made, and the money’s going to a good cause, so why not? And I thought, maybe I could knit on the train over to Musutafu, except it’s doing this twisty thing around my needles and I don’t know why, and I need to know what’s going wrong so I know if I have to buy new yarn before the reunion or if this is salvageable,”

Katsuki paused. “What makes you think I know what the fuck is going on with your knitting?”

“Dude, I know you’re the one who knits all of the knitted gifts you’ve given me, Mina, and Hanta. I figured it out years ago.”

“And you didn’t think of telling me that you knew?”

Eijirou shrugged. “You never said it yourself so I figured you were just waiting for the right moment to tell us or something,”

Katsuki huffed and shrugged it off. Eijirou wasn’t completely wrong, after all. “It’s salvageable. Look up ‘frogging’ to undo everything. Make sure the row’s straight on the needle before you start and that you’re not accidentally holding it in a way that makes it twist on the needle either.”

“Cool, cool. And what about these random holes, like this one?”

“Probably wrapped the yarn an extra time before you made a new stitch. Count your stitches, I bet you’ve got more than you started off with.”

“Thanks Kats! Mind if we stay on the call while I try to figure out this whole knitting thing?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Eijirou laughed and started talking about his day while he worked on his knitting, stopping here and there to ask Katsuki to see if he was doing things right. After he was done with his update, he asked Katsuki how his day had gone.

“Shitty,” Katsuki grumbled. “Damned Four Eyes kept asking me shit about the reunion, the entire fucking afternoon. While we were on patrol! I fucking swear, she enjoys pushing my buttons.”

“Oh come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Katsuki paused cooking to stare at his phone camera directly, silently daring Eijirou to contradict him again.

“Okaaaaay maybe it was. Do you think maybe she’ll leave you alone about getting your ‘special someone’ to join the ‘Team Make Katsuki Bakugou Take a Vacation’ team if I officially joined the team?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Katsuki pointed his knife at the camera, ignoring the laughter that came from the other end. “It’ll probably plant the wrong fucking idea in her head and make all this shit worse.”

“Okay okay, I won’t join behind your back or anything, but if you skip out on Hanta, Mina, and me for the reunion or the squad hangout the day after, not only will I join the team, but I will get Hanta and Mina to join too. Maybe even Midoriya and Uraraka.”

“I already said I’m going, you damned Shitty Hair! Back the fuck off already.”

“Just checking! Are we still good for rooming together?”

“Yeah. Cheeky and I should be arriving in Musutafu around one, unless shit runs late.”

“All right, I should be there around eleven, so I’ll go ahead and check in first and text you the room number―” Katsuki barely caught Eijirou’s hand suddenly reaching out towards the screen, knocking the phone over onto the ground. He heard the sounds of Eijirou fumbling with something off screen before a faint voice that sounded like a news reporter came on.

“What the fuck, Shitty Hair?”

Katsuki briefly got a screenful of Eijirou’s eyebrows again as picked the phone up, frowning when he noticed the panic in Eijirou’s eyes. “Look,” was all he said before the camera flipped to show his TV screen, turning up the volume.

It was a live broadcast, with the banner indicating that the reporter was standing in Miyazaki. In the background, dozens of police cars and firetrucks surrounded a tall fence, officers and firefighters rushing in towards what looked like a large hole in the side of a building. A few of the heroes stationed in Miyazaki were rushing in as well, all of them escorted by people who looked like―

Prison guards.

Katsuki put down his cooking utensils, hands moving to grip the counter’s edge until his knuckles turned white in an attempt to ground himself. He could almost feel the thick tar build in the back of his throat and it took all his self control to force his breathing to steady. He could barely focus on what the reporter was saying, nearly missing Eijirou’s hesitant, quiet voice.

“Isn’t that…”

“...Yeah.”

“Shit.”

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot's Game - Chapter 22 - Harmonica

Read all the published chapters here. -------------------------------------------------- Two days went by and there was still no word from the rescue mission. Lenny had been sent off with Bill Williamson and John Marston for something and they came back with a big grin on their faces, depositing their share in the camp lockbox proudly. Eliza had only once snuck a peek into the ledger, feeling bad not having been able to contribute more than a couple of animal carcasses for dinner. Everyone else was pulling their weight, she would have to find a way to make money soon. It was past midday, her chores for the day were done. The sun stood high in the sky, heating the air something fierce. This was without a doubt the hottest day of the year so far and she decided to go for a walk, to clear her mind. Since her self-admittance to the fact that she cared enough about Charles and Arthur to worry about them, she could barely think about anything else when she wasn’t occupied with some chore or conversation. Sadie had provided welcome distraction, recounting tales of robberies, rescues and other adventures involving her that Eliza had read about, but from her own perspective. Her accounts matched the base details well enough, but the real event was often less glamorous and much more gory. After hearing her describing how she shot, stabbed and choked her enemies to death, she was glad she didn’t have the woman as her enemy. She seemed to take pride in her work, leaving a mess wherever the bad guys had been holed up, and even though Eliza still admired her for her strength, she didn’t quite feel the same urge to become just like her anymore. This morning though Sadie had mounted her huge, mean looking mare and set off for the day, to scout out a homestead north of Valentine after Tilly had brought a tip back to camp. No gory stories today.

She let Miss Grimshaw know she was heading out for a bit so no one would be worried, and set off down to the river, the gun Sadie had bought her tucked in it’s holster on her hip. She was briefly shown she how to load and use it, Sadie had promised a proper shooting lesson soon. Eliza dreaded it, but it was a necessary evil if she was ever to fit into this life properly. Descending the hill carefully on foot, she aimed towards the river, for a nice long walk. Soon she wished she had taken a hat with her, the sun was burning onto the crown of her head even before she reached the shore, but it was too late to turn back now. Trying to cool down she took off her shoes and stepped into the water, walking along the riverbank. The stream was nice and cold, providing a bit of relief. Her mind was wandering as she followed it upstream. It had been four days now since Dutch had sent the guys out to rescue MacGuire, an operation that should have been completed in a couple nights at most according to Hosea; she had overheard him and Dutch talking. During those last few days she had managed to draw Molly’s anger (Dutch still liked to join her at the drop and seemed to spurn Molly’s company in favour of Eliza’s), Uncle’s attention (the old drunk had never tried to touch her, but had offered plenty of compliments that made she skin crawl) and Strauss’ contempt (he wanted her to help him persuade a poor widow to take a loan and she refused out of sympathy for her), so she didn’t overly enjoy her time in camp at this time. Miss Grimshaw kept her and the girls busy, but Karen was still worried sick over Sean, so the four of them weren’t as carefree and chipper as usual either.

A herd of deer skipped over the river as she watched them, her eyes lingering on the last doe that was struggling to catch up. The buck made sure to wait for her, only following the group when she was safely across. This made her smile.

Her mornings were still following the same routine as before, getting up early, making coffee and enjoying the sunrise at the drop. Only now she realised how much she missed Arthur’s company, especially when the only alternative at hand was Dutch. Morgan barely talked, just stood or sat with her either drinking his coffee, smoking a cigarette or sketching in his journal. He would sometimes comment on birds that were flying past or animals down in the valley, but unless she initiated the conversation he’d stay quiet, leaving them both to enjoy the peaceful morning. She missed his presence, easy and content by now after the initial awkwardness whenever the two were alone had gone. They had learned to appreciate each other’s silence.

Lost in thought, she was walking for a good hour when she saw the waterfall. Cumberland Falls Charles had called it, and told her about the little cavern behind. Realising how sweaty and gross she felt, an idea struck. It wouldn’t be like a proper bath, she didn’t have any soap for starters, but a quick wash would be lovely, and she wasn’t likely to be discovered behind the roaring masses of water. The path wound upwards to her right and she stayed close to the river, following the increasingly rocky shore beneath the cliffs. She had to climb over some tree trunks and boulders, winding her way through a couple bushes before she could see the fallen log that conveniently led up to the ledge behind the falls. Careful not to slip on the wet wood she made her way up and took a deep breath before she hopped through the heavy curtain of water. It wasn’t as violent as she expected, but she could feel the force behind it clearly, making her wonder what would happen if someone got trapped down below. The thought made her shudder. She reached the small outcrop Charles had spoken of and decided this would most definitely do well as her own little personal bathing space. She peeled out of the wet clothes, stripping down until she was completely naked and stepped towards the water, mindful of slippery spots beneath her bare feet. The cascade was cold and fresh and rinsing herself down felt incredible in this heat, just what she needed. When she decided she felt clean enough she soaked her clothes, trying to give them a quick wash too. Without soap they wouldn’t be perfect, but there was no harm in this. She laid out her skirt on the rocky floor and sat down on it, closing her eyes and enjoying the cool, fine spray that landed on her face like thick mist. This was much better than enduring the tense atmosphere back at Horseshoe, everything felt so far away and she could finally relax a little, letting the worries run off her like the droplets of cold water on her back. She would stay here for a while.

The completely soaked clothes were a nightmare to get back into, but she wasn’t about to emerge from the waterfall naked, not knowing who might happen to pass by and witness her in all her natural glory. They felt so heavy, climbing back out onto the shore was much more difficult than getting in and she made a mental note of taking a second set next time, or at least a gown she could cover herself with whilst hopping in and out. Because there would surely be a next time, the hidden cave had felt like a little piece of heaven to her. She found a patch of grass not far from the falls and laid herself out to dry in the sun, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon. She wouldn’t dry off completely but didn’t mind. The soothing murmur of the river and the distant thunder of the cascading water lulled her into a slumber.

_

When her eyes opened, it was dark. The stars were twinkling on the sky above her and the crescent of the moon illuminated the night gently. She felt a slight chill, her back was still wet from the water of course, she hadn’t intended to doze off and stay out so late. The people back at camp were probably wondering where she was, so she climbed up the slope to the path and set off. It took over an hour to get back and as she was approaching the camp she could hear music and laughter. A guitar. Eliza’s steps quickened in unison with her heartbeat, and as the forest drew back and she walked into camp, she could see the fires burning bright, people gathering and chattering joyously and there was Charles, sitting at the round table and to be the first to notice her. In a few big strides she closed the distance between them, he was barely stood up from his seat to greet her as she crashed into him, squeezing him into a tight hug. He staggered backwards for a moment, then caught himself and returned the embrace, chuckling.

“You’re wet”, he noted in his manner-of-fact tone, “did you go for a late night swim? I thought you might have left us, just going off and disappearing like that.”

She let go and looked up to him, a wide smile on her lips. “I was just out for a long walk and a bath. I thought you boys might have gone and died on us!”

She let her eyes sweep over the people in camp. Javier was sat at the camp fire with his guitar, a young man with ginger hair she had never seen before stood near him, giving a speech in a thick Irish accent; Sean MacGuire she presumed. The only person she couldn’t find was… Her heart dropped.

“Where’s Arthur?”, she asked Charles. Did he not make it back, was he -

“Here he comes”, Charles nodded his head towards a spot behind her and she spun around.

There he was, rough and tired and with a few days worth of stubble on his cheeks, but there was a happy, relieved look in his eyes as he neared, Sadie walking beside him. Eliza’s body moved before she could gather coherent thought and she threw her arms around him as she had with Charles, pressing her head against his chest. Thank God he was safe.

“Huh- Hey there”, he muttered, slight confusion in his voice. He had tensed up at her touch but relaxed a bit now, patting her shoulders awkwardly. “Good to see you too, Miss.”

Glancing upwards at his face she suddenly feared she had overstepped a line and quickly withdrew her arms from him, stepping back. Already she could feel the blood rising to her cheeks and hoped it wouldn’t be obvious in the dark.

“I was so worried about you all! What happened?”

Arthur scratched his chin and pulled a grimace before he answered, “O’Driscolls. There was a whole lot of them, so we had to lie low. Seems they knew what we were planning, whole way back was covered with them dirty bastards and we had to hide for two days after one of ‘em saw us.”

“I would have just shot the whole lot. They all deserve it”, Sadie piped up. “Our little doe here got all frightened, thinking you was in trouble.” She had a slanted grin on her face and her eyes was fixed on Eliza with a look she wasn’t sure what to make of. Her cheeks burned even hotter, she must have gotten burnt by the sun, sleeping out in the open for so long.

“I’m just glad you’re back safe.” She beamed at the broad shouldered man, turning around to Charles. “All of you. That’s Sean I assume?”

She pointed to the Irish guy who was now stood with the girls, loudly and unashamedly courting Karen who played hard to get. And that after all her grumbling and worrying over him.

“That’s Sean alright”, Arthur confirmed, “Dutch called for a party soon as we got back.”

He shot a look towards the big tent in the middle of the camp, where van der Linde stepped into the night at that exact moment.

“Come on. How about a song?” he shouted. Javier at the guitar started strumming the strings in a new melody and Uncle who sat next to him recognised it.

“The Louisville maid! Come on everybody, everyone knows this one!”

Charles and Arthur laughed and headed towards the fire, while Eliza stayed with Sadie, sitting down at the poker table.

“In Louisville I met a maid, Mark well what I do say, And she was mistress of her trade, It was diddle-diddle-diddle all day!”

Javier and Uncle initiated the song, soon joined by Karen, Sean and Arthur. It wasn’t a particularly complicated tune, and no one seemed to always know the exact words, nevertheless it was the best bit of music Eliza had ever heard. Seeing those people being so happy and carefree was a welcome sight, one that filled her heart with warmth. Sadie and her watched silently, as the group grew bigger and left only a handful of people who didn’t join in the singing.

“I put my hand upon her ass, Mark well what I do say, She says ‘let’s lay down on the grass’, And diddle-diddle-diddle all day!”

“And we diddle-diddle-did too!”, Uncle shouted when the song ended and everybody laughed.

The crowd dispersed and she felt a hand on her shoulder, Tilly stood behind Eliza, handing over a bottle of beer. She accepted with thanks.

“I don’t understand why she ain’t telling him how much she likes him”, she sighed, looking at Karen and Sean. He was showering her in compliments in his Irish charm, and she played the stoic maid.

Eliza shrugged, setting the bottle to her lips. “Maybe she thinks he’ll stop paying attention to her if she gives in”, she suggested, “but I don’t know much about these things.”

From Dutch’s tent the sound of a gramophone reached her ears, playing some harmonica piece. She suddenly realised that her back was still drenched and excused herself, heading towards her cot to get changed. It wouldn’t do her any good to run around damp in the cold night and catching a cold. In a fresh, dry skirt and blouse she returned, looking for her friends within the jumble of merry people. She saw Arthur and Sadie speaking to Dutch and decided they were best left alone, in case it wasn’t a conversation she should be a part of. Downing the last bit of her bottle she steered towards Hosea, who stood by the kitchen wagon, observing Lenny dancing with Tilly to the music, when Dutch called her name.

“Miss Eliza! How about you join me for a dance?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, cursing silently. She couldn’t say no without being disrespectful, her manners commanded her to accept his invitation. With a forced smile she turned her footsteps towards him, as he held one of his hands outstretched waiting for her to take it. Arthur and Sadie stood a few feet away from him watching her approach, she could see a slight frown on the blonde woman’s forehead.

“It would be my pleasure”, she answered, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual, and placed her hand in his big palm.

“Oh, the pleasure is mine Miss Eliza.”

He lifted her hand in his and placed his other against her waist, it was clear he knew how to dance and he took the lead naturally. Swaying left and right with the music, she was focused to keep the smile on her lips, following his movements.

“Come on Morgan, dance with me!”

Sadie’s voice rang from behind her, and Eliza almost burst out laughing. Arthur and Sadie, dancing? But low and behold, as Dutch swung them both around in a slow spin she could see her two friends move to the music in the same fashion, a bit clumsier than her and the black haired man maybe, but especially Sadie seemed to gain ample enjoyment out of it. She grinned at her younger friend widely. The pace of the music picked up, and Dutch sent her away with a spin, only holding one hand, then curled her back in, holding on a bit closer than before. Eliza held her eyes fixed on a shirt button on his chest, intent not to look up into his face. He liked to show off. Moving her feet parallel to his, he turned her in a slow circle again, and she saw Sadie winking at her. She felt a twang of annoyance, why was she drawing amusement out of this? Molly would be furious at her, besides Sadie certainly knew how she felt about their leader. Eliza hadn’t thought the woman would be the type to gain malicious glee from a friend’s discomfort. Another flurry in the music and Dutch prepared another flourish, sending her out and away from him, holding her right hand. Within a second, she barely had the time to register what was happening, Sadie had taken her left and twisted her around, freeing her hand from Dutch’s grip and sending her twirling into Arthur’s arms, all the while keeping her composure and joining up with Dutch’s steps, replacing her as his partner. It was all over so quick, Eliza barely caught her mischievous smile before Arthur steadied her, his face just as stunned and confused as hers as he instinctively took her hand into his own and tried to regain the rhythm with his new partner. They staggered a bit at first, staring at each other in bewilderment, before she caught herself and led him to fall back into the swing of the music. She smiled awkwardly up at him, her heart beating in her chest as if it was joining a different dance that was five times as quick as theirs. He cleared his throat, holding her gaze, a subtle hint of colour on his cheeks. The campfire cast a warm hue onto his face and made his eyes flicker, the blue of his iris now shifting between green and amber in the orange flame. She felt a strange sensation in her stomach and a nervous giggle escaped her throat. Realising that she had been staring at him for just a second too long she turned her head, severing the connection. His right hand was laid on her waist, lightly, almost hovering, as if he was not sure if he was allowed to hold her. Ever the gentleman. The two moved slowly, he soon took over the lead and set his hand a bit firmer on her after she had leaned into the touch herself. This felt so much different than it had with Dutch just seconds ago. She could feel the warmth of his body through her clothes and was embarrassed by the light clamminess of her palm in his. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. They swayed together in the rhythm of the music, in perfect harmony. His feet weren’t as practised as hers and he didn’t move quite as naturally to the tune, but she trusted him and he trusted her. Circling slowly, she caught a glimpse of Sadie’s grin. She looked mighty satisfied with herself, watching her and Arthur and paying Dutch’s sour expression no mind. As the music swelled up and reached another flurry, Arthur held her hand high and guided her into a twirl, sending her skirt to flare out lazily around her legs. She spun her head to face him as she whirled on the spot, until he lowered his arm and caught her safely, guiding them back into a steady sway. She felt just a little dizzy. He held her steady, his gentle touch tripling her heartbeat it seemed like.

Get it together. It’s just a dance.

The first dance with a man that she thoroughly enjoyed though. She pushed the thoughts of what that might mean out of her mind, not willing to investigate the heat in her cheeks or the fluttering of her stomach at present. The music got a little louder, it was obvious that it prepared for the finale and Arthur sent her spinning out, holding her there for a moment before twisting her back in, their arms curling up with each other until he caught her with his other hand, her back firmly pressed against his chest as the crescendo came to an end. They looked at each other as the last note faded, faces flushed and breath going a bit quicker than normal, the camp around them forgotten. Then he released her hands and stepped back, tipping his hat.

“Thank you ma’am.”

As quick as that, the spell was broken. She was suddenly very aware of the faces staring at them, it felt like half the camp had followed their dance. Sadie passed Dutch into Molly’s arm, the redhead looking sour and clasping at her sweetheart, desperate to keep him to herself now. Eliza tried to catch a glimpse at Arthur’s face beneath the hat and believed she saw his lips curved into a gentle smile. Not quite sure what the appropriate response was in this situation, she did a little courtesy as she had been taught.

“Thank you, Mister! It was a pleasure”

He looked at her from under the brim of his hat, there was definitely a small smile beneath his stubble. She couldn’t help but let out a giggle again, feeling quite foolish because of it. Averting her eyes, she added quietly: “It has been a while since I last danced with someone I didn’t despise.”

He exhaled in a silent laugh and hooked his thumbs under his gunbelt. Why did she only just now realise how handsome this man was? She quickly pushed the thought aside. Sadie came into her field of view, throwing her arm around her shoulders.

“You kids had fun? I wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this, gotta drown myself in whiskey now.”

Eliza’s mind was full of questions for her, but lacking the ability to formulate even a single one of them she was condemned to stare at her back as the woman walked away, towards the alcohol supply at the kitchen wagon.

“You, uh, wanna go sit by the fire?”

There he was, the awkward Arthur Morgan that she had first met through the bars of the prison wagon, sat on the stool, his journal on his lap. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. Back then she had been terrified of him and now… Now she was disappointed that the dance with him was over.

“Sure, I’m getting a bit cold.”

They made their way to the campfire, keeping a couple feet apart. The distance felt like a precaution, there was a strange air between the two of them. Not in a bad way, just… Different. Like they had just met each other anew, careful not to overstep any boundaries the other might have. They walked in comfortable silence towards the gathered people laughing. In this moment Eliza truly felt as if she was home.

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- Part 6 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

i am so sorry that this took so long to update!! i was going thru a period of low motivation, and had absolutely no inspiration to write. this is the second to last part of the series (not including the epilogue)!! thank you to everyone who has supported this fic throughout the past few months!!! i love each and every one of you nasty thots with my whole heart 💕

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, teen angst, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation, anal fingering, anal sex, semi-public sex, sexual intercourse, praise kink (kind of?), cum play 

word count: 7.5k 

tags: @alicecooper19 @ritualmichael @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michaelsapostle @trelaney @kissydevil @langdonalien @langdonsdemon @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @wroteclassicaly @langdonsinferno @ccodyfern @cocosfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @theinevitableprophecy @americanhorrorstudies @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @lxngdonscoven @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @hisgirlwonder @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @pr1ncessd1e @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @isoldedax @fckinsupreme @lvngdvns @telexnesis @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @noelle525 @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @coastalmason @anacerta @punkysouls @nuke-em-from-orbit @codyswhore @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @beriyeri @dcvilrising @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @imjustasadhoe @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @michaelsfrenchtoast 

(sorry to anyone who asked to be tagged but isn’t in my tag list!! tumblr won’t let me tag certain blogs for some reason!!) 

i.

Michael’s bedroom had become, to you, a world all of its own. Whenever you were there, lying amidst the plaid-printed comforter and inhaling the distinct scent of Michael that clung to his pillowcase, you’d feel as though the outside world had, for the time being, ceased to exist altogether.

You were certain you spent more time in Michael’s room than your own nowadays; there was just something so comforting about his room, even despite the cringe-worthy posters of half-naked girls that never failed to make you roll your eyes. There was something comforting about Michael.

Most nights you’d hang out there, even when Michael scoffed at your presence, insisting that he was busy (but smiling with a knowing look in his eyes all the same). Sometimes you’d watch him play his computer games, other times you’d lie with your head on his chest and watch South Park reruns (god, was Michael immature, you’d come to realize, after witnessing him laugh at one too many dick jokes), and oftentimes you’d do nothing but have constant, urgent sex.

Urgent- recently things had seemed that way, like not a single second in one another’s company could be put to waste. As the weather grew warmer and the months passed by at a startlingly rapid pace, it became increasingly apparent that there wasn’t much time left.

Both of you had finished sending in your college applications, and soon enough, you’d both be graduating high school- a thought that filled you with dread.

You’d grown so fond of having Michael at an arm’s length at all times, being able to creep into his room whenever you felt particularly bored or or lonely or horny. What would you do once you were away at college? Thinking about living Michael-less again filled you with thousands of emotions, all pooled up in the pit of your belly, that you intended to ignore and deal with later.

This couldn’t keep on, you knew. It was inevitable that things would eventually have to end between the two of you. But when?

You found yourself lost in thought as you laid next to Michael one night; he wore only his boxers, one arm lifted so he could scroll through his phone while he idly wrapped the other around you. Lifting your head slightly, you looked at his flawless profile, a sound of vague discontent coming up from the back of your throat as you debated saying something.

He turned to you, quirking an eyebrow and setting his phone down on his chest. “What?”

“I dunno,” you said. You turned onto your side so you were pressed closer up against his warm body, splaying your palm flat on his soft tummy. He smelled good, you noticed, gratefully inhaling the boyish, woodsy scent of his deodorant as you nuzzled your nose against his skin. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” He was tracing a pattern on your back with his fingertips, something you were sure he was doing absentmindedly.

“Graduation,” you said. This, of course, wasn’t the full truth, but you weren’t about to make yourself seem unnecessarily needy by mentioning that you were also thinking about the fact that in a matter of months, you and Michael could no longer continue…whatever the hell this was.

You doubted Michael had even thought about it. In fact, you doubted he even cared. Once he got to college, he’d have a fresh slew of girls eager to jump on his dick, and he would probably forget all about you.

“I can’t fucking wait,” he said, and you frowned, lifting your head so you could meet his gaze. “The graduation parties are gonna be fucking insane. I’ll have to teach you how to play beer pong before so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Aren’t you, like, scared to graduate?” Aren’t you scared of losing me? is what you really wanted to ask, but of course you held your tongue.

He squinted his eyes like you’d just said the most incomprehensible thing he’d ever heard. “Fuck no. I’ve been done with high school since freshman year. Plus, college is gonna be fucking lit.”

You rolled your eyes at his usage of the word lit, heart sinking ever-so-slightly at his nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be really lit, having a new set of groupies lined up at your disposal.”

His expression shifted, a cocky smirk crossing his plump lips at the obvious bitterness behind your words. Fuck. You definitely shouldn’t have said that. “Aw, is someone jealous?”

“No,” you said defensively, cheeks burning up as Michael’s lips continued to curl upwards at the corners, hooded eyes flashing mischievously.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves, craning his neck so that he could speak into your ear. “Your pussy will always be my favorite.”

Your eyelids flickered at the unexpected vulgarity of his words, and it took everything inside you not to bite your lip. You couldn’t keep doing this with him- you had to talk about this, like mature soon-to-be adults, instead of having sex in an attempt to avoid the topic.

“But— Michael,” you said, tone pitched almost to the point of whining. “Don’t you ever think about what’s gonna happen between us once we leave for college?”

Aaand— there it was. Fuck it. If you sounded needy, so be it.

His grin faltered for a moment, an emotion that you couldn’t quite decipher crossing his face for a mere fragment of a second. Then he shifted, returning to his previous demeanor and promptly rolling on top of you. “Let’s just have fun, baby. We don’t have to think about that yet.”

His lips grazed your neck, and he began trailing kisses from your jugular over to the front of your throat, and then to your jaw. Your breath hitched, stomach dipping as you were instantly overcome with arousal- it was just that easy, apparently.

“Michael,” you breathed, squirming beneath the weight of his lean frame. “Michael, can we please talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” he said coolly. He moved his head down so that he was planting kisses down the valley between your breasts, which was covered by the oversize sleep shirt you wore (which you’d “borrowed” from Michael). “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He continued moving down until he was resting between your parted thighs, wasting no time before working your lace panties down your legs and discarding them off the side of the bed. He spread your legs, hoisting one up to rest over his toned shoulder as he eyed your bare, wet cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Mine,” he mumbled, placing an open-mouthed kiss to your soft inner thigh. His.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it would be better if you didn’t think about it, didn’t take things so seriously.

Or maybe you’d simply fallen under his spell for the umpteenth time, seduced by his sweet talking and expert touch and sparkling blue eyes. This prospect seemed far more likely.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, baby. Just relax…” His soft blond waves grazed against your inner thighs and you shivered, rolling your hips forward impatiently and eliciting a low chuckle from his full, parted lips. “So needy. Does my baby sis want me to make her cum all over my tongue? Hm?”

Without thinking, you took a handful of his silky hair in one hand, pushing your pelvis up towards him until you could feel his mouth against your core. Much to your disappointment, however, he pulled back, looking up at you from between your legs with glinting eyes.

“Say it,” he said, tone velvety and seductive as his large, veined hands slid underneath your shirt to grope your tits. “Tell your big brother what you want him to do to you.”

On one hand, you wanted to smack him- could he stop with all that step-sibling talk already? God, it just made things so weird.

…But on the other hand…

“Want you to make me cum, Mikey…” You batted your eyes down at him, making sure to speak with as much syrupy sweetness as you could manage; you saw his jaw just barely clench at your words, and inwardly you smiled. “Please. Wanna feel your mouth all over me.”

“My bad girl,” he cooed, dragging his tongue up between your folds and circling the pointed edge around your clit. “So glad I was the first one to claim this perfect little cunt.”

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it into his hot mouth and pressing his tongue harshly against it; you sighed, tugging at his hair as your head fell back into the pillows, his hands roughly kneading your tits until they stung.

“That feel good, baby?” he breathed, although the question was entirely unnecessary- if anyone gave good head, it was Michael Langdon, and he knew it.

He pulled one hand from underneath your shirt so he could form circles over your clit with his thumb, his tongue moving to lap at your opening before easing inside.

“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, twisting your fist perhaps a bit too hard, because he drew his head back from your aching heat to shoot you a glare.

“Can you not rip my hair out of my head, please?” he said irritably, his mouth and chin glistening with your arousal.

“Not like you haven’t done it to me a million times,” you mumbled.

“What was that?” he asked gruffly, yanking you closer to him by your thigh, which was still draped over his shoulder. “You wanna be a bitch? ‘Cause I can treat you like a bitch if that’s what you want.”

You lifted your head to give him a pointed look through narrowed eyes. “Just shut up and eat my pussy, dumbass.”

“Not with that attitude,” he said, crawling up your body and wrapping his fingers loosely around your throat. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, pale eyes boring into yours, but you could tell he was trying his hardest not to laugh. “I thought you wanted to be a good girl?”

You smirked, suddenly having found yourself in a bratty mood. “Nah, not today.”

Apparently you were looking to get destroyed. You saw something shift in Michael’s features, licking his lips hungrily as he slowly looked you up and down.

“Okay, if that’s how you wanna play.” In an instant, he had you flipped over so you were lying flat on your stomach, your insides buzzing with anticipation over what was to come; he slowly trailed his fingertips down from the base of your neck and along the expanse of your spine, stopping when he reached the small of your back. There was a brief stall in his motions, and then a loud crack as he landed a firm slap on your ass.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to try,” he said, taking his other hand to spread your ass cheeks before him. “Since you wanna be a bad girl tonight, I think you’ll like it.”

You wiggled nervously, bringing your arms under your chin as Michael leaned over off the side of his bed to grab something from his bedside table drawer. As much as you were apprehensive to find out what he was planning, you trusted Michael- you usually liked anything he introduced you to.

You heard shuffling behind you as Michael presumably undressed himself, immediately followed by a squirting sound— lube.

Oh fuck.

“Only good girls get it in their pussy,” Michael said, a slick-sounding noise coming from behind you as Michael pumped the lube up and down his cock. “Bad girls? They get it in the ass.”

“M-Michael-“ you started, voice trailing off when he began rubbing a cool substance against the opening of your ass, massaging the puckered skin with steady circles before dipping the tip of his finger inside. “Fuck!”

He sank his finger deeper, the lube assisting in this action; it still hurt, though, your tight, untouched hole being stretched for the first time- and he expected you to take his dick!?

As much as the idea frightened you, you couldn’t deny that there was something exciting about Michael claiming all of you, every last part.

“Just relax, baby,” he murmured, pumping his finger in and out of you until he felt you were sufficiently stretched out. He added a second finger, a low groan passing your lips as he quickened his pace, the intrusion encompassing you with a combination of pleasure and discomfort. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you retorted, trying to catch your breath. “It’s my asshole, idiot.”

“I was trying to talk dirty,” he snapped, thrusting his fingers in you deeper and brushing against something that made you see stars.

“How about just focus on doing what you’re doing instead of talking so much,” you said, arching your back to give him better access to you. Of course he’d been right about you liking this, you thought almost bitterly- he always knew what you were going to like.

“You really wanna be a brat tonight, huh?” he said, scissoring his fingers apart inside you to stretch your narrow walls even further. You gasped, head falling to the mattress as a jolt of pain shot throughout your body. “Must not want me to go easy on you.”

You said nothing (not that you’d be able to speak if you wanted to, seeing that your breath was caught in your throat). He continued fucking you with his fingers until he could slide them in and out with ease, pulling them out and aligning the head of his cock with your entrance instead.

“Such a little slut for me,” he said, shifting his weight so he was kneeling between your legs. He lifted you up at the hips, just barely pressing his cock into your now-stretched hole. “Now all your holes are mine.”

“How do you know I didn’t let my ex fuck me in the ass?” you teased, moving your hips from side to side as he began pushing himself deeper.

A hand landed on the back of your neck, pushing you down so your face was buried in the pillow; seconds later, your ass was met with a sharp smack.

“Yeah, right. Like you’d let anyone besides me be the first,” he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “…You wouldn’t, right?”

You stifled a laugh- you were sure there was nothing Michael feared more than finding out you’d given away your anal virginity to someone else- and a “circle jerking jock”, no less. You supposed that maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice to intentionally piss Michael off right as he was about to fuck you in the ass, but you were having too much fun to stop.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, the pads of Michael’s fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “I mean, he fucked me better than you anyway.”

The last part was a blatant lie meant to rile Michael up, and you knew Michael knew it; still, he brought one hand from your hips to the back of your head, wrapping a strand of your hair around his palm and forcefully pulling it back.

“Really? He fucked you better I do?” In one sharp forward motion, he entered you almost fully, earning him a weak cry from your parted mouth. “Made you cum better than I do?”-he paused to scoff- “I bet he couldn’t even make you cum.”

Goddamn it. There was another thing Michael was right about, not that you were about to let him know that.

“He didn’t know about that spot inside you that makes you cum so hard you cry, or how to tease you until you’re all needy and desperate, begging to be filled up like the whore you are,” he continued, and you could practically hear the cocky grin on his face as he spoke, his hips still as he waited for you to adjust to the feeling of a dick being in your ass. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

You kept silent, knowing better than to challenge him again.

He laughed, your lower body trembling in arousal and agony as he gingerly slid inside the rest of the way. “Of course I’m right. So keep your mouth shut unless it’s to take my cock.”

With that, he began fucking you- hard and steady, his hips rocking back ever-so-slightly before jutting forward again, the sensation so intense that your eyes rolled back into your skull. Taking fistfuls of Michael’s sheets in each hand, you let out a raspy whine, tears darkening the pillowcase under your head with large wet spots.

“Fuck, you really are a bad girl, aren’t you?” he snickered, upon hearing your soft moans that had been muffled by his pillows.

You nodded mindlessly, pushing your hips back weakly with every thrust Michael administered, vision going blurry at the corners each time he seated himself all the way inside you. You’d never felt anything like it before- you were so full that it felt you might fall apart at any moment, completely at Michael’s mercy.

“You like that? Like it when I stretch you out?” he grunted, and you could tell that he was already close, your tight hole clenching with every burst of pain he inflicted with his cock. Leaning forward, he hooked one toned arm around your thigh so he could mercilessly rub your clit, hissing lowly as he pounded inside you fully again.

You groaned, gritting your teeth as he formed fast shapes over your sensitive bud, white spots forming in front of your eyes as he gradually increased his speed.

Fuck, it hurt, but both you and Michael knew by now that you liked pain, liked the way it matched together so perfectly with pleasure.

“You doing okay, baby?” Michael whispered as he pushed a few moist strands of hair away from your face, his sweat-covered chest pressing firmly against your back.

A gravelly “m’fine,” was all you could manage.

“Good girl,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear before he brought himself back to a standing position, fingers still working at your clit. “Taking me so well, like always.”

You found yourself smiling weakly at his praise, cheek flush against Michael’s now-tearstained pillows; your stomach dropped, Michael’s fingers still massaging your clit with precision until you were panting, abdomen tightening as you neared your climax.

It wasn’t long before you were cumming, still listening to him breathing heavily as he chased his own impending orgasm behind you. When you felt both hands return to your hips, his fingers gripping your tender skin until you whimpered, you knew he was close to the edge.

“You want your ass filled with my cum?” he said breathlessly, and you could tell it was taking everything inside him to properly get the words out. He slapped your ass, the sound crisp and loud, and you inhaled sharply. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, Michael, I want it…” you said, half-dazed, voice so low you weren’t sure he’d even heard you. “Want your cum in my ass. Please…”

“Fuck.” Hurriedly, he impaled you until his balls slapped crudely against your ass; then, with a string of incoherent expletives, he shot his warm load deep inside you.

He stayed seated inside for a moment, placing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Fuck. You’re my good girl, aren’t you, (y/n)?” He pulled out of you slowly, running his fingers through the cum that was now leaking out of your hole and down your thighs. “So fucking good for me.”

He turned your limp body over so you were on your back, falling to lie beside you. Through half-open eyes, you surveyed him, boyishly handsome with damp curls clinging to his glowing forehead, flat torso rising and falling as he laced his fingers over his chest. God fucking damn it, was he beautiful.

“I can’t believe you actually let me fuck you in the ass,” he said, spit-glossed lips curving upwards at the corners as he flashed his perfect top row of teeth.

“I can’t believe it either,” you muttered, feigning slight irritation, although truthfully, you could believe it- you’d do anything for Michael.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, moving to pull you up against his chest. “You’re what my friends would call a keeper.”

Outwardly, you laughed, but his words made your heart sink for a reason you couldn’t explain.

A keeper. If only he really believed that.

ii.

For a while, things kept on like this- neither of you wanted to talk about the future, and so whenever it was mentioned, you’d wind up having sex to avoid the conversation you both were avoiding.

And then, one day, you brought in the mail to find that you’d received a letter from your top college— you’d been accepted.

That night, your parents had something of a makeshift celebration- your father insisted upon going out to dinner despite your protests, which was how you found yourself in a cramped Cheesecake Factory booth, thigh pressed up against Michael’s as your father and Miriam bickered across from you. You couldn’t help but notice that the entire situation felt vaguely familiar.

“Is it just me, or have the prices here gone up?” your father said, squinting his eyes to better read the small menu lettering.

“I told you we didn’t have to come here,” you mumbled, elbows leant on the marble surface of the table.

“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Miriam said. “We have to celebrate.”

“God, these prices are ridiculous, though. Why don’t we just leave and go to Applebee’s instead?” your father continued, loud enough that you were sure any passing waiter might be able to hear; in unison, you and Michael groaned.

“(Your dad’s name)!” said Miriam, eyes widened in disbelief as she turned back to you with a forced smile. “Don’t mind your cheapskate of a father, (y/n). You totally deserve to celebrate. You must be so excited!”

“Yep,” you said.

And you were excited- for the most part, at least. It just seemed like time had passed by so quickly: you’d been so wrapped up in all the meaningless teenage drama and angst of your senior year that it hadn’t even occurred to you how soon it would all be ending. And now you were faced with a whole new problem altogether; something that, at one point, had seemed like more of a blessing than a curse.

Your impending life without Michael.

You’d been attempting to avoid the thought, but as time went on, you found yourself becoming less and less able to tuck it away to the back of your mind. You’d be committing to college soon, as would Michael (once he heard back from one of the few colleges he’d applied to) and then that was it.

Of course there would be the breaks between semesters and during holidays; there was no question of whether you and Michael would see each other again. You probably wouldn’t have even been worried at all, had the two of you been strictly stepsiblings-with-benefits, but you were fairly certain that both you and Michael knew that wasn’t exactly the case here.

Maybe you were being delusional for thinking so. Anyone with common sense knew that Michael Langdon was a fuckboy, an asshole who knew how to charm girls into sucking his dick and nothing more. To think that there was anything deeper beyond your relationship (if you could even call it that) was probably foolish. And yet…

Sigh.

God, he had you whipped. It was nauseating, really. Only a few months ago, you’d been desperate for the school year to end so you’d never (or, at least, almost never) have to see Michael’s stupidly beautiful face again. Now, the mere thought of no longer being around him, no longer hearing his smart-ass comments and borderline-objectifying remarks made you feel queasy.

Of course the one boy you’d ever been hung up on like this had to be your fuckboy stepbrother, of all people. It was just your luck to wind up in a situation as convoluted and ridiculous as this one.

“What kinds of things are you thinking of doing in college?” asked Miriam, obviously aiming to fulfill her supportive stepparent quota for the evening. “Are you planning to join a sorority?”

Michael snorted. “You really think (y/n) would be able to get into a sorority?”

You scowled, making sure your arm was completely hidden underneath the table before pinching Michael’s thigh. “If I wanted to join a sorority- which I don’t, by the way- I would definitely be able to get in. So shut up.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that,” he said, smirking in that stupid, insufferable way that made you want to punch him right in his perfect face. Asshole.

Miriam shook her head in a way that said oh, these darned kids as your father continued to ignore everyone, still immersed in the contents of his menu. “Be nice, Michael.”

“What are you gonna do once you get to college, huh, (y/n)?” said Michael through a thin-lipped smile. You recognized that look- it was the face he made whenever he was intentionally trying to upset you. Of fucking course he’d choose today, of all days, to be an asshole. “I’m sure all the douchey frat guys will be allll over you. If you actually go to parties, that is.”

“You’re gonna be a douchey frat guy, Michael. So I really wouldn’t be talking if I were you.” You crossed your arms defensively over your chest, leaning back to rest your back against the padded booth.

“You really think I’d join a frat?” Michael asked, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sticking a pinecone up my ass for anyone, especially not a bunch of circle jerkers.”

“Huh? What about pinecones?” your father said suddenly, putting down his menu to more directly focus on the conversation going on across from him.

You rubbed your temples, letting out a slow, exasperated exhale.

“(Y/n) was just telling me how excited she is to meet all the frat boys at college,” said Michael, flashing you a shit-eating grin.

“I was not!”

Just then, the waitress came over- a woman in her mid-sixties with bleach blond hair (you certainly wouldn’t admit this, but you were almost grateful to find that the waitress wasn’t a cute, younger girl, just so you wouldn’t be forced to watch Michael flirting with someone else in front of you).

As everyone ordered their food, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrist, pulling his hand over to your bare thigh and squeezing it; he peered over at you, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively- usually he was the one pursuing you in public, so you didn’t doubt that this had caught him off guard.

You gave Michael a pout, widening your eyes faux-innocently as you traced your fingers along the veins in his hands.

To your disappointment, Michael shooed you away, hardly looking at you as he brought his attention back to the waitress. Huh. Definitely not typical Michael behavior. Once the waitress had headed off, you decided to take to a different approach: delicately, you placed your hand on Michael’s crotch, mouth watering as you grasped the large bulge that protruded from the front of his jeans.

At this, his body stiffened, but still he ignored your advances, pushing your hand off his lap and shooting you an indecipherable look from the corner of his eye.

God, what the hell was his problem tonight?

Just one more try, you thought, returning your hand to where it’d been seconds before and palming the outline of his cock. His breath hitched, hands flying to wrap around the edge of the table as you ran your thumb up and down his clothed length.

“I gotta take a piss,” Michael muttered, removing your hand from his lap as he abruptly stood up.

“Michael!” scolded Miriam, but he was already gone.

“I have to go to the bathroom too, actually,” you said suddenly, not bothering to worry about how suspicious it might look that you were following Michael. If your parents had gone this long without noticing anything weird between you and Michael, you doubted they ever would.

You weaved your way through the tables, heading to the dimly lit hallway that led to the bathroom; you could see Michael about to open the door to the men’s bathroom, walking so slowly he was practically sauntering. His shoulders were slumped, hands deep in the pockets of his skinny jeans, and for a second you wondered why the hell he looked so goddamn sad.

“Why were you acting like a little bitch back there?” you called after him, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

He stopped in his tracks, sighing deeply as he turned around to look at you. The playful expression you were so used to seeing on his face was nowhere to be found, and in all honesty, his seriousness unsettled you. “(Y/n)… we are literally out in public.”

“Not like that’s ever made a difference to you before.”

“Well, now that we’re adults, I think we should stop doing stupid shit like that.” He was talking out of his ass, clearly- you could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

“What, are you mad at me or something?” Oh god. Stop acting like a needy girlfriend, (y/n), you thought to yourself. Stop it right the fuck now.

“Why would I be mad at you?” His back was resting against the door to the bathroom now, obviously no longer worried about having to take a piss, as he’d claimed. You admired him for a second- the way his short-sleeved button-up hugged the barely bulging muscles in his arms, the way he had perhaps one too many top buttons undone. Fuck, he looked good. But then again, when didn’t he? “What would even make you think that?”

“‘Cause you were being an asshole at the table, talking about frat guys and shit.” You swallowed, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet as you considered what to say next. There was more, the words lingering on the back of your tongue, but you didn’t know how to go about phrasing them. “And honestly, Michael? It seems like you aren’t even happy for me.”

He raised his eyebrows, plump pink lips curving upwards at one corner. “What did you want me to do? Eat your fucking ass?”

Well, yeah, that’d be nice…you thought idly, before mentally kicking yourself for being so goddamn thirsty all the time.

“No, but you know this is a big deal to me, and you haven’t even said congratulations,” you said.

“Okay, then, congrats,” he said, his tone suddenly turning ice cold. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun three hours away with all your new frat boy friends.”

And, with that, he turned on his heel and went into the bathroom, letting the door slam shut and rattle noisily in its hinges behind him.

Oh.

So that’s why he’s upset. Your lips twitched, and then you were smiling, big and stupid.

You knew the situation shouldn’t have made you happy- in fact, happiness was the last emotion you’d ever expect to feel after one of Michael’s little bitch fits- but there was something so satisfying about knowing that Michael was worried about you meeting other guys, knowing that he didn’t want you three hours away from him, knowing that maybe he felt the same way about you that you did about him.

Or maybe you were putting too much thought into things, like always. Whatever— you’d take what you could get.

iii.

Michael had made it a point, after your confrontation, to avoid you. By now you were used to him doing things like this; you’d come to realize that these cold-shoulder periods were simply his way of recuperating his emotions.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Michael was accepted into his own top choice (god, was he lucky that he had the entire high schools’ staff wrapped around his finger, because lord knew he hadn’t exerted a single bit of effort to get good grades)- a school that was far closer to home than the one you’d committed to. You’d both ordered your cap and gown, and then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, graduation day finally rolled around.

You could hardly believe that the day had come. You could still remember your very first day of high school, years before when you were still naive and innocent- things had been so simple back then.

Now, as you stood before the mirror in the girl’s bathroom, dressed in your deep blue graduation gown with the matching cap tucked under your arm, you could hardly wrap your head around how much your life had changed, how much you’d changed.

In about a half an hour, the entire senior class was due to meet outside at the football field, where hundreds of cheap fold-out chairs had been set up in front of the podium your principal would be standing behind. You were dreading the ceremony, groaning internally when you thought of the unforgiving June heat, and the fact that you’d have to walk up there, a sweaty mess, to retrieve your diploma in front of everyone.

Once it was over, though, you’d be free. And god, what a frightening thought that was.

You didn’t have much of an idea of what your future held, but you supposed you’d figure that out later. Popping the top back onto your tube of lipstick and tossing it into your purse, you examined yourself thoughtfully before positioning the cap on your head and fiddling with the tassel so it fell just right.

You imagined Michael doing the same thing in the boy’s bathroom, spending far too much time adjusting his hair in the mirror, making poses at himself and practicing the way he’d smile when it was his turn to get his diploma. The thought was so silly, so endearing, that it made your heart hurt a little.  

Michael won’t ignore you forever, you told yourself. He just needs to sort things out with himself.

You left the bathroom, pulling your bag over your shoulder and walking down the hall towards the front entrance of the school. People had already begun clearing out, and although you could hear laughter echoing throughout the hallways, there weren’t many fellow seniors in sight.

The pale yellow hallways looked dismal (or more dismal than usual, at least), stripped of their colorful posters for the summer. You dragged your fingertips along a freshly-bare wall as you strolled leisurely, hoping to waste as much time as possible before you were obligated to go outside.

As you walked past an empty classroom, you heard shuffling coming from an adjacent hallway; in an instant, you were pressed up against the door, a large hand clamped tightly over your mouth. It took a split second for you to process the all-too-familiar scent of Michael, your heart rate immediately slowing once you figured out what was going on.

“Michael, what the hell are you doing?” you demanded, once you’d utilized an obscene amount of strength to tear his hand away from your mouth.

He was half-smiling, working a wad of pink-tinted cinnamon gum in his mouth, pale eyes shimmering with fondness as he looked down at you. You were lost in his gaze for all of a few seconds, his chest pinning you back against the door, when you remembered that you were both in public, and not just in public- in school.

“Michael, are you fucking cra-“

Your words were promptly cut off as Michael pulled you back, opening the classroom door with one hand while he used the other to hold onto your wrist. Then he tugged you inside, checking halfheartedly over his shoulder to make sure that nobody had seen.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, and I think I finally figured things out,” he said, pushing you back onto the teacher’s desk and wedging himself between your parted thighs, taking a moment to hike up your graduation gown so your legs were exposed. “Any second that I’m not fucking you is a second wasted.”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond (or mock him for his corniness), pressing his lips fervently to yours with such intensity that you fell back onto the desk, your graduation cap falling off and toppling to the ground. Instinctively, you kissed him back, fingernails pressing into his back (which bore the same deep blue fabric as you) as you attempted to match the urgency of his kiss.

This was a bad idea. No, this was an awful idea. So why, oh why, didn’t you want to stop?

“We can’t do this here,” you said breathlessly, during one interval when Michael had broken away to catch his breath, a strand of saliva stretching between your faces.

“Sure we can,” he said, reaching up the short floral dress you wore under your gown and fumbling with your underwear. “We just have to be quick.”

“W-what if someone walks in?” you pressed, allowing Michael to work your panties down your legs and discard them on a desk. He shrugged, bunching up the fabric of his own gown so he could unbutton his jeans and retrieve his cock from its confines.

“Who cares? It’s not like we can get suspended,” he said, stunning you, as usual, with his nonchalance. He took his shaft in one hand, already semi-erect, rubbing his leaking head against your inner thigh. You wanted so desperately to argue, to push him away, but fuck— this hold Michael had on you had to be supernatural, because all you could bring yourself to do was pull him closer.

“Michael, we’re stepsiblings. People are gonna lose their fucking minds if they find out—”

“—So then they won’t find out.” He ran his cock through your slick folds, evoking a soft mewl from the back of your throat. “Like I said, we just have to be quick.”

You pressed your lips shut, squeaking quietly when he penetrated you in one slow thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, clutching your upper thighs with a bruising hold, balls slapping noisily against your skin as he bottomed out inside you. “Such a bad girl for me.”

“M-Michael…” you whined, rolling your hips in melodic time with Michael’s, his pelvis gradually slamming against yours harder and harder until he’d adopted an almost ruthless pace to fuck you with. He peppered your jawline and throat with kisses as he continued to fuck into you, your legs raising to wrap around his torso, broken moans leaving you as the blunt edge of the desk dug into your lower back.

“You’ll do anything for your big brother, won’t you?” he growled against your throat, cock brushing against something spongey and sensitive inside you and sending your lower body into convulsions. “Spreading your legs and letting me split your little cunt whenever I feel like it…”

Your pussy clenched at these words, cheeks burning in shame at the truth behind them—it was almost embarrassing how perpetually willing you were to let him have his way with you. He hissed, inserting one hand between your warm bodies to work at your clit, the other extending up to your face so he could clasp his hand over your mouth.

“Such a fucking slut for me,” he said between sharp inhales, and you could taste the salt of sweat on his palm; his eyes were droopy with lust, pupils dilated so that the baby blue was almost entirely eclipsed— he was so beautiful, and you couldn’t help but admire him as he pumped into you. “You’re fucking dripping. I bet you wanna get caught.”

Realistically, you did not want to get caught, but the idea was still an interesting one, to say the least. You sank your fingernails deeper into Michael’s shoulders, hard enough that you’d probably leave half-moon shaped imprints in his skin, even through the tough material of his graduation gown.

“What would everyone think of you, hm? Knowing that you’re a little slut who loves being split on her stepbrother’s big cock?” he was speaking into your ear so low that he was barely whispering, chills erupting down your spine at the sheer lewdness of his words.

“I’ll bet all the guys would be lining up to get a taste of your slutty cunt if they knew how much of a whore you are,” he continued, impaling you with such aggression that your eyes rolled back into your skull. “Too bad that this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t do much more than whimper, your teeth pressing against the inside of your mouth from the force of Michael’s hand against it.

From out in the hallway came a series of voices, and Michael stopped his thrusting, his cock still deep inside you. Your pussy twitched- your body’s natural attempt to resume the friction that had ceased and left you aching for more; both of you waited with bated breath for the group outside to pass the classroom, chests heaving in soundless unison.

“Fuck,” Michael grunted once the voices faded away, relocating his hand from your mouth to the desk, bracing himself with his palm flat against the faux-wooden surface as he returned to fucking you.

“Michael, please…” you moaned, rocking your hips underneath him impatiently. The prospect of being caught in such a compromising position was beginning to scare you, and as much as you never wanted to stop feeling the immense pleasure that only Michael could provide, you thought it’d be best to wrap things up for now.

“Shhhh.” He thumbed at your swollen bud roughly, your muscles tensing as you felt your orgasm start to build up in the pit of your belly. “Be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut.”

You did as you were told, closing your mouth and letting your head fall back as he slid in and out of your heat, making harsh contact with your cervix every time.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, cinnamon-scented breath hot on your neck as he nestled his face in your shoulder, biting down on the smooth skin beside your jugular. “Taking my cock so well.”

His thrusts grew sloppier with each passing second, and you tightened your legs around Michael’s waist, not wanting there to be even an inch of space between your bodies.

“Oh god…” you sighed, despite Michael’s demands, but at this point he was too far gone to scold you.

The sensation of Michael stretching you out, paired with his fingers against your most sensitive point, was far too much for you to bear- it didn’t take much more for the coil inside you to snap, sending you into an intense orgasm that had you seeing brilliantly colored fireworks amidst the boring gray-beige walls.

“Shit,” Michael grunted, your cunt squeezing around his length as he fucked you for all he was worth. You ground your hips up against him, crying out as he drove his cock so deep inside you that you swore you could feel it in your stomach.

A low, almost animalistic noise came from the depths of Michael’s throat as he came, his hot load filling you up and warming your insides. You laid there motionless, watching from underneath half-closed lids as he slowly pulled out and tucked himself back into his jeans. Your cheeks were flushed, hair matted to your damp forehead, lips swollen and glossy with spit; the cherry on top to complete your debauched look, though, was the thick cum dribbling down your inner thigh.

Michael’s eyes fell down to where his essence was spilling from you, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his lips as he reached forward and drew his fingertips through it.

“Open up,” he ordered, and you complied, granting him access to your mouth as he pressed his cum-coated fingers against your flattened tongue.

You wrapped your lips around him and sucked, eyes fluttering at his slightly bitter taste. Once he was sufficiently cleaned off, he withdrew his hand from your mouth with a loud, wet pop.

“That’s a good girl.”

You got up off the desk, recovering your purse from the ground where it had been abandoned before slipping your underwear back on underneath your dress. You probably would’ve preferred having some extra time to clean up, especially since Michael had came inside you, but that was out of the question for now.

You could only imagine Michael’s internal smugness at the thought that you’d be graduating high school with his cum leaking out of you.

“Fuck, we gotta go,” Michael said, checking his cell phone. “We have like five minutes.”

“Shit!”

You slung your purse over your shoulder and hurried out into the hallway, ignoring the dull pain between your legs from how hard Michael had fucked you. Michael followed hot on your heels, and together you made your way through the vacant halls of your soon-to-be former high school, not bothering once to look back.

[crissy622]

FIC: Happy Birthday [1/1]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIM! We love you death and, as such, Alaina and I wrote you a fanfic based on our trio. You’ve gone looking for fics of them many times, just to remember that fics for them do not exist, so now, one does. We love you and have an amazing birthday.

Everyone, go tell @lengiesofrps how awesome she is and how much you love her.

Written By: @crissy622​ & @isadorahart​ Characters/Pairings: Charlotte Lightwood, Luna Darkmore, Cameron Walsh [Unholy Trio] Rating: PG Summary: "We're going to bake bread for Cam's birthday," Luna declared as they got ready for bed one night and Charlie sighed.

-Fourth Year-

"We're going to bake bread for Cam's birthday," Luna declared as they got ready for bed one night and Charlie sighed.

"Must we?" she asked, but she could already see that familiar gleam in Luna's eyes. That gleam never led to anything good. Detention. Charlie being force fed snacks. She mentally added baking to the list and wondered if she would have done better over at Beauxbatons. She may have had to deal with more Veela -- though, she still had her own suspicions about Malfoy's bloodline -- but she wouldn't have had to bake. "We do have house elves, Luna. If we can't use the castle ones, I can get one of them from home."

"It's supposed to be from us," Luna reminded her, "not from the house elves."

"Did you write the book you got me last Christmas?" she asked, sure she'd just broken through Luna's logic.

"No, because then it would've just been a book of curse words that was enchanted to say the worst possible one each time you opened it." Luna tilted her head, considering. "Actually, look forward to your birthday now."

There went that hope, traded out for growing dread.

"No," she told her firmly. "Don't you dare."

The hum Luna gave was the farthest thing from comforting. 

"I don't want to know how you got them to agree to this," she said, resigned, a week later as she and Luna stood in the middle of the kitchens. House elves were watching them cautiously from around a corner, distrustful, and she honestly wasn't sure if it was because of their house colors or because she and Luna had intruded in their territory. Probably both.

"Nope," she agreed with an unrepentant grin. A Slytherin through and through, Charlie thought dryly as she took the apron Luna offered her with a disdainful look.

Still, it was for Cam. They had to celebrate early, same as every year, since his birthday always fell after they'd gone home for the summer. Once that happened, she wouldn't be able to see them until they went back to school.

"Can't I just get him new dress robes and promise I won't talk about the wedding for a month?" she tried, but even before Luna rolled her eyes, she knew it was futile. She was going to end up with flour under her nails for days and they were probably going to give Cam food poisoning. "Do you even have any idea how to bake bread?"

"Not a clue," Luna answered cheerfully.

"Then, why are we doing this?"

Luna looked at her, cheery smile dropped off to something more tender and more serious. "Because it's Cam."

Charlie bit her lip and thought of Cam with his quiet ways and the months of separation he had ahead of him. Of him buying Luna gloves to cover up the scars Umbridge had caused. Thought of the year she got sick and fevered memories of how he and Luna had stayed with her, holding her hand and running fingers through her hair to keep her calm. Thought of them always butting heads about her wedding, because it wasn't the world he'd grown up in and he wanted to protect her. 

For Cam, she could withstand flour-caked nails and inevitable food poisoning. She put on her apron. "Where do we start?"

---

“That depends,” Luna said as Charlie tied the apron around her waist. “Are we going for flaky like Malfoy when he hears anything to do with muggle studies or hard like that broomstick handle that’s constantly lodged up Cam’s dad’s-” Luna rocked back and forth on her heels while picking at her gloves. She was getting sidetracked. “We’ll go with flaky. Bread is so much better when it’s all buttered and flaky.”

Luna started rifling through the pans, trying not to laugh while internally debating who looked more uncomfortable: the house elves whose kitchen they were hijacking or Charlie who was making at least eight different sacrifices just to be here. Luna was proud of her, not that she’d tell her. She’d leave that up to Cam, because he was the more vocal of the three and she was content to just nitpick instead. 

“You do realize we’re going to be doing plenty of taste-testing before we hand over a finished product, right?” Luna announced gleefully. “Nothing but the best can go to Cam.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, but Luna could see the fondness there. The girl got so pureblood on them, sometimes, but they knew she cared. "It might help if we had a recipe."

Okay, that was true, but still- "Rude," she said and stuck her tongue out at the other girl. "Cam will appreciate us being creative."

"We're going to ruin bread for him," Charlie said flatly as she poked a bag of flour.

"How much faith do you have in us?"

"About as much as Slytherin winning the House Cup."

"That's not fair. That thing is just blatant favoritism." Even if they hadn't been forced to listen to Malfoy whine about it for years, it was obvious. At this point, Luna was pretty sure Dumbledore would give Potter points for tying his shoe correctly if it meant Gryffindor won.

Or anyone other than Slytherin, really.

She clapped her hands before Charlie could spread her pessimism any further. "I think we need eggs!"

"You think?"

"Do you have a recipe?" she asked innocently. 

"Do I look like someone who bakes bread?"

Actually, she looked like someone who had never seen bread in her life and that was something Luna and Cam were both still trying to rectify. 

"Do you think the first person to bake bread had a recipe?" Luna returned. "No, yet, look how well it turned out!"

Yep, there was the sigh that Charlie did every time she regretted everything that had brought her to this point.

Luna grinned.

The first attempt burned a bit.

The second caught on fire.

"Luna!"

"It's fine! I know what I'm doing!"

The third attempt didn't rise at all.

The fourth looked normal, but it tasted oddly of pickles.

"The castle doesn't even have pickles, Luna."

That was the point where Charlie refused to taste-test anymore. Honestly, Luna was surprised she'd made it that far.

"I'm going to write home and have Blinks bake the bread," Charlie told her around the ninth attempt. The house elves were still watching them, even hours later, but a few had started crying a while back about all the wasted ingredients.

An odd one covered in clothes had loved the pickle bread, though, so ha, Charlie.

There was also the drunk one that stumbled through at one point. Luna wasn't going to ask.

"You are not," she said with a roll of her eyes, because Charlie had been threatening to do that since the third round. Her threats were about as empty as Potter's head. "Besides, if you do that, I will wait until you’re sleeping and cut just a single lock of your hair off and not tell you until the most opportune moment.” 

"You wouldn't dare."

“Slytherin,” Luna reminded her and grinned like it was a challenge. Charlie glared back at her, looking increasingly fed up and entirely too clean for how many breads they'd made so far. It was a far cry from the liberal amounts of flour on her and the dried bit of old dough that was stuck to the end of one of her braids.

"We're both Slytherins," Charlie shot back. "Don't forget what I did to Romilda Vane."

"I don't think anyone could forget about that." The only people who even knew about it were her and Cam, and Charlie had never so much admitted it as look smug. It had been nice, though, to see Charlie go to bat for him like that. She'd never doubted that the girl would, but they were all used to prim-and-proper Charlie and I’m-getting-married-and-am-going-to-pretend-it's-a-great-idea Charlie, not secretly-terrifying Charlie.

Charlie shook her head and peeked under the towel that was hiding attempt number twelve. Luna was pretty sure it wasn't rising.  "If we don't figure something out tonight, I'm finding a recipe."

"Do you even know where the cooking section of the library is?"

Judging from the look Charlie shot her, the answer was no.

---

Charlie nearly asked Blaise to give her his great-grandmother's bread recipe -- not that she'd ever eaten it, but it looked good and people raved about it.

She didn't ask. 

It didn't feel right to involve Blaise in it. Luna had her heart set on them doing this for Cam and, as it stood, Cam was decidedly not a fan of Blaise.

Instead, when she and Luna had to admit defeat for the night -- mostly because the house elves had kicked them out -- she told the other girl she'd be finding a recipe for the next day. She may have skipped lunch to look through the library, but by the time she met up with Luna that night, she'd meticulously copied down a recipe she'd found.

"I think it's the one they served at the Halloween ball last year," she said uncertainly as Luna looked it over. "He'd liked it."

"You remembered the bread?" Luna asked, surprised. "I didn't think you even looked at the food at those things."

"You two talked about it for a week afterwards," she pointed out. "That was the only one I could find that had lemon in it."

Luna grinned at her and clutched the recipe to her chest. "Aw, you do care," she gushed as Charlie's cheeks went pink.

"Don't make me regret this," she muttered as she grabbed one of Luna's hands and dragged her into the kitchens.

The first attempt that night didn't have enough yeast.

The second made Luna smile that stupid smile that made Charlie's chest go funny.

"That's it!" she cheered. "I think we need to do that fold thing a few more times for the real one, so it’s more flaky, but this is definitely it." She drew Charlie into a fast hug that the girl didn't think she'd ever get used to and popped another piece of it into her mouth. "He's going to love it!"

Charlie looked down at the ugly little loaf they'd made and smiled.

A week later and two days before they took the train home, they made Cam promise to meet them down by the lake and, then, spent the whole morning with the bread. The final loaf they loaded into a basket with some extra treats was about as ugly as the one before it had been, but it didn't smell poisonous. Charlie was cautiously hopeful as they made their way through the halls and outside. 

It was warmer out, even as the sun began to sink behind the trees, but Charlie still wrapped her jumper around herself a little more and adjusted the basket in her grip. She'd insisted on carrying it, because days of attempts and trying to pick dough out from under her nails was not going to be wasted by Luna dropping the basket.

"I wouldn't!" Luna had insisted, but the second she saw Cam, she launched herself at him with a shouted happy birthday, so Charlie didn't believe her.

She followed after at a calmer pace and set it down before she hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Happy early birthday," she murmured into his ear as his arms came around her waist.

He murmured a thanks as they pulled back and settled down in the grass. "Food?" he guessed as his eyes went to the basket.

"And your presents," Luna said happily.

"If it ends in disaster, it's Luna's fault," Charlie said and pointedly ignored Luna's indignant squawk.

Cam looked between them, amused, as Luna dug into the basket and paused. She looked up at Charlie, accusing. "You got him a book."

"Did I?" she asked innocently as Luna passed the wrapped gift over to Cam. It wasn't a book so much as it was a box of self-replenishing parchment. She might not approve of his little homework business, but the amount of parchment he went through added up after a while.

"You're encouraging me now?" he asked when he opened the gift, both eyebrows lifted up.

"Of course not," she sniffed. "If they don't want to do their homework, they should fail. You're going to do it anyway, though, so you may as well have something practical."

"She's encouraging you," Luna told him.

"I'm getting that feeling."

"I am not-"

"Next present!" Luna declared and reached into the basket again so she could pull out the wrapped box she’d shoved in next to the food. She set it down in front of Cam and pulled her wand out, cancelling out the shrinking charm she’d apparently put on it. It grew to nearly four-times its usual size.

Cam and Charlie stared at it, wide-eyed.

“You two didn’t need to do all this,” Cam told them as he started unwrapping the box.

“It’s your birthday,” Luna insisted. “Of course we were going to get you presents!”

It wasn’t a present. It was a horror-filled box of whatever that tie-dye muggle trend was. The ugly blending and bleeding of colors that made someone look like a rainbow had encountered Seamus Finnegan on one of his explosive days. Cam pulled out a shirt and, somehow, didn’t look utterly horrified.

“You two can’t be serious,” she said as Cam shrugged out of his jacket and slipped on one that was white until some psychopath had gotten their hands on it. Luna smiled like the sun.

“It’s fashionable,” he told her, voice a complete deadpan, and she knew he had to be messing with her. He had to be.

“That is not fashion,” she said. “That looks like someone let the Gryffindors at a paint set.”

Luna patted her knee consolingly. “She just doesn’t get it,” she sighed.

“We’ll need to get her some for her birthday.”

“I’ll burn it.”

“Pink,” Luna agreed as if Charlie hadn’t spoken at all. “She looks cute in pink.”

“I’m going to look pretty in red when I kill you both,” she warned. “Put those monstrosities away.”

Cam rolled his eyes, but he thanked Luna and gave her a hug before he set the box aside. The jacket, however, stayed on. “How much did you guys do?”

“Just one more thing,” Luna said and pulled the bread and its platter out of the basket to present to him. “Birthday bread! We made it!”

“We used a recipe,” Charlie added. “That’s the only reason you might survive eating it.”

“She’s being dramatic,” Luna pushed on. “It’s the bread from the Halloween ball last year. Charlie remembered it and found the recipe in the library.”

Cam’s eyes turned towards her, curious. “You found the cooking section for me?”

“It’s a library,” she muttered as her face heated and she looked away. “I found a shelf. I didn’t find the cure for lycanthropy.”

“Thank you,” he said softly and she glanced back up to see Luna lean in to hug him again and the smile he gave her. She returned it as Luna cut a few slices of the bread and handed one over to Cam while she kept one for herself. The dough under her nails was worth the way his smile widened at the first bite. He made it through half before he broke off the corner of his slice and held it out to her. “For my birthday?”

If he’d asked any other way, she would have said no. Luna hadn’t even offered her a slice, because she knew better, but it was Cam’s birthday and he asked her to. He knew she couldn’t tell him no.

“You should have been a Slytherin,” she told him seriously as she took the bit he’d offered her and took a bite. It was good, better than she’d expected when she considered their initial attempts. She wasn’t sure it was rave-about-it-for-a-week worthy, but she popped the second bite into her mouth and met Cam’s and Luna’s smiles with her own. “Happy birthday, Cam.”

Luna grinned. “We love you.”

[gwenbrightly]

Never A Perfect Moment pt1

I just realized I never posted anything for my current wip, so here yall go. Pt one of a Kailor fic taking place directly after Hunted.

__________________________________________________

They had won. Yes, the journey home had been frustrating and time consuming, and Kai had wanted to throttle Jay for most of it (his extremely loose grip on sanity had been more than a little concerning). And yes, it had taken a long and strenuous battle that could easily have ended very differently. But it was best not to dwell on those things, he supposed. Years of similarly traumatizing events had taught him that. Good old Ninjago City was finally safe again… and it was wonderful to be home. Even if home was currently in ruins. The events of the past few weeks had left an obvious mark on the city. Rubble lined the streets. The remains of the colossus that had once ruled the city with its destructive fist could be seen not too far away as well. But... They were together again, and that was more than enough for him just now. Kai gave his adoptive family a relieved smile.

"Just another day in Ninjago… I wonder what tomorrow will hold…" He declared, following the others off of the steps they had been standing on. Lloyd's... Father... or at least, some incredibly twisted version of him, had been arrested, pushed into a police vehicle, shouting something unintelligible as he went. The rest of the SOG had also been rounded up; there was no more fighting to be had. Safety might be a relative term for now, but it appeared as though they'd achieved it in the end. Which was good, because none of them seemed to be in any condition to keep fighting. Noticing the bizarre angle at which his sister's arm hung – something he should've caught sooner… he was her brother after all (oh, he felt guilty now for not paying better attention, no matter how tense things had been)- Kai added,

"After we all make a run to the hospital. Or… what's left of it anyway… Your arm looks pretty messed up, sis." Nya sighed, wincing slightly. Her relief at having her family back had distracted her from the pain until now. If the swelling she could feel was anything to go off of, her shoulder had definitely been dislocated during her showdown with Ultra Violet earlier that day. She could barely move it at all. That… was going to be fun to fix.

"You're right… But I'm not the only one... Lloyd's pretty banged up, and... Skylor wasn't looking too great either. You saw how all that dark energy was affecting her…"

"Oh, gosh, Skylor… We left her all alone in that armored car of yours, which was completely epic, by the way… I hate to split up again so soon, but…" Kai began, worriedly. Nya shot him a knowing look.

"Someone needs to check on her. Go on, grab her while we figure out transportation to the hospital. This arm is killing me."

"A-are you sure?" She lightly punched his shoulder with her good hand.

"Course I am."

"Yeah. We'll be fine here for a few minutes." Cole assured him with a shooing gesture. Lloyd gave him a weak smile. Kai's concern for the redhead won out; he wandered the short distance to where they'd parked the vehicle. Arriving just outside the door, he climbed inside. His blood ran cold at the sight that greeted him. Instead of having recovered now that Garmadon's powers could no longer affect her, Skylor seemed worse off than before. Her skin had turned a dreadfully pale shade of greyish white. The master of amber's eyes, which were normally so gorgeous and full of life, had turned dull and glassy. And the smell... She had clearly vomited at some point. Skylor groaned miserably as he approached her. How had things gone downhill so quickly? They never should have left her alone... He knelt next to her, careful to avoid the puddle of puke on the floor nearby.

"Kai? Izzat you…?"

"Yeah… you… This… You're burning up…" Kai stated, feeling the unnatural waves of heat that were radiating off of off of her without even touching her skin. The master of amber didn't seem to hear him. Every breath she took came in short, shaky gasps.

"M'not feeling…. Fink imma…" She slumped forward, slipping into unconsciousness. Kai rushed to catch her before her head could slam into the floor.

"Oh nonono Sky..." Something was seriously wrong with her - She needed help, and soon. If he lost her... No. If he started thinking like that, there was no way he'd be able to keep it together long enough to get her to the hospital... Taking a deep breath, he gently scooped her up, doing his best to ignore how limp she felt in his arms. She'd be fine if he could just get her some proper medical attention... Right? The master of fire clambered out of the vehicle as quickly as he could, not wanting to waste any time. Getting back to the others seemed to take an eternity. Skylor's dead weight grew increasingly unbearable the further he trudged. He could sense the steady rising of her fever as well. Not a good sign at all. It hadn't felt so far before… why was this taking so long now?

"Kai! What on earth?!" Lloyd exclaimed just as he felt as though his arms were about to give out on him. The master of fire came to a halt, panicking inwardly.

"There's something wrong with Skylor!" Zane observed, the first to rush over and offer his brother in arms assistance.

"S-she passed out pretty much as soon as I got there… and her temp's gotta be at least 105... I-I think Garmadon's powers must have… poisoned her or something…" Kai gasped out, breathless. It didn't take much for the others to see that he was right. Her appearance was dreadful. The way her head lulled to one side and beads of sweat trickled down her face, not to mention her pasty complexion, were all signs that she was suffering from something major.

"That seems likely. We don't have any idea how wielding Oni powers would affect an elemental master. Especially one with Skylor's abilities." The nindroid agreed with concern as he examined the redhead more closely.

"Then we need to get her onto one of these dregons and head to the hospital asap." Lloyd stated, taking the lead, for which Kai was grateful. The others immediately jumped into action, helping to hoist Skylor up onto the fire dragon that Kai had befriended. Although she could not actively help due to her injury, Nya yelled kind words of encouragement to them as they worked, striving to relieve the tension that was written all over Kai's posture. It took no more than a few minutes to ensure that Skylor would not fall midflight. Then, Nya clambered onto Jay's dragon, and Pixal onto Zane's. The dragons took off gracefully, racing towards their destination at a speed that would have been impossible for a group of mere humans to accomplish. Under different circumstances, riding a dragon for the first time in years would have been exhilarating for Nya, but right now, all she could think about was the look on her brother's face when he'd returned with Skylor's limp form. She knew how much he cared for her, even if he'd never admitted it out loud. They'd gone through so much together and it pained her to see him so upset. This wasn't fair; why couldn't they just be happy and safe for once? Below, the city flew by, smoke rising from the rubble of what had once been buildings.

"You okay back there?" The master of water heard her boyfriend call back to her, "The flight isn't jostling your arm too much, is it?"

"It's not… too bad… I've been through worse, trust me. We've just had so much happen today, and… it's a lot to take in..." Nya replied truthfully. She could handle the pain a bit longer; there was simply a lot on her mind. A park flew by - they were reaching the part of the city that had remained relatively untouched by Garmadon's forces. That was a promising sign for the potential state of their destination.

"I feel you there. But it feels awesome to be home again. I really missed you, you know?"

"Mm… I missed you too, Jay. Especially when I thought you were dead, a-and I-" She began, voice thick with emotion, Jay stiffened.

"You... You thought we were dead?!" He breathed. Though he didn't turn around, she could hear the guilt in his voice.

"Ye-s… It's… There's a lot to tell you after we've… made sure everyone's okay… I…"

"We have a lot to tell you, too." Admitted the master of lightning.

"Like how on earth you guys managed to keep Wu alive til adulthood?" Nya prompted curiously. He laughed softly.

"Oh, sweetie, you should've seen his sassy kid self running around pretending to be Cole's son…"

"Wait-What?" She cried, attempting to make sense of this latest piece of information.

"Tell you about it later, I promise. The hospital's just up ahead, and you need treatment." Jay reminded her as the dragon began to fly lower.

"Mmm... Wish I could just stay with you…" Nya mumbled tiredly, leaning against him.

"I know… and as much as I'd love that, you're clearly in pain, and Kai's gonna need you to be doing okay. He's pretty shaken up over both you and Skylor." He told her. They were close to landing now. The hospital was less than a block away.

"He really cares about her. Always has… I-I just hope…"

"Hey, she's a tough girl - just like you. I'm sure she'll pull through. We gotta stay positive."

"Stay… Positive… Yeah, good plan… Ow… " Nya hissed, grimacing slightly as she felt the jolt of the dragon they had been riding make contact with the ground.

"Oh. Sorry!" Jay told her apologetically, "You want some help getting down?" She considered his offer for a moment before gratefully accepting. The master of water had missed his reassuring presence to an almost painful extent the past few weeks.

"Please? That'd be great…" She said appreciatively, glancing over at Kai, who was already scrambling frantically from his perch. Lloyd and Cole quickly joined him, helping to lower the still unconscious Skylor to the ground. Using her good hand, Nya grabbed ahold of Jay and allowed him to guide her down off of the lightning dragon. Chaos exploded as Pixal and Zane pulled open the doors to the emergency room. The rest of the group burst inside, startling the patients and hospital employees milling about inside. Several nurses rushed forwards immediately to strap Skylor onto a mobile stretcher they happened to have on hand within seconds (clearly the hospital was making a point of being extra prepared as a result of the battle that had been ranging up until recently). Nya watched her brother begin to shake as they rolled her away. They hadn't permitted him to follow. He pleaded with them fiercely, desperate to stay by her side, but it was no use. His presence wouldn't do anything to help, ultimately, they said, leave it to the professionals. And since they weren't legally obligated to allow him to be present during treatment, as neither he, nor the others, were technically related to her, there was little that could be done except waiting and hoping for the best. She watched as Lloyd gave him a fierce hug and guided him to the nearest couch, offering kind words of comfort, and speaking of how relieved he was to have his big brother back in one piece. Hearing yet another nurse gently ask her to follow her to another room for treatment, Nya glanced regretfully at the scene playing out before her. She didn't want to leave Kai (or Jay, for that matter), but she had no choice. The pain in her arm was becoming unbearable and the water ninja knew the only way to remedy this was to allow herself to entrust her brother to the rest of their family and hope they'd be able to keep him from breaking until she could return.

"I'll be back soon." She promised, doing her best to give him a reassuring look. It was less comforting than it should have been.

_________________________________________________

One hour and a brand-new sling later, Nya found herself back in the waiting room. Before the doctor had released her, she'd chocked down several pills, which had helped reduce the pain she was in dramatically. Maybe now she'd be able to focus more on catching up with her family… and… Keeping Kai sane…

"Hey guys. I'm back…" She said softly, seating herself next to her brother. His face was buried in his hands; he didn't look up.

"How's your arm?" Lloyd asked. The doctors must have gotten to him as well. He was sporting several bandages that definitely hadn't been there before.

"Better than before. Doctor says I won't be able to use it for a few weeks, but… could be worse." She announced. The others exchanged looks.

"That's…" Started Cole.

"That's good… I mean… it's not amazing, obviously, but. Still. Good." Jay finished, rambling.

"We could certainly use some positive news…" Agreed Zane somberly. Glancing from her unresponsive brother, to her boyfriend, to the rest of her family, the master of water faltered.

"Something happened while they were fixing my arm… Didn't it?"

Kai spoke for the first time, lifting his face just enough that she could see how puffy and red his eyes were.

"They had to put Skylor on oxygen…. She had a-a seizure a-and stopped breathing…. And t-hey…" He whispered, voice cracking.

"Oh, Kai…" Nya murmured, throwing her arm around his shoulders. A wet sob escaped from the master of fire as he leaned into the hug.

"Nya? W-what if she never wakes up? S-she could die…. I-I can't…What I-if I never… get to… t-tell her that I-I…"

"You love her?" She stated. He sobbed again, louder this time.

"H-how-"

"Because we know you, Kai." Zane answered gently.

"It's so obvious to anyone who knows you how strongly you feel. She's gotta know deep down." Jay commented.

"A-and FSM! I-I'm so sorry! Bec-cause you're my sister, and… and I-I've barely said one word to you since I got b-back… And L-Loyd, too… I-I'm a horrible big brother for ignoring y-you…" Kai cried, shaking. Nya and Lloyd both shook their heads vehemently.

"No, Kai. You're not a horrible brother. You could never be horrible." The blonde insisted immediately.

"B-but I…" Kai trailed off miserably.

"It's okay, I promise. We understand. We do. But sitting here worrying isn't gonna fix things... You know that... Now c'mon. Let's go find some dinner. The food in the cafeteria is pretty decent. If I remember correctly from the last time we were stuck here, they even have a little fast food restaurant inside. You look like you haven't eaten in days..." Offered Nya after a few minutes, giving him one of her signature looks. He needed a distraction. Desperately.

"But-" He started to protest.

"She's right. You can't sit around waiting for hours on end with nothing to do… you'll drive yourself crazy." Cole reminded him, pulling the master of fire to his feet.

"Yeah, and then maybe after we eat, we can go look at those cool murals they have in the children's wing! You loved them last time we were here..." Jay agreed, trying to sound upbeat. Kai allowed them to drag him along back out the doors to the emergency room and into an elevator. He watched the glowing sign above the door signal the changes as they switched floors, wishing he were somewhere else entirely. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his family's efforts – he loved them dearly and they were only trying to help. He just... Dreaded what might happen the next time a doctor gave them an update. The group exited the elevator a few minutes later and headed down a maze of hallways before entering the surprisingly large and airy dining hall. The scent of sanitizer that had permeated the air and the blindingly white walls hadn't done much for his appetite. He should have just stayed behind while the others got something to eat... There was little chance that food would improve his current outlook. Nevertheless, his sister shoved him towards the large menu sign of the rather generic restaurant and instructed him to pick something. Kai stared blankly at it, nothing sounding the least bit palatable. When he didn't say anything after a few minutes, Nya sighed softly and gave his hand a squeeze.

"You know what? I'll take care of this. Think you can handle finding us a place to sit?" He nodded numbly and trudged towards the assorted tables and booths that covered the other side of the room. The master of fire was unfortunately familiar with the layout, thanks to several previous visits. Though, he couldn't remember ever feeling quite this drained or on edge.. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on him, and he was having trouble processing it all. Lloyd's leg had been an easy fix after the first battle with his father. Even the intense case of appendicitis that Nya had been subjected to a few years back had been reasonably straightforward. This? This was far less predictable. There was no way of knowing how things would work out in the end. And that thought scared him. Selecting an isolated booth towards the back of the room, Kai sat in silence, waiting for the others to join him. It was the first moment he'd had alone in a long time. He wasn't sure that was a good thing. Part of him wished he'd thought to have Jay charge his phone earlier (it had remained in his pocket, slightly battered, but still functional, since they'd first ended up in the First Ream – cell service was completely non-existent there), since having that luxury would serve as a distraction from his growing concern for Skylor. Alas, he had not. And if he really thought about it, he dreaded having to weed through the countless social media notifications he undoubtedly had (being so well known definitely had its downsides) anyway. That was going to be a serious chore. One he wasn't sure he was mentally prepared for. And then… His parents…. Kai really should call them. They'd worked so hard to make up for their absence in the past year (though it felt like a lifetime ago, honestly). And he was eternally grateful that they had had the chance to reconnect after so long. Not everyone was blessed with an opportunity like that, and Kai hated that Lloyd had lost another family member just as he and his sister finally found theirs. It wasn't fair. But then again, what did any of them know about fairness? Half the time, life seemed to be a cruel trick of fate. Like… Having his baby brother's father resurrected in an almost demonic form. He… really needed to check up on the kid. Skylor wasn't the only one who had been damaged, here, and it was his responsibility as the big brother in this family to make sure Lloyd was on the road to emotional recovery. Even if both he and Nya had assured him that they understood if he was a bit distracted by the master of amber's hospitalization.

"Kai?" Someone called, snapping him from his reverie. Nya scooted across the booth's cushioned bench, coming to a stop next to him.

"Kai – you wanna burger?" Jay and Cole set down several trays stacked high with food. Clearly no one had been able to resist the call of cheap fast food.

"We got curly fries, too!" The master of lightning supplied enthusiastically as the rest of group piled haphazardly into the booth. Kai took a deep breath. The smell made his stomach growl, reminding the him just how long it had been since he'd eaten something other than the weird plants that grew in the First Realm.

"Yeah? That sounds… I...I'm. Starving... Thanks." He relaxed slightly as food was distributed among them (with Cole threatening to dump ketchup in Jay's hair for hogging the fries), the mood significantly lighter than it had been in the waiting room. If he tried hard enough, he could almost forget why they were there. But the sling Nya wore was enough of a reminder that this ultimately proved to be unsuccessful.

"Is now a good time to swap stories? Cause I have questions." Lloyd stated tentatively, after taking a few bites of his burger, staring at Kai as if to make sure he wasn't going to go catatonic on them.

"Yes. We do have an awful lot to tell you, and I'm sure you've got plenty to share as well." Zane agreed.

"Oh, do we!" The master of water exclaimed, slamming down her cup of root beer. Pixal smiled ruefully from across the table.

"That's… Not an understatement."

"A-nd I was thinking. Maybe after that, we could call our parents?" Kai suggested, before chaos could break out. His sister leaned against him contentedly.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Kai."

[mini-pretzel]

a while - namgi

Genre: BEWARE OF ANGST, also light fluff

Music: reminiscer

Additional tags: depression mentions, also mentions of mutual pining, Namjoon is too sweet im crying, Yoongi is an emotional softie

Word count: 2k

A/N: namgi is slowly consuming my life. help.

Yoongi's has always buried his depression.

And his feelings for Namjoon.

Yoongi knew that it would happen again. Every time it let go of him, it was only for a short period of time. A few days after it would always return, bearing that weight of helplessness that he has grown accustomed to in his everyday life.

Whenever it would visit, he would try to seem okay around the guys, but he knew how that never came across as, well, normal in their eyes. They would usually notice a change in his demeanor whenever it would take him, having lived together for so long. They knew he was no stranger to such dark thoughts and emotions, but he hated feeling like a burden to the group, so he would bury it until it would dissipate into nothingness. It was simpler that way. No drama, no therapist visits, no scandals, no bad PR.

That’s how things went.

“Wow, I can’t believe we won another award.” said a soft voice--Jimin’s probably--full of surprise and amazement.

They were sitting around in their living room, jackets shed and spread on the couches, with some of the members already showered and in comfy sweats.

“Yeah, we’ll need to get another trophy case if this keeps up,” another voice said and a chaotic laughter followed.

Yoongi could faintly tell who was talking, but he was feeling like slowly he was slipping more and more away from the conversation and into a blank void that was absent of emotion. The thing inside him was starting to pull at him and Yoongi felt his hands growing increasingly antsy in lap. He really needed to dissociate. Only in being by himself in his room could he truly go through all the motions of the apathy that was starting to plague his chest.

He somewhat understood that he needed to shower and get change out of his award show suit, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted was to curl under a blanket and pray that it swallowed him whole.

“Yoongi-hyung, you alright?” he heard a concerned voice of Jimin who was sitting beside him, but the elder just smiled tightly, eyes absent, and waved him off. He really needed to get away from the guys so as to not ruin their mood. They had just won another important award, and while he usually took his time looking at every little piece of detail the trophy had, that was the last thing on his mind as the sickening feeling in his chest softly whispered that none of it mattered and he really needed to be by himself.

“I’m fine, Jiminie, it’s just been a long day.”

The younger man pouted, his plump lips looking even more full, but didn’t pry further, which Yoongi found himself thankful for. His problems are the last thing that the guys need to focus on at during a happy time like this.

Speaking of which.

Yoongi slapped his knees as he rose from the couch, drawing attention from everyone around him.

“I’m heading to bed,” he announced to the group, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Jin and Jeongguk looked up from Jin’s phone, where the oldest, no doubt, was showing the youngest a funny video. They both said goodnight, but the air suddenly felt stiff in the room. Taehyung made a movement to hug Yoongi and he backed away before the taller man could envelop him into his bone-crushing hug, and somehow that only made things more suspicious.

Namjoon, with his smart eyes looked like was about say something but Yoongi purposefully ignored looking his way knowing how the taller man made his heart skip into his throat every time, making his crush painfully obvious. And he really, really did not want to deal with the inevitable rejection and awkward stares when the thing was rearing its ugly head. He could only deal with one thing at a time.

“Goodnight, everyone.” Yoongi said curtly, before speed walking upstairs and disappearing into the darkness of his room before anyone could stop him and question him on what was wrong.

As soon as he was secluded in the privacy of his room, he sighed heavily and stripped down to his boxers, leaving his suit in a small little pile on the floor before slipping into his bed.

Yoongi immediately folded his body into a fetal position as he brought the covers closer to himself. It was only there, under layers of blankets, where he could let go and cry as the thing inside his chest cavity wrapped a slimy grasp around his heart. There, in his little space, away from everyone else in the world, he would let it slowly devour him without retaliation, because there was nothing he could do. There, he could give up. There, he could hate himself. There, he could-

A soft knock interrupted his flow of thoughts and because it was so quiet in his room, as Yoongi has always been a silent crier, he could hear it clearly as if someone was beating down the door.

After a few moments, the knock returned, this time with more urgency, and Yoongi heard himself groan as he untangled his limbs from the sheets. He sluggishly stepped toward the door, his whole body feeling heavy, and opened it just a crack.

“What?” he said, wincing when his eyes were hit by a yellow brightness from the hallway light. He hoped he sounded grumpy and annoyed, and not pathetic like he felt.

A familiar pair of observant eyes looked back at him and it made Yoongi felt even more naked than he already was.

“Yoongi, are you alright?”

He felt Namjoon’s piercing gaze send a shiver down his spine.

“I’m fine.”

It was a blatant lie, and Yoongi knew Namjoon saw right through it.

“Can I come in, Yoongi?” his voice was gentle, so gentle it made Yoongi grip the door handle tighter and avert his eyes from Namjoon’s, a sudden warmth spreading in his cheeks.

“Why?”

“Because you’re clearly not alright.”

“I said I’m fine.” the words were cold and devoid, but he felt a fire stirring inside him. All he wanted was to be left alone. No one else was supposed to deal with this.

“Please.” the pleading tone in his voice made Yoongi look up to Namjoon’s eyes and see the taller man’s hand gripping the door, itching it to open further. “Let me help.”

Yoongi choked out a dry laugh, finding the vague proposition absolutely ridiculous, but stepped away from the door anyway, and with it letting Namjoon into his room. The boldness of this man, really. It made Yoongi’s head spin.

Namjoon closed the door behind him and Yoongi heard the lock click, but avoided turning back to face the new intruder in his personal space. His cheeks were already on fire, he didn’t need the man to see them too.

“Well, now you’re here. What are you going to do now?” Yoongi started saying in his nonchalant voice, “What could possibly hel-” his words were cut off when he felt the taller man’s arms wrap around him in a backwards hug.

“How long have you been feeling like this, Yoongi?” he heard the younger ask against his ear and shuddered from the hotness of his breath.

“A-A while.” Yoongi decided to answer. He didn’t know why he was being honest with the man, especially when it was much easier to not say anything. Namjoon had that effect on him, he supposed. He could make anyone talk about anything.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” the arms tightened around him, pulling him closer and Yoongi could really feel the warmth of Namjoon’s body now through the man’s shirt, the realization making him swallow hard.

“Not your problem to deal with.” he stated simply, feeling every pump of his heart in his throat.

“Oh, Yoongi.” was the response. And why did it sound so soft and full of care? It did nothing to help his poor heart.

That’s when Yoongi realized he was pretty much naked save his boxers in front of the taller man who was holding him against his chest. Yes, his heart was definitely not going to be able to handle this.

“What?” he tried to remain calm, but a part of him knew that his heartbeat already gave away his true feelings under his calm demeanor.

“You can always talk to us about anything that’s bothering you. Your problems are worthy of a solution.” Namjoon whispered with mouth pressed so close against his ear, Yoongi could feel his lips move with every syllable. “Please talk to us when you feel like this, we will support you.”

Yoongi’s breath stopped in his throat and there was a burning sensation in his eyes.

“I know you’d much rather hold it all in, but it’s not healthy, Yoongi.”

Damn it, Namjoon.

“We care about you, Yoongi.” he felt those pair of lips he thought about to too often when he was in bed alone press a firm kiss on his temple. “I care about you.”

With that, Yoongi’s heart stopped.

Then, hot tears trickled down his face and his shoulders quivered from the overwhelming wave of emotion. Suddenly the slimy grip on his heart wasn’t as tight was it had been before, and Yoongi speculated it was because of the long warm arms that were wrapped around him, as if shielding him from everything unsavory and dreadful.

Yoongi brought up one of his arms to touch Namjoon’s forearm and his fingers gripping the skin harshly as if it was the only thing grounding him in reality, keeping him away from the darkness hidden away in the corners of his mind.

So many thoughts were inside his head, but he didn’t know how to voice them.

“Yoongi.”

Yoongi hummed for the lack of a better response, still dealing with the sudden outpour of tears.

“Would like for me to stay with you tonight?”

Stay? Stay as in-

“In my bed?” Yoongi breathed out, glad it was so dark that his blush could go unnoticed.

“Not necessarily. I can sleep on the floor,” Namjoon offered, “I just want to make sure you sleep okay.”

“B-bed’s fine.” Yoongi protested immediately. Why in the hell did he sound so damn nervous? It wasn’t like he hadn’t shared a bed with the guys before during their early debut days. Namjoon in his bed was not an unusual occurrence, but the pounding in his chest and the flush on his cheeks clearly showed that something had changed since their debut days.

He felt the taller man nod and pull away, before taking a step back and moving closer to the bed to raise the blankets so Yoongi could climb in first.

After Yoongi was safely tucked in and watching him, Namjoon shed his sweatpants and crawled in next to him, facing him.

As they stared at each other, Yoongi noticed how Namjoon’s face held so much compassion and longing that it made him wonder how long the taller man reciprocated how Yoongi felt about him. The faint moonlight illuminated Namjoon’s features and Yoongi felt himself slipping further into the whatever feeling he kept silencing and locking away deep in his chest for years.

It had all seemed unfathomable, ludicrous even. He didn’t even dare let himself think all those times where he saw the taller man staring at him for a little too long or laugh a little to hard at his jokes meant anything more than comradery.

For who could feel such affection for someone as broken as Yoongi?

“Yoongi.”

“Mm?”

“How long have you felt like this?”

Yoongi felt his heart almost leap out of his ribs. “A while.”

Namjoon tilted his head, that lovely dimpled smile forming on his cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

Yoongi smiled back. “Wasn’t your problem to deal with, Joon.”

The taller man laughed softly, “Oh, Yoongi.”

At that the smaller man pushed himself closer, eyes glued to the dark orbs staring back at him. Yoongi felt strong legs wrap around his thinner ones and a pair of hands dig into his hair, pulling him even closer until their bodies pressed together in the middle of the bed. And right there, in the warmth, hidden beneath heaps of blankets and barely lit room, one pair of lips met another.

[genosauce-colada]

The Night of Culmination

Set during the four year time skip, this one shot chronicles a night of change between a one Mikasa Ackerman and Jean Kirstein. Written for Jeankasa Canon Weekend 2018.

2,435 words

AO3 Link

Jean Kirstein knew about his drastic change- everybody did. Jean was a leader, authoritative, and trusted with his maturity.Those were painfully obvious, but not the only changes. The difference wasn’t as apparent to everyone. This difference was only viewed by one changed woman.

Her name was Mikasa Ackerman.

Mikasa Ackerman felt as though her heart could never be opened. Chained by what has occured in her tumultuous lifetime and too attached to the things that mitigated the pain. The time of comradery slowly chipped away through her mask, but it wasn’t exactly the thing or person who finally did away with it.

His name was Jean Kirstein.

With change comes the inevitably of its soon to be culmination.

~**~

Raindrops trickled about in the wake of midnight. Moonlight reflecting among them, lessening the lost light of the stars as dark clouds engulfed an already bleak sky. Dreary weather usually called for a relaxed mood and Jean Kirstein wished he felt that way. As time withered away Jean’s arrogant demeanor of that of a teen to a composed adult, this seemingly universal thought refused to be a reality for him. Maybe it was the years of utter horror or anguish, but staying relaxed seemed like such an incapable action.

Every night, regardless of the dreadful weather, Jean would find himself taking a stroll down the hall to a room that was filled to the brim with books. Though cluttered and not well kept (thanks to Hange), it was a sort of comforting source of quiet. He wasn’t the only one paying visits to the tranquil little room as his endeavors often lead him to Mikasa. She would be reading a book or perhaps she’d be looking out the nearby window while sitting on the wooden floors. Jean would stand idly by the door, taking a glimpse of the heavenly scene before departing for a proper night’s rest.

This occurrence was perhaps the most consistent thing left in their world. The tragedy of it was that it never augmented into anything bigger than a careful stare- one that was returned so rarely. The distance wasn’t spiteful in the slightest. All he or she felt was comfort in one another.

That feeling just seemed so unobtainable.

Jean had always felt that way but he wasn’t sure if Mikasa did as well. Jean didn’t need her to return the affection however. As long as she seemed at peace, he would feel a semblance of joy revel up inside him.

That satisfied him. That was all he needed.

And so the sight of her, tranquil and lovely as ever, brought that rare emotion to Jean.

He just wasn’t aware that she desired for more.

~**~

Mikasa Ackerman always found the time to notice the intricacies of Jean’s face. He has grown most definitely. To a shallow degree, the years of war had pampered him into a fine looking man. His grown out hair and stubble suited him quite well; it served as a surface view of his grown maturity. But when Mikasa spent the time to ponder over his nightly stare, she sees more than just his handsomeness. An aspect of his still held true. His eyes were still the same shade of hazel… but even that had change. It was like he now had the ability to exude a sort of kindness out of them. It wasn’t the last of his display of affection however, he always left with the slightest of a smile.

Mikasa always knew that Jean had an affinity for her. She can remember their first encounter quite well strangely enough. Though she never thought too deeply over his compliment of her beautiful black hair, what followed over the next few years was more than just infatuation, Mikasa had realized.

She would never get over how he saved her from the clutches of that titan. The way he screamed her name, not pleading to the titan to let her go but threatening it. That visceral scream of his sent a shiver through her. If it weren’t for him, she surely wouldn’t be in this room, still breathing.

Mikasa thought of other small things but it didn’t end with him.

It ended with herself.

Mikasa opened her eyes. She must of been daydreaming for too long for the sky was no longer hues of pink and yellow but of a dark, yet radiant night. She wiped her eyes and yawned. A book laid soundly on her lap and she raised it to view. A few pages were left crinkled but still readable.

As the sound of raindrops trickling about filled the air, and the consistent silence from her comrades, Mikasa concluded that they must of dozed off by now. She couldn’t tell how late it was but it must be past a reasonable hour at this point. Mikasa sighed, realizing what that entailed.

He must of passed by already. Why am I disappointed over this? Was the occurrence so often that it lead me to such an unrealistic expectation?

Her mind took a brief pause as the creaking of a door swept the room. Alarmed, Mikasa raised a tentative ear to hear for anything else. Uneven footsteps approached and Mikasa’s curiosity kept growing and growing. It was most likely Connie going out for his business or Sasha clamoring about for a snack as she was on watch duty for the night. These seemingly grounded expectations conflicted with the desires of Mikasa. She was fully aware with who she wanted to see or at least take comfort in their presence.

Mikasa took to the wall, book in hand and began to read as if curiosity never struck her. Well she wasn’t really reading but just staring at the pages. It continued until someone was finally at the door.

Mikasa took the slightest of glances and saw the figure who stood idly by the door.

A sigh of relief washed over. It was Jean, night clothes and all.

She expected him to say something quick- be a little snarky over how late it was or at least anything. He was dead silent but she still felt his relaxed presence.

Mikasa tried not to think to deeply upon it but it was quite difficult as she was not paying any mind to the book in hand. Unaware of the great deal of time that passed by, Mikasa didn’t realize that he was about ready to call it a night.

For the first time, Mikasa decided to inadvertently say her thoughts aloud. “Jean. Please don’t go, not yet.”

He turned his head with the slightest bit of hesitation. An inquiring look was thrown her way.

“Please.” she repeated as Jean took a few footsteps towards her. Mikasa’s hand left the book and hit the wooden floors. She patted it a few times.

“Stay here.”

Jean followed her command. He didn’t seem eager or distraught over it. She wondered if he was simply just tired or maybe he felt obligated. Either way he sat next to her, only a few feet away. The air was heavy between them and both, especially Mikasa, despised it. There was no need for it to feel that way. Weren’t they past such trivial things?

They were older. They were more mature. They’ve changed.

But he still had that boyish glint in his eyes, regardless of his stoic façade. Mikasa arched a brow for him to speak and threw in an all too nervous smile.

He recuperated. “What made you stay up so late?”

He looked at her intently, heavily, as he was still touched by sleep. His hair was all over the place and his whole demeanor ached of tiredness, yet he kept his posture upright. Jean had that endearing charm about him. “I don’t know really. I got lost in thought.” Mikasa said blankly. “I’ve never really done that before.”

Jean tore his gaze from her and towards the plain wooden floor. “You sure you haven’t? I’ve seen that look plenty of times before. You’re always daydreaming.”

There was a slight pause.

“I wish I had times where I could.” he said solemnly as a finger of his traced the floor.

Mikasa was left perplexed. She didn’t think he would be one for such sorrowful prose. She knew of his idealistic views, suddenly remembering those training days and how much he ridiculed Eren for his seemingly unrealistic proposition of a better future.

Mikasa had never realized just how much she remembers about him. It was frightening.

“Don’t sound so distraught. Besides, how do you know that I daydream? I could’ve fallen asleep. What makes you think such a thing?”

Jean let out a low laugh but hesitated when he spoke. “You always look so peaceful. Especially here.” He grabbed a nearby book and examined it thoroughly. “What are these about anyway?”

Mikasa swooped the book from his grasp and closed it shut. “Nothing that special. Just… about the world.”

He scoffed at her comment. “The world? There’s not much about it.” he replied sternly.

“Jean?” she raised her voice and it startled him. “Since when did you become so pessimistic? I understand you’ve always been a realist, but… isn’t this too much?”

He didn’t say anything for a good minute until Mikasa dared to put her hand on his shoulder. “I know you’ve changed Jean, but tell me.” He laid a tentative hand on hers- those hazel eyes of his searching for her own and leaving her clawing for anything else to say.

She didn’t need to.

“Mikasa…” he breathed. “I’m scared. I’m scared of the future. Sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve to still be alive. And to be alive for what? A world that preys on misery? Even when we try to seek the good in it, the justice it might have? I like to think that, maybe- just maybe if I say my doubts aloud, they’ll be proven wrong…” he choked on his words. “But I don’t think I have or ever will be proven wrong Mikasa.”

The sound of thunder struck, the rain sounding increasingly stronger with each passing second.

“I want to be wrong.”

Mikasa released her hand from his. “You are wrong Jean. There are good things in this world. I’ve learned that.” She smiled ever so slightly but it was genuine. “For example, you.”

Jean’s eyes widened and he crept a hand towards her again. He shut his eyes and chuckled lowly. “Ah, Mikasa…” his face reddened a bit, “You are too.”

Mikasa followed his hand and it lead her closer to him. They were now only a few inches apart now.

It was Jean’s turn to be a bit daring as he placed a hand on her cheek. “Mikasa, I don’t know how or when this will all end… but you are well aware of this right?” he caressed her gently, “The fact that you are a light against darkness for me? And that I visit this room every night for that very reason… to make sure you’re still flickering,- that you’re still breathing?”

Mikasa nodded and closed her eyes, tilting her head to his hand for comfort. “I am Jean. I know.” His thumb brisked her cheek, the side that held her scar, and she could feel how shaky it was. He took a shallow breath and grinned. “And that’s all I need.”

She opened her eyes. It was like a pin dropped in the room. She took a moment to process his words.

What does he mean by that? No don’t say that. Please don’t say that.

“Don’t you dare say that.” Mikasa latched out. “Don’t let this world tie you like that. Don’t be like the me of the past, Jean. An ignorant, foolish person.” she nearly choked out, trembling almost.

He grimaced but kept his hand on her cheek.“It’s not like that Mikasa. I thought you would want that. I didn’t want to place my wants over yours because of one simple reason.”

She knew what was coming.

“Because I care about you.”

She shook her head. “You coward. Say it. Say those three words. Say the truth. Say what you want to say.”

It was like she was under a spell as she moved her face closer to his. He tucked a lock of her black hair behind an ear and pulled her closer to him. Rain kept pouring at an unprecedented speed.

“Fine then.” he said, eyes closing. Both knowing quite well what was transpiring between them. “I love you, Mikasa.” Jean whispered.

And just when another strike of lightning hit, their lips met. At first it was slow, tender, as they were relishing in the taste of one another. It soon became rougher- the two kissing hungrily. Her arms draped over his broad shoulders, a hand behind his neck for support. His hand remained on her cheek as the other was around her waist. They moved like one, knocking into books left and right, neither paying mind to the noise being made. The kiss went on and on until both needed a breath of air. However, once it was broken, Jean kept giving her quick, fluttering kisses up on her neck until he reached her mouth.

Faces flushed with adrenaline and the tingling sense of accomplishment filled both of them. Jean himself was radiant, clearly basking in the reality that he “finally did it.” His eyes seemed more enchanting now because of it. Mikasa rushed to embrace him and he was more than glad to return it.

“Are you sleepy?” he said, still clouded with wonder. A streak of red was permanent against his face. Mikasa rested on his chest, face buried in his neck. “Beginning to. Do you mind staying like this for the rest of the night?” she asked, sounding as if she was transported to another world.

“Not at all.” Jean yawned.

And so, Jean and Mikasa lied there in the book filled room until both fell victim of sleep.Resting against each other, feeling one’s presence, taking comfort in one another.Perhaps this moment would of have never taken place in the past. The very past that consisted of the versions of themselves that weren’t capable of such things. They have changed for not only the sake of themselves but for eachother. Change never happens at once. Change is a grueling task that takes its sweet time. Both Jean and Mikasa realized that. Like many things, change culminates. In their case, change had culminated into something neither of them felt was capable in their world.

And that was all either could want or ask for.

[blooblooded]

Smiles goes to The Void

"You remember too much,

My mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that? And I said,

Where can I put it down?"

--Anne Carson, Glass, Irony, and God

For Smiles, life had degraded into a blur of sameness. The days and nights were repetitive, nothingness. Time passed by too quickly for him to hold on to.

He was 27 years old.

“Pop this zit on my back for me.” Pete’s voice jarred him from a state of spaced out contemplation. He was sitting on his bunk in the dorm, staring straight ahead. Smiles passed a hand across his face to bring himself back into the present, to bring himself out of the blankness. He saw that she had approached him and was in the process of pulling her shirt off.

“What?” he asked. His mouth was dry.

“This zit. It’s on my back, I can’t reach it.”

“Urgh.”

His second in command dropped her shirt on the floor and turned around. Smiles had a full second’s view of her tits before she sat down on his bunk with him with her back toward him. “I can’t get it.”

Over the last few weeks, Pete had become increasingly difficult to deal with. Always challenging him. Checking him. Calling him out. It was that time. He knew that she could sense the change within him, the growing weakness. It was only natural. She could smell blood. More importantly, she could sense that he was no longer in control. She wanted to be in his position so that she could do better than he could. The only problem was that he was still around.

Maybe she was right.

Smiles pressed the spot in the middle of her back with two thumbs. “Does that hurt?”

“Yeah. Get it for me.”

He grimaced and pressed hard until it popped, then wiped it on her skin. Her skin was hot to the touch. Pete leaned back against him and Smiles was able to cop a feel. It didn’t bring excitement like it used to. At this point, after what…5 years of working together, he still found her attractive, but too…something. Too familiar.

It wasn’t normal to want to fuck someone who thought you were old and used up, irresponsible.

Two days ago she had told him he needed to file a formal request to step down as Primary agent on the team. He had rejected that. It wasn’t something he was able to do. Until the day he was Retired, until the day his handlers dragged him away and put a bullet in his head, Smiles would remain responsible for Pete, Nickels, and Johnny.

That day was coming soon. He could feel it. He could see it in the way the staff looked at him. He could hear it in the way his own team talked about him.

“Why are you so fuckin’ greasy?” he asked her.

“Like you aren’t covered in backne.” Pete made herself comfortable against him and reached back to press a hand to the crotch of his sweatpants. When nothing happened, she tilted her chin up and her eyes back to look at him. “Your dick still broken, huh?”

Smiles didn’t even try to move her hand from grabbing at him. A few months ago, before he had been electrocuted by the red haired Artificial trying to escape Eden, they had fucked all the time. Now it felt impossible to muster up any interest for anyone, much less the girl who constantly accused him of not caring enough for his team.

He was worried that the problem might be that he cared too much. That he could not separate himself from them.

“Yeah, I found popping a huge pimple on your back so sexy,” he said, attempting to joke. He had to joke. Over the last few months it had felt like a huge scream had been building up inside of him. There was no release for the scream, it felt more real than he did. Nothing he did could bring release.

Pete left his bed and picked her shirt up off the floor. Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat like it always was, a side effect of a body temperature that ran too high.

Burning. She was always burning. She loved him, she cared about him, but in the end she would burn him up. That was the destructive nature of fire.

Smiles passed his hand across his face again, resisting the urge to hit himself to jar himself out of his state of depersonalization.

This had all started when he had failed to stop the group of extremists from driving through the gate. Nothing had been the same since that day. He had become slower, caught up in his thoughts. Movement and instinct were no longer natural. Smiles found himself thinking about those people more than he thought about himself. Their faces were in his dreams and those dreams bled into his reality. Ever since that day, he had started to screw up.

No. Not just since that day. Ever since he had found the blonde blood magic user’s work ID on the floor of Helen’s temple. Even before he saw the young woman in person, he had dreamed of her with black slime and blood dripping from her mouth and nose and ears. It wasn’t fear or disgust that he felt when he thought about that either. No, it was dread, the same helplessness he felt when he thought about being unable to stop the terrible things happening to his team.

This was what going insane probably felt like. Smiles had lost it. He knew that everyone could see.

It was only a matter of time.

“Nicky should be coming off her shift Upstairs soon, you better be nice to her.” Pete stretched her strong arms up above her head then easily bent to touch her toes before moving down into a plank and beginning a sun salutation. Her physical and mental control, so carefully practiced, were unmatched. They had to be. She wasn’t like Smiles. If Pete lost control, she would burn this whole place down to the ground.

Would that really be so bad?

“When am I ever not nice to her?”

Pete exhaled a small sarcastic breath. She finished her sun salutation and began another one. “Right. Think about why Nickels keeps getting assigned TP work instead of field work with us, or why Johnny snuck out of here this morning before we woke up.”

Bitch. She was such a raging bitch. Smiles rose from his bed to stand next to her. He touched his toes and the knee on his left leg, his bad leg, popped. “Nicky’s on brainwash duty because they can’t get their hands on enough psychics to kidnap, get off my ass, that’s not my fault. If staff wants to assign B-Class telepaths to disintegrate the new kids’ brains, that’s on them. They know what they’re doing.”

It had already occurred to him that the Program was somehow deteriorating. The dorms could house up to 150 secret police agents, but by his count, there were 108 of them left. When he had been Recruited, agents were likely to be terminated for stepping out of line or getting injured. Now? It was like the higher-ups didn’t want to risk it. It was not out of compassion, it was out of not being able to kidnap enough kids to keep the Program running smoothly. Something was happening on the outside. Something was getting in the way of Recruitment.

As busy as he was, he did not have the capacity to figure out the why’s or the how’s of this. All he knew was that now, because of the difficulty of discovering psychics, there were only about 35 of them in the Program, and only half of those were A-Class. So B-Class telepaths like Nicky were stuck on brainwashing and torture duty when they were ill suited for it. In the old days this would have never happened. Smiles was selfishly grateful for it, since it meant he was less likely to get hauled Upstairs to get his mind violated.

He tried to mimic a pose that Pete twisted herself into but was not flexible enough for it. “You seem particularly devious today, Peanut.”

“No reason to be devious. I’m just saying. And you seem particularly spaced out and mean, but hey, what else is new.”

Smiles responded with a short bark of laughter with no real fondness behind it. “You know me.”

“I know you’re getting old.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She fixed him with a look even as she moved through her routine of stretches. In the years that they had worked together, she had grown from a chunky, angry teenager to a strong, composed young woman. She had no issues with calmly starting conflict. “You think any more about filing a formal request to step down?”

“Fuck you,” said Smiles. He stopped mirroring her poses and crossed his arms.

“Yeah? So what happens to us when they put a bullet in your head a month or two from now? They'll split us up. They’ll make Nicky work Upstairs permanently until she starts getting seizures and brain bleeds, then they’ll put her down too. They won’t even bother putting Johnny on a new Squad since he’s C-Class, he’ll just have to be a free floater and work with those kids who treat him like shit. Me, they’ll reassign me to work on an Elite Squad, they’ll make me burn people. They’ll make me really hurt people. Do you want that for us? If you put me in charge then we won’t get split up after you’re dead. I can keep us together. If you really cared about us then you’d step down.”

These thoughts had already occurred to him. They had occurred to him months ago, when he realized that he was starting to get caught up in...whatever was going on in his mind. The...memories, the dreams he was having. It was the obvious choice, the smart choice. But Smiles did not want to accept it.

“Fuck you,” he said again. “Fuck you, Peanut.”

Infuriatingly, Pete smiled at him, then dropped into the splits. “Well you’re definitely not fucking me, or anyone else, Boss.”

He considered throwing a punch at her and starting a tussle, the way that they always used to end arguments. He didn’t.

The temperature in the dorm room rose. Smiles didn’t comment on it.

Soon, Nickels returned to the dorm room after her shift working Upstairs. She looked tired. No, tired was not the right word for it. She looked drained. Her pretty, fat face was greyish colored and a dribble of blood showed in both her ears. Smiles could see that the pupils of her black eyes were hugely dilated. When she saw her teammates, she gave them a vacant, empty smile.

She looked like Lady.

“Dust leaking trees the black pyramid,” said Nickels.

Smiles and Pete looked at eachother, then back to their 20 year old companion.

“What’s that, Nicky?” Smiles asked nervously.

Her eyes were black. Blood trickled out of her ears and down her neck. “All over horses to go to night.” And she wobbled like she was going to fall over.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, staring, Smiles went to her and led her to his bunk so that she could sit down. Sweat had saturated her tank top and there was something else on it too, something that looked like thick mucus. He helped her strip it off, then grabbed a water bottle so that she could drink. “Snap out of it,” he said, trying to hide the fear from his voice. “It’s not real.”

The blood in her ears worried him. The word salad worried him more. There was a reason that psychics did not last long in the Program, especially low level ones.The human brain could not tolerate being overused like that, and it was not natural for someone to go into another person’s mind for extended periods of time.

Nickels took a sip of water. Some of it dribbled out of her mouth. She looked at Smiles and he rubbed the soft stubble on her head.

This was the part he hated most. It was not so bad when he was suffering, he knew that he could handle it. Smiles could power through, he could put the soft, scared parts of himself away in a box somewhere. It was this. Being forced to watch, to see the suffering of others and being unable to do a single thing about it.

If anything happened to Nickels, he did not think he would be able to stand it. It was no secret that she was his favorite-- how could you not have a favorite? Even though she was part of a group of people he despised, he couldn’t help but love her. Pete could be bossy, pushy. Johnny could be clingy, annoying. But Nicky? She was special to him, a sister.

“Fuck those fuckers,” said Pete a little choked up, standing there, unmoving. “Why are they doing this to all of us?”

They -- whoever ‘they’ were, in his 7 years in the Program, Smiles had never been able to find out -- were doing this because they could. Because they wanted to. Because they didn’t care. To them, the minds and bodies of over a hundred young people were nothing more than commodities to be used up.

“Snap out of it,” he said again, more to himself than to his teammate.

And after 10 minutes, she did snap out of it. Nickels’s pupils returned to their normal size and some color returned to her face. “I think I’m gonna throw up,” she said. “Sorry. They had me working on some guy all morning.”

“If you puke, don’t do it on my bed,” said Smiles, unbearably relieved that she was speaking in full sentences again. “Fuck me, Nick, I thought you were permanently disabled or some shit.”

She noticed that her shirt was off and crossed her arms to cover her bra and the rolls on her stomach.. Out of the 4 of them, Nickels was the one with the greatest sense of modesty. “It was fucked. They never have me work on civies but Lady is sick so they put me on rotation. Dunno what they were thinking, I’m just a telep.”

“They had a civilian Upstairs?”

“Some guy, he has dreams R&D wants to get into or something. They got pissed because I can’t see images, only words. I kept trying to explain but they wouldn’t listen.”

Smiles didn’t know why the scientists in R&D would drag a civilian Upstairs to their creepy labs. He didn’t care much either. Better an adult man get tortured and have his brain invaded than some scared 13 year old kid. He rubbed Nicky’s head again, knowing that it brought both of them comfort.

Of course, Pete had a healthier sense of curiosity. She sat down next to Nickels as well. Nickels flushed. “What do you mean dreams they want to get into?”

“I dunno. Dreams. It’s not like I could see anything. They need someone like Lady or Wicker for that.”

“But the guy was thinking?”

“Not lucidly. There was something wrong with him, it was like trying to read a crawler. Scrambled and shit.” Nickels touched her ears and winced. She brought her hands away to look at the blood. “Some of his thoughts were pretty clear though, not like that was useful to me. Like, ‘It wasn’t me!’ and ‘Talk to me, Marty,'' blah blah blah, over and over again. Useless shit. That’s when it started hurting me. I tried to tell that Handler cunt Alaska I wasn’t getting anything but she just smacked me until I kept going.”

Pete made a low sound of frustration. She got up from the bed and moved back into her series of sun salutations.

On the other hand, Smiles felt like he was the one who had been smacked. Something about the name Marty made him feel bad inside. Presumably it had been the name of someone he had known in his life before, and it had not been the first time he had heard it lately. The extremists in the truck, the ones who had escaped Eden those months before, had said that name, and he had felt the same horrible unease. Presumably this was unrelated. Marty was not an uncommon name.

Still, it made him feel sick to hear it. It made him sicker to hear about his subordinate’s abilities being misused. He rubbed Nickels’s head one last time, then stood up.

“You good, Nicky?” he asked her, fear and dread growing inside of him. At the rate that they were forcing her to use her abilities, she would die of an aneurysm before he even got Retired. “You feel OK now?”

Maybe Pete was right. Maybe he needed to step down.

His little psychic looked up at him, completely trusting and loyal. She was still pale and he could see the dark circles under her eyes. How could anyone hurt her? How could anyone make her hurt other people? The scream that had been building inside of Smiles threatened to come out.

“I’m all good now,” she said. “I just need a nap.”

Smiles clenched his fists. The dorm room felt way too hot.

He couldn’t fix much, but he could try to fix this.

“You stay here with her,” he told Pete, who was again twisting her body into something painful. Did that really help? Did that really keep the anger, the helplessness at bay? Nothing he tried ever helped. Exercise didn’t help. Breathing didn’t help. Nothing fucking helped, he was just stuck with his negative feelings unless he put it away in a little box, pushed it away inside. And that didn’t address the source of the problem, now did it? “I’m gonna go talk to staff and ask them to take her off Upstairs duty.”

Did Pete’s careful breathing sound angry? What was she keeping deep down inside? What was trying to get out of her? Smiles wondered if there was a scream building in her stomach as well. She didn’t even look at him. “Fine,” she said. “Go pull Johnny out of wherever he’s hiding while you’re at it.”

How could she say that that easily? The prospect of finding their youngest teammate and the trouble he got himself into was never a pleasant one. And she always pushed it off onto him because she couldn’t stand to deal with it. The last time Pete had attempted to deal with Johnny’s behavioral problems herself, she had sent Coop, a 16 year old neuro-path with repulsive proclivities, to the Infirmary with 3rd degree burns. Staff had locked her in solitary for a week after that.

Smiles looked back at Nickels, who had laid down on his bed. She had curled her arms up like she was comforting herself. His stomach flipped.

“I’ll fix this,” he said, but the girls weren’t listening to him. And he left.

He stomped down the dorm hallway. Only a bunch of C-Class 13 year olds were up and about, they scattered when they saw him. Even though they had no reason to be scared of Smiles, word spread. He did not have a reputation for being friendly. That was fine. That was just fine. He didn’t want to interact with the majority of the little monsters in here anyway.

This place was killing him. The dormitory walls were all painted a light green so that they did not appear so institutional. Some stupid posters, the kind with cute animals and therapy-speak phrases like “Pause and Reflect” and “Think before you Speak” hung at different points in the hall. They hung right alongside notices that all behavior was being observed by staff and violations of policy would be addressed immediately with appropriate consequences.

He walked past dorm rooms, many of them empty. The lounge was empty as well. Best not to think of that, best not to think about their dwindling numbers. Or why they were dwindling.

The main office was located above the dormitory floor, on the same level that the training rooms were located. Smiles took the stairs instead of the elevator. There were no cameras in the stairwells, but there was one mounted in the elevator. He took the stairs 2 at a time and spent a moment at the top to prepare himself before he pushed through the door.

He walked into the office. It was never locked, no, staff tried to encourage agents to come to them whenever needed. Not that anybody ever did. It didn’t take long for newbies to realize that the Handlers and dorm staff were worse than anyone on the inside, and had more power. If another agent beat the shit out of you or molested you, at least you could fight back. Maybe even report it if you caught one of the more sympathetic staff members. If a Handler had it out for you, you just had to take it.

Over the years, Smiles had learned one thing for sure: all the freshly graduated Artificials that got hired on as staff had to come from some repressed, unpleasant homes. Maybe they were all like...that. So far, he had not come across a single one in his life that did not have severe emotional issues.

The office was painted the same green as the dorms were and it had the same stupid posters on the wall. There was a big desk that held a monitor with a bunch of camera screens on it. There was a couch in front of that desk, presumably to encourage dumb newbies to sit down and spill their guts. The entire place would have made for a believable high school guidance counselor’s office, and Smiles hated it.

He had hoped that a new or easily manipulated staff member would be on desk duty, but no, no such luck. It was only October. October --Nickels had read his mind once and gleaned that his real name was Henry-- was one of those creepy later stage Artificials, around the same age as Smiles. Some Artificials mostly appeared normal, but some…came out wrong. October was tall and muscular and had an eerie, uncanny valley face that was only made less creepy by a perpetual expression of lazy insolence. When he saw Smiles walk in, he rolled his heavily lidded eyes.

“Whatever it is, I don’t have time for you,” he said. He was watching videos on his tablet.

Smiles could never bring himself to grovel, especially in front of a piece of human garbage like this. He had really been hoping for the Handler named Saturday, since her rapport with the team bordered on sympathetic. “I don’t want my psychic assigned to any non-field-work objectives from now on,” he said. “I’m serious.”

“Ahh’m serious,” mocked October, mimicking Smiles’s flat Lower Levels accent. He put down his tablet and leaned on the desk. What did these people do all day when they were not harassing others? “What are you gonna do, file a complaint?”

Smiles gritted his teeth. “She’s B-Class. She’s just a telepath, and is more useful on the field. You people are gonna liquify her brain, she just got off shift with blood in her ears, talkin’ nonsense. I don’t want her working Upstairs anymore.”

“She’s a psychic. They all have to carry their weight around here, even your fat little telep.”

“Why can’t you just make Lady go on permanent brainwash duty instead?”

October fixed him with a strange look, a weird, tense smile. “Maybe BG doesn’t want his precious psychic’s brain leaking out of her ears either, huh, you ever think of that? Maybe this place doesn’t revolve around you and your people, Smiles. No. Psychics get assigned psychic work. The rest of you get field work. You got a problem with our schedules, take it up with someone else.”

One day, whenever Smiles got dragged upstairs to get a pullet between his eyes, he hoped that October would be working. On that day, he would do whatever it took to take him out with him. There was nothing that would bring him more pleasure than to hurt him as severely as possible.

He shifted his weight slightly. His bad leg was hurting him again.

“What needs to happen to get Nicky off those shifts? What, you people need to Recruit more A-Class psychics? What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. That’s just the way things are. Quit complaining.”

It was useless to appeal to this person’s better nature. This person did not have a better nature. Smiles attempted anyway. “I’m responsible for her.”

That got a reaction. October scratched his eerily perfect nose, then stood up. The uniform that they all wore was black and unremarkable. “Yeah?” he asked, coming around the desk and into Smiles’s personal space. He smelled good, like expensive cologne. “You’re good at being responsible, Smiles? Why can’t you stop your telepath from getting sent Upstairs then? Why do I keep hearing about how guys have been running a train on your Artificial? Why can’t you even take care of yourself, then? The way I see it, the only responsible one on your Squad is the pyrokinetic. What were you saying about responsibility?”

He couldn’t help it. It was a reaction that October wanted, and it was a reaction he received, even if Smiles knew that it was all true. The anger was not something that he could control. His right hand twitched upwards like he was about to strike out.

For a moment, they both looked at each other. Two men of the same age, who under other circumstances, out in the world, might have also worked together or gone to school together. Might have even been friends. There was a world where both their lives had not been irreparably changed by being made to be violent to others.

Lazily, the same way he did everything else, October gave Smiles a little shove backwards. It wasn’t hard, it didn’t hurt him. It was just enough to remind him who was really in charge. Just enough to remind him that no matter what, he couldn’t do shit. Just enough to make him feel small.

“Get out of here,” said Smiles’s Handler. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

And Smiles followed orders. Smiles left.

He paused again in the stairwell to collect himself. That could have gone a lot worse. He would try again, he would come to the office when Saturday was working and try to get her to see his point of view. And if that did not work, he would go to someone else, again and again.

It was fruitless, yes. But it was something to do. It was something he could do to stop himself from feeling so helpless.

He wanted to take it out on someone. The best way to stop feeling weak and worthless was to go hurt someone else, go make someone else feel weak. There was no time. Smiles had more important things to do.

After all, he was responsible.

He wandered the hallways of the dormitories for a while. It didn’t take long. As the saying goes, bad pennies always show up. Smiles caught his youngest teammate slinking out of a bathroom and pinned him with a mean look.

To his eyes, Johnny looked bad. There were stains on his t-shirt and he moved in a wincing, cringing dog kind of way. Obviously hurt; either he had been jumped for annoying the wrong person, or he had allowed other kids to mess around with him again. Probably the latter. He had been in bad shape for a while now. Just like the rest of them, he was angry, trapped, lashing out in what small ways he could.

Smiles approached him and Johnny froze like he had been caught doing something wrong. “Hey,” said Smiles. “Where’ve you been hiding, huh? Peanut’s worried sick about your dumb ass.”

Johnny looked at him mistrustfully. Like Smiles, the last 6 months had marked a distinct change in him. Maybe it was because he was 16 now, no longer the playful, loving child he had been when he was Recruited. But Smiles didn’t think that was it. His affect and attitude often changed to reflect those of whoever he spent time with, a weird and chameleon-like emotional ability. 6 months ago he had behaved more like...well, more like Smiles. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” he asked.

“OK. After you tell me where you’ve been for the last 3 hours. You want me to write you up? You can’t just fuckin’ disappear like that when the team’s on call.”

“It ain’t my fault, Boss.” As usual, Johnny’s tone pitched to a whine. “I wanted to hang out with Major and his buddy. Well. I only wanted to hang out with Major because he said he’d let me kiss him this time. They didn’t let me leave, the door was locked, you can’t write me up for that, that’s not fair.” He paused. “They didn’t even kiss me.”

Major was a 17 year old C-Class agent who had a sadistic history, a long list of assaults. Smiles took a menacing little step towards Johnny. He already felt the uncontrollable rage rising up from his belly. “Oh yeah? That sounds like gang rape.”

Johnny smiled vacantly and rolled his luminous yellow eyes, but came off as pathetic, a kid trying to act more mature and worldly than he was. “Gang bang, Boss. I’m really good at--”

“--Yeah? They lock the door for that? Lock the door for hours?” He needed emotional help that Smiles could not provide. “Infirmary. Now.”

“I don’t need to go to the Infirmary, I need—“

Tired of this. Smiles was so tired of watching someone he cared about, someone he loved, put himself in these situations over and over again. Self destruction was nothing new in the secret police, there were people who were so hurt or angry that they wanted that same pain to show on the outside. In a way it made sense. How was this any different? Smiles couldn’t even get rid of the problem, couldn’t just go beat the shit out of the little freaks behind this, because they were all the same age, all boys who were 16 or 17.

Well. He could. Could if he wanted to. And he still might. What was it to him if he went and hurt a couple of teenagers? Why did he have some rule in his mind that he wasn’t supposed to target those who were under 18? Teenagers could be just as twisted and nasty.

It made him angry too and it was hard, impossible, not to take out that anger when the source was right in front of him. The desire to protect, masquerading as anger. Smiles grabbed Johnny’s wrist so that he couldn’t get away from him. “Today isn’t the day,” he said, starting to drag him down the hall. “Not the fucking day.”

“Ow! Let me go!”

But Smiles didn’t listen. Smiles dragged him all the way down the hall and all the way to the elevator that led up to the Infirmary. He ignored everything. He ignored the whining, the crying, and did what he needed to do. Smiles always did what he needed to do. That was responsibility. He could be responsible.

In the elevator, Johnny pushed his body up against the wall so that he was as far away from Smiles as possible. “I hate you,” he said.

“Aw, you hate me now?” Smiles pressed the elevator button multiple times as hard as he could, as if that would make the trip up faster. “Fine. I like that just fine.” He was used to the little mood swings, the rapid fluctuations between obsessive admiration to frantic dislike. Doc had told him about it, said it was called splitting. It wasn’t something that could be fixed, just like his own dissociation couldn’t be fixed.

Or maybe it could, out in the real world. In the Program, what was the point of trying to treat mental illness? There wasn’t a point, the only thing that could be done was make the symptoms a little easier.

“Pete says you’re gonna be dead soon. Then you won’t be so mean to me anymore.”

Smiles mashed the elevator button. He wanted to be done. Johnny smelled like piss. “Maybe I will be. You ever think about what’s gonna happen to you once I’m not around to find you? One of these days someone’s gonna keep the door locked.”

“Probably be better off then, Boss.”

What Johnny probably needed was a good hard smack, but Smiles didn’t raise a hand to him. In the long run, corporal punishment wouldn’t do any good. You couldn’t smack the delusions out of a person. Smiles continued mashing the elevator button until the door stopped, dinged and opened.

“Come on.”

“I told you I don’t want to see the doctors. They-- they make fun of me!”

Smiles grabbed his arm again anyway. Johnny dug in his heels and pushed back, for a minute it seemed like he was going to try and hit him, but Smiles easily overpowered him, seizing a handful of his shirt and shoving him out of the elevator. He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to upset him. Smiles just didn’t know what to do or how to help.

The Infirmary was one of the few places in the Capitol Building that was not dormitory that the accessible elevator led to. As such, it was painted white and had none of the stupid posters. The Infirmary was part of Upstairs-- it was only a few small rooms on a floor dedicated to....Research and Development. Smiles understood not wanting to go there.

He walked up to the front desk, pushing Johnny in front of him. It looked like the only nice nurse-- Doc, a big man with a soft accent-- was not on shift. Doc only worked there part time, 2nd shift a couple of nights a week. Instead, a young woman with cornrows and blue scrubs was on duty.

“You again,” the nurse said flatly.

He showed his teeth with a threatening smile. It was true, Smiles ended up in the Infirmary often due to his rash behavior. Sometimes staff made him go, claiming that he was ‘manic’ and needed to be sedated. “Me again. 3385C here needs medical care.”

“Why?”

“Will you just fuckin’do your job and make sure he’s OK?” Smiles didn’t want to embarrass himself.

The nurse rolled her eyes and got up. “You know the drill,” she said, pointing towards the exam room and walking back without waiting. Johnny followed her, but not before giving Smiles one last yellow look of blame.

The definition of blame is to assign responsibility for wrong-doing. Smiles thought about how he was about to be responsible for kicking the shit out of someone in the near future. The white walls of the Infirmary made him anxious, he had had too many bad experiences there-- and worse ones in the Research and Development rooms that lay beyond. He wasn’t about to wait around for his youngest teammate to get checked out.

Even though it was what Pete would have done.

No. What was he thinking? Pete wasn’t capable of doing anything that wasn’t her precious breathing exercises and yoga. She couldn’t make the hard decisions, not like him. Why was he so focused on her? How had she gotten into his mind so easily?

Something had happened to him. Whether it was the aftereffects of almost getting his guts spilled in Helen Gutierrez’s blood magic temple, or if it was the girl with the curly blonde hair he kept dreaming of, something had made him stupid and weak.

He wasn’t going to be around much longer.

“What’s wrong with you?” A squeaky-toy voice jarred him from his thoughts and made him flinch. Lady. Smiles had forgotten that Nickels had said she was sick.

Lady had come out of another exam room. She appeared...worse than normal. Thinner, if that was even possible. Paler, definitely. When she smiled at him, he could see that her teeth were greyish, translucent. An IV was stuck in her arm, attached to a bag of fluid on a rolling hanger.

Nope.

“Not today, bitch.” Smiles didn’t turn around, didn’t want to take his gaze away from the fragile but terrifying young psychic. He stepped back. “Get away from me.”

How was it possible that this stick insect person had gotten into his brain, his memories, and tortured him so much? He could probably kill her with one good punch to the throat.

The grey pants and shirt she wore were too big for her, but were part of the uniform that top psychics were supposed to wear when they worked Upstairs. Lady blinked slowly, as if even that was difficult for her. “Is your telepath sick yet?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your telepath. Is she sick yet? We’re all getting sick.”

Smiles eyed her. He was afraid of Lady, but she wasn’t known to be a liar. At least, she had always been truthful to him. There was no point in a psychic as powerful as her to lie or be lied to; she could dig the truth out of anyone the same way a bird pulls a snail out of its shell. “The fuck you mean, sick? Sick like a cold?”

“No. Sick like...brain sick.” Lady placed one of her spidery hands on the point where her IV was connected to her arm. “They have us trying to crack this civilian. His mind is...it’s beyond the Rift and they want to see inside. They want to see the black pyramid in the Void. Everyone who looks, something happens.”

Dust leaking trees. The black pyramid.

“Nickels isn’t sick.” He stared at his enemy, at her weakness. If something was happening to her brain because of what she was being forced to die, he hoped that she would die. But Nicky had been forced to do the same things. “She didn’t see anything, she’s just a telep. What the fuck are you talking about, sick?”

He was scared now. You couldn’t catch anything from reading a mind. You could go crazy, yes, Lady was proof enough of that. But you couldn’t get sick. The brain was just wet tissue containing millions of nerves, synapses. There were memories, there was pain and joy, but there was nothing...nothing that could spread.

Lady’s nose began to bleed and she absently watched it drip onto her ill fitting grey shirt. This was a person who had been completely broken by the Program. There was nothing left inside of her except the sadistic desire to inflict pain on others. BG could try to protect her all he wanted to, but it was too late. They had used her up. They had used every part of her up a long time ago.

It was sad, but it was the fate of every psychic. Smiles felt no pity for her. He couldn’t. She had caused him too much pain over the years, even if she had been commanded to do it.

“What do you mean, sick?” he repeated, not wanting to get any closer to her. “What guy? What fucking guy do they have you people working on back there?”

She used the back of her hand to wipe her nose. “I think I’m going to be dead by next year,” she said, sounding strangely contemplative. Some of the blood from her nose got into her mouth and stained her teeth. “I’ve been there the most. My mind, I mean. In the Void.”

There was no Void. It meant nothing to Smiles. More crazy psychic talk.

Smiles couldn’t help it, he stepped towards her, close enough to touch. “Lady,” he said. “What guy? What Void? Nickels was talking about some black pyramid earlier, what is it? What fucking guy?”

She looked up at him. Her black eyes were enormous and the pupils had overtaken the whites. “Nobody. He was nobody, a man named Lee Harlan. One of R&D’s projects, but there’s a lot more of them now. They put crawler blood into his head and now he’s somebody, one of the links between here and, and the other place. They make us see it. They make us look at it.”

For a moment, Smiles was no longer there. He was no longer in the room with her. His mind became peacefully blank, protecting him from the panic that rose from hearing a name he did not recognize but for some reason understood. He dug his own fingernails into his palm to bring himself back and stood there stupidly staring at the sick psychic in front of him. Lee Harlan. Marty. He knew those names, knew them better than he knew his own. His heart pounded in his chest and he could feel his eyes bulging.

Crawler blood. One frenzied thought occurred to him then, as it had before: why did they always collect the slime from the little goo aliens when they were sent out to terminate them?

He was aware that he was shaking and he didn’t know why.

“They make me go into his head and look at that place,” said Lady, and it was like she was not seeing him. Her gaunt face was just big black eyes and a smear of blood. She looked like she was about to break into pieces. “I don’t want to look.”

From far away, Smiles heard his own voice: “Look at what?”

And then, Lady was no longer looking past him. She smiled and held her hand out. “I’ll show you,” she said.

There was no time to move away. Lady pressed her hand to Smiles’s cheek and her skin was as cold as ice. Cold like a corpse’s.

And Smiles looked.

It wasn’t real and he wasn’t there, he knew that much. This was simply Lady’s memory of going into someone else’s memory. This was only images that she was projecting into his mind, images and sound. But it felt real. It felt so real.

Smiles found himself standing alone in a vast desert of white sand and a sky so red that it looked like a sea of blood. The horizon stretched on forever. There were grey rocks all around him, huge monoliths of absurd shapes, twisting themselves into geometry his mind could not comprehend. There was no wind, no living things. No moon or stars or clouds, but fleshy, pulsating orbs hung in the sky like massive egg sacs. And in the distance, rising up at the place where land and sky met, ascended a black pyramid of inconceivable size.

When Smiles tried to suck in a mouthful of air, his lungs would not fill. Looking down, he saw that he was in Lady’s body, of course he was, this was her experience, her memory of a dream. She was the one who had been choking for air in a place where there wasn’t any. Above him, the gelatinous skin-colored sacs wriggled in the red sky as if something wanted to burst out of them, and one of them grew dozens of eyes that rolled around in their sockets.

When he tried to scream, no sound came out. Low buzzing emanated from somewhere, and Smiles knew that it came from the terrible black pyramid. He clapped his hands over his ears (or, in the dream, Lady had clapped her hands over her ears) to drown it out but was unable to, and the fillings in his teeth vibrated, shook like they were going to shatter. Didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to see! He wasn’t supposed to see this!

Something terrible lived here, something terrible had once been here. It was unnatural and evil and he didn’t want to see!

From behind him came another sound, a sort of wet, heavy smacking. Smiles turned, his body moving slowly like he was underwater, to see a man crouched less than 3 feet away, over what appeared to be someone else’s prone body, repeatedly smashing one of the misshapen grey rocks into their head. The skull was split open like a broken gourd, brain matter spilling out onto the fine white sand. The other man kept smacking the rock down, over and over again.

“It wasn’t my fault!” The man panted, hysterical. He was either laughing or crying. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about his appearance, other than a pale scar curving into his hairline. “Why don’t you believe me?! I’m a good person, I’m a good person, Marty! Why don’t you believe me?!”

Without any evidence, Smiles knew that this was Lee Harlan, whose dreams Lady had forced her presence into. Forced her presence into again and again and again. To find..something…

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smiles was completely and painfully present. Trapped in a memory, in images in his own mind, he was unable to drift away.

Fluid began to leak out of his ears and he could hardly move. All he knew was that he needed to leave this place, leave before the man with the rock saw him. Leave before the grotesque and massive objects in the sky hatched. Or worse, before whatever it was that had once lived here became aware of his presence.

The rock came down again, hard. “Please believe me!” babbled Lee Harlan, who then seized the shoulders of the body laying on the ground, the body with the ruined face, and shook it. A small chunk of skull, hanging with scalp and black hair, broke off and fell to the sand.

Impossibly, completely impossibly due to the smashed jaw and broken teeth, the body spoke. A child’s voice. “This is all your fault, you fucking degenerate.”

Lee laughed. Or maybe he sobbed.

This wasn’t happening.

Smiles found his voice in that airless place. “Lady!” he screamed. Finally. The scream inside him came out. The pain in his head and body were too much for him to bear, but the fear was worse, much much worse. “Get me out of here! Get me the fuck out of here!”

The noise made Harlan’s head snap up to look at him. He was white, there was blood splattered across his face and the dull light that emitted from the wriggling, unnatural spheres reflected off his glasses. He let go of his grip on the body, let it fall, and slowly rose from his crouch.

In the distance, the black pyramid droned its maddening oscillation.

“Get out of my head,” Harlan said very quietly, advancing a step. Behind him, the body that he had been pounding into jelly stirred.

“Lady!” Oh god, he didn’t want to see! It was all beyond him, beyond any human. Was this the place that they had made Nickels tune into? What mind breaking words had formed in her mind when she had tuned into the pyramid’s hum? What gibbering language could come from the fleshy things hanging in the sky? Every part of the Program was preferable to seeing this! Smiles would take anything, he would rather hurt people, would rather witness assault, would rather be humiliated, would rather drown in his own helplessness-- anything other than this! “Lady, goddammit!”

The things in the bleeding sky thrashed. The small body on the ground thrashed and sat up, and it’s smashed head began to knit together and reform. More fluid leaked from Smiles’s ears. If he stayed here, in this memory of a memory of a dream, he would go insane. Harlan advanced another step towards him, panting and wheezing, and Smiles could not turn around, could not allow himself to face the black pyramid on the horizon.

“Get out of my head!” Harlan said again, louder, his skin waxy and his eyes rolling up under their lids. And somehow, Smiles knew that he knew him, knew that he recognized him. For so many years, he had wished for some memory, some reminder of his life from before the Program. Now, staring a memory in the face, he regretted that wish.

Fate. Fate is the buzzing life-swarm of mankind. The buzzing, the hum, would not stop.

Unmoving, watching Lee Harlan approach him, Smiles wondered what would happen if he-- if he in Lady’s body in this memory-- was touched.

He did not have to wonder.

One moment he was trapped in the terrible white desert of the Void, the next he was standing in the terrible white Infirmary. Lady had pulled her own memory out of his mind.

Smiles bent over and threw up bile. “Oh god,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “God.”

Before him, Lady was almost a comfort, a familiar presence. All his suffering of the last hour was now a relief, something expected. Something real. His life had been put into perspective by that one small glimpse of an impossible place.

“You see?” asked Lady, and she laughed, girlish and high pitched. “See? They want to know more about that place. You know what I think? I think they want to get in.”

He was going to be sick again and briefly considered slapping her, but knew the consequences of touching her cold skin. Shaking his head, Smiles scrambled back and away from her. Away from the Infirmary. Away.

But the indescribable buzzing did not stop droning in his head until well after he got off the elevator and into the dormitories.

Faces passed him in a blur and Smiles pushed by them, not caring who he shoved. He had left his teammate alone up there, but that was not important, no, the important thing, the only thing that mattered, was that he returned to the safety of his room as quickly as possible. There was too much in his head, too many unavoidable revelations.

He slammed open the door of the dorm, startling both Nickels and Pete. They watched him with wide eyes. Smiles was now drenched with sweat and he pulled his tank top up to mop his face. He felt weak and faint and confused.

“What the fuck,” said Pete. She was back on the bed next to Nickels. “What happened to you? You get strip searched again or something?”

“Don’t start!” Smiles snapped. He was breathing heavily. The white sand. The red sky. The eyes staring down at him from huge globular chunks of flesh. Lee Harlan’s hysterical expression. And the pyramid, the enormous black pyramid.

Something bad was happening, something he did not have the capacity to fully understand. He had always believed that the squints in their labs were researching...normal stuff, normal science stuff. What Lady had made him see in the Void changed all of that. What could R&D hope to learn from a place like that? What possible reason could they have for wanting to know about it, or more unfathomable, what possible reason could make someone want to go there?

It sounded like blood magic to him. Those red eyed cunts worshipped something that they said lived in the Rift. Well, maybe it did, but Smiles had a pretty good feeling that Something had once lived curled inside of that buzzing black pyramid.

Unthinkable. It was all unthinkable.

Now he was sure that he had known Lee Harlan from his life before. But how? He had come into the Program at 18 years old.

He was starting to dissociate again, as the initial shock left him. Smiles rubbed his face and tried to focus on his breath. He had to stay present.

“Nick,” he said, at length.

His chubby teammate blinked at him. In the time that he had left, she had changed into clean clothes. “Yeah?”

“What else did you tune into on your shift this morning? Did you hear anything else, anything that wasn’t the guy’s thoughts?”

Nickels’s mouth tightened. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Did you hear anything else? Shit like humming?”

“Quit bothering her,” said Pete. “And you were supposed to find Johnny, but I don’t see him here.”

Smiles glared at her with such force that she shut up. Again, he mopped the sweat from his face. “Just had a run in with Lady. I heard that shit too. In the Void. I heard it. Did you-- did you hear anything in it? Anything like words?”

The circles under Nickels’s eyes were very dark. Their gazes locked and Smiles could see in her a sort of recognition. The knowledge that the two of them shared was vast and nightmarish. He wished that he could take it away from her in the same way that he wished he could take it away from himself. “There were words. It’s a broadcast. It’s broadcasting to something out here, something that can hear things we can’t.”

“What’s that broadcast, Nicky?” He did not want to know. But he had to. Something in him compelled him, not curiosity, but the unfiltered and raw desire to understand what could not be understood.

In a quiet voice, the quietest that she was capable of, little more than a whisper, Nickels said, “Directions. Directions through the stars. A way back home.” She paused one last time. “A way-- a way back here, too.”

Smiles thought of those wriggling things in the blood red sky of the Void.

And for the first time that day, he had a true understanding of what responsibility meant.

[bordapanic]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love (2/?)

Words: 1,600~ || CW: None yet || During his third year of college, Ford meets someone called Bill. Things progress dangerously and quickly after that. (Billford fic) || CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3

Note: All The Chemical Talk Is Far From Factual And Was Excessively Made Up.

Ford would be lying if he had said he hadn’t gotten nervous when his professor arranged for another psych ward visit. Frankly, the class was... he didn’t want to quite say boring, but compared to his other classes it wasn’t as interesting to him. His curiosity sparked up whenever the more neurological mechanisms came up in lecture, but so far that had rarely happened.

That being said, the last ward visit had been the most interesting thing to happen in this class. However, thinking that he may potentially see Bill again had him nervous. It’d be rude to pretend not to notice him, but at the same time he was nervous what another conversation with him would yield. Or rather how he was even suppose to act, really.

It wasn’t as though he was a classmate, after all. Or even just someone he saw regularly on the bus. Whatever the social etiquette for this entailed, Ford didn’t know what it was and he was far from asking anyone about it. Just trying to explain the ‘situation’ itself, if he could even really call it that, felt ridiculous with how he had spent virtually less than a few minutes talking to Bill.

It’d perhaps be easier, if he knew he indefinitely wasn’t going to be at the ward again. Considering how early it was into the semester though, he seriously doubted that.

As it stood, he couldn’t find it in himself to walk by and pretend to completely miss the man. If he did, he’d have to do that for all future trips, and he didn’t think he could even manage it once if he was being honest with himself. Additionally, Bill had told him to come back around, so it almost felt rude to purposefully avoid him. 

Which, in retrospect, the casual request was a bit odd. Really everything about the man had been a bit odd, though that probably shouldn’t be surprising considering where he was at.

Ford couldn’t help getting increasingly antsy once they’d gone into the hallway. The professor encouraged them to glance through the different case files that had been set beside the doors now.

He stayed in the middle of the hall for a few spare seconds before taking a breath and heading towards Bill’s cells. His anxieties were quickly dropped though as he noticed Bill in a straitjacket and several injuries on his face, the injuries looking worse the closer he got. There were a few cuts, but the worst offender was the bruised and swelling skin near his eye. “Are- Are you okay?”

Bill was sitting down on the floor beside the wall, close enough to the glass that it wasn’t too far away to properly talk. He gave him a lopsided grin as he noticed him. “Depends on which definition, you want to take there, huh.” He replied cheerfully.

Ford didn’t quite understand but reworded the question regardless, gesturing to his face. “I mean... I mean, did something happen?”

“Ha! ‘Did something happen?’ Let’s just say the service here is absolutely dreadful. Plus, the living arrangements don’t quite come up to standards for ‘human living.’” Bill said casually.

Ford admittedly hadn’t paid much attention to this place. He glanced past Bill into his room. It... certainly didn’t look pleasant. It took him a moment to fully realize the implication of what Bill was saying though. He looked back to Bill, again taking in the rough injuries on his face. “The guards...?”

“Yup. I’m not giving this place a five star review anytime soon.” Bill said, confirming his suspicions. Then as though it was a perfectly natural time to segway from the topic, he simply said. “Engineering.”

He understood the abrupt subject change, though it didn’t make it any more unexpected. He pushed down questions that he hadn’t even had a chance to voice. When had they attacked him? What prompted it? Was the straitjacket part of that or entirely unrelated? “Yes. Mechanical Engineering.”

His eyes lit up at that, and he whistled. “I knew you were just too smart to not be in engineering. I was more into chemicals myself.”

“You’re familiar with Chemistry?” He didn’t have any real reason to be surprised, he supposed, but he still was.

“Oh! That’s putting it lightly, pal. I bonded together several different polymers for my own use. Get the right components together and you can make yourself a pretty little gas that melts anything.”

“How?” He had heard of some chemicals that could melt metal down, but not necessarily anything in a gaseous form.

“Well you need iodine. Put it with the right stuff and it has this neat habit of getting in between the cells and corroding it right away! Don’t want to breath that stuff in, believe me.” He explained.

“It is a caustic agent.” He barked out half a laugh, less out of any actual humor and more out of the grim imagery catching him off guard. Iodine on its own was already bad enough.

Bill hummed. “Another major of yours, huh?”

“Ha... Is that another guess?” 

“Are they really guesses if I already know.” Bill answered with a smile.

Ford half smiles at that. “I really didn’t say much.”

"You had this look on your face though. You had an idea what I was talking about, thinking through something even.” He shifted his back against the wall. “What were you trying to figure out?”

“The oxide blend that would bond with the iodine without making it lose its properties.”  Ford answered honestly.

“An oxide, huh?” He said smugly.

It wasn’t an oxide...? “That’d be the best combination for covalent bonding though.”

“I never said this didn’t take some extra measures to make.” Bill said. “Try thinking along the lines of something less dense-”

“A nitrous blend.” He realized.

Bill blinked, really watching him now.

Ford barely noticed though, continuing almost to himself. “It allows for the iodine cells to separate enough to affect foreign cells while still maintaining the compound.” He reasoned, gaze drifting off as he thought. “It’d take a powerful depressurizer, but it could work.” A short laugh from Bill managed to get him to look back at him again.

“That’s right.” His eyes sparked brightly, sitting up from the wall. “Pick the wrong blend though and it’ll combust entirely! Good luck with trial and error here.”

“That’s amazing.” The precision it’d take to create the blend had to be flawless.

“You should see it when it’s working.” Bill said, looking off into the hallway. “Now that’s when everyone can see how amazing it is!” He seemed to get distracted, his eye catching on the various students in the hallway for a short while. 

“You know,” he started, looking back at Ford again, not bothering to reign his smile back. “You’re a real genius in the making, aren’t you?” The way Bill said it though it was no question. “Something special.”

A feeling bubbled up high in Ford’s chest and he laughed lightly. He couldn’t bring himself to deny the claim, even if it was a bit generous for knowing a little Chemistry. He had said ‘in the making’ though, and that could easily turn out to be true. “I suppose that depends on how I do in the future.”

Bill cocked his head. “Oh, it’s pretty obvious how you’re going to do in the future. You’re already surpassing all your peers.” He said, tilting his head to indicate the other students. “Three majors is already up there, and you’re already going past even that, smart guy.”

“Thank you...” A smile stretched across his face. Subpar university or not... well reasonably, his success in pursuing his majors thus far still must have meant something, right?

Bill slowly smiled, which was a tad confusing, though Ford didn’t have long to really think on it. “You know,” he started, “I bet you could even figure out the iodine compound.”

“I-” Well, on the surface it didn’t seem terribly difficult, but there had to be more to it though, of course. His mind already started on some possibilities before he thought of something. “Wait. Wait, you don’t mean actually making it, do you?”

“Oh, I’m sure you could do that too, but I just meant figuring out what goes in it exactly!” He continued. “It’s my own little concoction, nothing you could just pick out of a textbook. Actual problem solving, you know. You get three chances and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

He was about to ask how many chemicals were involved, but then the professor started distantly calling for the class to regroup. Ford frowned, seeing other students starting to making their way back up the hall. He glanced back to Bill though to at least ask him one thing. “ What about hints?”

“Do you need any?” Bill asked him right back, an outright challenge.

Ford paused for half a second, then purposefully turned to rejoin his class in a silent answer to the question. 

No, he didn’t. He already knew the compound was composed of iodine and a nitrous blend. The rest he could figure out.

Regardless of getting to the ground before even most of the other students, his professor still gave him an odd look. “Were you just talking to a patient?”

“Uh, well- yes.” His mind had already been half buried with possible additional chemicals for the compound. “Didn’t we stop in this room to learn about the patients though?” He frankly hadn’t been paying very much attention due to his prior worry, but that had to be the point in this.

“Yes, but-” The professor took a breath, glancing beyond him for a brief moment. He sighed. “I meant to just look at their files, it has plenty of information in it. Just- You just need to be careful doing something like that here. They’re here for a reason. Please, make sure to exercise a little caution.”

“Of course, I will.” He promised. “I already am, Professor.” It’s not like he was unlocking the glass door or anything, after all. 

Nothing could be farther from dangerous than just simple conversation.

[alleabelle]

War Doctor

Quotes from War Doctor: Surgery on the Front Line by David Nott

It stems partly from the desire to use my knowledge as a surgeon to help people who are experiencing the worst that humanity can throw at them, and partly from the thrill of just being in those terrible places, of living in a liminal zone where most people have neither been nor want to go.

And wars most affect those who are worst equipped to deal with them. 

The dictionary definition of the word “vocation” talks of a “special urge” or of a “calling”—but there are many reasons why people choose to become doctors, and most of them have little to do with altruism. [...] The idea of altruism being in pure opposition to selfishness is nonsense. [...] The paradox of extreme altruism - that it is simultaneously selfish - finds a parallel in the fact that most surgeons take up surgery because they find it exciting.

p. 7: It is a common mistake not to assume the worst.

p.15: I rationalize it by thinking, Well, maybe that Taliban guy or this ISIS fighter will find out his life was saved by a Western, Christian doctor, and that might make him change his outlook. Some people may consider this naive, but that’s how it is.

p. 28: Surgery in the 1980s was a trial of sleep deprivation, of how much you could take before you broke.

p. 44-45: The anesthesiologist and I discussed the option of surgery. We had a choice—operate and try to save his life, or not operate and watch him die. There were no other patients—it was about three in the morning—but we had very limited resources and it was freezing. We looked at the patient and nodded at each other, then took him into the operating room to do what was necessary to stop the bleeding. Once he was under anesthesia and being infused with the only pint of blood we had, I opened his abdomen.

p. 52: I did not know them or their past lives, bu they were very vulnerable and it is the vulnerability of human life that - when it is stripped down to its basics - makes us all the same.

p. 70-71: Usually in this situation the correct surgical procedure is to pack the abdomen as quickly as possible to try to staunch the hemorrhage. I had no time to do this—I had to turn off the faucet as rapidly as possible. I had two options: either open up the chest and put a clamp on the distal thoracic aorta, or delve down as rapidly as I could to feel the aorta with my fingers just below the diaphragm and press it against the lower thoracic vertebra, like pinching the end of a hose. Once I’d got into the abdomen, I chose the latter technique. I called out to my assistant, Squadron Leader David O’Reilly, to pack the abdomen while I squeezed the aorta.

p. 71: Einstein’s theory of relativity can be applied to all sorts of things, including the transference of kinetic energy from a bullet to someone’s body. Einstein’s insight was to show that kinetic energy is equal to half the mass times the velocity squared—the heavier the bullet, the more energy is transferred into the organ that it hits. If the velocity of the bullet is doubled, then the energy released is quadrupled. And when a high-energy bullet from, say, a sniper’s rifle hits a target, then the bullet tends to tumble inside the body. It tumbles because its center of gravity is well behind the point, and as it slows down it becomes unstable. This tumbling effect dissipates huge amounts of energy, so if it hits an organ of high resistance such as the liver, which is enclosed in a layer of connective tissue called Glisson’s capsule, then it can literally blow the liver apart. This is what had happened to our patient.

p. 84: To get the best out of the team around you, you need to radiate serenity. The whole team responds to the lead taken by the operating surgeon. Being aggressive does not help. You are one member of a team who are all working together to achieve the same goal. The person holding the needle is just one small part of the bigger picture.

p. 106: Then the nurse who was with me put his hand into the uterus as well, and lo and behold, the head of the baby popped free. The nurse smiled at me behind his mask and said, “Vide,” which in French means vacuum. He had ingeniously slipped his fingers behind the baby’s head, allowing some air to get between the head and the pelvis and break the seal. It’s a trick I will never forget.

p. 124: One of the rules in resuscitation is that if a patient is conscious and can speak, then he has enough arterial pressure to supply the brain, even though he may have a low blood pressure from hemorrhage.

p. 127: This was the future, I believed—not just parachuting into a war zone, saving the odd life, and then going home; it was about providing a legacy, leaving my temporary colleagues better equipped to deal with an ongoing situation that they themselves could not walk away from.

p. 147: If you can feel a radial pulse, then the pressure is around 90 mmHg systolic. This is sufficient to ensure that all the major organs such as the brain, heart, liver, and kidneys will be well supplied with blood. Even if the patient is significantly injured, if he is in this category then he is P2. The P1 injured are those with obvious difficulty in breathing and who do not have a radial pulse pressure. These are the patients who need urgent care and attention, although everyone requires constant review as those who are P2 may suddenly become P1.

p. 179: It’s just a terrible pity that sometimes the learning has to come from such dreadful mistakes, mistakes that are tattooed onto our psyche.

p. 181: We were able to remove his drains and send him home on day six. Incredibly, a boy with a 100 percent mortality risk a week earlier became the only person in Aleppo to have had a trauma Whipple operation, and we could claim a 100 percent success record for one of the most complex surgical procedures in the book.

p. 189: In London, there were any number of people who could carry out the operations I was doing, and do them just as well if not better. In the UK I might save one person’s life a month, whereas in Syria it had been ten a day. What the hell was I doing here?

p. 205: It wasn’t a logical decision, it was based purely on emotion—compassion for her and anger at the forces of war ranged against her. I was so sick of seeing badly injured children that I could not bear to see another one and stand idly by. Staying with her was a pointless act of defiance against the warmongers, but it would have been impossible to do otherwise. The nature of the risks I was taking had grown without my really noticing. I was prepared to die, and I would rather have died than lived with myself knowing I’d left her alone.

p. 210: I had felt adrift, swimming alone far out at sea, in increasingly dangerous waters, and it was as if someone had thrown me a lifeline.

p. 240: Through much of my life I had felt alone. It was completely irrational that the person who showed me so much love, showed me the way to live a different kind of life, should be the person I was most angry with. I had never felt such love for anyone before, yet I seemed to want to push her away.

p. 251: I have always had a tendency to focus on specific tasks and pursue them relentlessly, sometimes flying in the face of all logic or common sense.

p. 275: Love, like surgery, isn’t always tidy, and it isn’t always easy.

p. 277: Early on it became clear that David’s humanitarian work is an intrinsic part of who he is. Although I found this hard at first, having worried so desperately when he was working in Syria, I fully support him in what he does—to do otherwise would not only deny David his passion but also deprive the world of his skills, which are so desperately needed.

p. 278: Surgery hasn’t had the profile of other health issues such as communicable or preventable diseases. Yet surgically treatable conditions kill 17 million people each year; more than tuberculosis, malaria, and HIV/AIDS combined, according to a study in The Lancet. We therefore seek to promote the skillful and safe practice of surgery in low-resource or war-torn settings as well as advocate for the rights of the medical victims of conflict and the doctors who strive to care for them.

[claraxbarton]

Cocktail Friday!

Some quick 6x3 goodness (well I hope it's good lol). Yes, this is also me whining about too many late nights at the theatre.

--

Trowa was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he was cold. And he felt so done.

It wasn't even tech week yet - in fact, they still had to get through the entire weekend and THEN start tech week.

But this show had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions from the first production meeting and, with each passing week, had only picked up momentum.

It was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

That had become the mantra of the entire production staff, as each day seemed to bring more bizarre requests, more realizations that the director was ABSOLUTELY insane and had no grasp of reality and, it was becoming increasingly obvious, no real understanding of the play he was directing.

It wasn't even a complicated show. Well, it shouldn't have been a complicated show. Anything Goes - just a tap show on a giant boat. The plot was simple, the music was classic. The set...

The set was a bit of a challenge, because the show transitioned from one ship cabin to another to another and there were scenes on the main deck and scenes in the brig and -

So the scenery was complicated.

And Trowa had entered the project with the kind of regrettable enthusiasm that meant he had designed a four storey set with build in revolves and periaktoi and -

And he was tired. He was fairly certain he had pulled a muscle in his back.

And the weather had changed, his train had been late, and he had had yet another not quite argument with the lighting designer before leaving the theatre that night.

Now that he was home, standing in the hall outside of his apartment and fumbling in his pocket for the keys, Trowa tried to decide what was more important.

Going to bed straight away, taking a shower so hot he maybe - hopefully - boiled himself to death, or getting drunk.

He would regret getting drunk, in the morning, when he had to crawl out of bed in the frigid November morning and go back to the theatre with a hangover and try to not vomit while he painted four stories of steel. Because he was an IDIOT. Four stories weren't even NECESSARY.

But tonight... tonight he could drink and forget about what an idiot he was and what an asshole the lighting designer was and what a maniac the director was and -

He opened the door and sighed.

It was warm inside the apartment. Practically toasty.

When he had left that morning, he had cranked the thermostat down to sixty-five, and he had been dreading coming home to the cold apartment and shivering while he waited for it to heat back up to seventy.

The apartment definitely wasn't sixty-five. It wasn't even seventy.

It felt very suspiciously warmer.

Which meant -

"I was starting to worry you had moved out."

Zechs was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back into a loose tail, socked feet looking disconcertingly casual, washing dishes.

The dishes that Trowa had allowed to pile up over the last three days, because leaving at 8am and getting home at midnight had left him with no energy to even keep up with his coffee mugs.

"You're back early."

It was an entirely unnecessary thing to say, and Zechs smirked at him.

"So it seems."

"Is that... a good thing or a bad thing?"

Trowa didn't pretend to know anything about the world of high-end finance that Zechs worked in.

"A good thing. A VERY good thing," Zechs smirked again and shut off the water.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter as he dried his hands and his gaze swept over Trowa.

"You're a mess," he said, smirk softening into a tender expression.

When they had first met, Trowa had thought Zechs was an arrogant, self-centered, vain asshole. And while his first impression was completely accurate, Zechs had surprised him by having another side. He had been the first to suggest their one-night stand turned five month late night dates and incredible sex become something more permanent. Had been the first to say anything about love. Had been the one to ask Trowa to move in. Had been the one to propose two months ago, anxious and unsure for the first time in the three years Trowa had known him.

"I know," Trowa sighed and started to take off his jacket. "This show -" he shook his head and stopped himself.

Zechs had heard all about it, through Trowa's texts and their late night phone calls. Zechs had been in Munich all week, had been scheduled to be there until Tuesday, the day before the first preview of Anything Goes. Trowa had been both relieved and disappointed. He knew he was awful to be around during tech weeks, when he lost track of time and, according to Zechs, forgot how to interact with human beings. Zechs being out of town meant that Trowa didn't do or say something that would upset them both. It also meant that he came home to a cold, empty apartment and even colder, emptier bed.

Zechs set down the towel and crossed to Trowa. He used one long, elegant finger to tip Trowa's chin up and then leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his lips.

"I missed you," Zechs said.

Trowa sighed again and leaned forward, resting his head against Zechs's chest and letting the taller man hold him.

It had taken a very long time for him to feel comfortable in this position, to trust someone else to care enough, to trust HIMSELF enough to want someone else to care.

Zechs threaded his fingers through Trowa's hair and Trowa winced. He hadn't showered in two days, and he could feel Zechs's fingers tangle in the paint spatters that clung to his hair.

Zechs just chuckled and pressed another kiss to Trowa's forehead.

"Go change. I'll make you a hot toddy."

"You don't mind?"

Zechs had to be exhausted, had to be jet lagged and he had always placed a high value on sleep and -

"No. I don't mind. Go." He gave Trowa a gentle nudge.

Trowa rolled his eyes, but he followed the command.

He went into their bedroom and shucked out of his paint stained clothes, grimacing as he had to pull his t-shirt away from his skin, at the tug of the dried paint sticking to his flesh.

He tossed the clothes aside and pulled on sweatpants and Zechs's Columbia t-shirt, a shirt that Trowa had stolen very early on in their relationship. Zechs hadn't said a word about the theft, but every time Trowa wore it around him, Zechs smirked and got very handsy.

When he went back into the living room, Zechs was setting a tray down on the coffee table. It held two copper mugs, a steaming kettle of water, slices of lemon and the decanter of expensive whiskey that they only pulled out for special occassions and visits from Zechs's father.

Trowa sat down on the couch and accepted the copper mug that Zechs handed him. He added the whiskey himself, adding far more than he needed to, but when he took the first sip he sighed in contentment.

Zechs sat down on the couch beside him, draping one arm on the back of the couch, and Trowa leaned into him.

"I missed you too," he admitted.

"I know," Zechs smirked and kissed him again.

-o-

The end