#ive never accidentally straightened my hair

[lmao-ooooooo]

wwx with lovely curly hair but accidently straightened it with a talisman that was supposed to make managing his curls easier bc yunmeng humidity was the worst but it just made it pin straight

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part III)

Plot Overview:

Y/N is caught between her father’s crumbling empire and Chan’s rebellion. As she help Chan track down missing operatives, their bond grows, leading to a deadly confrontation that forces Y/N to question her loyalty. Chan offers a chance to dismantle her father’s empire, and though torn, Y/N chooses to join him, starting a dangerous journey to reshape their future.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, Mafia!AU, mature themes, emotional distress, angst, violence, dangerous situations, strong language, mental health struggles, (the smut will be in the next chapter🤭)

PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V, PART VI

Author note:

Well, well, well, look at us—third chapter in, and I’m still alive to tell the tale! 😂 This chapter? Yeah, it’s a beast. I’ve never written anything this long or complex, and honestly, I’m half-wondering if I’ve accidentally started writing an entire novel instead of just a chapter. But here we are, diving into some serious emotional roller coasters, plot twists, and the kind of chaos that makes me question my sanity.

I really hope you all enjoy this wild ride as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it (even if it has given me a few grey hairs along the way). Your support means the world to me! So buckle up, we’re just getting started. And, as always, drop me a comment if you’re loving or hating something—I’m here for all of it. Let’s keep this adventure going! ✨ Also, just a little heads up… the next chapter is going to get a little smuttier 😉.

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The first rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, the muted warmth doing little to soften the chill that lingered in the room. You stretched, pushing off the weight of sleep with a growing restlessness. The space was luxurious but sterile, the kind of calculated opulence that screamed control rather than comfort.

When the door creaked open, breakfast was placed on a table near the window, and the figure delivering it slipped out as quickly as they’d come. You ignored it, slipping through the door before it could click shut. You weren’t going to spend the morning caged.

The hallways were quiet, the air filled with a faint hum of electricity. The mansion was sprawling but not ostentatious, its corridors lined with muted artwork and design choices that reeked of deliberation. It wasn’t your father’s world of obvious power and intimidation. It was colder. Subtler.

You found yourself wandering into a study. Unlike the other rooms, this one felt alive. A faint coffee scent lingered, mixing with the tang of paper and leather. A massive map dominated one wall, scattered with colored pins and strings. You moved closer, scanning the markings.

It didn’t take long to piece together what you were looking at. It was a blueprint of Victor’s empire—supply chains, strongholds, key distribution hubs. The red pins marked locations already compromised, while others, still green, pulsed with potential. A web of alliances and pressure points sprawled before you like an open wound.

You leaned forward, your eyes narrowing as they landed on a cluster of yellow-marked routes near the northern sector. The shipping lines there were irregular, crisscrossing in ways that screamed inefficiency. You could see where Chan’s strategy was stuck—his carefully laid plans bottlenecked by gaps he hadn’t yet closed.

Your fingers brushed across the documents scattered on the desk—financials, coded logs, surveillance notes. Victor’s empire wasn’t just cracking; it was being dismantled piece by piece.

“You’re full of surprises.”

The sound of Chan’s voice cut through the stillness, low and smooth. You straightened but didn’t turn. “And you’re full of shadows. How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to wonder if I should be worried.” His tone carried its usual casual confidence, but his eyes flicked toward the papers you’d been studying. “Finding everything to your liking?”

You turned, leaning back against the desk with deliberate nonchalance. “Interesting work. Though I can’t tell if the overcomplication is intentional or just your style.”

Chan stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sharp as it swept over you and the map. “Overcomplication?”

You tilted your head toward the yellow routes. “You’re clogging your own lanes. The northern supply chain is built for redundancy, but instead of reinforcing efficiency, you’re creating a choke point. It’s obvious Victor did it to keep people guessing, but now you’re tripping over it.”

Chan’s eyes flicked to the map, and for the first time, he hesitated. “Interesting observation.”

“Observation? No. Solution,” you corrected, stepping toward the map. “You’re trying to seize control of both eastern and northern routes simultaneously. That’s why it’s falling apart. Drop the secondary lines from the north—they’re dead weight. Consolidate the flow into two hubs instead of four, and you’ll cut transit time by half.”

He stared at the map, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

His gaze returned to you, sharper now, as if trying to read the thoughts you hadn’t spoken aloud. “Why are you helping me?”

You held his stare, refusing to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

His smirk grew, slow and deliberate. “That’s not an answer.”

“No,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “It’s not.”

The room seemed to shrink under the tension, the air thick with unspoken questions. Finally, Chan broke the silence. “You know, if you keep showing off, I might start thinking you want a seat at the table.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his smirk with a wry one of your own. “Maybe I just like proving you wrong. You’re not as untouchable as you think, Chan. Your plans aren’t perfect.”

“And yet,” he countered, “here you are, improving them.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the map. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you could keep up.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “And?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your smirk sharp as a blade. “Jury’s still out.”

Chan stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his presence but not enough to invade your space. “You’re still dodging my question, Y/N. Why help me? Are you so confident Victor can withstand it?”

Your jaw tightened at the mention of your father. “Maybe I’m not as confident in Victor as you think.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, though he quickly masked it. “Careful. That almost sounded like an admission.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you shot back, your tone lighter but no less firm. “I haven’t picked a side. Yet.”

The faintest flicker of something crossed his face—respect, intrigue, or perhaps a mix of both. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “But when you do, make sure it’s the right one.”

You laughed, the sound short and humorless. “And which side is that? Yours?”

“I’m not the one clinging to a crumbling empire,” he said smoothly. “I’m building something new. Something better.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was unshakable confidence. It annoyed you as much as it intrigued you.

“Better is subjective,” you said finally.

“Then help me define it.” His voice dropped, soft but unyielding. “You’re smart enough to know the cracks in Victor’s empire can’t be patched. The question is, what do you want to see rise from the ashes?”

For the first time, you didn’t have an immediate answer.

Chan’s smirk returned, lighter now but no less self-assured. “Think about it,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll see if your suggestion works. But if it doesn’t…”

“It will,” you interrupted.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back with a grin that was equal parts challenging and amused. “We’ll see.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with the map, the documents, and the weight of his words.

What do you want to see rise from the ashes?

The question lingered, unsettling and persistent.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure of the answer.

The days since the confrontation with Chan had been strange, to say the least. The mansion’s rhythm ebbed and flowed with calculated precision, as though every movement, every conversation, had been planned days in advance.

You spent your time exploring its sprawling halls, learning its rhythms, and testing your boundaries. The guards rarely spoke to you beyond clipped warnings when you wandered too close to restricted areas. You couldn’t tell if they were following Chan’s orders or acting out of their own wariness.

Chan, however, was different. He appeared only when he wanted to, catching you off guard with sly remarks and a confidence that made it clear he was always one step ahead. His teasing came with a sharp edge, but there was no denying the undercurrent of mutual curiosity between you.

You didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust you. Yet, in those fleeting conversations, there was a spark—an understanding that neither of you were playing at full strength yet.

Then, one morning, the mansion’s calm shattered.

You’d been in the study, feigning interest in a book, when the sound of hurried footsteps caught your ear. The low hum of conversation from the hall was sharper today, clipped and urgent.

Moments later, Chan strode into the room, his usual composure marred by a tightness in his jaw. He moved with purpose, his focus so sharp that he didn’t acknowledge your presence.

“You’re upset,” you noted, setting the book aside.

He ignored you, striding to his desk and pulling up a screen.

Before you could push further, another figure entered the room: Changbin. His pace matched Chan’s intensity, his voice low and urgent as he spoke.

“Victor’s people hit the northern base,” Changbin reported. “They’ve taken out the comms tower. Felix and Hyunjin went dark an hour ago.”

Chan froze for a split second before his mask of control slid back into place. “Casualties?”

“None confirmed yet,” Changbin said. “But it’s not looking good. We have partial intel—they’ve shut down our local network, and the safe houses are at risk. If they’ve got Felix or Hyunjin…”

Chan exhaled through his nose, his focus razor-sharp. “Start evacuation protocols for the northern sector. Clear out the Graham location and put everyone in safe houses on standby. If they’ve been compromised, I want them out of there before Victor’s people can move.”

Your ears perked at the name, a chill running through you. “Wait—Graham and Sons?” you interrupted, stepping forward.

Both men turned to you, Chan’s eyes narrowing. “What about it?”

You frowned, your mind racing. “That’s not just a random location. It’s one of Victor’s decoy transport hubs. If you’ve got people stationed there, they’re already compromised.”

Changbin looked to Chan, his expression unreadable but tinged with suspicion. “You trust her?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you, his gaze intense. “How do you know that?”

“Because I grew up in this,” you shot back, folding your arms. “You think I don’t know the names he hides behind? Graham and Sons isn’t just a front. It’s bait. Victor uses it to lure out threats to his network—and he won’t hesitate to cut down anyone who gets too close.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Changbin crossed his arms. “And we’re just supposed to take her word for it?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Fine, don’t listen to me. But if you wait too long, Felix and Hyunjin won’t be unaccounted for—they’ll be dead.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned to Changbin. “Pull everyone from Graham and cross-check her intel with what we’ve got. Double it with our sources on the ground. If it matches, we move.”

Changbin hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but nodded. “On it.”

He left the room, and Chan turned back to you. His gaze was sharp, calculating. “Why help me?”

You didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “Maybe I don’t want to see Felix and Hyunjin killed. Or maybe I’d rather not see my father win.”

Chan smirked faintly, though his eyes were still hard. “Still haven’t picked a side, have you?”

“Would you prefer I did?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you said, your voice dry.

He leaned back against the desk, his posture deceptively casual. “If your information is right, you’ll have saved lives today. If it’s not…”

"You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’ve got more cards to play,” he replied smoothly. “And I don’t trust people who keep their hands hidden.”

You stepped closer, your voice calm but firm. “Then maybe you should play smarter.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on yours. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I aim to keep things interesting,” you replied, your tone light but with an undercurrent of steel.

Chan pushed off the desk, brushing past you toward the door. “Keep proving yourself useful, and maybe I’ll start believing you’re not working an angle.”

You watched him go, the tension in the room thick and charged. Somewhere out there, Felix and Hyunjin were waiting—caught in the web of a game far larger than either of them could control.

And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, you hoped you’d been right.

Later that evening the tension in the mansion was palpable, an undercurrent of urgency threading through every hallway. Chan had been holed up in his office since the crisis broke, and though you were technically “off-limits” to the ongoing operation, you’d found a way to keep yourself within earshot of every critical update.

The news wasn’t promising. Felix and Hyunjin were still unaccounted for, and the evacuation of Graham and Sons had only confirmed what you’d already suspected: your father���s people had the upper hand.

When Chan’s voice called your name from the hall, you half-expected him to demand that you stay out of his way. Instead, his tone was calm, measured. Too calm.

You pushed the door open to find him standing at his desk, surrounded by screens displaying live feeds, maps, and rows of encrypted data. Changbin hovered nearby, arms crossed, tension radiating off him in waves.

Chan gestured to you without preamble. “You’ve been watching long enough. Sit.”

You raised a brow, keeping your voice steady. “I didn’t realize you were taking suggestions.”

“I’m not,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you. “I’m testing you. You know your father’s network better than anyone in this room. Prove it.”

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. Taking the chair across from Chan, you crossed your legs and leaned back, affecting a confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt.

“Where’s the hole?” you asked, nodding toward the map on the central monitor.

Chan exchanged a brief glance with Changbin before turning the screen toward you. “Here,” he said, pointing to a blinking red marker. “Safe house near Monroe. Felix and Hyunjin were scheduled to meet there, but they never checked in. No comms, no movement.”

You studied the map, your mind working quickly. Your father’s security protocols weren’t just strict—they were obsessive. If his people had cut communication lines, it wasn’t just to block intel. They were setting a trap.

“They’ll have a fallback,” you said. “Felix and Hyunjin. If they know the area’s compromised, they’ll move to the secondary site.”

“We don’t have a secondary site near Monroe,” Changbin said flatly.

“Not yours. Victor’s,” you clarified.

Chan’s brow furrowed, interest flickering in his eyes. “Explain.”

You leaned forward, pointing at the map. “Victor doesn’t trust his own men, let alone outsiders. Every base, every safe house—he sets up redundancies, but not for the reasons you think. It’s not to protect his people. It’s to catch them if they run.”

“And you think Felix and Hyunjin would know about this?” Chan asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

“They wouldn’t have to,” you said. “Victor’s patterns are predictable once you know them. He keeps fallback locations close but hidden, somewhere his own men wouldn’t think to look unless they were desperate.”

Changbin’s frown deepened. “That’s a lot of guesswork.”

You shot him a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

Chan held up a hand, silencing the argument before it could escalate. His gaze stayed on you, sharp and probing. “What kind of fallback location are we talking about?”

You tapped your fingers on the edge of the desk, recalling the layouts you’d studied for years. “Something off-grid. An abandoned structure, maybe a warehouse. He’d want it close enough to monitor, but isolated enough that no one would stumble on it by accident.”

Chan nodded slowly, his mind already working through possibilities. “Changbin, pull up the satellite maps for the area. Focus on industrial zones or decommissioned sites within a five-mile radius of the Monroe house.”

As Changbin worked, Chan turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “Why help them?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You could have given him a dozen answers—some practical, some calculated—but the truth was simpler.

“Because I can,” you said quietly. “And because I don’t know yet what side I’m on.”

He studied you for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Suspicion? Respect? Maybe both.

Changbin’s voice broke the silence. “Got something. Old manufacturing plant, shut down five years ago. It’s less than three miles from the safe house, just outside the patrol radius.”

Chan nodded sharply, already moving toward the door. “Prep the team. We’ll leave in five.”

To your surprise, he turned back to you, his gaze steady. “You’re coming.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know Victor’s traps better than anyone. If this is one of them, I want you there.”

“And if I’m wrong?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Chan smirked, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken. “Then I guess we’ll both find out.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Going with him meant stepping further into his world, further away from your father’s. It meant testing your loyalties in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But it also meant a chance to prove you weren’t just a pawn in someone else’s game.

“Fine,” you said, rising to your feet. “But if this goes south, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chan’s smirk widened, and for the first time, you saw something close to genuine amusement in his eyes. “Noted.”

As the team prepared to move, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this decision—was another crack in the foundation you’d spent your entire life standing on.

And you weren’t sure whether you were ready to see it fall.

The night had been long and tense. The team, guided by the plan you had proposed, moved quickly through the industrial zone. The dilapidated manufacturing plant you’d pinpointed turned out to be the fallback location Felix and Hyunjin had made for themselves. The security measures were minimal—just enough to keep outsiders at bay, but not enough to fool someone familiar with Victor’s tactics.

It was exactly as you’d predicted. Felix and Hyunjin had been trapped, but they hadn’t been caught. They’d already set up an escape route of their own, using an old underground access tunnel leading out of the compound.

As the operatives infiltrated the plant, you couldn’t help but feel a small rush of satisfaction. Felix and Hyunjin were safe—finally. The team worked in smooth coordination, securing them without any further casualties. You had been right all along.

“You were right,” Chan muttered as he surveyed the area with his usual stoic expression. It wasn’t much, but you caught the subtle shift in his eyes as he acknowledged your insight.

Felix gave you a tired but grateful smile. “Guess we owe you one.”

“Just don’t get caught next time,” you replied with a smirk, though the satisfaction of the mission’s success warmed something inside you.

But the victory was short-lived.

The atmosphere at the mansion had barely settled before the next wave of danger hit. As the operatives and the team returned, expecting a brief respite, a wave of alarms shattered the uneasy silence.

Chan’s hand flew to his earpiece, his voice hard as he barked orders to the team. “They’ve found us. Victor’s men are here.”

Your heart dropped as you turned to Chan, his eyes narrowing. “Get to the safe room. Now.”

Before you could even respond, the mansion was plunged into chaos. You moved quickly, following Chan and the team as they scrambled to reinforce key exits and prepare for a full-on assault. But even with the heightened security, the feeling of being hunted—of being trapped—was suffocating.

You had no time to think before the first round of gunfire hit, sharp and deafening, echoing through the halls. The mansion wasn’t just under siege; they were inside.

“Stay behind me!” Chan growled as he pulled you into a nearby hallway. You barely had time to register the sheer danger of the moment before you were crouched low, moving quickly as his operatives returned fire.

But then, in the chaos, everything seemed to happen at once. You ducked behind a pillar, narrowly avoiding a burst of gunfire. In the process, you twisted your ankle, collapsing to the ground with a painful grunt. Before you could recover, another round exploded too close to your position, a stray bullet grazing your arm.

You hissed in pain, clutching at your bleeding arm. You couldn’t focus on it; the only thing you could focus on was the sheer force of the attack. You barely heard Chan’s voice over the clamor of the assault.

“Stay down,” he barked, moving toward you with a fierce protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of his usual cold exterior.

But you didn’t have time to argue as he swept you into his arms, pulling you behind the nearest barricade. The calculated focus in his eyes never faltered. He was in command, but there was something else—an urgency to keep you safe that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice tense as he checked your injury. You could feel his hands on you, pulling your arm gently to assess the wound. Despite the high-stakes situation, there was a tenderness in the way he moved, as though he wasn’t just trying to save you from harm—but from something deeper.

His fingers brushed your skin, an almost imperceptible gentleness in the midst of chaos. For a moment, it was just the two of you—the madness of the world outside and the calculated storm of gunfire drowned out by the shared connection.

“This won’t be the last time,” he said, his voice low as he wrapped your arm carefully, making sure the pressure was right. You could feel his fingers, light but deliberate, as he treated the wound. There was no rush, no panic.

For a brief second, you noticed something about him—something that wasn’t calculated or cold. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he cared more than he was willing to show.

“You’re fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his gaze steady, but his expression softened for just a moment. “You’re not dying on me.”

You blinked, the rawness of the moment catching you off guard. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, it was as if the world paused—if only briefly. The sounds of gunfire were a muffled background to the intensity of his focus. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tightened the bandage and stood, pulling you to your feet.

His voice was hard again as he guided you toward the nearest exit. “We don’t have time to talk. Let’s go.”

But even as you moved through the corridors, escaping the immediate danger, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet moment shared between the two of you wasn’t one of simple survival. Something had shifted. Something unspoken.

And in the aftermath of the chaos, with the scent of blood and danger in the air, you realized you’d seen a side of Chan no one else had—one that made you question where your loyalties truly lay.

The hours following the attack passed in a blur. The mansion, once a fortress of impenetrable walls, now felt like a fragile shell that could crack at any moment. Chan and his team had neutralized the threat swiftly, using the knowledge you’d helped provide about Victor’s network and the strategic positions of his men. With a few tactical moves, the assailants were driven back, and though some minor damage had been done, the mansion stood strong. Felix and Hyunjin were safe. The team was intact. The immediate danger was over.

But the weight of the night hung in the air, heavy with the unsaid. The adrenaline that had coursed through your veins in the heat of battle had given way to something quieter, more complex. The echoes of gunfire were gone, but the tension between you and Chan lingered, thick and undeniable.

You were in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of water, trying to clear your mind. The events of the day had left you exhausted—physically, yes, but more so mentally. You had done your part, had proven your worth, but there was no escaping the pull that Chan seemed to have on you, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. The attraction was there, undeniable. But it was dangerous.

You felt his presence before you saw him, the subtle shift in the air when Chan entered the room. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there—his energy filled the space. His sharp eyes on you, the silent weight of his presence, made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

“You should be resting,” he said casually, as though the tension that had laced his commands earlier had never existed. His voice, however, carried a hint of something else—an edge, a challenge.

You didn’t look up as you replied, keeping your voice steady. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he teased, stepping closer, just enough to be in your line of sight. His gaze flickered to your arm, now bandaged and well on the way to healing. “You’re tough. I’ll give you that.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck at his words. The way he was looking at you now—almost amused—felt like a game, but one you weren’t sure you knew the rules to. You took a small sip of water, needing to put some space between you and the emotions threatening to spill over.

Chan didn’t let up, though. “I’m surprised. Thought you’d be more upset about the whole ‘almost being shot’ thing.”

The teasing edge to his tone didn’t make it any easier to ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. You were keenly aware of how close he stood, of the heat radiating from his body despite the cool air. You could feel his presence pressing against you, and your mind refused to focus on anything but him.

“Well, I wasn’t shot,” you retorted, meeting his gaze at last. The challenge in your voice was as much for yourself as it was for him. “So I guess that’s something.”

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes darkening with a glint of mischief. “You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy the danger.”

Your throat went dry, and despite yourself, you laughed—short and sharp. “I don’t enjoy it. But I’m not exactly afraid of it either.”

“You should be,” he said softly, his tone turning serious for a brief moment. He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, there was no room between you—just the quiet hum of tension that surged between you both. You could smell the faint trace of gunpowder on his skin, mixed with the ever-present scent of cologne. The proximity felt dangerous, yet the magnetic pull of him was impossible to ignore.

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it made your body react in ways you couldn’t control. Every inch of you screamed to pull away, to maintain the distance that was keeping everything in check. But something about Chan—about the way he looked at you, about the small glint of vulnerability you saw beneath the hard exterior—made you question everything.

“What’s the point of being afraid?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Fear doesn’t keep anyone safe. It just holds you back.”

Chan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and the air between you thickened, charged with an unspoken understanding. His mouth was dry, and you could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a hunger, a tension that was as magnetic as it was dangerous.

Then, as if aware of how close you’d both come to crossing a line, he leaned back, the space between you widening, though the tension didn’t dissipate.

“Fair enough,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than it had been before. He cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not risky.”

You swallowed hard, looking away, trying to regain some semblance of control. But his presence, his words, had shaken you. And deep down, you knew something had shifted. You couldn’t tell if it was the aftermath of the crisis, the adrenaline, or the way he seemed to see right through you—but the boundary had shifted. The walls you’d carefully built were beginning to crumble.

Chan took a step back, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. “You’re not who you seem to be,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re more than just a pawn in all this.”

You felt a pang of something you didn’t quite recognize, but it wasn’t anger. It was… something else. A quiet understanding. It made your chest tighten, and for the first time, you realized how little control you had over what was happening between the two of you.

And as he turned and walked away, leaving you with the storm of your own thoughts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this—whatever it was—wasn’t over. It hadn’t even begun.

The news kept coming—each report more damning than the last. Your father’s empire was crumbling in real-time. Chan’s plans were progressing faster than anyone had expected. Supply lines were breaking, alliances were splintering, and the internal resistance within Victor’s ranks was growing stronger. It was all coming apart, just like Chan had predicted.

Victor, however, was far from giving up. His fight wasn’t over. He was tightening his grip, bringing in every last resource to hold onto the empire he’d built, despite the cracks beginning to show. You could almost hear his rage echo through the chaotic reports flooding in. He would not go down without a fight.

Chan leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the screen showing a live map of Victor’s remaining strongholds. “We’ve hit a critical point. The network’s destabilized, but he’s not finished yet. He’ll try to regroup. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes back.”

You stood by the window, looking out at the darkening sky. You could feel the weight of your father’s empire bearing down on you, like a dying beast desperate to survive. It was hard to shake the feeling that you were witnessing the end of everything you knew—everything you had once thought was untouchable.

“I thought… I thought this would be easier,” you muttered, your fingers brushing the edge of the window frame.

Chan’s voice was calm but firm as he spoke, his presence cutting through the tension. “It never is. But we’ve only just started, Y/N. The hardest part is coming.”

You turned toward him, meeting his gaze. There was no doubt in his eyes, no hesitation. He was certain—he always had been. But you felt the weight of your own doubts pressing in on you, as if you were standing at the edge of something vast and unknown.

“The hardest part,” you repeated, almost to yourself, “and you still want me to help you finish it?”

Chan stepped closer, his expression softening just a touch. “I’m not asking you to destroy everything you’ve known. I’m asking you to help me end what’s already falling apart. Help me tear down the structures that are keeping Victor in power.”

You took a deep breath. “And then what?”

His eyes darkened slightly, and for the briefest moment, something almost vulnerable flickered across his face. “Then we rebuild. But that’s for later. For now, we focus on making sure he doesn’t have the chance to come back. Once he’s gone, the pieces will be there for the taking.”

You felt a pang in your chest. “And I’m supposed to just… step into that? To take everything my father built and use it for your vision?”

“You’ve seen the cracks in Victor’s empire long before I came along,” Chan said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “You know it can’t survive in its current form. His obsession with control—his refusal to trust anyone—has already weakened it from the inside out. All I’m doing is speeding up the inevitable.”

You hesitated, the reality of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. “And when it’s all over? What happens then?”

Chan’s gaze was steady, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Then you take control. You become the one to rebuild. But only after we’ve brought him down. After we’ve made sure he can never hurt anyone again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea—your idea—of taking control felt like a distant possibility, something you weren’t quite ready to admit. But even now, the pieces were falling into place. You weren’t just helping him destroy your father’s empire. You were preparing for something bigger, something that made your stomach twist in both fear and anticipation.

“You’re asking me to step into my father’s shoes,” you said, the weight of the truth sinking in. “You want me to take everything he built—and do what with it?”

“I’m not asking you to become him,” Chan said, his voice gentle now. “I’m asking you to become someone better. Someone who can rebuild it all into something that actually works.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of your choice. You wanted to resist him, wanted to reject the path he was offering. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d already seen the cracks in your father’s empire—the cracks that were now yawning wide.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can watch it all burn and not feel like I’m betraying everything I’ve ever known.”

Chan’s expression softened just enough to show the faintest trace of understanding. “It won’t be easy. But it’s the only way forward. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

You let out a slow breath, the truth of it settling deep in your chest. The path ahead was unclear, but for the first time, you weren’t just fighting for survival. You were fighting for something more—something bigger. Maybe even something better.

“You’re asking me to betray my father,” you said, the words heavier than they had ever felt.

Chan nodded. “I’m asking you to save what’s left of him—and make sure no one else falls into the same traps he set.”

A deep silence filled the room, the weight of the decision hanging between you. You had made your choice. It wasn’t about loyalty anymore. It was about the future. And for the first time, you could see that future—not just as a shadow of destruction, but as something you could shape.

“I’ll help you,” you said, your voice firm, though a part of you still felt the tremor of doubt. “I’ll help you bring him down.”

Chan’s eyes flashed with something you hadn’t expected: approval. “We’re getting closer, Y/N. This is only the beginning.”

You looked up at him, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension. The future you had once fought so hard to hold on to was slipping away, and with it, everything you had known. But now, you saw something else in its place—a chance to shape something new.

You couldn’t help but wonder if, in the end, you’d be able to rebuild it all with him. But for now, there was no turning back. You were already too far in.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[yesimwriting]

Crossing lines

General Kirigan/the darkling x reader

Summary: This was requested by my friend @vvsdiamond28 who also writes and has a really good kirigan x reader story up right now! The request was basically for a fic in which the reader is out wandering at night and runs into kirigan while he’s in the banya and then they get to talking and some other stuff before he admits to only trusting the reader and giving her his real name. This gets kinda steamy bc of the request and bc the story called for it lol but it’s not full smut bc i decided that it would be better to do that as a part 2 so that i could add some jealousy tension haha

a/n i think im back?? Ive been working on requests a lot and ive really enjoyed writing regularly again. A small side note, after rewatching revenge of the sith im kinda in the mood to try writing an anakin fic 😭 pls he was my OG fictional crush,, so either send help or a request for him or something, Anyways,, back to this fic--ahh i had fun writing it but i still feel awkward writing steamier stuff so be nice!! 

-- 

Those that wander in the night, lost in uneasy thought--there’s probably a lot that can be said about them. But I can’t think of anything to be said about me. Nothing good comes from walking around a place full of powerful and tense people in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t take much effort to interpret my actions as suspicious, and yet I continue forward. I’m an idiot--just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I have to wander around campgrounds. My presence is barely tolerated here, I shouldn’t try backstroking in waters I can barely tread. 

But still, I walk, eyes more fixated on the open night sky than anything else. The moon is as full as an overflowing glass, the stars twinkling as if desperate to compete with a light it will never be able to duplicate. I sigh, pressing my lips together. Maybe the stars and I have more in common than I thought. Normally, that would be a good thing. 

Letting out a weary breath, I continue forward, away from the relative safety of the main tents. I’m still on the grounds, I’m approaching the border where the tents of higher ranking officials are. That should make me more nervous, but if anything it almost eases me slightly. 

General Kirigan is not the type to be friendly, and yet our interactions have always been laced with a touch of intimacy I can’t quite explain. We’ve been alone together more and more frequently, and I think that’s how I like him best. It’s strange, but when we’re alone some of his sharpness dulls, leaving space for something I might consider humor or actual personality on anyone else. He probably speaks to many girls like that when they’re alone together--a fact I have to fight to remind myself of--but it’s the closest thing to friendship I have here. Maybe it’s foolish to hold onto that, but I can’t bring myself to release my grip on those sentiments. At least not yet, when the kind moments are still rare and fleeting and no line has been crossed. 

The danger, however, comes from the prospect of not recognizing lines before they’re crossed. Even now, as I walk aimlessly in the night, pacing in hopes of exhausting my thoughts, I’m crossing lines in a much more literal way and even these are ill defined. I must be in new territory now, and even that I can only vaguely recognize because of the strangely humid scent that surrounds this area of the grounds. 

I’m near the banya. I didn’t intend to wander here, but the thought of splashing water on my face is too tempting to pass up on. I move closer, finding a sense of peace in having some direction, even in a small way. 

When the promise of water is only steps away, I begin to regret everything. There’s a figure in the bath. I freeze, ready to attempt to shrink away in hopes of disappearing before I’m caught. This could easily turn extremely awkward even though I technically haven’t done anything. Most people don’t bathe at this hour. Who bathes this late at night? 

I keep my eyes on the individual, trying to make out who they are and how aware they are of their surroundings in the dim light. Pale skin, dark hair--unbelievably attractive torso. My eyes linger there longer than they should. I force my gaze upwards, towards their face as if that can erase my ogling. Embarrassment leaves my face burning--I’m not the ‘ogling’ type, and this person doesn’t even know I’m here. I keep my eyes on them as I step back, taking in unaware features as best I can in the dark. 

I know them--I--Saints, it’s Kirigan. 

Fantastic. Of course he has to be even more impossibly attractive while shirtless and wet. I turn my head upwards sharply, more desperate to not be caught than ever. I would never, ever recover from being caught. Whether he’d tease me or be angry with me, I don’t know. I also don’t know which option I’d prefer. 

I step back again, my gait wider due to my urgency. Snap. The sound of both a twig and my chance of a stealthy escape being shattered. I cringe, craning my neck to the left in a desperate attempt to make it clear that I wasn’t watching him. I take another desperate step, ready to duck behind a nearby tree. Maybe he hasn’t seen me--maybe he’s distracted and assumed that some kind of rabbit or something passed by. He may not actively dislike me, but I’m not sure any semblance of favor he may have for me extends to this situation.

“Y/n.” His tone reveals nothing but his level of certainty. Ignoring him will only make me seem guilty. 

I pause, keeping my gaze off of him. “Yes.” It wasn’t really a question, and yet I still answer it like one. “I was--I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get some air, and I was walking kind of aimlessly and I ended up here and I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Why do I feel like I’m making this situation worse? “I’m sorry--I’m gonna--I’m going to go now.” This is the kind of embarrassing moment that will come back to me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. I know it.

“You know the polite thing to do after intruding is to make eye contact.” 

I don’t think my face has ever felt this warm before. At least he doesn’t sound angry, but his voice doesn’t reveal that much. I raise my gaze carefully, turning my head slowly. “I didn’t mean,” I exhale slowly, “It wasn’t my intention to intrude.” 

He straightens slightly at my words, exposing more of his chest. I stay still, eyes trained on his to avoid an accidental lapse. “You could make it up to me by offering conversation.” Kirigan’s tone is deliberate, his words measured and calm. I don’t speak, feeling like I’m being presented a test I don’t understand, but most of our conversations leave me feeling like that. “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

And just like that, I’m backed into a corner. A challenge. To deny him now would be to expose the effect he has on me. My chin raises a fraction of an inch as I take in that assured half-smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?” 

Kirigan arches a dark brow, assessing my response. “Then sit,” his voice has not changed, “You want air and I want company.” 

I don’t think anyone that looks as good as he does shirtless has ever had trouble finding company, especially with the smooth way he speaks. Despite this, I step forward to accept his challenge without calling him out on his coyness. Each step is the crossing of another invisible line until I’m near the water’s edge. I make sure to keep my nightgown at a respectable length as I sit down. 

I make a point of extending my legs towards the water while leaning back so that I can’t be easily accused of being a coward. “I feel the need to warn you that I might not make particularly interesting company.”

He angles his head to the side slightly, drawing attention to his jawline and neck. I force my stare to focus on the water. “I’ve never found you uninteresting.” 

There’s something resigned in the way he says this. On instinct, I look up, taking in the slight softening of his features. The release of his usual sternness only adds to his beauty, a fact that I’m already resenting. 

“You may be the only one.” It’s not meant to be a deprecating comment, but I’m not sure my partial laugh softens my bitterness. I hope it does--I’d rather his interest than the interest of my entire unit. 

Kirigan shifts forward, the water moving with him. “Do you think that any coldness you’re experiencing has to do with you?” 

The question has me drawing my eyebrows together. What else could it be? I shrug, “I’ve considered it.” 

He nods once, eyes hardening slightly. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” 

The personalness of the question shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. Kirigan seems to only understand boundaries when he’s the one setting them. “Not really.” A partial lie--this time I’m glad I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. “It’s not uncommon for me, but it’s not something I deal with every night.” 

I risk shifting my eyeline when I hear the sound of water moving. Kirigan’s now resting an arm on the rim of the pool, wet skin dangerously close to my ankle and lower calf. “It’s not always easy,” his voice is low now, “Being alone with your thoughts.” 

That’s not the kind of reply I’d expect from him. I blink twice before turning to study his expression. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him seem so tired--so weary and human and in need of something. The line between his eyebrows and the far off quality of his eyes leave me with the strong desire to give whatever it is he needs to him. The urge to reach out, to touch him in hopes of breaking him free from his odd trance leaves my stomach knotted. That line is too clear to cross so recklessly.

I need to chase away the serious atmosphere he’s created. “Is that why you bathe so late at night?” I let myself smile, “To avoid thoughts?” 

“I like the peace of it.” Something akin to amusement touches his words. “And for the record, little dove,” the nickname is pointed and earns him an eyeroll, “The warm water doesn’t exactly chase away thoughts so much as encourages others.” He pauses. “You understand, considering you can barely look at me.”

This is the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened. The suggestive jilt to his words has to be intentional. Damn him. I turn my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I can look at you just fine.” 

“And if I were a Heartrender and could hear your heartbeat your pulse would be normal?” The question is teasing, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

The warmth in my face increases, spreading down my neck. Kirigan’s expression remains smug. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

“No?” He leans forward, angling his head so close to me I can faintly feel the warmth of his breath on my lower calf. “I find myself amusing.” 

At least being around him like this is getting easier. I open my mouth, ready to provide some sarcastic comment I haven’t thought out yet. My mouth clamps shut on instinct when I feel his touch on my ankle. The faint contact quickly grows, his fingers brushing up my ankle and calf, leaving drops of cool water across my skin.

“What are you doing?” That’s a--a fair question, right? I’m not sure, rational thought slipping from me more and more with each passing second. 

“Nothing, really,” his reply is quick. “Nervous?” 

There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I roll my eyes, fighting against my instinctual fluster. “No,” a full lie, “You’re just getting me wet.” 

“Barely.” When he’s not busy being brooding he’s not much better than an irritating child. He retracts his hand slowly, fingers grazing my skin slowly as he submerges his hand beneath the water. The loss of contact should feel like a victory. It doesn’t. “Y/n,” he shifts closer, back straightening.

There’s an odd seriousness to his demeanor that almost leaves me reeling. “Yes?” 

He beckons me forward. I hesitate, but comply, letting myself shift closer to the water’s edge. Kirgan’s lips part, but no words leave him before he moves his arm, purposefully splashing water over my thighs and bottom of my nightgown. I let out an instinctively annoyed sound. “That is getting you wet.” 

“Kirigan!” My tone is as menacing as I can make it, but he continues to grin. There’s such a lightness to the look I almost forget to be annoyed. Almost. “I should tell the entire Second Army how much of a child you are.” 

My threat does nothing, his smile softening without fading. “They fear me too much for your stories to make a difference.” He says this flatly. “All of them except you.” 

I don’t know if I’m supposed to make something of that comment. A brief moment passes in which I think his eyes come close to softening. Maybe that’s a side effect of seeing the world as you want. Wait...what do I want? Him? No, no, I can’t. 

Okay, he’s objectively attractive and sometimes I think I may see more depth in him than he wants to be capable of. But that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to want anything with him. Even if he was trustworthy enough for me to be with him in any capacity...even casually, it could never happen. Nothing good could come from having relations with the highest ranked general and I doubt he’d ever want me like that. He likes to fluster people and I’m an easy target. I just accept it because being some level of entertainment to him is better than being nothing to everyone. 

“I don’t think there’s much point in fear.” It feels like a fair answer. The fairest answer I can manage, anyways. 

He sighs, the sound heavy. His hand stretches forward cautiously. I watch him and make no attempt to stop him from touching my lower calf. His fingers trace absentmindedly across the skin. “Of course you’d think that.” 

Again, I don’t know what to make of his words. Or his actions. He couldn’t find anything wrong with me just slightly adjusting my position. It’d be a polite way to remind us both of the natural order of things. But then again, someone like him is allowed to be mad about anything. And I’m not sure I want to remind us of our place. 

Actually, I’m completely sure that I want the opposite of that. But admitting that to myself is enough of a risk. I’ve already crossed thousands of tiny lines and what I want will require us to cross a thousand more. 

“I’m a little surprised you’re not reminding me how foolish a notion like that can be.” 

He lets out a tiny breath as he shifts even closer to me. “Maybe I’m enjoying your foolishness.” 

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or the opposite.” 

The slightest hint of a smile is visible to me beneath the moon’s glow. There’s something about darkness that adds beauty to things. I wait for him to reply, but instead of speaking his  hand moves further up my leg. I struggle to hide my reaction to his long fingers trailing up my skin.

He’s touched me before, sure. Tiny moments in which he’d push a strand of hair out of my face or wipe at a bit of dirt on my cheekbone. More recently, he had gripped my hip firmly to guide me through a crowd of soldiers. He had been in a hurry, stealing me from a conversation with the only member of my unit that’s been somewhat friendly to me. It wasn’t serious--he had just been rushing me because he only had a minute between meetings and apparently he had too long of a day to not take a moment to speak with me. 

“Are you alright, Dovey?” Normally, the nickname and all of its variations earns him an eyeroll. But everything is a lot less humorous with his hand half up my lower leg, leaving a trail of cool water wherever he touches. 

His fingers press more firmly into my skin. “Yes, I’m fine--it’s just late.” 

“Hm…” Kirigan breathes before tilting his head slightly. “You’re warm.” I stay silent as his hand shifts slightly. “Perhaps too warm.” 

If I’m hot that has absolutely nothing to do with fever. “I’m fine, General, I promise.” 

“Come closer,” he says, “It’ll take me no time to check.” 

...A little too convenient. My nightgown is still embarrassingly damp from the last time I eased tonight. “Please tell me you don’t find me that naive.” 

“Naive? No.” He lifts his hand slightly. “Warm? Yes.” I still don’t trust him. “I’m not going to do anything. I promise.” 

His eyes are dark and the limited lighting of the moon doesn’t offer me much in my analysis, but what I can see makes him seem genuine. “Why do I feel like that’s not the first time you’ve had to say that?” Despite my comment, I move towards him. 

The back of Kirigan’s palm is pressed to my forehead for less than a second. He brushes his hand down the side of my temple, rotating his wrist so that his fingertips can touch my cheek. His hand then continues to move down my jawline and then my neck...and then finally trails down my collarbone. I bite my tongue to avoid exhaling audibly at the contact. 

“Warm,” he concludes with a tsk, and yet he doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Though that could just have to do with the climate.” His thumb slips beneath the sleeve of my nightgown. “Perhaps you could benefit from joining me.” 

I bite my tongue to avoid letting out a surprised, embarrassingly enthusiastic squeak. I don’t know what’s gotten into him...maybe it’s the night air and the prospect of being fully alone. I should be strong enough to break whatever spell he’s starting to place on me. But I’m not. I’m really, really not. 

He pulls on the sleeve of my nightgown slightly. “I’m…” 

“Unless you’re nervous?” Another damn challenge. To shy away from this would be to expose myself. He tugs on the sleeve a little more assuredly, exposing my shoulder to the humid night. “Do I make you nervous?” 

His voice comes out a shallow rasp. I feel it straight in my core. “...Not more than you should.” 

“More than I should?” 

Ugh--too honest. I let myself get distracted. It shouldn’t be too difficult to explain what I meant. He knows he’s feared. He wants to be feared. “I’m sure we’re both aware that there are a fair amount of cautionary tales revolving around you.” 

His hand falls next to my lap. Oh? I didn’t expect to miss the contact between us so much. His expression seems to have fallen slightly as well. Was it my response to his question? It felt fair and straightforward without being too blunt. “And you believe every cautionary tale you hear?” 

There’s something stiff about the way he asks the question. His moodiness is making me miss his touchiness even more. At least then I didn’t have to feel like I made a mistake. Did I say something wrong? “Should I?”

“It depends on whether or not you plan on being brave.” 

“I told you...I don’t see much point in fear.” 

“And yet you’re still there.” A bit of humor returns to his voice. “Why is that?” 

Rolling my eyes, I shift forward, letting my legs dip into the water. This is as far as I should let this go. I’ve already lost too much more control. “Better?” He’s strangely tense again, a hint of something bitter playing at the smug look he tries for. “You alright?”

“Of course you’d ask me that.” He says this with a tired sigh. “You can never make things easy.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

He shifts backwards slightly. I can feel the distance between us like I’d feel a pebble in my shoe. “Do you believe all the stories about me?” 

Is he still bothered by that? “I didn’t mean it as literally as you’re taking it. All I meant is that people are intimidated by you, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s the way things have to be, you’re the only Shadow Summoner in existence and the army needs you to be intimidating so that they can act on your guidance.”

“The way things have to be,” he echoes, his voice strangely weighted. “There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes with being feared by everyone.” 

Oh--I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him feel defeated like that. I reach for his hand without thinking, pulling his fingers towards my lap. “I don’t--I’m not scared of you.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but it’s the only one I can think of. “That probably doesn’t mean anything, but I--” 

His hand turns in my lap, squeezing the exposed part of my thigh. “It means something.” Kirigan’s voice has hardened in a different way. “You’re the only person I’m certain of.” 

Everything in me seems to tighten at that. At the implication of something so personal from someone so closed off. “Kirigan, you don’t have to be as alone as you feel. You talk to me all the time and you do so in a way that makes it easy to forget the cautionary tales.” His hand moves further up my thigh. I fight as I try to remember our usual dynamic. “You’re the only one that talks to me like that.” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe the others refuse to take to you because of the favor I’ve shown you? The instinct to stay away from me is strong enough to extend to those around me.” Kirigan’s hand moves higher up my thigh. “To be near me is to involve solitude.” 

“I don’t care.” The answer leaves me too quickly. “Being near you is worth it.” 

He leans closer before resting his chin on my knee with no hesitation. “Careful, you don’t understand the line you tread.” Kirigan places his hand more firmly between my thighs. “Or perhaps you do...perhaps you know what you want to cross.” 

This time I can’t help the airy sigh that leaves me. Kirigan pushes against my thigh slightly, separating my legs. I feel his breath on my inner thigh before I know what’s going on. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t even breathe. That inability to do anything but feel my heart pound against my chest only worsens as I feel his lips press into the inside of my thigh. His lips trail up my skin before his teeth gently sink into the top of my thigh. 

“Is the line you want to cross?” He breathes the question so softly I feel like I’m being coddled. Everything in me feels too hot to think of any kind of coherent response. Kirigan uses his free hand to pull the fabric of my nightgown as high up my thighs as he can from his position below me. “Or maybe this is the line you want to cross?” Kirigan pulls me forward so suddenly I let out a tiny gasp. I’m not fully on the edge of the banya. “Or perhaps this one?” He kisses the skin of my inner thigh gently. Each time I exhale too loudly, his teeth graze my skin. He gets harsher with each passing second. “Lay down.” 

My body listens to him on instinct. How is this happening? How am I this powerless to fight against something that’s so clearly wrong? The sound of water shifting causes my entire body to tense. He’s pulled himself out of the water. Kirigan moves above me instantly, water dripping from his toned chest and dark hair and onto my still damp nightgown. 

Before I can speak, he’s on me completely, his lips pressing against my jaw. He kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing against my skin sporadically. He pulls away from me by tracing his tongue across my collar bone. I let out something dangerously close to a moan. “Such pretty, little sounds.” 

“Kirigan--” 

“The only name I want you to hear from your lips is the only name that I’ve not given myself. The only name that holds meaning to me.” 

His lips graze where my skin meets the hem of my now soaked through nightgown. I’m not sure the poor lighting is offering me enough coverage now. There’s no way the thin fabric leaves much to the imagination while being this wet. He kisses up my chest and neck until his lips reach the shell of my ear. 

“Aleksander.” The name is grace in the form of a breath so soft it’s more like I’m feeling the name than actually hearing it. 

He presses his lips against the spot on my neck directly beneath my ear. I exhale into the contact. “Aleksander.” As I test his true name on my tongue, his teeth dig into my skin much more harshly than before. 

I let out a partial squeak at the sudden shift in pace as his hands grip my waist. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

He traces his tongue gingerly over the skin he just aggravated with his teeth before I can speak. The soothing sensation is so much I can barely find my voice. “Aleksander.” 

His hand bunches the bottom of my nightgown, raising the fabric to my hips. “...Say it just like that.” Kirgan’s rough hand slips between the bone of my hip and the fabric of my hip. “Like I’m the only one that knows you like this.”

“Aleksander.” I breathe as he traces invisible patterns into my skin with his lips. “Aleksander.” Each use of his name earns me extra attention--a stronger hold on my hip, a more adamant nip at the base of my neck. I feel my need for him so heavily I swear it’s leaked into my bones. “Aleksander.”

When he pulls away, I fight the urge to whine. The night is still humid, but with the absence of his touch I feel like I’m shivering. He regards me silently for a long moment before shifting his weight again. I feel my heart stall in my chest as his hand softly brushes a strand of hair out of my face. He lets his hand linger there, at the apple of my cheek. The entire world seems to stall as he leans down, his hand cupping the side of my face as his mouth inches closer to mine. 

“I can feel the fluttering of your heart.” 

Any poor defense dies in my throat as his lips meet mine. He gives me no time to think about what’s happening as he presses into me even harder. Kirigan holds my face as his teeth graze against my bottom lip. My mouth opens slightly in surprise, giving him the opportunity he needs to slip his tongue into my mouth. His tongue slowly brushes against mine, coaxing me into total, delirious, compliance. When he starts to pull away, I react, my hands flying forward to grab his hair. He lets me get away with tugging him towards me, prolonging the kiss as he bites my bottom lip. 

One of his hands leaves my face and travels up the hands holding onto his hair. He pulls me off of him easily, pinning both of my wrists above my head with one hand. “Easy,” Kirigan warns, “You’ve been such a good girl, let’s not ruin it before we’ve started.” 

A tiny sigh leaves me. I can feel the pride he takes in that as his hand trails further down my body. His fingers ghost along the hem of my underwear teasingly. 

“Is someone there?” I’ve never damned the voice of a stranger more. 

Panic and dread roll in my stomach. I’m going to get caught like this, with my nightgown bunched at my hips beneath the General Kirigan. An unclothed, wet, General Kirigan. “I’m bathing.” 

Okay...good...Aleksander spoke. Anyone with common sense would run at the thought of invading on Kirgan’s privacy. It’s a good thing that the soldier had the sense to linger behind a thicket of bushes. “Pardon General, but there’s been a crucial development. A new strategy should be thought of as soon as possible.” 

No. No. The thought of losing contact so entirely, of having a moment that should have never happened be ripped from me before it’s even really happened is overwhelming. I feel my lips pull into a pout. Kirigan’s hand adjusts on me, his thumb pressing teasingly over where I’m neediest. I bite my tongue to avoid making an inappropriate noise. 

“Five minutes--I’ll be in the strategy tent in five minutes.” 

“I’ll tell the others, General.”

Great. I hear the stranger disappear, his feet crushing twigs and grass as he leaves us. Aleksander’s attention returns to me quickly. Disappointment swells in my chest as I take in the solemn look that crosses his features. His hand moves to my chin quickly before pulling me into another deep kiss. It’s too short lived. 

“I have to go.” 

Frowning, I lift my hand to trace my fingers up his arm. It’s softer than I should allow myself to be, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when this is probably never going to happen again. “Do you?” I mumble to myself, half joking.

He sighs once, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “No pouting.” 

Now that whatever little bubble we were in has popped, I’m capable of normal feelings. Including shame. “I am n--” 

“Easy, little dove, I’ll remember all of this when I find you again.” 

This...this is going to happen again? “You’re going to find me?” 

“I haven’t yet heard your voice crack on my name as I undo you.” He punctuates the promise with a kiss to my jaw. “Again.” Another kiss. “And again.” Another brush of his lips as he finally pulls away. “And again.” 

My breath catches itself in my throat as he moves off of me entirely. Damn whatever change in the war that’s pulled him away from me so suddenly. I sit up as he stands. I’m not sure where to look now that he’s not in close enough proximity to cloud my thoughts. I should leave as he dresses, but I can’t quite bring myself to. It doesn’t feel safe, not when the man that interrupted us could reappear at any moment. Not when I want to hold onto his presence like this as long as possible. 

 He squeezes my shoulder warmly as he passes before bending down to press one more kiss next to where his hand is. 

“Soon,” he promises again. 

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[perseabethj]

i don't really have an explanation (iv.)

Percy didn’t let go of Annabeth’s hands once they entered in the apartment. It’s not that he thought she couldn’t defend herself if need be, but he didn’t fully trust his classmates -at least, not drunk. He hadn’t wanted to come to the party, but his friends had convinced him that, as part of the swim team, he couldn’t escape socializing forever. He was happy enough with his small circle of friends, but they had let him know that, while they were also happy being just the four of them, they wouldn’t mind surrounding themselves with the popular crowd every once in a while. Percy had felt a little bit guilty because of denying them that, and Annabeth had told him that going out once wouldn’t hurt. He had decided to trust her (he’d been doing that for years and that was the only reason as to why he was still alive), and thus had told Chris Parker, his team’s captain, that he would maybe show up at his party that weekend. It was Halloween, after all, and he felt a little bit silly staying at home during his senior year of high school. He knew high school parties could get a little bit wild, but the moment the door opened and music filled his ears, he was starting to regret his decision.

‘’I know that this is my first party and all that, but are guys supposed to walk around shirtless? Are they even pretending to wear a costume?’’ Annabeth asked to no one in particular, raising her eyebrows.

‘’We’re talking about the sport jocks,’’ Kayla reminded her with a pointed look, pulling at her cheerleader uniform; she'd never be caught dead with one of this seriously, but her sister had been a cheerleader years ago and Kayla wasn't about to spend forty dollars on a costume she would never wear again.

‘’Hey!’’ Percy exclaimed. These were his teammates, after all (he could also recognise some of the guys from the soccer team and some cheerleaders arounds, and he was pretty sure there were also some marching band kids, but he wasn’t about to point that out, since that would only support Kayla’s point).

‘’Don’t act all offended,’’ Annabeth told him, ‘’you spend half of your time at camp shirtless as well.’’

‘’I spend half of my time at camp at the beach, and the rest of my time I’m sweating my ass off because of you or Clarisse, so be thankful I’m wearing my shirt that half of the time and I don’t go to the dining pavilion naked.’’

‘’While most of Cabin 10 wouldn’t probably mind, Mr. D would turn you into a dolphin the moment he saw your naked butt.’’

‘’That he would,’’ Percy answered, laughing as he let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He leaned into her ear playfully and said, ‘’don’t tell anyone, but I miss the guy.’’

His friends looked at them as if they were crazy, but knew better than to question them.

‘’I need something to drink,’’ Matthew told the group. ‘’Do you want anything?’’

Percy and Annabeth shook their heads, choosing to wait before drinking anything at all (Percy also didn’t want to explain to his friends why he didn’t drink alcohol, and Annabeth knew that). Louis said something that sounded foreign to Percy -seriously, a vodka with a twist on the rocks? Couldn’t he simply say vodka? And did he really have to order it with a twist? He’d never understand rich kids-, and Matthew gave him a thumbs up, which was the only thing he could do with the foam cheer gloves he was wearing along with his baseball player costume.

‘’I’ll come with you,’’ Kayla said, looping her arm around his and dragging him across the hall.

Percy looked around the party, trying to decide what to do. He didn’t have to look at Annabeth to know she was doing the same thing, and he also knew she felt more uncomfortable than he did, since she knew nobody but him and his friends.

‘’I just wanted to let you know you made me lose a bet,’’ Louis suddenly said.

They looked questioningly at him and he pointed at them and their clothes.

‘’I had bet that you wouldn’t wear matching costumes,’’ he said. ‘’I didn’t take you for the kind of couple who does, even if you are all lovey-dovey. You both seem too mature for that.’’

‘’We didn’t plan it,’’ Annabeth told him. ‘’I mean, we both knew we’d be wearing this, but we didn’t really plan it. Percy didn’t know if he wanted to come until the last minute and we had no costumes at home, and we both suck at any kind of DIY. We had this at home from before.’’

‘’From before?’’ Louis asked, an eyebrow raised.

‘’We organised a Greek party at camp once,’’ Percy quickly said. ‘’We kept the clothes in case, and they have thankfully come in handy. An actual toga looks more dignified than a sheet, which was what my mum thought we’d be wearing when we told her about this.’’

‘’You have knifes from before?’’

Annabeth laughed and looked at the knife strapped to her arm. She had used the Mist to make sure her dagger stayed like one and Percy had complained that he couldn’t do that. She had then reminded him that walking around with a three-feet-long bronze sword wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do, considering that, if he were to hit somebody accidentally with it, everyone would know it wasn’t plastic when it simply moved through them, which was why he was weaponless.

‘’Who says it’s not a real knife?’’ Annabeth asked enigmatically.

Before Louis could say anything else, Annabeth pulled Percy forward with her and moved towards the dance floor. She could see Louis’s confused face as he walked to the kitchen to find the rest of the group and laughed lightly before wrapping her arms around Percy’s neck.

‘’You shouldn’t do that,’’ Percy told her, but he was definitely holding back a smile. ‘’His head is going to explode one day if you keep making those kinds of comments.’’

‘’It’s not my fault mortals are so easy to fool.’’

He finally smiled widely and brought her closer, his hands on her waist. Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief -between exams, monsters and the typical anxiousness that all demigods carried whenever they stepped onto the street, being at a party with her boyfriend and worrying about nothing at all was a godsend. She could feel Percy’s smile against her hair, since he was laying his cheek on her head, and she could also hear his heartbeat, her ear pressed against his chest. It didn’t matter to them that the song was definitely not a slow one, and so they swayed slowly to the rhythm of a song that definitely required more moving. Percy knew people were looking at them; not everyone knew he had a girlfriend, even if he wasn’t particularly secretive about it, and they made quite a striking pair in their white togas with golden details, golden tiaras and leather sandals.

‘’I love you,’’ he whispered, and Annabeth was amazed at the way he managed to make it sound romantic even in the middle of a techno song.

‘’I know,’’ she answered softly. ‘’I love you, too.’’

When the song finally ended, they separated; it’s not as if they had actually been paying attention to the music playing, but tuning out two loud songs and managing to dance for so long was too much for two people with ADHD.

‘’Shall we go to the kitchen to get some water?’’ Annabeth asked.

Percy nodded and threw his arm around her shoulder again, her arm automatically moving to wrap around his waist. It had made her uncomfortable at the beginning of the relationship how Percy always wanted to be touching her, since she didn’t fully understand why. She had always been the one to hold his hand when she was scared, and it had taken her a while to realise it was because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable and he never truly believed that she could like him back. Now that Percy knew she loved him just as much as he loved her, his body always found a way to make sure he was touching her; even during the hot summer nights they spent together after the Giant War, he had always managed to wrap his leg around hers or to lay his hand on top of her hip while he slept.

They were greeted by his tipsy friends when they reached the kitchen, who thankfully didn’t question it when Annabeth simply grabbed a bottle of water and Percy a can of coke. Percy was happy with his life at the moment; things might not have been perfect, but they were better than they had been in a long time. His friends liked his girlfriend, nobody was trying to kill him on the regular (he didn’t even care about random monsters anymore; no god or Titan going specifically after him? Are you kidding? A dream ), he was about to have a baby sister, and he hadn’t exploded his school yet. Looking around the group of people surrounding him, he felt a sense of normalcy that he had longed for for a while. Matthew was talking about a different girl he had fallen in love with - ‘’I’m telling you, man, she is the one’’ -, and Kayla was mocking him while Louis laughed quietly and Annabeth laughed with him. He pressed a kiss at the top of Annabeth’s head and brought her even closer, relishing the situation. Of course, good things never lasted forever.

‘’Hey, blondie!’’ John Robinson’s voice called. He tried to grab her arm, but Percy pushed her closer when he felt her slipping away. She didn’t move away from him, but did turn to face John with a steely look in her eyes.

She said nothing, simply arching an eyebrow and defying him to say anything else. Had he been sober, he would have probably walked away -at least, Percy hoped so, since the guy was an asshole, but not stupid-, but he was, very clearly, drunk.

‘’Mind your mouth, Robinson,’’ Percy threateningly said. He saw his friends straightening up from the periphery of his eye, aware that this could lead to something ugly.

‘’You know, blondie, you scared me pretty badly the other day at the meet,’’ he said, slurring his words, ‘’but it was so hot that I jerked off to it when I got home.’’

‘’That’s enough,’’ Percy exclaimed, moving forward and raising his fist before being pulled back by Annabeth.

‘’Stop it!’’ she yelled. She turned to look at him and put one hand on his chest, the other holding his hand and forcing him to look at her before she whispered, ‘’I can do this myself. Besides, you don’t want to be taken off the team.’’

She turned again to look at the laughing John, who was now making fun of Percy. They had attracted a crowd and people were anxiously whispering, both excited and afraid of a fight breaking out.

‘’Man, she must be really good in the bedroom for you to be so submissive.’’

‘’If you don’t shut up, you’ll be breathing through your mouth for the next six weeks,’’ she calmly said.

‘’Oh, come on, blondie, are you being tough because you know it turns me on?’’

He raised his hand to touch her hair, but Annabeth used her left hand to push his arm away and, then, raised her right fist and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards, holding his nose and screaming in pain. His voice was the only one in the kitchen; everyone had gone silent the moment he tried to touch her, expectant of what was about to happen.

‘’You bitch!’’

‘’Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, you big baby,’’ she said, not even holding her hand or caring about her knuckles. She bent down and smiled happily, patting his foot. ’’Be thankful I didn’t dislocate your shoulder, because that’s my speciality. You can ask Percy. It turns him on when I’m tough, too, but, unlike you, he actually gets to do something about it.’’

She stood up and searched for Percy’s hand blindly, who had already extended it to take hers before she was even up. There was still an angry look in his eyes, but there was a troublemaker smile that she adored adorning his face.

‘’Do you want to stay for another song, or should we go home?’’ She asked, ignoring the glances everyone was sending them.

‘’Home,’’ Percy said, smiling. ‘’Definitely home.’’

They started moving towards the door, people moving to let them pass. Just before they were out of the kitchen, Annabeth turned around and smiled sweetly at his friends.

‘’Are you coming?’’

Silently, they followed them, making a mental note not to bother Annabeth or Percy if they didn’t want to end up with a broken nose. Once they were out on the street, Annabeth broke out laughing, and Percy followed. Matthew, Kayla and Louis couldn’t help but laugh as well, and they knew they looked like a group of drunk teenagers, but they didn’t really care.

‘’That was even better than when you judo flipped me,’’ Percy said once he calmed down, using his finger to dry the tears off his face.

Annabeth laughed and elbowed him on the side before pressing her face against his chest. His arm was once again around her shoulders, and they looked just as happy as they had when they had first arrived at the party.

‘’What an uneventful night, though,’’ Annabeth said quite seriously, but with a soft smile on her face.

Percy hummed and nodded, and his friends couldn’t help but wonder what was an eventful night for them. They knew, however, not to ask anymore.

[heavymetalover]

Call Me Daddy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

{i imagined scruffy sojourn michael w this one but i left the description kind of open so yall can imagine whichever teehee}

Summary: Michael is about to become your step dad and the two of you have an unusual relationship…

Warnings: DADDY KINK DUH, smut, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal sex, dom!michael, hickies, rough sex.

WC: 5.5k

A/N: ive done the unforgiven… omg.

this is a different format from my other stuff. i didnt see anyone doing this and yall know me and my daddy issues I HAD TO. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE anon me, message me, whatever, if you want more parts cuz im down.

~~~~

 You had an average run-of-the-mill life with your mom. The two of you lived in a sizable suburban Los Angeles estate; your mom worked for most of her waking hours to keep you comfortable and you worked your ass off to stay in your top college. You had a few friends that would pop into your life when your mom left town, a few boyfriends here and there, even your mom dated around. Everything felt normal until Michael came into the picture.

Your mom has been dating Michael for a few months now, but every time he’s around he brings an eerie feeling along with him. Despite being nearly half her age, he has the soul of somebody from the eighteen hundreds. The way he composes himself, how he speaks with the utmost confidence and how his stares linger too long; his glacial blue eyes always watch you like he can see right through your clothes. 

You’ve been skeptical of him since the day you met him. When you shook his hand and accidentally removed one of his large rings, he nonchalantly told you to keep it. You decided to sell the huge diamond-encrusted Cartier ring and use the twenty thousand dollars to help pay for college.

Since then you’ve avoided the two of them in protest of their relationship. You knew it was juvenile to evade them, but the man turned you on more than you’d like to admit. His soft-waved blonde hair, fluffy lips, jawline for days, prominent cheekbones, and how can you forget the eyes… Everything about him looked planned, like he was designed to be flawless.

On a mundane weekend morning, your mom calls you from downstairs. “Y/n!” her voice echoes through the halls.

You stop reading your favourite book and take out an earbud. “Yeah?!” you yell back, looking up from the pages for a moment and waiting for her to say something else, but the house is silent. You pretend to ignore her call and go back to the story.

“Y/n!” your mom yells again.

You sigh and drop your book, rolling off of your bed and skipping down the stairs to see what fresh hell awaits. As you approach your mom, who’s opening her mouth to call you again, you smell something unusual. Something you haven’t smelt since your dad left. Cologne.

“Honey, he’s here,” your mom whispers to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You try turning away to run back to your room, but your mom stops you. “Can you be nice for once, please?” she begs, squeezing your shoulder.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with,” you groan and shimmy her hand off of your shoulder.  

Michael works at the dining table, setting up three plates and utensils. You’re planted to the ground in awe, you’ve never had to eat dinner with the two of them before. It crosses your mind that they must be confronting you about bypassing them these past few months, your fight or flight response is already kicking in.

Michael looks up at you, finally acknowledging you and capturing you in his ocean blue eyes with a nanosecond of contact. Your mom moves in between the two of you and takes some food out of a paper bag. “Michael and I wanted all of us to eat dinner together,” she skips to stand beside him. You widen your eyes at her and cross your arms in objection. She widens her eyes back, you can practically hear her nagging you to be polite.

Michael puts his arm around your mom. “Your mother and I thought it best for us to… start acting like a family,” he says.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t hold back your smile. “A family?” you laugh. You purse your lips and start walking backwards, aching to escape Michael’s spell. “Mmm, I think I’ll pass,” you turn around to start walking away.

“Y/n,” your mom snaps. You stop in the middle of a step and twist back towards them, taking small, reluctant steps to approach their little function. “We have something to tell you,” she says and immediately after, vaults her hand out to you.

You take it hesitantly and look at her, still trying to figure them out and failing. “What?” you ask.

“No, honey, look at it,” she rolls her eyes, “look at my hand.”

You gawk at her hand, her third finger is dressed in a huge diamond ring. It looks big enough to pay off your whole house. You unintentionally let out a dramatic gasp and drop her hand, she continues to hold it up for you. “It’s the bloodiest diamond he could find in the LA area,” she explains, “We’re in love.” She smiles and places her hand on Michael’s chest, looking up at him with hearts in her eyes. He gifts a small kiss on her lips.

You scoff and shake your head. Any tension that you felt from Michael has dissolved. He’s been dating your mom for five months, five fucking months. Who does he think he is? Are they both nuts? “You’re joking, right?” you ask, completely stunned by how brash the whole situation is. “Are you guys pranking me?”

Michael grins at you, it makes you melt and you hate yourself for it. “Call me daddy,” he sneers.

----

It’s a quaint Wednesday evening when you decide to take a break from studying and grab a snack. You’re scrolling through Tumblr when you walk out of your room and smash your face against a sturdy chest. “Jesus!” you gasp, looking up at Michael standing in front of your door; one of his hands is in a fist, ready to knock on your door, while the other is behind his back. “You scared the shit out of me!” You playfully push his chest away from you, trying to shake off the sudden rush of adrenaline.

He drops his fist as he stumbles back slightly. It’s the first time you’ve talked to him since they announced their engagement. Michael moved in about a month ago and it’s been hard to ignore him since he sits, day in day out, typing away on his laptop in your living room.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “But I have to admit it’s nice to hear your voice again.”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to act casual as if he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of you completely. “Did my mom come home from work or something? She send you here?” you ask, declining his attempts to meet your eyes, instead you stare at his lapel.

“No, I got you something,” he explains, wiggling the surprise behind his back.

“Another Cartier ring?” you joke. “Oh, or is it a new girlfriend? Because that would be even better.” His eyes find the ceiling in annoyance and it feels rewarding, you were starting to think he couldn’t be cracked. “Did you get me an apartment, so I don’t have to live with another failed marriage?”

“No,” he snaps back, starting to sound impatient with your infantile attitude. You straighten up at his belligerent tone. He slides into your room, keeping the gift hidden behind his back. “It’s thoughtful, something I know you’d like, but… if you’re hellbent on loathing my existence, why should I be so kind?” he asks. He somehow manages to speak reserved, yet impossibly intimidating. Every word that leaves his lips demands to be heard, it sends chills down your spine. “Right?” he prompts.

You take in a breath. “Right,” you force yourself to agree, mostly because you’re curious to see what the present is. Another part of you is getting bored of acting like a hermit and going days without social interaction. “Obviously it feels weird; I barely know you and you’re becoming my dad and you moved in, everything just seems so fast,” you explain yourself. You saunter back into your room to meet him. “I’ve been a bitch. I’m sorry, Michael. Seriously.”

He takes a step closer to you, you’re only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his body and fight the urge to wrap your arms around him. “We’ll work on ‘Michael’ later,” he replies. You’re about to question what he means by that when he takes the present out from behind his back. He holds a black bag in between the two of you and you immediately recognize the store. “I heard you on the phone with your friend about something red, lacey, with a bow. I think I found it…”

You take the Victoria’s Secret bag from him without saying a word. You have no words to say. You don’t know if you should thank him or refuse the gift or slap him for listening to your personal conversations. Your mind races wondering if you’d gossiped about his good looks on the phone with your friend.

You silently pry open the bag and paw through the lingerie, mountains of cute panties and bras, digging through things you were never able to afford but always wanted. And, of course, Michael bought the red, lacey one piece you were talking about with your friend. There’s a stillness in the room as you look through the bag. “You bought all of this for me?”

“Yeah, I can’t see how your mom would fit into any of those.”

All of the pieces are just your size, it’s the perfect gift… just not from your stepdad. “How did you even know my size?” you stop looking at the bag and make the mistake of falling into his eyes.

“I went through your clothes,” he carelessly shrugs.

You drop the present by your side. “You went through my clothes, like, my lingerie?”

He slowly nods his head, acting as if it isn’t strange for him to invade your privacy how he did. You huff and he begins looking agitated with you again. “Would you like if I returned all this stuff? I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” you mutter and kick the bag away from him, you’re not jeopardizing this gift with your uncontrollable sass.

“Good,” he spits back.

“Just… don’t think you can just buy yourself into the family,” you mock. You catch yourself subconsciously crossing your arms over your chest to give yourself a breast lift, but you don’t stop.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirks. He looks down at your cleavage and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. “You have quite the collection of lingerie you keep hidden at the bottom of your drawers,” he observes, “like a dirty guilty pleasure.” You peer up at him, again trying to read him, and again failing. He uses one of his fingers to hook onto the thin fabric of your shirt, your tits are practically pouring out and begging to be the center of attention. He tugs at the fabric, looking under your shirt and inspecting your boobs suffocated in one of your intimate Victoria’s Secret pickups. “Kitten’s all dressed up?” he whispers, his fingertips graze the embroidered details.

You bite your lip, anticipating the second he’ll rip the bra off your chest. “It’s all for you,” you tease, pushing your tits together even more, “I’m always dressed up for you, Michael.”

He breathes in, groaning under his breath. “I thought I told you,” his voice is low and intimidating, “call me daddy.”

You’re drinking in a breath of his cologne, shifting onto the tips of your toes to give his soft lips a rugged kiss, when the sound of keys rattling downstairs takes you out of it. Michael still stares at you, his fingers continue to linger over your clothed tits. “Michael!” your mom calls from downstairs.

You look up at him with fear in your puppy dog eyes and Michael grins. He shoots you one last, knowing, glance before leaving your room. He leaves you without saying two words. “Yeah, babe,” he answers your mom, closing your bedroom door behind him.

What the fuck just happened?

----

Holding back your gags, you grasp your friend’s hair as she projectile vomits peach schnapps into an expensive toilet bowl. Her phone rings in her pocket and you huff, digging through the pockets of the leather jacket you lent her and pulling out a vibrating iPhone. You pick up the phone with an ill “hello”, answering too late and looking down at the screen. She must’ve ordered an Uber a while ago, there’s a ton of notifications that the driver’s outside. “Oh shit,” you mutter under your breath. “Your ride is here!” you yell at her, trying to pull her onto her feet.

“What?!” she yells into the toilet bowl.

You roll your eyes and lean down beside her ear, “I said, your ride is here!” you yell over the thumping music.

Your friend stumbles around, trying to stand up in her six-inch heels. You pull her onto you and her head rests on your shoulder, she goes limp against you. “Stop, come on!” you shout over the music. “You have to g-”

You’re cut off by your friend puking onto an expensive mini dress you bought for tonight’s party. This shindig was supposed to be a fun little escape from your school life, your home life, Michael, all your stress. You expected to make new friends, meet hot guys, but instead you came an hour late and have been nursing your friend the whole night. You’re seriously going to kick her ass tomorrow.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, her breath reeking of throw up.

You toss her arm over your shoulder and start walking her out of the bathroom. “I’m going to kill you tomorrow, you know that?” you say in her ear and she lets out a small, apologetic whimper.

A cute guy who was talking you up earlier approaches the two of you. He holds two red cups in his hands and shrugs when he sees you. “What the fuck, y/n? You disappeared on me!” he talks to you over the bass-y music. “I got our drinks!” he shakes the cups in his hands and hands one over to you, as if completely ignoring your drunken friend hanging off of your side.

Your friend staggers, nearly bringing you down with her. The cute guy helps you pick her back up and you sigh, annoyed at how much of a disaster your night has turned into. He knits his eyebrows at your sour attitude, then finding the vomit on your dress, he looks back up at you. You see his doe eyes grow apologetic when he mouths a weak “sorry” to you, stepping out of your way. You shake your head as if telling him it’s fine; you just wish you had more time to get to know him.

You continue dragging your friend along your side and hear someone call out your name from behind you. You whip your head around; your hair irritatingly sticks to your lip-gloss. “Hope to see you again!” he calls after you. You nod in his direction and resume walking your friend, who is nearly passed out on your shoulder, to the front door. When you walk out of the house, you’re assaulted with the smell of salt water. Despite this night turning into one of the most frustrating nights of your life, at least you got to visit a Malibu beach house.

A big, black SUV is parked outside of the house and you rush her to the door. Opening the backseat and stuffing her inside the seats in the back. “The app says where you’re taking her, right?” you ask the Uber driver, your voice sounds muted from being struck by loud music all night.

He nods and reads out her address. “Y/n,” your friend slurs, gripping onto your arm with all her strength, “you’re a really nice… you’re a… you’re a really good friend, you know that? Like, seriously,” she pauses to hiccup, “thank you for taking care of me tonight.” Her words are so slurred that it’s nearly impossible to make out her compliment, but you just nod in hopes it’ll get her to let go. She drops your arm and hands you your pricey leather jacket, bunched up in a ball, before shutting the van door.

You throw on your jacket, protecting yourself from the ocean’s breeze, and watch the van drive away when you notice a familiar car parked across the street. The SUV blocked a four-seater Maserati parked on the other side of the road. Michael’s sedentary in the driver’s seat with a cigarette hanging from his lips. You balance yourself on your ridiculously tall heels and stomp over to his car. He doesn’t even see you coming, he’s leaned back in the driver’s seat reading a book.

You crouch down and knock on the glass of his window. His eyes meet yours for a second and he slowly rolls down the window. A mob of cigarette smoke escapes the car and he chucks the stick onto the pavement. You’re both quiet for a few moments, the crashing ocean waves fills up the silence.  “How did you know I was here?” you ask.

He finally puts down his book and looks at you. “Just trying to be a good dad,” he responds.

“Ugh, ew,” you groan. “You’re my step dad.”

He adjusts his seat to start driving, his eyes looking you up and down as he does. “Looks like your night went a little… rough,” he jokes and nods towards the puke on your dress. “You need a ride?”

You look back at the party. As much as you wanted to live up the night, you’re already in too much of a bad mood to go back in there. It doesn’t help that your new dress is covered in puke, too. You turn back around to Michael, he awaits your answer with a cocked brow. “You can’t tell mom,” you sigh, walking around the car to get into the passenger’s seat. The luxury car’s butterfly doors obnoxiously open up for your entry. “Not a word,” you assure him as you slide into the leather seat.

He starts up the car and one of his Led Zeppelin albums begins to play. “I picked you up at the library,” he quips.

He starts driving along the empty coast and you decide to skip the seatbelt, you don’t want to dirty his car with your friend’s retch. His eyes glance over to your seat for a moment, he notices you second guessing the seatbelt and puts a hand on your thigh. You look up at him and intuitively try to tempt him, biting your bottom lip and batting your lashes. “I’ll protect you if we crash,” he whispers, his fingers lightly caress your thighs.

You put your hand on his and slide him further up your leg. He keeps one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, but when his eyes do meet yours, it makes all the nerves in your core feel like a wave pool. Your dress is short enough for him to reach your panties without any hassle. Your hand is on his when his fingers begin to rub your pussy, still dressed in a pair of panties he bought you. “Baby’s already wet for daddy,” he says under his breath, kneading your clit in small circles.

You feel your stomach erupt with butterflies, you’ve never felt a nervousness so intense before. A rush of thoughts suddenly violates your mind, you try to shut them up but they keep coming. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re disgusting for enjoying this. His fingers have been in your mom before.

You dig your nails into his skin and pull his hand away from you; bending over in your seat and clutching onto your stomach. You only had one drink tonight, you shouldn’t be feeling this sick.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, “are you okay?”

“I think I need air,” you grumble through the sudden sickness. “Can you pull over?”

Michael only takes a minute to find an empty parking lot on the beach and pull into it. You get out of the car without saying a word to him and take off your heels, throwing them into the backseat of his car. You’re already starting to feel your anxiety subside as you shuffle through the cool sand and pace towards the erratic waves crashing on shore. This is one of the reasons you loved LA, the tons of tiny, empty beaches. The ocean at night, and how it constantly smelt like salt water, how it relaxed you.

The breeze blew through your hair, a part of you felt like running into the crashing waves, but a voice took you out of it. “Y/n!” Michael called behind you, over the sound of the whistling wind. He trudges in the sand to get to you; you faintly snicker at his dedication. “Are you okay?” he asks once he’s closer to you.

When you see him, face glowing in the moon light, golden locks blowing in the ocean breeze, face twisted with concern, it all settles. Everything feels like it’s in the right place. Your stomach, although still turning with butterflies, no longer feels sick.

There’s a pause between the two of you; both of you deciding to admire each other instead of the beautiful ocean view beside you. Then, it feels like everything clicks. Like the two of you mentally communicate your longing for each other, your desire. Both shutting your eyes and diving in for a kiss at the same time.

His lips smash against yours, sucking your face, and his tongue quickly invades your mouth. He kisses you like he’s craved your lips for years, passionately cleaning up your mouth with his eager tongue.

Michael works your jacket off of your shoulders and you shimmy it to the ground. He unzips your dress, the zip running along your naked back sends a shiver crawling down your spine. He abandons your lips for a moment to pull down your dress, exposing your bare chest and expensive panties. You’re too lost in lust to even realize you’re half naked on a public beach.

You’re both panting and releasing all of the built-up sexual tension. He stands back up and kisses you again, his hands cup your ass and he gives an echoed smack; his fingers creep down your legs. He grabs onto the back of your thighs and hoists you up, you lightly yelp into his mouth and wrap your legs around him. His large hands hold you up and he leans down, resting you onto the jacket you’ve thrown onto the sand.

Once you’re laid down, he begins rubbing your pussy again. His cold rings adding a different sense of pleasure as he rubs you into entropy. He slides your feeble panties to the side and spits down on your cunt, shoving his finger inside you. You moan at the sudden intrusion, taking in a breath of the salt-scented air. “That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers, adding in another finger, “I want to hear you moan for daddy.”

You take in a breath and whimper as he curves his fingers inside of you, slowly pulsing against your g-spot. He touches you as if he already knows which parts make you crumble. “Ooh yeah, daddy,” you cry and grind on his fingers, pushing him deeper inside you, “right there.”

“You’re my dirty little slut, huh?” he asks, gliding in another finger. Your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Little girl likes to get fucked by her daddy?” He adds another finger, completely stretching you out. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you can’t reply. “I asked you a question.”

You meet his cold eyes for a second, before you throw your head back in pleasure. “Yes!” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise in your body. Your sensitive cunt throbs under his gluttonous fingers, persistently fucking you and begging for more. “Yes, oh, keep fucking me just like that, daddy!”

His fingers find a rhythm inside of you, constantly bringing you to the brink of climax and slowing down. “Such a dirty little girl,” he teases and spits on your soaking cunt. He pulls out his fingers and holds them to your lips. You grab his hand and suck on his long fingers, tasting the cool metal rings mixed with the sweet taste of your pussy.

You sit up and lock your lips with his again. Both, you and Michael, unbutton his shirt; you want to feel his flesh against yours as soon as possible. When you get to the bottom, you slide your hands up his body and square the shirt off of his shoulders. His perfect, porcelain skin shines in the moonlight. You want to appreciate it for a moment, but he’s already unbuckling his belt.

He’s propped on his knees, unzipping his black pants and bringing them down to pull his erection out of his briefs. It springs out when you start grabbing for it, he moves back and clicks his tongue. “My greedy little girl,” he mocks, “you don’t get a taste until daddy says you do.”

He pushes you down with one of his hands. His touch is so delicate, yet so commanding. Everything he does is done with conviction and a power that only you could dream of, he is inherently dominant over you. He strokes his long, girthy length over you, you’re practically drooling at the sight. He spits on himself and rubs it into the head. “Spit on it,” he orders.

You sit up and weakly spit on the tip of his cock; it’s too late when you notice your mouth is dry from nervousness. He shakes his head. “You’re so pathetic, you can’t even spit on me right,” he sneers, divorced from the nasty words leaving his lips. He presses his dick against your folds and your fingers curl into your jacket, awaiting the moment he plunges into you. “Say the word, baby girl, say you want me,” he’s lingering at your entrance.

“Please,” you whine, your pussy is beating against his hard cock, “please dad.”

He pushes his head inside you and you grab his arms for support, digging your nails into his skin. He’s so thick, you’ve never felt something so large obtruding your tight cunt. He moves in slowly, reading your stunned facial expressions to see if he should continue stuffing himself inside of you. You let out tiny weeps as he digs deeper into your hole, but you can’t manage much more.

Michael thrusts himself into you until he’s balls deep, even he can’t help but groan. “My little girl is so fucking tight,” he grunts under his breath. He starts to hammer himself into you, going so deep that you feel like pushing him back, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. His cock is so thick that it hits every nerve you could imagine; it’s hard to gather a single word.

He lets out a small chuckle at your reticence. “My innocent baby’s never felt a real cock before, huh?” he taunts, still pounding his length into you. You open your mouth to speak, but settle on shaking your head. One distinct tear runs down the side of your face while stifled cries pass your trembling lips with each time his balls smack into your ass. “You’re taking me like a good fucking girl,” he admires, “my good little slut.”

He lifts up your leg and rests your foot on his shoulder. You’re twisted onto your side, trying to look over your shoulder to see how vigorously he pounds into your cunt. Michael’s new positioning hits exactly in your g-spot, you feel your leg shaking under his grip. “H-holy shit,” your voice trembles, you let out a built-up breath. “Keep going, daddy! Right there, right there, I’m so close,” you’re begging, voice is flooded with desperation. You don’t care how childish you sound, you want nothing more than to come all over Michael’s big dick. “Don’t move, please, please,” you grab onto his arm again.

Tears overflow your eyes when you look into his. Just seeing his determined light blue eyes peering back at you makes you unravel even more. He has no remorse for how weak he’s making you, how vulnerable you’ve become, his unmistakable dominion turns you on.

He listens to your wails, finally granting you the satisfaction you’ve been begging for and plows into your g-spot. Your grip on him gets tighter as he thrusts harder, you’re almost certain he’s going to leave some swelling deep inside your cunt. “Your dick is so, fucking, good,” you breathe in between thrusts.

Michael doesn’t give up, keeping up the same pace and fucking you exactly how you want him to. You’re about to praise his long cock some more when you’re thrown into climax. You try looking back up at him, but you can’t say a word; your mouth hangs wide open with nothing but small chokes croaking out. He can see how dazed he’s made you and shoves your face into the ground, pushing your nose against the leather of your jacket. “You’re going to take daddy’s cock like a good little girl,” he seethes, suffocating your head into your jacket. “Don’t come,” he demands.

He continues punching your g-spot with his huge cock, you feel your pussy spasming under his rough thrusts. He holds both of your arms back, shifting you into doggy-style. His balls slap against your sore clit and you feel yourself starting to ejaculate. “Fuck!” you scream into the breeze of the empty beach. Your cunt twitches and gushes its balmy juices all over Michael’s hard cock.

He slows down his pace and pulls your arms up towards him, you feel his heaving chest against your back. “What did I just fucking say?” he fumes, tugging your arms even closer to him. “Answer me.”

“You told me not to come,” you answer in a syrupy, naïve voice.

He grabs both of your tits to push you flush against him, maintaining his rough thrusts into your cunt. “That’s right,” he whispers in your ear, “baby didn’t fucking listen.” He smacks your tits with both of his hands, striking you hard. You jump at how ruthless he hits you, it makes your stomach flutter again. His full lips lug along your neck. “Remember who you belong to,” he speaks into your neck, sending an iciness throughout your entire body.

Michael digs his teeth into your skin, sucking up your flesh while he continues massaging your breasts, pinching at the hard peaks your nipples have formed. He sucks so hard it stings, you wonder how that would feel on your pussy. His love bite begins to hurt and you shift your head away from him, he snickers. “Who do you belong to?” he whispers, lips chafing the shell of your ear.

He pinches your nipples even harder and you sob in pleasure. “Mmm, you,” you respond, looking over your shoulder to give his lips a frail kiss. “I belong to you, daddy.”

He takes in a deep breath as if shaking off your spell and regaining his confidence. He pushes you onto the ground again and goes back to fucking you like a ragdoll. “You better remember that,” he breathes, mercilessly pummeling himself into you again.

He holds both of your arms back once more, driving himself into you so hard that you’re concerned about cervix bruising. His pace slows down a bit and you look back at him, his mouth drapes open and he stares down at the back of your head. He pushes you away as he orgasms, savagely shoving your face back into the ground, as you feel his warm seed spilling inside your wet cunt. Michael groans from deep within his chest, letting out a long sigh when he’s done. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, “fuck, you sexy bitch.”

You let out a little giggle at this and he joins. He hauls himself out of you and you feel all of your muscles relax. You shift onto your back, looking up at Michael in disbelief. You’re too caught up in euphoria to comprehend what just happened. All you can think of in this moment is how fucking good he was. Even Michael has a dumbfounded look on his face.

He shakes his head and liberates a nervous laugh, “We’re so fucked up.”

You can say that again.

[itsallmightbitch]

Stitches (Part Two)

Ya’ll, I wasn’t planning on posting this yet but when I actually checked, I realised that if I didn’t- Part Two was going to be over 12,000 words. So I had to split it again. So, you can look forward to a Part Three! I also, sort of, accidentally maybe, wrote a teeny tiny lil’ bit of plot. 

Tagged: @kittygonyan​ @mrsreina​ (If you’d like to be tagged in Part Three, give me a shout!)

Pairing: Villain!AllMight x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Threats of Non-Con (Not made by our boy All Might and not said explicitly though).

Word Count: 6800+

Summary: A phone call makes you question just how the biggest bad in Japan feels about you. You discover just how All Might was injured and things get just a lil’ bit steamy.

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

He was gone for over half an hour and you’d spent that time preparing the dressings you’d need for him. The wound was in a semi awkward place- just below the dip of his collarbone, so you’d had to dig out the gauze tape.

All the while, you attempted to calm the rapid, dizzying beat of your heart.

 Those damn breathing exercises that Ivy had taught you were doing jack shit, especially with the feeling of his hands still imprinted firmly on your hips.

 Were you really going to do this tonight?

 It wasn’t as though you hadn’t danced around him for months now, the unyielding pull of his orbit spinning you closer and closer until the inevitable collision. But as you stood on the precipice, feet towing the line and looking into the abyss… there was still some trepidation.

 Was he just doing this to prove that he could get into your pants?

 Where the hell would it even go? He was, at his core, a villain and nothing you could do or say would ever change his nature.

 Not that you would want to. You weren’t here to ‘fix’ him in any other way but physically.

 Yet, despite all of the reservations that swam in your head, you couldn’t deny the chemistry that had always bubbled between you. Especially in those moments that you forgot just who he was and he was just idling around your apartment with you. Those moments made you just as hot as when you saw him pummelling some wannabe hero on TV.

 Making him coffee while he fixed your kitchen sink. Actually… finding out that he could fix a kitchen sink had been jarring enough. Bickering over which movie to watch, when you knew he was going to win like he always did- but arguing with him for the fun of it anyway.

 That day you’d found out that he did a fucking wicked impression of Endeavor and you’d howled with laughter- then caught him looking immensely proud of himself afterwards.

 Even now, the memory of it made your lips quirk in a stupid smile.

 Seeing that side of him made it so easy to separate him from the man the rest of the world saw. They weren’t privy to all the things that made him unique. Would it really be so wrong of you to give in?

 The filthy promise he’d made still rang in your ears.

 Slow, hard and all night long. Your thighs clenched in anticipation.

 Your phone buzzed cheerily on the side table and the coffee you’d made for yourself in his absence sloshed against the side of the mug when you jumped.

 An unknown number usually meant one of two things. Either All Might was calling you to ask how to perform some horrible mutilation on a person without them losing too much blood- or Ivy was calling for a chat.

 Since the former was currently using up all of your hot water- seriously, thirty five minutes now- you correctly guessed that it was the latter. You answered, immediately perking up at the sound of her voice.

 “Babes, is that beefy idiot of yours there? His little henchmen have been tearing apart half of the city trying to find him,” she said, not even bothering with hello. You tutted. Of course he’d just up and vanished without giving anyone a hint that he was okay.

 “Hi Ivy,” you said pointedly and you could almost hear her roll her eyes at your insistence of politeness. “Yeah, he’s here.”

 She grumbled.

 “Ugh, will you please tell him to call off his goons before I have to kill any more of them for disrespecting me,” she said, like murdering henchmen was all too taxing for her. You knew differently. She was probably enjoying the change of pace. You half smiled, shaking your head.

 What exactly was your life? Passing messages between villains like some kind of sentient answering machine.

 “Hold on. He’s in the shower,” you said, escaping the soft light of the living room and heading in the direction of the still -goddamn it- running water. His clothes were piled where you’d told him to leave them and you were oddly touched to find that he’d arranged them in a way that the bloodied parts weren’t on your carpet.

 He could be considerate when he wanted to be.

 Biting your lip, you eventually worked up the courage and knocked on the door. You knew that he was grinning from ear to ear, probably expecting you to barge in and simply toss your panties over your shoulder while you were at it.

 Hmm. There was plenty of time for that later.

 “Did you miss me already, sweet thing? Am I that irresistible?” he said, his tone all deep and buttery and the image of him stark naked and soaking wet stole your voice for a moment. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was taking so long because he was- taking care of himself.

 Your stomach whirled pleasantly at the thought of him stroking a hand along his thick-

 “Hey! Don’t forget to tell him that they have like, zero manners. I’m appalled at how rude they all are. This is no way to treat a lady!”

 Ivy’s irritated voice turned away from the phone for a moment. A crunch and a half-halted scream told you that she was more than handling herself against All Might’s minions.

 You licked your bottom lip, squeezing your eyes shut and trying not to picture him behind the damn door again. Otherwise you’d never get out the words you needed to say. You’d get your chance to join him later, when your dumb obligation as his doctor wasn’t coming first.

 “Um, Ivy says your little minions are out of control again. You might want to deal with that, big guy,” you informed him and you heard him swear loudly, a colourful mix of words that would have made a sailor blush.

 The water, at long last, shut off.

 You hadn’t really considered what would come next, despite the fact that he’d clearly left his pants- and by extension- phone right next to where you were standing.

 The door opened and you suddenly had a face full of muscular, soaking wet chest. You barely even noticed his smug expression, too busy trailing your eyes down and focusing with laser like precision on the trail of blond hair that started at his bellybutton and vanished underneath his towel.

 All Might had a fucking happy trail. How had you not noticed it earlier?

 Oh yeah. All the blood.

 You had died. You were dead and buried and this was Heaven and of course your version of Heaven would have a soaking wet, naked super villain in it.  

 Every brain function ceased and all you could register was the heat of the steam billowing out from behind him and the aching urge you now felt to catch the lone water droplet that was rolling down along his abdomen with your tongue.

 It dipped into his bellybutton then out again, before soaking into the towel that he’d slung low around his hips.

 “You know, as much as I’m enjoying your reaction sweetheart,” he rumbled, openly amused by your gaping, idiotic staring. “I do need my phone before I lose any more men to the sewer rat.”

 “I fucking heard that, you jackass!” Ivy screeched and you were brought back to reality, aware that your face was now glowing red.

 He leaned down past you and fished his phone from his pants pocket and you could feel the sweet, water warmed heat of his skin as he passed so close to you. You resisted the urge you suddenly felt to throw your legs over your head.

You didn’t even know if your legs could do that and Ivy might not appreciate having to wait any longer for a reprieve.

 When he straightened up, he grinned at you and it was… different than his usual cocky smiles. This one was toothy and almost soft and his free hand came up to your chin, gripping it much like he had earlier. Except this time, it wasn’t to threaten you.

 It was to bring your lips to his in a nipping, hard kiss that took the air out of your lungs.

 Hnnng.

 “Soon kitten,” he murmured, biting your bottom lip once more playfully. “Don’t forget, this was your bright idea.”

 He winked at you before retreating back into the bathroom. You remained standing on the other side of the door for a long moment, cursing yourself for being so worried about him when you could be splayed out underneath him right now- morals be damned.

 You only remembered that Ivy was still on the line when you heard her voice asking if everything was okay.

 Fuck, it was more than okay. Not long from now, you were going to have that between your legs. More than ever you wished you hadn’t skipped all those yoga classes because this was going to be... challenging. 

Said legs carried you shakily back down the hall and away from the temptation to break the door down while you waved your bra over your head. 

Sexy.

 “He’s um- he’s calling someone now,” you cleared your throat, choosing not to sit on your bloodied couch and instead canting your hip against your dining table. “Sorry Ives. If I’d have known he was AWOL I’d have made him call sooner. I know what those idiots are like…”

 His henchmen were notorious for running riot without him there to rein them in. He was, surprisingly, like seventy three percent of their impulse control. It was a shame he lacked any himself.

 “You know, I’m not even surprised any more,” she tutted. “He could have at least let one of his lackey’s know before he went and squared up against- wait-” Her voice paused just as she reached the bloody good bit and you fought the urge to interrupt. “Maybe he’s been too busy to phone anyone… Wanna tell me what you’ve been up to?”

 Ivy knew what had gone down tonight by the sound of it. But she was also distracted and you knew you would get nowhere without indulging her curiosity first.

 “Oh yeah, he’s been super busy getting a big ass gash on his shoulder stitched up. Not much time for phone calls,” you hedged slyly. Ivy didn’t need to know he’d also been busy with his mouth on your neck while you attempted not to moan like a a porn star. Definitely a detail that could be left out.

 “Not going to lie sweets, I was convinced you were going to say getting a blowjob.”

 “Fucking hell, Ivy.”

 “What!? There’s nothing wrong with getting busy after a life threatening situation. I’m amazed that you both have so much restraint,” she said and despite your irritation over these villains all up in your personal life, you couldn’t find it in yourself to disagree with her out loud. “You said he was all sliced up? Did he tell you how he got it?”

 Interest?

 Piqued.

 “No! He’s being really secretive about it,” you said hurriedly as though Ivy would hang up on you at any second. She wouldn’t but you were far too eager to hear this story and your brain refused to function normally. “Do you know?”

 “I’m not technically supposed to, but well… henchmen talk darling, especially under the threat of pain…”

 “Ivy spill,” you said, dragging the word out into a whine. Ivy loved to tell a tale but you were impatient now. You wanted to hear what had happened before he came out of the shower. Not just because you didn’t want him to catch you snooping in his business but also because there was the promise of fantastic sex to come too.

 “Oh sweets, do I have a story for you,” Ivy squealed gleefully. Your heart beat hard in your chest in anticipation and you hoped that she wouldn’t drag it out too much. “I hope you’re sitting down for this because it’s just, mwah-” she made a kissing noise and you snorted.

 “Ivy, come on. While I’m still young.”

 “Tut tut, there’s no rushing a good thing. Or do you like it fast?” she teased, flirtatiously.

 You rolled your eyes and tutted into the phone, not in the mood to be teased. At least… not by Ivy.

 You checked over your shoulder- in case All Might had snuck up on you or was lurking in the doorway. He had a habit of doing that, just to make you jump. But he was nowhere to be seen, probably still on the phone, berating one of his second in command for their bad behaviour.

 You hoped it was Shigaraki getting a talking to. That guy gave you nothing but bad vibes.

 “So, I take it you remember last week, when you and I dished about that weirdo you treated? You know Hinata Cash?” she said his name almost cautiously as if worried that being too quick would bring back the memories before you would be able to handle them.

 You made a strangled noise that could have been agreement as your brief but memorable encounter with Hinata Cash came rushing back from the deep, dark part of your memories that you’d shoved it into.

 A chill raced along your spine.

 “Are you okay, sweets?” Ivy asked cautiously.

 “M’fine,” you said, clearing your throat. You wouldn’t let the mere mention of the creep make you uncomfortable. Ivy still paused until you reaffirmed that you were okay with talking about him though. “What about him? Is he still being a disturbing son of a bitch?”

 Your bravado was all show. You both knew it, but Ivy continued like she bought into your act.

 “Well, it turns out he was quite the talking point in some circles... Not enough to play with the big boys like your honey bun,” she said, probably giving the phone a shit eating grin. You didn’t even berate her for it and the teasing tone she’d aimed for fell away awkwardly. “But he was doing enough to get himself noticed. He’d started coming in to the Golden Cat on weekends. A few of the girls there told me about him…”

 “All good things, I bet,” you said, rubbing your arm nervously. There was really no reason to feel nervous, not with your door locked and All Might in your bathroom, but that didn’t stop tendrils of unease winding around your neck.

 “He started going by Scissorhands- Ugh, it was tacky if you ask me,” she sniffed primly. Never let anyone tell you that Ivy wasn’t a class act, you thought fondly. Still, the name made your insides twist uncomfortably. From what you’d seen on the snippets of news reports that day- he’d certainly lived up to his chosen name.

 You had never been truly frightened in all the years that you’d been treating criminals. Even during that first meeting with All Might, you had never felt like you were in any immediate danger- so long as you kept your mouth shut and remained respectful.

 But Cash…

 He was the type to cut your throat because he didn’t like the colour of your curtains or some shit.

 His entire visit had deeply unsettled you and set you on edge for days afterwards. Even now, despite the fact that he hadn’t delivered on his ‘promise’, you couldn’t really settle.

 Every movement he’d made that day, every little twitch of his hands had caused your body to recoil and had it not been for the tight hold you had over your Quirk, you might have done more harm than good.

 Thankfully, it had been a straight forward procedure but from the way your body trembled, you’d have thought it was your very first time all over again. He’d picked up on your nerves from the moment he’d sat down, leering whenever you flinched.

 Glass and debris had become embedded directly under his left eye from the bank robbery he’d partaken in, just hours before. It had been on the Channel Five news, which was partly why you were so on edge. His fingers had still been bloody from the security guard he’d literally torn apart.

 Heavy set, with wide shoulders and contrasting sharp features, you knew that had he made a move that day, you wouldn’t have had a chance to fight him off.

 The shaking of your hands had thankfully been negated by your Quirk.

 Precision wasn’t the most amazing Quirk in the world but it was particularly useful in your line of work. Being able to hit your target despite the shaking of your hands had saved you precious time.

 Quick, yet terrified, you’d cleaned up his face and as politely as you could, tried to see him out. But his hand had clamped down on your thigh, too high for comfort and your whole body froze- your eyes staring unseeingly past him.

You couldn’t breathe in anything more than quick, frightened gasps. He seemed to revel in them.

 You felt like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, seconds before the deadly bite.

 He’d leaned in close, his breath repulsive and sour and you’d thought of a million ways to escape in those few seconds- none of them even remotely useful.

 “I really appreciate this, Doc. It’s hard to find a woman with steady hands like yours...”

He had lifted one of them, examining it. 

“Wonderful quirk. So useful... I can see why All Might likes you so much. I think I quite like you too.”

 You had prepared for the worst. Mentally written your last will and testament and prayed to God that when he was finished with you he would just leave Marco be- the thought of him harming your cat suddenly far more prevalent in your mind than what was going to happen to you. 

Strangely though, he’d simply gotten up from the chair, stroked your cheek as you sat there like a statue and then let himself out. Not before throwing his parting remark over his shoulder, though. The one that had been haunting you all week.

 “I’ll see you again real soon, honey.”

 Naturally, you hadn’t gone after him for the payment he’d skimped out on.

 Hell to the no. Instead, you’d locked your front door, hyperventilated for a good fifteen minutes on your living room floor and then much to your embarrassment… you’d called All Might. 

For the first time ever.

 You had passed the call off as some dumb suggestion that he come over for pizza and a movie, like you were best friends and not potential-fuck-buddies. You hadn’t even had the strength to hide the tremble in your voice, nor the will to throw in any bravado. It had been a brutally honest call- one that you had never wanted to make.

 It was like letting him see the real you. Removing that final barrier between you that might hold you back from feeling anything real. That conversation had changed something, you thought. Something deep.

 “H-Hey! I know I never call like this but... I-I… Could you come over?”

 Your voice had been small and shaky, with you on the verge of tears- even though you would rather die than let them fall over someone so vile.

 There had been a pause on the other end, mid-way through whatever sarcastic thing he’d been about to berate you with.

 “Please?”

 You had added that without even thinking about it, voice catching and the grip of Cash’s hand still burning on your thigh. You had thought, in that silence, that he was going to brush you off. Either that or demand to know what was wrong. Thankfully, he did neither.

 “Ten minutes.”

 The longest ten minutes of your life. He had found you pacing a hole in the floor of your living room and petting the ever-loving bejesus out of Marco- stressed to the max. You’d locked eyes with him and he hadn’t even had to ask if you were glad to see him. Your face said it all.

 He hadn’t asked what had happened and you hadn’t told him… but he’d stayed anyway. A real villain, that one.

 “Sounds about right to me,” you scoffed, tone disgusted at the thought of that… that man. “Ives, I don’t scare easily, you know that... but I know full well what he wanted and it wasn’t a back rub. What does this have to do with why All Might turned up injured?”

 You felt unsettled at having him brought up out of the blue. You’d been quite happy to forget all about him and the way that his gaze had made your skin crawl.

 “Everything. The word should be getting out any minute now, about our dear departed Tim Burton knockoff.”

 You paused, startled and unsure if you’d heard her right.

 “Departed?”

 “Oh, he’s very, very dead darling,” Ivy said lightly, as if she was just telling you the weather for the day.

 The relief that washed over you was momentous and almost made your knees give way, causing you to grip the table for support. He was dead. You were free of the lurking shadow of fear that plagued your days and nights. The one that robbed you of decent sleep because you were jumping at every little noise in your apartment.

 “Is it bad that I just wanna say ‘Oh thank God’?” you replied, breath knocked from you. Ivy laughed. She sounded just as pleased as you felt.

 “You won’t be the only one, I’m sure. He must have put up a halfway decent fight, if it took you that long to stitch up a little old cut,” she said, pointedly as though waiting for you to work things out. She was probably disappointed that she didn’t get to see your reaction when you did.

 Oh. Holy shit.

 “All Might killed him!?” you squeaked, then lowered your voice drastically in case he heard you. “Are you fucking with me right now, Ivy? Because that’s not cool.”

 You didn’t really know how to feel about it, if it was true. You were more than relieved that the looming shadow of Cash was gone forever but regretful that somehow, All Might had found out what you’d tried to keep from him and had gotten himself hurt in the process of doing something about it.

 “It’s true,” she said, confirming it. “You and I both know I hate giving that overrated blowhard any credit… but something had to be done about him. Cash had it coming, either way. There are plenty of girls at the Golden Cat who’ll be glad to see him gone.”

 You swallowed hard. Your silence was more you being concerned over All Might’s well being than over the fact that he had killed a man tonight. He’d killed plenty of people in the time you’d known him.

That wasn’t about to destroy the image of him that you had.

It was more the deep seated worry that always gripped you when he was involved in something dangerous. Usually, you could worry yourself sick over the news broadcast and at least then, if anything happened, you would know.

But tonight, he’d gone out there and gone one on one with a man who could rip people apart from the inside out- and you hadn’t even known. What if he’d never come back? What if he’d died because of you and word would get back to you, weeks down the line that you would never see him again?

Something horrid lodged in your stomach.

 “Won’t he get heat from other villains?” you asked to distract yourself, rubbing the top of Marco’s head as he trotted past- blissfully unaware of your minor breakdown. “Isn’t there some… I dunno… Code of conduct or something? Honour among thieves?”

 Ivy snorted, obviously amused at your blatant lack of knowledge. You would think that someone as deep into the criminal underworld as you were would at least know a little about how things operated. But no. 

You chose to remain blissfully ignorant.

 “Hmm, well here’s the thing. The King makes the rules and All Might, well… as much as I’m loathe to admit it, he wears the crown babes. Who the Hell is going to argue with him?” she asked and you bit your lip, the fear of retaliation lessening.

 It was no secret that he was both feared and respected- enough to keep even the toughest of the tough under his thumb. There wasn’t a Hero or Villain in the world who could realistically take him on, one on one, and win.

 That thought relaxed you and the horrid sensation lessened. It didn’t leave entirely, but it receded enough that you could breathe again.

 “Anyway, to cut a long story short… Cash wasn’t exactly secretive about what he liked to do to girls. He was always running his mouth and tonight, he came in absolutely singing about some pretty little Doctor that he’d fallen head over heels for…” Ivy said sourly, obviously not enjoying this part of the story.

 You enjoyed it even less. It didn’t take a genius to work out just who that Doctor was. Your hope that he’d just been trying to scare you when he threatened to see you again had been futile, apparently and you were suddenly so glad that you’d asked All Might to stay that night.

 “ You’re pretty well known yourself around here, sweets. Did you know that?”

 You hadn’t known, no, but you kept quiet.

 “It didn’t take long for a few of the regulars to work out just who Cash was talking about. Word got around like wildfire and eventually got to old Shigaraki himself. From what I’ve heard through the grapevine tonight, it took five and a half minutes from Shigaraki calling his boss, until All Might was storming the Golden Cat.”

 Damn, there had been you, badmouthing Shigaraki not ten minutes ago in your head. If it hadn’t been for him telling All Might, who knows what would be happening to you right now?

 You made a mental note to be extra nice to him the next time you saw him.

 The thought that Cash had been interested in you made you shudder, sickened at the thought of him even thinking about you like that. Your body felt grimy and you resisted the urge to run to the bathroom and scrub yourself clean.

 All Might was officially your fucking hero and he could pry that word from your cold, dead hands.

 Sure, he would be horrified at the implication but that didn’t make it any less true. Maybe that’s why he’d brushed off your questioning earlier, being difficult when you wanted to know how he’d been injured.

 You caught yourself grinning stupidly, attempting to hide it by biting your lip. You realised that there was no point. Ivy couldn’t see you anyway.

 “So, I think the message is officially loud and clear. No-one fucks with the good Doctor,” she laughed, all angelic and sweet and you beamed down the phone, laughing along with her. You felt a heady sort of rush as the realisation that you were safe again sunk in. That the villains you had helped and minded and treated like people over the years had heard that you were in danger and had come to the rescue in their own way.

 The realisation that… that he cared. Deep down, past his angry and irritable nature, he really cared.

 “Ivy, I-”

 Without warning, two large, muscular arms wrapped around your waist from behind and you might have jumped had All Might not buried his face into your neck and rumbled a low, lazy growl, like a bear waking up from hibernation. He nuzzled you with a deliberate slowness, lips pressing warm against your throat.

 “You still talking to the sewer rat?” he murmured, sounding annoyed because he knew you wouldn’t hang up on her just because he said so- and so he would have to wait as patiently as he could until you were done.

 On the other hand, it was an opportunity to rile Ivy up as much as possible.

 “It’s Vagabond, you overgrown man child,” she hissed down the line, all previous goodwill towards him gone from her voice.

 All Might ignored her, choosing instead to tug you back until you were plastered against his chest and he could lay his kisses along your shoulder- even though he still had to stoop down to reach. How did he even get so tall? Your breath caught in your throat, longing and gratitude fighting for the number one spot.

 He wasn’t going to stay patient for much longer and neither were you.

 “Listen, I gotta go, Ives. Love you, babes,” you said quickly and she cackled manically, well aware of where you were rushing off to in such a hurry. This was only proving her right. She would be insufferable for weeks now.

 “Love you too, sweets! Try not to break anything. Like the building.”

 You hung up to the sound of her laughter and turned in All Might’s arms, surprising him when you pulled him down for a kiss. You were long past the point of worrying about morals and right and wrong. There couldn’t be anything wrong in wanting him like you did. In knowing that he protected you and cared about you in his own way- no matter if he never said it out loud.

 He broke away, smirking.

 “Someone’s eager,” he ground out, hands sweeping up along your sides. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast and you pulled in a shaky, uneven breath. “I bet you’ll be fucking soaking…”

 Well, he wasn’t wrong. Those intense eyes trailed over your face, lingering on your lips until he locked his gaze with yours.

 “Thank you,” you blurted out, without meaning to.

 One of his eyebrows quirked, amused.

 “You’re thanking me for making you wet? That’s a new one on me sweetheart but sure. I’ll take the credit where it’s due,” he laughed cockily, one hand on the back of your head as he dove forward again and kissed you roughly. This one was all teeth and tongue and your knees shook, suddenly feeling thankful that he was holding you up.

 You moaned softly, powerless but confident under his touch.

 There was no pushing him back, no sliding your tongue into his mouth because the man was a force of nature and practically every inch of him was pure muscle. So you were content to let him take what he wanted from you, for now. Later you would find a way to turn the tables- to make him the quivering pathetic mess.

 Right now, all you wanted was to find out all of the ways he kissed.

 The angry ones, the lust filled ones, the sweet ones. The good morning kisses and the I’m happy to see you kisses and all the fucking kisses in between. You were off to a great start. You sighed, tangling your fingers in his hair and stroking your thumb in a circle on his scalp.

 He melted under your touch and deep down you revelled in the fact that he was just as affected by you as you were by him.

 “I um,” you stuttered, swallowing hard when you reluctantly pulled away from him. He looked as though he wanted to follow your mouth but for a change he let you speak. “I didn’t mean thank you for- for that.”

 “For what?” he asked knowing full well what you meant, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

 “For…” Your face heated quickly, without you even realising it.

 Without warning, a hand was shoved between your already shaky legs and he pressed upwards, cupping your pussy and dragging a half halting, surprised moan out of your throat. He almost took you off your feet and your fingers wrapped over his biceps to steady yourself.

 “For. What?” All Might asked again, applying pressure in all the places you needed pressure applied. Oh you were well and truly fucked and he hadn’t even gotten you naked yet.

 “Cause if you’re blushing now, kitten, then I can’t wait to see what you’ll be like when we really get going,” he continued, nuzzling along your cheek and rubbing his palm over your aching pussy. “M’not a mind reader. You have to tell me what you want. Where you want me. How hard you want me to pound into you. I wanna hear you sobbing my name like it’s the last fucking thing you’ll ever say tonight. Think you can do that for me? Hmm?”

 You were gripping his arms for dear life, trying to focus on the steady heaving of your lungs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 “Yeah, yeah, I can do it,” you promised, almost without hearing the words come out of your mouth. “I promise.”

 “Good girl,” he purred encouragingly and you just about lost your shit for a few seconds, along with any sense you might have had left as the praising words repeated on a loop in your head. “Now, I’ll ask again. What weren’t you thanking me for?”

 He was grinning wickedly against your cheek, eyes boring into yours.

 “For making me wet,” you responded finally, when your tongue no longer felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and you remembered how to speak actual words and not just garbled syllables.

 He groaned- actually groaned like you were the one touching him, instead of the other way around and it sent a shivering wave of heat spreading out at the base of your spine. Your clit throbbed mercilessly under the heat of his palm.

 “Christ kitten,” he said, voice hoarse. He didn’t pull his hand away like you thought he would though. You were still sensitive from your little dry humping session earlier and the pressure he was applying was agonising torture for so many reasons.

 You both knew he would pull away though if you even tried to set the pace. He’d made it perfectly clear that he was in charge.

 “Now, what were you thanking me for? You’ve got me all curious.”

 You felt dizzy and the words didn’t exactly come easily. The heat radiating off of his bare chest was intoxicating and so was the sight of all those well defined, rippling muscles so easily within reach. You indulged yourself, seeing as you hadn’t been able to earlier. You lightly trailed the pads of your fingers over his pectoral muscle and down at a steady pace, over the hardness of his abs and then to the tempting, glorious V shape that led under-

 Your smile came unbidden to you and he noticed, knowing immediately what you were grinning like an idiot about. He was wearing the pajama pants you’d gotten him.

 They were simple, nondescript pants like any guy would wear but… you’d gotten them in his favourite colour and he’d actually put them on.

 You’d expected him to either stay in his towel or well, just get the clothes out of the way entirely.

 “Yeah, yeah,” he snorted, releasing you when he realised that he’d gotten your attention in an entirely different way. The loss of sensation between your legs was more than worth it to see him standing there, a little awkwardly, with his arms crossed. “Don’t be a jackass about it, for fuck sake. I just didn’t want to have my dick out when I was eating dinner.”

 “Like that would bother you,” you beamed and he grunted something petulant that you didn’t hear.

 “You gonna tell me what you’re thanking me for, or what?” he said after a moment, ignoring the obvious erection that was tenting the front of said pants. You found it very, very hard to ignore but dragged your eyes up to his face after a moment anyway. His self assured smirk was expected.

 He knew how attractive he was and what it was doing to you. Damn him.

 “Cash,” you managed to say after a moment and it clearly didn’t answer his question. He looked at you like you were an idiot.

 “You… want cash? Here was me thinking you weren’t a whore,” he cackled, pleased at his own cleverness. You were less amused, punching him lightly in the arm. The shaking of his shoulders didn’t stop but at least he was no longer laughing out loud.

 You were trying to spill your heart to the big jerk and he couldn’t stop mocking you for more than five seconds.

 “Come on! Stop being a dick,” you scowled, arousal now tainted with annoyance. He rolled his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his slicked back hair, his laughter dying after a moment.

 “Alright, alright! Explain yourself, woman,” he swept his hands out, metaphorically giving you the floor.

 “Hinata Cash,” you elaborated, expecting the penny to drop. But when he continued to look lost, it slowly dawned on you that he’d never even bothered to learn the guys name. All he’d known was that he was going to do something to hurt you and… that had been enough for him to go on. Your heart thrummed in your chest. “Um, Scissorhands?”

 Much like they had earlier, his eyes darkened, flashing a sudden warning that it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Unlike earlier though, you ignored it. Answers to your question were just out of reach.

 “Why are you bringing up that motherfucker?” he asked gruffly, then swept past you almost dismissively before you could answer. He disappeared into your kitchen, his back to you. Not the reaction you had been expecting. The heated air had vanished- as had the playfulness he’d exuded moments before. “Way to kill a mood, doll.”

 You suddenly regretted opening your mouth. He hadn’t told you- and if he hadn’t told you, there had been a reason for it.

 “Shit,” you hissed softly to yourself, listening to him stomping around the kitchen behind you.

 You turned and followed him, pathetically useless against the part of you that longed to be near him. Besides, there was no taking it back now and you were burning up with curiosity.

 Why had he killed Cash? Why had he even bothered himself at all?

 Most of all, you wanted- no needed to know.

 Had he done it for you?

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

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

[cheswirls]

you won't remember / i won't forget  [ 1/2 ]

[this ended up being my creative project october, wholly inspired by dakumes' old art. its 10k each half so be careful if you have a 'read more' extension. rip mobile users ig. thanks again @hoo-kie for letting me ramble abt this one !]

he brings daisies, today.

sabo takes them warily as they’re pushed into his arms, careful of the iv in his right hand. the bouquet is lovely, the white petals fresh, like they had just been picked, and the yellow centers seeming to stare up at him, warm color nice and inviting, bringing a hesitant smile to his face.

after a moment he bends down to sniff them, and closes his eyes at the smell, his mouth falling open to breathe it in. “they’re lovely,” he murmurs, just loud enough for the room’s other occupant to hear.

“they’re your favorite,” is his reply, and sabo’s shoulders tense at the information release.

“o-oh,” he stammers, holding the bouquet at a distance. he works to keep his face neutral, but it’s hard, his former wary smile quickly wanting to morph into a full-blown frown. it’s not that he doesn’t doubt that it’s true -they smell amazing, so it must be to some extent- but more that it was being handed to him as fact, presented as evidence of something he wasn’t ready to believe.

“here, let me take them,” his visitor says, reaching out to grab the flowers. his callused fingers brush against the backs of sabo’s hands and the blond bites down on his lower lip at the contact. “i should’ve brought a vase or somethin’, that was my bad.” he either doesn’t notice sabo’s obvious discomfort or is blatantly ignoring it -both options are equally possible- and he moves to set the bouquet on the windowsill, open now that the blinds had been drawn.

sabo folds his hands in his lap, having nothing better to do with them. he stares at the scars, at the bandaids covering fresh marks, and runs his thumb over one until the motion begins to irritate where his iv was stuck.

his visitor -ugh, he really should stop calling him that. he had a name, it’s just that sabo never bothered to remember it. but when he turns back to take a seat on the edge of sabo’s hospital bed, the early morning light reflects off his visitor nametag, and sabo reads the name again: ace.

“are you feeling any better today?” he asks, and sabo moves his gaze away once again.

“i guess,” he mutters. ace’s face falls at the dismissive attitude, but he doesn’t leave. it bothers sabo, but another, very small part of him feels warm. he does his best to tune it out.

he looks up again to find ace watching him, and lowers his eyes, examining his clothes instead. his window didn’t provide a great view, so this was his only real way to gauge the weather. 

if he had to guess, it was cold. ace was in a red coat, scuffed up here and there but otherwise looking rather nice. his boots were honey-tanned, the laces done up loosely so that the tops flopped open. they had more signs of wear than the coat, so if sabo had to guess, he’d probably had them for some time. 

sabo reaches a hand up and pushes his fringe out of his face, sighing. the movement causes ace to lean forward.

“have the nurses said anything new?”

what’s it to you? sabo wants to bite out, but he withholds his tongue. “they haven’t been by,” he mutters instead, which was partially true. they hadn’t been by, since ace was last here, that he could tell. but his bandages weren’t frayed anymore, from his constant picking, and his iv was near full. it was odd-colored, too, which would probably explain why he couldn’t feel anything apart from a low thrum from his head. his ankles felt freer, too, brushing against the low-grade cotton of the sheets, which probably meant the wrapping around them had been removed.

he hasn’t looked yet. he’s not sure he wants to.

a low knock on the open door gets his attention, and sabo looks up as one of the nurses wanders in, lowering her hand and raising a clipboard.

“mr. portgas? i’m here to take your vitals, if you’re ready.”

ace blinks, then stands. “do i need to-?”

the nurse glances to him as she takes a seat on a stool at sabo’s bedside. “you can stay,” she tells him, smiling. “as long as it’s okay with sabo.”

they both turn to stare and sabo drops his eyes to the mint green of his hospital shirt. “sure.”

this nurse looks familiar, but they had been rotating his room, so if he was told anything important about her, he’d already forgotten. she’s gentle as she takes his left arm to push on a bp cuff, but with a sort of carelessness that leaves her nails scraping on the bandages. he hardly notices, though, and that’s when he knows for sure he’s on some kind of morphine. 

she finishes after a few minutes and sabo leans his head back against the pillows as she scribbles down a set of numbers. he doesn’t care, but she tells him he was normal anyways. the news seems to satisfy ace, if anything.

he glances to the window as she leaves and accidentally meets his eyes. they’re dark when he’s turned away from the light like this, but sabo can still tell they’re grey. he turns away quickly. it really was too early for this.

as if agreeing with him, ace’s stomach grumbles and he places his arms over it in a hurry, cheeks colored. “uh, guess i forgot to eat before coming in,” he mumbles. he straightens after a moment, nodding to the door. “‘m gonna grab something real quick. you want anything?”

by ‘something’, he means whatever he can find from the vending machine at the end of the hall. at most it’ll give sabo a few minutes of respite. he purses his lips. “they have me on a regulated diet,” he reminds ace, like he didn’t already know.

ace grins, moving around the bed and throwing his hands into his coat. it spreads at the edges as he draws his arms taut, resting just below his hip. “you could sneak it. a little wouldn’t do you any harm.” but he shrugs, giving up before sabo could protest. “i’ll be right back.”

sabo grips the sheets hard as ace slides the door shut. a part of him never wants the other to come back; another part of him knows he always does.

-

sabo takes a risk and curls his legs under the thin sheets. he holds his breath as he slides the blanket down, removing them one by one. the pants he was given were the same bland mint as his shirt, and they cut off at the top of his calves, leaving most of his lower leg exposed. now that the bandages are gone, he can see the obvious rope marks at his ankles, skin still badly discolored but no longer open. he breathes deep at the sight, gasping before he remembers he’d been withheld air, and then closes his eyes and works to steady his breathing.

he folds his legs up more and reaches a hand down to brush against the gnarled skin. even as light as he is, it’s still very sensitive, and he ends up pulling away quicker than he’d like. he frowns at the sight, curving his legs the opposite way to view the other side. it’s the first injury he’s seen, the others always wrapped up. he’d been too anxious to remove the simple bandaids after their presence lingered for a few days, nervous of what he’d find. when he picks at the wrapping on his arms, it’s fixed before he can get anywhere, smoothed down like he hadn’t bothered in the first place.

a quick inhale gains his attention, and sabo looks up to see ace just inside the room, hand still on the doorknob. he pulls a long face and reaches out to drag the blanket over his feet, hiding the marks. then he moves his legs until they’re pressed against his chest. but the pressure ends up causing discomfort, and sabo wonders not for the first time just what his shirt was concealing. he huffs and ends up sliding his legs straight again. they catch the edge of the sheet and push it back, revealing the marks again as his legs lay bare.

ace comes closer, sliding into the chair at sabo’s left, and his eyes swivel from the injury to sabo’s face, watching him closely. “do they hurt?” he asks after a minute.

“no,” sabo answers, letting the air settle before replying. he wants to divulge more, say something about his light touch irritating them, but another part of him vehemently doesn’t, and he chooses to trust the logic of the latter.

ace sits quietly for a while, and sabo realizes it’s the first time he’s seen any of his injuries either. 

“how?” he speaks up, loud in the silence. he swallows, because that had been impulsive, but ace is looking at him, and he can’t take it back now. “how did i get them?”

ace’s expression becomes pained, and he turns away, looking to the wall. his hands, resting calmly on his thighs, move to entangle, and sabo watches as they restlessly fumble. his eyes narrow.

“do you . . really want to know?”

sabo blinks, caught off-guard by the question, by the hesitance in ace’s tone. after all this time, after revealing little random nothings about the blond, now he was stalling on something he actually-

“tell me,” sabo demands, teeth gritted.

ace’s grey eyes catch in the light as he turns back to look at sabo, alarmed. they grow lax after a moment, and he nods, sullenly glancing to the door before giving sabo his full attention. “restraints.”

sabo blinks at the concise reply, furrowing his brow in irritation. he’s quick to smooth it out, bringing a hand up as the pain hits. he doesn’t know what to think. it was vague, but ace spoke like it was supposed to be significant. “restraints,” he echoes, voice bland. 

ace’s hand is reached out, but he drops it as sabo glances back up. “yeah.”

sabo suppresses the shiver in his body. him being succinct suddenly scared sabo more than anything. if he was hesitant to disclose what all had happened, well . .

just how bad was it?

-

“mr portgas?”

sabo moves his book further down his face to see a nurse at the door. he lets it fall face-down into his lap, giving her his attention as she moves into the room. she looks familiar, with her straight black hair, but sabo can't place her.

“i’m here to take your vitals,” she says. sabo nods and she takes a seat at his bedside, setting a clipboard down on a small table she rolls closer. she picks up a pulse monitor first and places it on sabo’s index finger.

when she's all done she tells him he was normal today, then leaves him to his reading. sabo picks the book back up but his gaze is caught on the stack of progress sheets on his door, and he finds himself wondering what all they said, if they disclosed anything he wasn’t already aware of.

the book is good. he’d acquired it the other day, and after removing the bookmark someone had left in it, he’d worked on it for a long while. he was almost halfway through now. 

his mind wanders as he flips the page, wondering if he could ask the staff for another one. he’s not sure who this one belongs to, but he’ll have to return it. he wants to do that much.

“do you like it?”

sabo is startled as his visitor walks into the room. ace, he reads off the nametag. he frowns, realizing he hadn’t processed anything, and flips back a page. “it’s fine,” he mumbles, though he knows his progress spoke for itself. 

ace moves to occupy the rolling chair the nurse had just been in. “do you want me to get you another one?”

sabo frowns deeper at this, but doesn’t look up from the pages. “no, that’s okay.” he didn’t want ace to give him anything. though, he thinks, glancing to his right, the flowers were nice. they were in a real vase now, getting light from the open window. they made the room smell good. less like ointment and antiseptic, something that didn’t make his nose burn.

ace doesn’t say anything else. he’s content to sit beside sabo as he reads, as the sun tracks higher and then lower into the sky, and the daisies begin to wilt from lack of light.

-

ace is lounging on a chair near the window, hands steepled, eyes turned toward the skyline. his legs are extended on the floor, only the backs of his heels touching the tile. he’s wearing the boots again, and the color is faded today, like frost had covered the top and had yet to melt off. 

sabo observes him when he’s finished his book, last page still open to give the illusion he was reading. he drops the act when a nurse wanders in, holding up two cups of yogurt. sabo closes the book so it lies backwards on his thighs, then swings the overbed tabletop so it rested at an angle, closer but not exactly over him. 

her hair dips over her shoulder when she reaches forward to hand sabo his lunch. he deposits both cups onto the table, then reaches back to take the plastic spoon from her grip. her nails clip one of the bandaids along his finger, and sabo blinks, a stern sense of deja-vu washing over him.

“if you can’t finish both, you can put one in the fridge over there,” she says, pointing to a mini fridge in the corner of the room, squished between the wall and a table of basic medical supplies. 

sabo nods, wondering how he’s never noticed it before. she moves from the room after that, her long, dark hair fanning out over the back of her scrubs. the door shuts before sabo moves to open one of the tabs on the yogurt.

“you’re done with the book?” ace asks quietly, while sabo’s mouth is full. it’d been easier to ignore the eyes on his back when he wasn’t talking, but at least now, sabo doesn’t have to verbally respond, nodding instead.

sabo doesn’t trust ace, not yet, but the staff clearly seem to, so when he’s halfway through with the cup he puts it down in favor of the book, holding it out to him. “will you give this back?” he requests. 

he doesn’t miss the way ace’s face drops as he reaches out to take it. he’s not sure how to interpret it, so he chooses not to, moving to finish his yogurt. he starts feeling funny at the end, so he sets it aside with a couple bites left, rolling his tongue in his mouth to try and work the feeling away.

ace is still sitting there, neck almost level with the back of the chair. his legs are bent, now, and both feet are firmly on the ground to hold himself in place. sabo doesn’t feel bad. he tells himself this. but, ace had been there all day, refusing to leave for anything. his mood was starting to wear on the blond.

“here,” sabo says, holding the second yogurt cup towards him. “you can have this.”

ace blinks, but stretches out an arm. it lingers there, both of their hands on the cup. “you’re sure?”

sabo shrugs, withdrawing. “i don’t want it.”

ace must know something he doesn’t, because he smiles as he brings the yogurt close. “thanks,” he says, but his smile crooks as he pulls the tab. his eyes wander to sabo’s spoon and the blond follows his gaze there, jerking a hand out to shield it from view.

“no,” he stresses. “get your own.” he jerks his hand to the table against the wall. “use one of those.”

ace’s shoulders are shaking with contained laughter, and he gets up with a jerky bow, too-long arm folding behind his back. “as you wish,” he purrs, and sabo doesn’t know how to feel about that. ace moves over to the table, humming as he looks everything over. his smile hasn’t left his face, but his brows grow pinched as he wonders what to use.

sabo regrets giving him the book, if only because he misses having something to do with his hands. it was good, too. he’d read it again if it was his own, especially because he wasn’t able to pick up on the lead’s motives, for some reason. 

ace wanders back over to his chair with a tongue depressor, moving the seat close so that he can rest an elbow on sabo’s table. sabo glances at him again and then leans back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

“i don’t even know you,” he mutters, one hand wandering up to clench his shirt, right where his heart is.

ace stills, food forgotten. “sabo . .” he tries.

“i don’t even know you!” his voice raises, but it’s not a yell, not yet. it’s enough to make ace go quiet, though, and he turns to face him. “why are you even here? why don’t you go somewhere else? i-” he cuts himself off as he feels his eyes water.

“my name is ace.” he sets the yogurt on the table, then pushes it aside to move closer to the bed. “i’ve been coming here every day for-”

“i know,” sabo interrupts. “i remember when you’re here.”

ace’s eyes widen. “that’s . . good. i’m glad.”

sabo fists the blanket tightly in both hands. “i’m not.” his eyes narrow. “you should go.”

ace looks pained, but he stands without argument. “if that’s what you want.”

sabo’s heart hurts as the door closes. he thinks it might hurt more than all his physical injuries, but he just can’t figure out why.

-

he’s propped up when he first wakes, not nearly as lucid as he should be. his eyes adjust to the room easily enough. it’s partially dark, the blinds half-open to let in the setting sun’s light. he puffs out a breath, face screwing up at the weight on his chest.

when he glances down, he finds himself bound in a blanket. stringy blond hair moves into the edge of his vision. he thinks, for how long it appears, it was weird how short it felt on the back. if he reached behind, he’d find a bald strip barely covered by the longer strands. but before he can, there’s a loud noise to his left, his earlier motion not going unnoticed.

“sabo!” a voice says, and he looks up to see someone in a hospital gown moving quickly to his bedside. “thank god you’re awake,” he says, looking close to tears, and he climbs up on the edge of the bed, one knee buried into the mattress. rough hands move up to cup his face, and he blinks, stunned by the emotion he’s greeted with. he inhales sharp, vision swimming, and leans out of the hold, bringing a hand to his forehead. his fingers bunch around tight bandages.

“sabo?” the voice comes again. “does it hurt? i can get the nurses. here, there should be a button-”

he reaches out and grips the other’s hand before he could press anything, one eye still screwed up. “i’m . . . overwhelmed,” he manages to say, slowly voicing his thoughts, sure he would be able to process them this way. the other settles down, nodding in understanding.

“you had surgery. they said you would-”

“no,” he grounds out. he drops the hand and gestures between them. “this.”

“what do you mean?”

“you know me,” he says, opening both eyes now to see the puzzlement cross the other’s face. “i can see that. but you aren’t-” he breaks off. “i mean i . . .” he trails off, shaking his head, eyes downcast.

“. . don’t.”

-

they tell him his name is sabo portgas. sabo doesn’t have anything to go off, so he takes what he’s given. he has a visitor, they say, from the room next door. his name is ace. he wanted to see sabo before he was discharged.

“it’s okay,” he hears ace tell the doctor, before he comes in. “i’m not worried. i’ll help him remember.”

“i admire you attitude, but it won’t be that easy,” the doctor warns. ace says something in a voice too low for sabo to hear. the doctor sighs. “remember to take care of yourself, too.”

“gotcha!” ace says, and then he’s pushing the door open. sabo watches him warily. 

ace smiles until he shows his teeth and moves until he’s sitting at sabo’s bedside. “hey! feel any better?”

sabo gestures to the morphine drip. “i don’t feel anything, i assure you.”

ace laughs, his lips barely parted. “sorry for scaring you last time. i-”

“last time?” sabo mumbles, face screwing up in concentration.

ace’s morphs into one of disbelief. “you don’t . . remember?”

“i was told ace was coming but.” he shakes his head. “i’ve never met you before.”

ace’s eyes dim. then they glimmer, and he moves closer, setting both hands gently on each of sabo’s shoulders. he thought he could take this slow, but if he was regressing, if would be better to go all out from the beginning. “hey, sabo,” he says, voice so assertive it has blue eyes locked onto his in an instant. “i love you.”

sabo sits there for a while, until the air stings at his wide eyes. he thinks he’s forgotten to breathe in his shock. “you -what?!” his lips purse, affronted by the casual intimacy. 

“i love you,” ace says again, leaning back. sabo is even more confused as he says it again. “i have for a long time, and i always will.” his grip tightens, crumpling the thin material of his hospital gown. “if you remember anything from today: remember that.”

and sabo does.

he remembers well into the night, long after ace has left, shooed out once visitor hours had ended. he falls asleep for a bit, and when he wakes, body sore, room dark, he still remembers ace’s determined look as he said that phrase sabo felt was misplaced.

he slams a hand on the call button before he can be sick. it’s a long night.

-

he shows up again first thing in the morning. sabo has to read the visitor tag for the name, but he remembers the face, and it makes him nervous, wary. ace is being far too assertive for someone in sabo’s position, and he’s unsure if he can trust him. he doesn’t know anything about him, so it’s hard to place his intentions. 

sabo supposes he could try and learn, but it’s far easier to close himself off instead, to put some distance between the two of them. he wanted to know more about himself before he got to know the person claiming to be in love with him.

-

“hey, this green doesn’t look bad on you!” ace says one day, making a frame with his fingers to capture sabo in. he blinks up, distracted, and ace’s grin morphs. “dark blue would look better, though,” he admits. “too bad they don’t have it.” he leans back. “i’d bring you some, but uh, i just can’t afford it right now.” he perks up. “one day, though! before you leave, i swear it.”

“right,” sabo says, frowning. ace catches on, sitting back up straight.

“you okay? head hurt?”

“i like blue?” sabo mumbles, ace straining to hear the words.

he blinks when he does, nodding. “yeah. it matches your eyes,” he admits.

sabo lifts a hand to his face, wincing at the strain it puts on the iv. “my eyes are blue?”

ace jumps to his feet, and sabo shifts, eyeing him oddly. he holds a finger up. “wait here.”

he’s gone before sabo can reply that he’s got nowhere to go.

one of the nurses comes in, ace trailing her. they’re both smiling. “i hadn’t realized you never saw,” she admits, words directed to sabo, though he doesn’t know what she means. she takes out a small pocket mirror and places it in front of sabo, until he’s reached out to hold it in his own hands.

his reflection stares back at him. when he blinks, cerulean eyes blink back. his face is pale, too pale. there’s a bandaid on his cheek. he moves the mirror higher and cards a hand through his hair. it’s definitely seen better days. 

he hands the mirror back. “thank you.”

she shakes her head. “thank ace. he’s the one who brought it up.” she waves. “let me know if you need anything else.”

ace waves back, settling again on the edge of the bed as she leaves. “they’re pretty,” he voices, and sabo looks up again. 

“my eyes?”

“your eyes,” ace clarifies. “they’ve always been pretty.”

sabo blinks, feeling drawn away from the conversation. he could’ve handled it, but the last part got him, the insinuation that he didn’t know if he could trust.

“you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” he blurts out, because ace is still staring at him but he doesn’t want that conversation drawn out.

ace looks down at himself, then lets out a meek laugh. “it’s all i have right now,” he reveals. “but i’m working on it.”

sabo has no idea what he means, but he doesn’t move to question it. he doesn’t care enough yet.

-

the next time ace comes in, sabo’s bandages are unraveled from his arms. the edges are bloody, and there are red partial fingerprints staining his right arm. he’s still dragging his fingers down his left, unbothered as the stitches come open, blood seeping from the long cut running down his inner arm. 

ace drops his package, and it lands on the tile with a loud thunk. “sabo!” he frets, instantly by the blond’s side, forcing him to stop. “you can’t do that! you’re opening them! doesn’t it hurt?”

“i wanted to see,” he murmurs, focused on the feeling of ace’s hand wrapped around his bloody one. “they would never let me see. i’ve been trying, i think.” he shakes his head. “it doesn’t hurt.”

“that doesn’t matter!” ace snaps, and sabo blinks, ripped from his daze. “you can’t hurt yourself like this,” he tells sabo, using his free hand to hit the call button. “it won’t get better if you keep messing with it.”

“what’s-? oh. oh no, sabo.” a nurse comes in and hurries over, turning sabo’s left arm gently in her grasp. “you shouldn’t mess with these. you’ll only make them worse.”

sabo frowns, offended. “i only wanted to see what they looked like.”

“you can do that once they’re all better,” the nurse assures him. she looks across to his other arm, and her gaze softens. “let me get some water and i’ll help you clean up.” she glances to ace. “stay here?” watch him? she doesn’t say, but she doesn’t have to. ace nods, hand clasped tight around sabo’s. 

“it doesn’t hurt,” sabo mumbles, after she’s cleaned the blood off and prepped the needle with anesthetic. 

“just in case,” she tells him, inserting the needle. ace watches her work as she sews up sabo’s left arm, holding onto his right. they switch as she preps another needle with local anesthetic, and sabo looks very bored as the same process is repeated on his other arm.

ace doesn’t relax until both of sabo’s arms are bandaged back up. sabo is the opposite, growing more taut as his wounds are hidden from him. again. 

“where did i get these?” he holds out his arms for emphasis. ace purses his lips, and that drives sabo up the wall. “you know!” he accuses. “you know and you’re not saying anything! you have to know how frustrating that is. do-” he pauses, a thought dawning on him. “was it you?”

ace’s expression changes immediately. “no,” he breathes, and sabo almost feels bad for accusing him, but it makes sense, too.

“you were involved, then,” sabo surmises. “that’s why you’re here -you feel guilty.”

“sabo, listen to me.” ace moves closer, and sabo flinches, forcing him to stop short. “you have the wrong idea.” he leans back again, and his hands go to the hem of his shirt.

sabo watches as he raises it, revealing the bandages wrapped around his ribs. he can see the bruising peeking out from the edges of the white. or, grey, more like. sabo imagined it’s what his own would look like, if the hospital staff wasn’t so vigorous in changing them out. he mellows out, just a bit.

“i was there, but i didn’t -i would never hurt you,” ace stresses. “i was with you. you just ended up with more damage than me.” he bites his lip, hard, his eyes no longer on sabo. “i’m sorry, for that. if i could switch our places, i would, i’d do it in a heartbeat.”

sabo is silent for a long time, mulling this over. 

“maybe it’s a trauma bond,” he suggests, and ace blinks rapidly.

“sorry, what?”

“we went through the same experience, and now you’re attached to me.” sabo shrugs. “it happens.”

“wh- no.” ace shakes his head. “sabo, no, that’s not it. i’ve been with you long before that. what happened was unfortunate, but it-”

“then what is it?!” sabo yells. “what are we?” his lower lip trembles, and he forces himself to hold the tears back, even as he feels his eyes burn. “just tell me already,” he says hoarsely, barely containing himself.

ace comes close again, sitting on the bed, grasping for sabo’s hand. he nods, several times, like he’s working himself up. “my name is ace portgas,” he says slowly, voice breaking.

sabo’s world shatters.

-

ace is out getting food when sabo decides he’s had enough of this small room. he pulls the iv out and presses down on his bandaged wrist until the bleeding has stopped. then he swings both legs over the edge of the bed, back turned from the window. he plucks the handful of electrodes from his skin and gathers himself in the new quiet of the room. he could do this. he could stand-

the door bursts open right as sabo as settled his hands on the mattress to hoist himself up. he looks up, alarmed, as several people rush in and stop short.

“i- uh.” he blanks, caught off guard. “i just . . want to walk around. if that’s okay.” he mumbles the last part, right as he spies ace just inside the door, expression fading to something unreadable. 

“oh, sabo,” one of the staff says, voice hushed. they move forward to gather the disconnected electrodes from the ground. “you should ask about things like that. it should be fine . . ?” they turn to the others for confirmation.

another one steps up, nodding. “let me go get the doctor.”

they all slowly disperse until only ace is left, wandering in. ace portgas. 

“they’ll get worried if you’re unhooked from the machines,” he says, bending down in front of sabo. sabo searches his face, but he can’t find any resemblance to his own. they weren’t family. they weren’t blood, which meant . .

he tsks, turning his head away. “i wasn’t going to leave,” he mutters. “not like i have anywhere to go.”

ace’s eyes widen, and then relax, as he does his best to put on a brave face. “you will,” he promises. “i’m working on it.”

sabo isn’t sure what he means, but the doctor comes in before he can question.

“portgas!” he says, and the greeting is a sting in the already-burning cut. “heard you wanted to walk around. that should be fine, you’ll just have to take your iv with you. hm? ah, let me hook it back up.”

he’s very patient, not mentioning the earlier incident, or growing disgruntled at the fact his iv was leaking. sabo sits there silently as he places the needle back under his skin, nods in satisfaction, and leans back.

“don’t push yourself. you can use the iv stand as balance, but if you need a wheelchair, i’ll issue that, too.” his lips quirk up. “walking around will be good for you, though. it’s a little early, but i suppose you’ve been here long enough.” he stands back up. “i’ll get someone to bring in slippers. just sit tight until then.” he winks, and sabo nods, trying not to feel guilty.

the slippers are the same mint green as the rest of his hospital garb. sabo feels a stab of disappointment, but he’s not sure what color he wishes they were instead. they slide on easily enough, and after wheeling the iv stand around -and under surveillance- he grabs onto it to slowly come to a stand.

his legs shake. it’s not too bad, the nurse tells him. he takes a step forward, and another, the iv stand rolling along with him. she tells him he’s good enough to go, and sabo nods, concentrating, gaze trained on his feet.

“ace can take you around, make sure you’re doing okay,” she says, and sabo’s stomach drops. he suddenly doesn’t feel like going, but he forces himself to move anyway.

“fine,” he grunts, already at the door.

“if he can’t make it back, please don’t try to carry him,” the nurse tells ace quietly. “we don’t want to upset your ribs, and we have plenty of wheelchairs.”

ace frowns. “but that’s more romantic!”

“it’s not if you both end up collapsed,” she chides, and ace relents.

sabo’s not very far away from the room when ace catches up, hovering on his free side. “anywhere specific you wanna go?”

“take me to the vending machine you like so much,” is sabo’s reply.

ace looks taken aback. “well i’m not in love with it or anything.”

no, just me, he thinks, then slams down on that thought and stuffs it somewhere he doesn’t have to think about it. 

it’s at the end of the hall, illuminated in a dark corner. sabo looks at the rows, but nothing catches his eye.

“you want anything?” ace asks, leaning back against the wall.

sabo shrugs. “i don’t know what i would like.”

ace grins, fishing a dollar bill from his pocket. “i gotcha,” he says, head thrown over his shoulder as he steps forward to insert the money into the machine. he presses a couple buttons and sabo watches as a red package falls. 

ace pops it out and rips it open, gesturing for sabo to follow. they move until they’re sat on a bench, a large window covering most of the wall next to it. sabo sighs in relief as he releases his hands from their deathgrip on the cold steel. he would never admit it, but he was getting tired.

when he turns to glance at ace, smiling cheekily, he finds he doesn’t need to, which irritates him. ace resists laughing and nudges his shoulder, getting him to hold his hand out. he pours some of the candy into his palm, and sabo frowns down at it as the fruity smell assaults his nose.

“i probably can’t have this.”

“no one has to know,” ace says, shrugging. he pours some straight from the bag down into his mouth, and sabo shrugs, copying him, while he presses a purple one to his lips.

his eyes pop. it was startlingly good. he immediately throws another in, this time green. “these are good,” he voices, and ace laughs from beside him.

“too bad they don’t have the blue skittles.” ace grins when sabo stares up at him, questioning. “they’d match your eyes.”

sabo strangely feels like he’s heard something similar. he can’t place the conversation, though, and his interest dies. “these are good enough,” he insists, lifting his hand to pour them all into his mouth. he chews slowly, the fruit combination strange but not unpleasant. “thanks,” he mumbles, almost too low to hear, when he’s done.

unfortunately, ace’s hearing is extremely good, almost unreasonably so. “no problem,” he says, shoulders relaxing. 

they stay there until the sun starts sinking. ace has to ward sabo off from climbing the stairs to a new floor, convincing him to leave that for another day. they make it back to the room with little issue, though sabo is loath to admit he’s a little out of breath. 

“your blood pressure is a little high,” one of the nurses notes later on that night. “must’ve been a good walk.”

sabo bites down on his tongue, just hard enough to keep from saying anything. his mind wanders back to the candy he’d indulged in, and he resists rolling his eyes. he knew there would be consequences.

he strangely finds himself not caring as much as he should.

-

sabo’s attention, much to ace’s despair, is stolen by another book. he’d gotten this one from ace himself. reading it is good -it puts him at ease. even better now that he can read it over time, no longer forced to finish it in one sitting. it had been a shocking discovery, but a good one, when the nurse had wandered in to see sabo starting from where he’d placed the bookmark. he was beginning to retain things better, the doctor said. it was a sign of progress.

it was a welcome one.

ace is fiddling with his phone by the window. he’d started to come in with it more lately, no longer worried about having the blond’s sole attention. sabo could admit he was growing more comfortable in ace’s presence, though it had more to do with the way ace was acting around him, and less so with what he was supposed to be with sabo in the past.

ace’s phone rings and sabo glances up. ace frowns down at it, meets his eyes briefly, and then looks to the door. he sighs after a moment, accepting the call, and moves over to the far corner of the room, not quite leaving, but close. he talks low, and sabo turns his attention back to his book instead of struggling to overhear.

“i don’t sell anymore,” ace says, a little louder, and sabo blinks, finding he hadn’t processed any of what he’d read. he gives up, staring blankly at the pages, and drops the book entirely when ace ends the call.

“what was that about?”

ace has the decency to look contrite, slumping over as he takes a seat in the chair. he waves sabo off, though, not wanting to divulge this -especially with their location.

“you’ll remember eventually,” he mutters.

sabo crosses his arms. “i’d like to remember now.”

ace turns to look up at him, expression pleading. “sabo, you really don’t need to know right now,” he insists. “i’ll tell you some other time, okay?”

sabo huffs. he picks his book back up, and he doesn’t speak to ace for the rest of the night.

-

ace doesn’t come in one morning. 

sabo waits, then chides himself for thinking like that and spends the morning reading.

“no ace yet?” his nurse questions, as she takes his vitals. he shakes his head.

it’s not until sunlight is flooding into his room that sabo realizes he was still expecting the raven to waltz in. he was on the edge of his seat, literally, and he finds himself unable to concentrate on anything the longer he’s left alone.

he goes on a walk instead, pacing one side of the hall several times. he pauses near the middle as he catches wind of a conversation, pressing himself into the shadow of a doorway. 

“it’s a shame, really. he’s getting better, it’s obvious to see.”

“i know, right? even though he’s been here a while, it’s not like he’s fully recovered. such a shame they won’t cover the bills anymore.”

“gotta had some for other patients, i guess. the year’s not over yet. and accidents happen all the time in the snow.”

“did you hear what was happening next?”

“i think social services will pick it up, though i’m not sure. it’s complicated, since he’s not alone.”

“it’s not like he has a place to go, either. those two are so young. they’re not even twenty!”

“it really is awful. i just hope something changes for the better. they don’t deserve to end up back on the streets.”

sabo moves further down the hall, no longer willing to listen. he had a pretty good idea of who they were talking about. it stung, but he got it. he’d gathered enough hints over time, he just hadn’t wanted to form that particular conclusion.

he stands in front of the tall window at the end of the hall until his legs ache. then he trudges back to his room, not stopping for anything, even when one of the nurses calls out to him.

“oh, sabo, there you are! you have a visitor.”

he braces himself before entering the room. no doubt it was the social worker coming to take over his case. 

he’s only pleasantly surprised to find ace waiting for him. just ace.

“you came,” he says, slightly elated. 

ace turns on his rolling chair, smiling wide. “sabo! i was wondering where you were.”

“where i was?” sabo scoffs, though it’s mostly in jest. ace’s attitude is infectious, he finds, moving closer.

ace laughs. “right, sorry. i had some things to take care of today. but you’ll never believe it!” sabo’s close enough now that ace rolling to meet him catches him off-guard, which makes it easier to get knocked off his feet, landing on ace’s legs instead. he grips the pole of the iv stand tight.

his breath is caught as ace wraps his arms around his middle, pulling him closer. “the most amazing thing happened today,” he insists, either unaware of sabo’s growing flustered state or choosing to ignore it. “and i got us a place to stay after you get out!”

the words ground sabo, more than anything. he calms down enough to process it, but instead of being overjoyed, he grows somber. “so it’s true. w-” he bites his lip, unable to continue to speak, and switches words. “i was homeless.” he frowns. “am homeless.”

ace’s arms tense, then loosen, around him. he breathes soft, tickling sabo’s neck. “not exactly,” he murmurs.

“tell me,” sabo pleas.

and he does.

he tells sabo how they spent nights with friends, and then at shelters, when they moved. how ace picked up money here and there, and sabo found odd jobs he could get without a permanent address. how they moved around, until their car broke down here and they’d abandoned it. how things had been tough, but after a bit, they always managed to have a little cash to spare. how they had a place, a really small one, until they got caught up in the accident. and then after that, there hadn’t been anywhere to go back to.

“until now,” ace finishes, pulling sabo closer. “if you want to,” he adds, and this close sabo can detect the waver. 

“i have to get better first.”

“i know that. i meant, like . . after.” ace finishes in a mumble. sabo snorts, shoulders shaking from laughter, and he releases his hand from the pole to grab at ace.

“yeah. i would like that,” he admits.

ace looks up, stars in his eyes. “really?”

“you didn’t think i’d say yes?”

“i was worried you wouldn’t,” ace confesses. “i mean, you still don’t . . . remember everything. anything,” he amends. 

sabo thinks on that for a long time before answering. “i missed you, today,” he starts. “i tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, but it did. you’re right: i don’t remember anything. but i can tell i meant a lot to you. and, uh.” he ducks his head. “you mean a lot to me, now. and not because i knew you before. it’s because . . . well. because of all the things you’ve done for me, since i woke up.”

ace’s lips are clamped, his eyes glassy. it takes him a minute to regain the composure to speak. “even if you don’t remember-” he looks away, unable to hold sabo’s gaze, but he finds it again, before finishing. “it’ll be okay. promise.”

sabo blinks, finding he knew exactly how much that took ace to admit. he starts nodding his head, but finds he doesn’t like the mood, anymore. he smirks down at ace instead. “you sure? what if i end up-”

“nah.” ace shakes his head, laughing again. “you’re stuck with me, now.”

sabo finds, just a little bit unsurprisingly, that he’s okay with that.

-

“ace?”

sabo covers his mouth as he turns to see the nurse in the doorway. ace looks up with an easy grin, laughter dying down. “yeah?”

“the doctor is ready for you, if you’d like your checkup now.”

ace nods. “that would be great. just give me a minute and i’ll be right out.”

the nurse hums in response, sliding the door shut.

ace comes to a stand in a hurry, snaking a hand under sabo’s blanket to leave the half-empty skittles bag hidden there, top twisted shut. sabo snorts, dropping the hand from his mouth, and finally swallows the last of the blue ones. 

“i’ll come back when i’m done!” ace promises, moving to the door. sabo rolls his eyes.

“visitor hours will be over by then.”

“it’ll be quick! or i’ll sneak back in.” he winks. “but you didn’t hear the last part.”

“go,” sabo hums. ace waves on his way out, and sabo rolls his eyes again, but ends up doing the same.

he takes the skittles bag out and begins to unwrap the top, then decides against it and stuffs it under his pillows, instead. the sun is pretty low in the sky, now.

he hadn’t asked ace, he realizes. what the checkup was about. he could garner the basics, but it would be nice to know more.

he puts a hand to his chest, where he can feel the bandages through his shirt. they’d let him see it, the other day, while they were changing it out. even after all this time, it was still mottled with bruises, all in varying shades of colors. some had recurred, from what he’d gathered, but most of them were well on their way to healing.

he wonders if his injury is reflected on ace, or if it would be worse.

before he can vow to ask, he ends up falling asleep. he wakes up and the sun isn’t out, anymore. the light is dim, but it’s artificial. the lamp in the corner, he realizes.

there’s a hand carding through his hair. sabo makes a noise, turns his face up, and it stops.

“hey,” ace says, softly. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“you’re back,” sabo murmurs. 

“i told you i would be.”

“you did.” sabo blinks, trying to shake off sleep as he works to sit up, eventually settling on his elbows. “how did it go?”

“pretty good.” ace waves him off. “no issues.”

“what is it?”

ace wants to clam up, but he feigns ignorance instead, knowing sabo would catch it. “what’s what?”

sabo sits up further. “your injury. you said it was better than mine, but . .”

“oh. uh.” ace turns away, tilts his head back. “are you sure-”

“i’m sure,” sabo says, sat up all the way, now. he crosses his legs, leans closer. “if i can’t know about mine . . i’d like to know about yours.”

“yeah,” ace breathes. “okay.”

he shrugs his coat off, then tugs his shirt up, off, and over his shoulders. he no longer has the wrap on, so the damage is laid clear before sabo’s eyes. ace moves a hand over everything, explaining.

“i was stabbed in the lung.” he shrugs off sabo’s incredulous expression, pointing to a thick scar. “it wasn’t serious or anything. sounds a whole lot worse than it was. most of the damage came from a few ribs i cracked -that certainly made breathing a bitch. the rest is just bruising, though it’s mostly lower on my ribcage.”

sabo’s lips downturn. “how were you literally stabbed and i had it worse?”

ace reaches up to tap the side of his own head. sabo blinks.

“oh.”

“really, sab, i’m fine. i’m just glad you’re fine. i’m glad you’re alive.” he shrugs, working his shirt back on. “at least those guys aren’t.”

“they’re dead?” sabo utters, expression open. 

“yeah. some gang managed to break in, wanted revenge for something, i didn’t catch it all. anyway, we obviously weren’t with them, so we were left alone.” ace huffs out a hollow laugh. “though, that also meant they didn’t call for medical help. had to do that myself.” he drapes the coat over his back and tugs his arms through the sleeves. “anyway, it’s all over now. you don’t have to worry about any of it.”

sabo wonders, not for the first time, how ace manages to imply so much without actually revealing anything. he’s ripped from that thought as ace stands back up, eyeing the height of the moon through the window before moving to close the blinds.

“gotta go,” he says, waving to the door. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“yeah.” sabo leans back, only now aware of how tired he is. “see you.”

-

a man comes in with ace one day. he introduces himself, but sabo doesn’t bother to commit the name to memory. he’s a social worker, says he’s helping ace find a job. a real job, he specifies, and sabo isn’t sure if there’s an implication he’s supposed to get. ace looks disgruntled by the jab, but he doesn’t argue it.

“well, sabo, it appears you’ve entered a peculiar period in your recovery.” he folds his hands in his lap. “in short, the hospital is no longer willing to pay your expenses. they’ve passed the bill over to us.” he gestures to himself only as he says this, but sabo is still nervous. until his next words, that is. “you don’t need to worry about paying anything back. we’ll take it from here until you’ve recovered. all i ask is that you give your very best effort to the things i tell you to try. that sound good?”

“yeah. sounds good.” sabo hesitates for a moment, then adds on “thank you.”

“you’re welcome.” he smiles. “there’s no need to thank me, though. this is my job.”

sabo shrugs. “still.”

“well, i appreciate the sentiment. ace has told me about your amnesia. the surgery you underwent was a tricky one, it seems. according to the staff, you seem to have almost healed up, physically. you haven’t appeared to regress any, on that account. and your anterograde amnesia is pretty much nonexistent. if you’re willing to progress, there are some options for you.”

sabo isn’t sure how to reply. he must sense that, because he offers something else.

“on that note, have you thought about undergoing any exercises to help recall your memory?”

“i guess i hadn’t thought that was an option.”

“it most certainly is on the table, if you would like to try it,” he offers.

sabo doesn’t even have to think about it. “that sounds great.”

“glad to hear it.”

-

sabo gets the bandages around both arms removed early one week. it’s weird at first, having the skin so exposed to the air. the scars aren’t pretty, either, despite how well the tissue had healed in light of his constant picking at them. he grows self-conscious about it before too long, and takes to draping the loose blanket over his shoulders whenever he’s in the room, pulling it down so it hung over both arms and left his hands free to do tasks.

the first day ace writes it off, but the second he chalks it up to temperature and shrugs off his jacket to throw it around sabo’s shoulders instead, pulling the blanket down to his lap. 

sabo blinks a few times, startled into silence by the gesture. it’s not until ace moves back to his chair that he reaches up to pull the jacket closer, basking in the comfort it offered. 

“thank you,” he says, pulling his arms through the soft sleeves. the cuffs came down to his fingers, but they were stretchy, so he didn’t mind.

ace shrugs, glancing out the window. “it’s getting colder, now that the new year has passed,” he notes. “snowing more, too. if you get cold, you should tell someone. they’ll do something about it.”

“oh.” sabo bites down on his lip to keep from huffing out a laugh. “yeah, sure. i’ll remember that.” he tugs the cuffs further over his hands, then fusses with the blanket thrown over his legs. even if ace did misunderstand, the intention was nice.

he takes the jacket back before he leaves, ushered out by the staff after visitor hours had ended for the night. sabo wraps himself in the blanket and pulls the sheets over his legs. his fingers dig into his arms, press against the raised scar tissue.

ace comes back early the next morning and throws his jacket around sabo before doing anything else. he leans close to adjust it, and for once, sabo sits calmly and lets him do it. it’s not until he’s pulling on sabo’s arm, skin pressed into the space around his scar, that sabo reacts. it’s entirely unintentional, but his heart stutters and his chest stops moving and ace notices, of course he does, pausing to loosen his grip.

and then, as if it clicks, he slides his hand around until his thumb traces the scar line. sabo sucks in a breath and ace puts one leg on the bed to slide closer, grabbing both of sabo’s arms, now.

“you’re okay,” he murmurs, face close but eyes on sabo’s injuries. sabo lifts his own from where ace is smoothing his skin to gaze into clear grey. the nearness doesn’t escape him.

ace glances up, just an instant, just enough to catch sabo staring. he sucks in a deep breath, stills his hands to grip just a little harder, and leans forward to press his forehead to sabo’s. his eyes are trained on the blond’s mint gown. “you don’t like seeing them,” he voices.

“no,” sabo replies, after a moment. his pitch is unsteady. 

“i’m sorry i-”

“it’s okay,” sabo tells him, barely above a whisper. “you helped. thank you.”

ace pulls back, and then he’s slowly pulling sabo’s arms through the sleeves of his jacket, until the whole thing hung loose on his thin frame. ace bites on his lip, tries not to think about how much weight sabo had lost here, tries not to think about how he can’t solve the problem, because there’s no clear solution to scars, and no right answer to give to reminders of pain.

it’s snowing when ace has to leave. sabo tugs the jacket off and gives it back, unwilling to let him go without it on underneath his coat. he pulls the blanket around him and tries not to think about how nice it would be to hold onto it. 

ace doesn’t know what to think. sabo hadn’t shied away from the rope burns on his ankles, or the thick cuts on his hands, or the gash on his cheek from the last bandaid to have come off. he’d seen the bruising on his chest without giving rise to panic, and made peace with the welt above his collarbone. so what is it about this one that had him so worked up? 

ace stops short as the elevator dings and doesn’t move to exit when the doors open. was it that he was associating subconscious feelings with the scars? maybe he couldn’t recall the event, but were the emotions from that day slowly starting to come back?

the doors close and ace jerks a hand out to catch them, digging his phone out as he passes through. 

-

“here!”

sabo’s face scrunches as he inspects the simple package thrust at him. his forehead creases, and it’s visible, for once. it no longer hurts, either, which is why his headwrap was finally removed. 

“okay,” he mutters, letting the package fall into his hands. he flexes his fingers to push the jacket cuffs to his wrists, then pushes the box open. inside is a mass of dark blue fabric.

sabo blinks, the creases leaving his face, and looks up at ace. “what’s this for?” he reaches in to bury his fingers into the plush knit, pulling it out and unfurling it as ace replies.

“well, your head is better. at least, the front part is, so i thought we could celebrate.” ace chews on his lip as sabo lifts the scarf. “here, let me.” he climbs onto the edge of the bed and takes the scarf from sabo’s hands, not sure why he’s nervous but feeling this incredible need to do the task himself. he loops the scarf and moves it over sabo’s head, careful to avoid the back of his skull as he pulls it down, loops it again, and ties it at the back. he’d been half right: the front part of sabo’s skull, where his brain had impacted, was completely healed. but he’d suffered a major injury on the back, and it was still sensitive there, from what he’d gathered. ace is very careful as he ties the scarf off, then sinks back on his knees, stomach settling when he takes the view in.

sabo is looking down at the scarf, one hand reached up to rub the knit between his fingerpads. “that was quick notice,” he mutters.

“i told you i would bring you something blue before you left the hospital.”

“i’m not leaving toda-” sabo pauses, mouth open. “you did?”

“you probably don’t remember,” ace offers with a sigh.

sabo’s lips tremble. “i’m so-”

“no, please don’t!” ace insists. “it was- i mean, i told you while you still had short-term memory. it was my fault.” he shrugs. “it was more like a vow to myself, if anything.”

“okay,” sabo says, moving over the syllables slowly. “it’s nice.” he drops his hand. “thank you.”

“is the color okay? i tried to get one dark enough-”

“it’s fine,” sabo interrupts, eyes lidding. “seriously. thank you.”

ace opens his mouth again, but no words come out as he walks himself through the facts. sabo waits patiently, setting the empty box aside. he leans back against the pillows, tugging the knot to the side so that it didn’t rest right on his neck. ace works through everything and comes to a slow realization. 

“your favorite color was navy,” he says. “before . .” he doesn’t finish. “it’s not anymore.”

sabo turns his eyes away, down to his lap, where he’s unconsciously brushing a thumb over the jacket cuff. he moves away from the dark red to the bright, saturated ruddy of ace’s coat. “no, it’s not.”

ace really doesn’t know how to feel, and sabo interrupts his inner turmoil with a question before he can get sucked too far into it.

“is that okay?” he does his best to smile when ace’s eyes turn on him. “if i change . . will that be okay?”

ace snaps himself out of it the instant he realizes how fragile sabo’s expression has become. he doesn’t know what compels him to do it, but he’s suddenly leaning close to sabo, both hands gentle on the sides of his face. sabo’s eyes are wide, and then ace is kissing him.

he makes a noise and ace jerks back, hands falling away. “sorry!” he apologizes. “i- sorry, god, i’m sorry, i don’t know what-”

“it’s okay.” sabo’s voice is quiet. ace drops his arms from when he’d been scrubbing his face, hair now a mess. sabo isn’t looking at him. “it’s okay, really,” he says again, but the tension hasn’t left his shoulders, and ace needs a distraction before he screws up more.

he raises his fingers to form a frame, sabo’s head in the middle. “you still look the best in blue,” he says, willing to ignore the waver in his voice. “way better than the green they stuck you in.”

sabo snorts, and slowly, the earlier mood begins to unravel. he forces himself to relax. “i’ll take your word for it.”

“do. it’s fact.”

“because everything you say is always true.”

ace sobers at this. “it is.” he waits until sabo is focused on him. “with you. ever since you woke up.”

sabo has to swallow before he can answer. there’s still a bob in his throat, just like there’s still a phantom feeling of chapped lips on his own. he manages to speak through them. “i know. it’s why i decided to start trusting you.” he reaches forward and ace reads his intention, catches his hands in his own. “you’ve been here,” he almost breathes, voice very quiet. “even when i didn’t want you to be.” he pauses when his voice cracks, taking a moment to collect himself. “you never left, and you never lied, and you never let me forget you were supporting me.” he squeezes, and ace squeezes back. “and i’m sorry, that my memory went away. but i’m here, right here, and i care about you now. and i won’t let anything change that.” he smiles, his next inhale shaky. “and i know you won’t, either.”

ace can’t help when the tears run down his cheeks. he doesn’t move to stop them, only sniffling, and bringing their joined hands to his chest, and then bending forward again, gathering courage.

sabo moves his head off the pillows to meet him.

-

sabo’s assigned social worker interrupts ace’s excited rambling to politely ask him to leave the room. sabo’s smile falls when it becomes just the two of them. he’d never been able to read this one, though that might have more to do with him being the first outsider sabo had met. his social circle had been restricted to the hospital staff that attended to him, and ace. even if sabo had been proficient at reading people in the past, his limited interaction had taken some sort of toll.

“sorry, he didn’t do anything wrong,” his caseworker assures him, sensing the animosity. “he’s been very assertive, though, and i haven’t had the chance to ask your opinion.” he leans forward in his seat. “do you want to go with ace? there are other options, if you decide you’d be better off apart.”

sabo takes a minute to process this. he knows it’s only being asked out of concern, but his first intention is to take it the wrong way. he works to settle himself, and then figure out a rational response.

“i think,” he begins, “that. even if i can’t be sure ace isn’t fabricating the whole thing, it feels wrong to assume that, now. and it feels right to be with him. i only have his word to go off of, yes. but i can tell we’re meant to be together.” he shrugs. “i- i know that doesn’t sound very convincing, and maybe i’m not fully convinced myself, but i’ve been having these feelings, and the doctor said that even if the memory associated with it doesn’t return, the emotions that surface are still real.” sabo stops before he can ramble too much in that direction, looking back up. “i do want to go with him.”

“you’ve convinced me,” he hums. “even if you haven’t fully convinced yourself.” he leans back. “one more question.”

“okay?”

“are you sure you still want to remember?”

again, sabo takes some time to organize his thoughts. he comes to a conclusion that is startlingly succinct. “whatever happened before, i promised i wouldn’t stop caring about him. i’m not willing to hold myself back on that regard.”

his caseworker smiles. “works for me. how about we start psychotherapy monday?”

part 2 | notes

[the-voltage-diaries]

“This way is more efficient.” “This way is going to get us killed.” - Soryu Oh

For @joaxotome​ 

THIS WAS THE CANON I WAS INITIALLY WORKING ON LOL

“Do you need water? Ice? Blanket?” I ask, walking over to the other side of the  bed, “Should I turn down the AC?”

“... Soryu, darling,” Joanne mutters, looking up at me through her half-lidded eyes, “Stop acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Should I get her admitted to a hospital? I think I should also have them get her on an IV drip.

“Sor, are you listening?”

What if she loses consciousness?! I need to work fast. Think Soryu, think.

“Babe?”

“You know what,” I pick up my phone, not registering what she said, “I’m going to call Luke over. We’ll get you to the hospital.”

“AH!” She shrieks, immediately stopping me dead in my tracks... before the panic sets in.

“Good lord, are you okay?!” I rush over to where she is, lying on the bed, “What happened?”

“Now that I have your attention,” she sniffs, her nose turning an apple red, “Stop worrying so much. It’s just a cold.”

“And a fever.”

“And a fever, yes,” she rolls her eyes and coughs out a laugh, “It’s not the end of the world, baby.”

Sure feels like it to me.

“I just need some sleep and I’ll be okay in no time,” she grabs my hand, covering it with her own.

I sigh in defeat, met with her gorgeous brown orbs which are usually an amalgamation of sheer joy, too much excitement and multiple emotions at the same time. Now, they just look exhausted.

Trying to convince myself that she will be okay in no time, I nod, my fingers reaching up to stroke her hair. She gives me a tired smile and closes her eyes, her breaths gradually forming a slow rhythm as she falls into a deep slumber.

“Do you have any idea how much you worry me, woman?” I mutter, caressing her face, knowing full well she can’t hear me.

I stroke her hair one last time and give her hand a squeeze, letting her warmth linger for a bit, before getting up. I turn down the lights and pull the blanket up a little more over her to ensure she doesn’t get cold. 

Straightening my back, I turn around and walk towards the door, thinking about the things I could do to help her get better faster.

Hm... when I was under the weather the last time, she made me some porridge. Maybe I should make some for her too.

Deciding on my task for the day, I close the door to our room behind me and look in the direction of the kitchen, starting to feel a little nervous.

Oh well, how hard could it possibly be?

Very hard, I learn soon enough.

“Oh, fuck!” I hiss, pulling my hand back. I bring my now red index finger to my lips, trying to cool it down while my feet carry me towards the sink. “Damn it,” I mutter, putting my finger under cold running water.

A porridge is supposed to be an easy dish to cook. Or so the internet says, anyway.

Shaking my head in defeat, I rub my finger to ease the pain...

...very conveniently forgetting that the flame on which the porridge was cooking was still on.

Uh, what’s that weird smell? Is something burning?

I sniff the air around me, trying to find out the source of the strange smell. After a few moments, I shrug, not being able to come up with a reasonable cause for it and turn around to try my hand at cooking again.

Oh no.

There is the source I was looking for, right in front of me.

Oh hell no.

I snap out of my trance and rush to the stove, trying to get the pan off the flame. My attempts only make things worse when the pan accidentally slips from my grip and the rice fall over the open flame, immediately starting a fire.

Oh no no no no no no. Fucking shit!

I scramble around, trying to find a way to stop the fire before it spreads anywhere else.

“Oh, for the love of god,” I murmur, putting something that I assume is a pressure cooker under running water, filling it up. “Where in the world does the fire extinguisher go when I need it?!”

“... Soryu?”

... Shit.

I slowly look in the direction of the voice and find none other than my girlfriend, Joanne, peeking into the kitchen. Her eyes, though still a little red as a side effect of her constant sneezing earlier, are as wide as saucers.

“Joanne, go back to the bed, I’ll handle this.”

“The space under the stove!” She yells, ignoring my instruction.

“What?”

“The fire extinguisher! It’s in the empty space under the stove!” She repeats, pointing hurriedly in it’s direction. “QUICK!!”

At her persistence, I finally snap out of it and grab the extinguisher and get to work on figuring out its mechanisms.

Soon enough, the kitchen fire I created is put out and Joanne and I are standing in the kitchen, with her looking at me with accusatory eyes.

“Go back to the bed, Joanne,” I start, turning her around and giving her a little push towards the direction of our room, “I’ll cook you something.”

“Cook me something?!” She turns around, her eyes wide with exasperation. “Soryu, there’s no need for it. I’ll make myself something.”

“Love,” I call out, “This way is more efficient.”

“This way is going to get us killed.”

“But I-”

“Leave the cooking to me, Sor.”

“Let me, Joanne. I can whip something up,” I grab her by the shoulders, stopping her from going further into the kitchen. “I was making you porridge, it’s just that I accidentally forgot to turn off the flame.”

“Soryu, you were cooking the porridge in a pan.”

“The instructions said to cook it in a pan.”

“You were making it in a frying pan, for the love of god.”

“Uh...?” I trail off, confused. Was a normal pan supposed to be different from a frying pan?

“Never mind,” she mutters, turning back towards the stove, “I’ll whip us something.”

“You’re unwell. Let me do it, I promise I’ll not mess it up this time.”

“Sor,” she says, her fingers reaching up to hold my face, her thumb stroking my jaw. “I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.”

I sigh, knowing I will never win this argument. I raise my arms in defeat, but I still stick around while she cooks, just to be on the safe side.

Soon enough, she whips up something that smells delicious for not just herself but also me, and we enjoy a warm meal together.

I keep an eye on her throughout, never once letting her out of my sight for the fear of not being there in case her fever goes too high.

After we are done eating, I let her sit in the living room for a bit while I wash the dishes and clean up the mess I made, sighing at the utter disaster I ended up creating.

I should probably not step in here again anytime soon.

Once I am done, I walk back out to the living room only to find my girlfriend there, lying on the couch with her eyes closed. Cracking a smile at her adorable self, I walk over to her and bend down, wrapping her up in my arms.

I pick her up, and once I’m sure I have her in a secure grip, I start taking steps in the direction of our room. 

I open the door with one hand, careful not to wake her up, and lead us to the bed. Slowly putting her under the covers to make sure her sleep doesn’t break, I cover her with a blanket and stoop down, kissing her gently on the forehead.

Sleep well, love.

As soon as I turn around in order to let her sleep in peace, I feel her soft fingers grab on to mine, even if it’s just a light touch. “... stay...” she mumbles, half-asleep, and I can’t help but chuckle lightly at her adorable self.

“Of course,” I whisper, walking over to the other side of the bed and getting in. I pull the covers over myself too, and move closer to her. 

I gently lift her head and place my arm under it, before setting it down on my arm. My other arm wraps itself around her waist securely and pulls her closer to me, and I let out a content sigh at the way her body fits perfectly with mine.

“Mm... you’re warm,” She murmurs, settling into me and becoming comfortable.

“I wish I could say the same about the porridge,” I whisper, chuckling when I hear her giggle.

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part XX)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV

Knock knock knock

Remus was startled from his painting by the sudden knock at the door, nearly dropping his brush on the floor.

"Jesus," he swore under his breath, before straightening himself up and suppressing a grin. "Come in, it's open!"

Remus adjusted his shirt and wiped his face with the back of his hand, hoping that he didn't have any paint there.

"You know," a voice said from behind the artist, "you really shouldn't leave your door unlocked. Not in this neighbourhood…"

Remus took a deep breath and turned around, trying not to seem as eager as he felt. He gave a casual shrug and cocked an eyebrow. 

"Would you rather I get paint all over my door handle?"

Sirius had a wry grin spreading across his lips. He was wearing another expensive suit and his hair was tied back in his usual loose bun, but his demeanor was much warmer than the first time he had visited Remus' apartment. The two men had spent the last couple of weeks meeting at Black and White to discuss the upcoming show, slowly breaking through one another's defenses.

"I mean…" Sirius offered, sweeping his bangs from his eyes. "If it keeps you from getting murdered, than I'd say it's better for business."

Remus knew Sirius' sense of humour by this point; as dry as his tone was, Sirius was definitely joking.

"What are you talking about?" Remus teased, returning his attention to the canvas and away from the gallery owner. "Everyone knows the value of your art goes up if you die. More so if that death is gruesome." Remus grinned to himself as he heard Sirius chuckle. The artist enjoyed making the other man laugh, and it was a skill that he was quickly improving at.

"Well in that case," Sirius droned, approaching Remus and positioning himself right behind the artist. "Maybe I should take a hit out on you? Make a bit more money?"

"Not funny," Remus muttered, trying to hide his grin. "At least let me have one gallery show before my tragic demise."

"Fair enough!" Sirius let out a rare full-bodied laugh that bounced around the tiny flat and settled deep in the pit of Remus' stomach, stirring up the butterflies that had finally settled. "What have you got to show me today?"

Remus turned around to face the gallery owner, only to find the man closer than he had assumed. Sirius was standing a mere foot away from Remus, his back perfectly straight, his chin lifted slightly, the stark blue of his eyes clearly visible. Remus swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to keep his nerves steady. He could feel the electricity in the room, vibrating and palpable, radiating off the two of them. 

Remus almost preferred when they were fighting; at least then he could say that his anxiety around Sirius was caused by hatred. There was no denying it at this point: Sirius was attractive and Remus was molten beneath the heat of his stare. 

"I… uh… yes. Wait… what?"

The corner of Sirius' mouth twisted up and Remus wanted to wipe that smirk off the man's face— whether by punching him or snogging him, he couldn't be entirely sure. 

"I said…" Sirius paused for dramatic effect. It seemed that everything he did was for dramatics in one way or another. "What have you got to show me today?"

Remus nodded, taking a step back— away from Sirius— and collecting his composure. He gestured to the painting that he had been working on, accidentally splattering paint from the brush that he had forgotten was in his hand.

"Ah, shit…" Remus mumbled, leaning in towards Sirius to see if he had accidentally gotten paint on his suit. He knew he'd never be able to afford a replacement. He hastily inspected Sirius' jacket before looking up and feeling his breath catch in his lungs. Sirius' smile was unlike any that Remus had ever seen before; it was almost lewd, predatory, absolutely captivating. Remus took a step back, his eyes dropping immediately to his feet as his ears burned, threatening to betray his emotions. 

"S— sorry," Remus muttered, turning his attention back to his painting. 

"Don't worry about it." Sirius' voice was liquid honey, trickling languidly down Remus' spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

"So," Remus practically squeaked, trying his best to redirect his mind away from the feel off Sirius' breath of the back of his neck. "Um… art. My art. It's… uh… here."

Smooth.

Sirius didn't seem to mind Remus' awkward stammering. In fact, if Remus didn't know better, he'd think that Sirius was enjoying the situation. 

"Yes. It's a good piece, Remus." 

Again with the Remus.

Remus hated how much he loved hearing his name in Sirius' voice.

"Thanks," Remus mumbled, keeping his gaze affixed to the painting and his hands clenched in  tight little balls. "Is it okay for the show?"

"It's perfect."

The words rang through Remus' mind as the two men stood and stared at the painting. Perfect. That was a word he had never expected to hear from Sirius Black. 

Perfect.

"Well..." Remus started, straightening himself up and turning around to finally face the gallery owner. Sirius' eyes were still focused on the painting, darting back and forth as they scanned the work. His mouth was slightly parted, as if he was completely lost in thought. Remus forced himself to look away, trying to keep his mind off of Sirius’ lips and how they would feel against his own. "Was there… anything else you needed?"

"Oh… uh…" Sirius looked slightly startled at the question and glanced down at Remus, his eyes coming into focus. "No… No, this is fine, Remus. Thank you."

The gallery owner brushed a strand of hair from his face and turned around abruptly.

"I guess I'll see you around, Sirius…"

Sirius turned his head to look back at Remus, giving the artist a once-over. His eyes drifted down to Remus’ shabby, hole-ridden socks, up his stained jeans, his baggy shirt, and finally settling on his eyes. Remus was suddenly self-conscious about how he looked compared to the gallery owner. The smile that spread across Sirius’ face, however, seemed to indicate that he didn’t mind the artist’s aesthetics.

“Yeah,” Sirius purred, his grin growing wider and a flush spreading across his ivory cheeks. “I’ll see you around, Remus.” 

With that, Sirius existed Remus’ apartment, and the artist was left alone to ponder their interaction and what Sirius’ smile really meant.

((Author’s Note: There is one thing (and one thing only) on Remus’ mind! Can you tell what it is? ;) ))

[jihyosforehead]

Some dayeon fluff pls your writing is phenomenal

IM SO SORRY ive sat on this for months 🥴😬💞 pls 4give 💖 based on this one tiktok i saw on my timeline one time and cant find bc i accidentally refreshed 😢😞

UPDATE: I FOUND THE DAMN TIKTOK LOL 

...

“Ask your partner if they have anything they want to talk about.”

Nayeon’s spent the last hour or so scrolling through her twitter feed, there’s a few cute puppy videos here and there, a few new memes she found funny enough to blow air out her nose and her personal favourite, “Ask your partner if they have anything they want to confess.” 

Nayeon can’t help herself. This quarantine has kept her inside for longer than she’d imagined. So. She’s bored and she’s bothered her friends enough with her need to be entertained. And Dahyun was due to walk in at any moment from picking up the mail from the downstairs lobby. 

It seemed relatively simple. Ask your partner if they have anything they want to talk about. A forced confession. 

Dahyun was hardly on social media and gets most, if not all, her memes from Nayeon and then occasionally Chaeyoung. (“How have you not heard of grumpy cat? Or the doge meme at least?”) Dahyun lived under a rock, basically. Nayeon was fairly certain Dahyun wouldn’t know about this. 

The door made a tiny beeping noise, and was then followed by a soft click. 

“Do you have anything you want to tell me?” Nayeon blurts out, catching Dahyun just as she’s about to slip her feet into fluffy pink slippers. Nayeon watches her girlfriend expectantly, she narrows her eyes trying to school her expression to something serious. Dahyun slowly lowers one foot into her slippers and then straightens up to tilt her head curiously at Nayeon’s question. 

 “What?” 

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Nayeon tries again. This time more firm, but she manages to successfully bite back a smile. 

Dahyun shuffles her feet into her slippers as if regaining her footing. She opens her mouth and closes it. Opens once more and lets out a long “uHHhhh-” Dahyun searches for words that don’t seem to come and then looks at the small pile of letters in her hand, then at Nayeon again. 

Nayeon studies Dahyun carefully; she was shuffling back and forth and on both feet and had rearranged the post in her hands for the third time. She was momentarily distracted by a mustard yellow envelope that looked interesting.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” 

“So, uh -” Dahyun sighs, deeply embarrassed, “so, you- I, - uh, I guess you found the cutlery?” She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, Nayeon watches her cheeks pink under the fluorescent lighting. 

“What?”

“The-the cutlery? You found it?”

It’s Nayeon’s turn to flounder now. What had Dahyun done to the cutlery? Had she broken it? Thrown it away? What was so monumental about the cutlery, that had her girlfriend looking like she was about to run out the door she had just come in from? Nayeon’s eyes snap back to Dahyun again.

“Y-yes. The cutlery. I found it.” 

Nayeon rubs her temple. Why had she said that? Technically, no, it’s not a lie. As far as she knew, the cutlery was in the left hand drawer next to the sink. She pictured their kitchen in her head and mentally tried to recall the last time she’d opened it. At lunch? No. She had a snack about two hours ago and needed a spoon but couldn’t find any, so she’d had to wash a new one. And that’s all her knowledge about any kitchen-related utensils they owned. 

“I’m really sorry, baby,” Dahyun steps closer and huffs a loud sigh. She runs a hand through her already mussed hair, “I just, I just- you- look,” she raises her hand in a placating gesture. “I’ll be better. I promise. I’ll put them away. I just really hated doing that part.”

“Dahyun, angel, what are you talking about?”

Dahyun visibly perks up at the pet name.

“Nayeonnie, I just really hate putting the cutlery away.” Nayeon just stares dumbly, clearly confused. “Like, I know the drawer is right next to the- ” Dahyun sighs, resigned. 

Nayeon allows herself to be pulled up by the wrist and guided into the kitchen. She watches Dahyun gently tug the dishwasher door open with a sheepish smile and- 

“Ohhhhh my godddd.” 

Nayeon rubs the spot between her eyebrows exasperatedly. Huh. So she wasn’t imagining things after all. She wasn’t insane - okay - that part was debatable (sometimes), but she knew she wasn’t losing it. It, being her marbles, she notes while staring at a wide-eyed Dahyun. Dahyun, who was, at the very least, two full shades pinker than usual. Nayeon stares in disbelief. 

“-look I’m really sorry! I’ll-I’ll put them away now. Right now! I’ll wash up and I’ll put them away next time, I promise!” Dahyun says, voice frantic. She then turns around to hurriedly yank four spoons, two forks and a butterknife from the cutlery basket and waves them in Nayeon’s face. Nayeon’s unable to control the disgusted expression she makes at the visibly dirty utensils. “I-I”ll-I’ll wash these now! I’ll wash these now so we’ll have a few for the rest of the week and tomorrow when we turn the dishwasher on I’ll put them all away,” Dahyun manages to say in one breath. She sniffs.

Her cheeks are flushed red, and her voice has begun to waver, giving away her nerves. And she’s looking at Nayeon with her big, doe-like, guilty brown eyes. All honey. There’s a tiny crinkle between furrowed eyebrows. Nayeon can’t help but feel deeply fond exasperation creep up her spine and rush all the way down to the ends of her fingertips. Her heart squeezes tightly. Uncomfortably. Feels Dahyun wriggle her into yet another spot she didn’t know she had. God. This girl. This idiot. This Idiot! Making her feel things all the time! How was it possible to love such a monumental, wholesome dumbass? How?  

“Is your-” Nayeon clears her throat. “Is your ‘thing’ you needed to tell me-” she does air quotes to emphasise  her point, “-that you don’t put the cutlery away?” 

Dahyun doesn’t meet her eyes and instead chooses to find the floorboards interesting. She pointedly avoids Nayeon’s gaze. Nayeon struggles to bite back a laugh. 

Then, very quietly, in the tiniest voice:

“Yes.” 

Nayeon brings her hands to her cheeks to quell the urge to scream. This girl. This GIRL!!! Was so cute! How could one person be THIS cute! Nayeon chooses to sigh very deeply and bite her lip. She thinks she manages to look stern. 

“I thought I was imagining things,” Nayeon tells her, “no wonder there’s never any cutlery in the drawers!” 

Dahyun rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, babe. I’ll put them away next time.” 

Nayeon watches pink flush Dahyun’s face again and trail down her neck. She finds her hand on the spot where Dahyun’s neck meets her shoulders and gently tugs. 

“I’m not upset, I promise,” she murmurs into dark hair. She feels Dahyun huff a relieved sigh and shuffle herself closer. 

“You sure?” 

“Baby. It’s just cutlery.” Nayeon pulls back, her hand still resting on the nape of Dahyun’s neck. She rubs the skin there, feels Dahyun shiver slightly. “I’m not mad at you,” Nayeon says again. “And anyway. If you had told me you hated that part, the easiest part,” she teases, and draws Dahyun back to her body naturally, “I would have done it instead.”

She punctuates her words with a kiss on the crown of Dahyun’s head. She feels Dahyun smile into her shoulder with how hard she’s grinning. She drops another kiss for good measure. 

...

“You are so dumb,” Dahyun whines, and slaps Nayeon’s shoulder with their heavy throw pillow.

“Look, it’s not my fault you’re an idiot.” My idiot, Nayeon thinks, happily.

Dahyun buries her face in Nayeon’s side and whines again. “I can’t believe you put that on Twitter.” 

“You let me post it!” 

“Only because no one looks at your tweets but me!” 

“I have over five thousand followers.” 

“They’re bots.”

So. 

Nayeon might’ve posted a voice-recording of Dahyun’s Confession. On Twitter. And it might have gone viral. And this is why Dahyun is smacking Nayeon's shoulder repeatedly with a pillow on a Tuesday night. Nayeon supposes this is her reward for fame. 

[blinder-baker]

Carnations | IV

Alfie Solomons x reader 

Warnings: Alcohol

Part One         Part Three

Dinner. Dinner. Dinner. That’s all it was. Dinner was easy, all you have to do is sit down, eat, and make polite small talk. There weren't any tricks or hidden clauses in a dinner date. A dinner date? Was it a date? Maybe you should have asked for clarification. But that would have been embarrassing. If he didn’t intend for it to be a date, he would have thought you were odd and that you were sweet on him; but if it was meant to be a date, he would have thought that you didn’t think of him that way and would have retracted the offer. So maybe it was better that you didn’t ask, you could just interpret the atmosphere and you would be able to tell whether it was a date or not. Unless, of course, you interpreted wrong… 

You were ready nonetheless. Wearing the nicest dress you own, you hoped that it highlighted your assets in a classy way - like your mirror reflected. You looked nice, you had taken your time getting ready and put thought into every choice. So what if you were ready an hour early? You had been waiting for this all week, ever since Alfie had walked you home. After killing Mr Hayes.

Don’t think about Mr Hayes. Don’t think about his lifeless body on the cold floor. Don’t think about his crushed skull being bashed against the wall. Or the blood stains on the bricks behind your desk. 

Just think of Alfie. How he gave you his coat despite the chilling winds, how he accidentally slurped his tea, the flowers he gave you. The pretty flowers: orchids, hyacinths, and gardenias. The note written by his own hand. The hands that killed Mr Hayes in a flash of savage brutality. 

You could have screamed in the safety of your own home. There was no escape from that feeling of guilt. How could you write that in your notebook, and have it become evidence against you if the police were to come looking? Even if you didn’t physically murder him, it was deed was done because of you. Alfie did it to protect you. 

Your knee shook up and down where you sat on your couch, fingers fiddling in your lap as you waited for Alfie. Everything would be alright. The police weren’t going to be after you or Alfie! Alfie Solomons could take care of something so benign as one man with ease. You knew he had the police on his payroll. So, even if they did go looking for Mr Hayes, as soon as anything pointed in the direction of the bakery they would drop the case instantly. You were certain of that. It was all taken care of.

The clock chimed for the mark of a new hour, and only seconds later the door was knocked upon. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. You rose from your seat, smoothing down your dress with the palm of your hand. You painted a smile on your face. A charming one you hoped.

You opened the door to reveal Alfie Solomons. His black shirt’s top buttons were undone in such a way that screamed of Alfie. A thick golden chain around his neck that gleamed in the light of your hallway. He clutched his hat in front of him, every finger adorned with a ring. 

“Good evening, Alfie” You greeted, just how you had rehearsed all day. 

He looked stunned, his eyes were wide like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming motor vehicle. “Petal… You look… astounding,” He finished, taking a step back to allow you out of the flat.

“Well, so do you, very handsome.” You stammered, closing the door behind you. You jiggled the door handle to check that it was locked, before smiling at Alfie.

He offered his arm to you and you quickly slid your arm through the crook of his elbow.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The restaurant was nice, you had never been there before, despite it being less than ten minutes away from the bakery. It was small and cozy, it seemed to be a family run business. Every nook and cranny was filled with candles, the melting wax dripping onto the candles next to one another as if recreating itself. The food was good too, maybe a little too expensive for your taste but since you weren’t paying you tried to feel guiltless about spending so much money. The waiter was generous with the wine too, he seemed to fill it up every time you sipped the glass. 

But the most intoxicating thing seemed to be Alfie, he seemed more relaxed here. He told you all sorts of interesting stories that didn’t seem possible. But most of all, you didn’t feel anxious, at least not the sort that you were used to. You were almost certain that nothing would go drastically wrong, maybe you would spill a little wine down your dress or trip on the way out. You could live with that, you probably wouldn’t come here again anyway. And Alfie wouldn’t embarrass you by mentioning it. 

Maybe your tranquil state was induced by the alcohol, either way, it was well timed. It seemed to end all too quickly, as the waiter brought over the bill. Alfie discreetly put a wad of notes in his hands, you were certain that half of that would cover the meal and the rest must be a tip. His generosity did not go unnoticed. 

Once the cold air outside hit your face, you realised you probably had too much to drink. A queasy feeling settled in your stomach and you closed your eyes for a moment; trying to breathe through it. Once you were certain that you weren’t about to unload your dinner on the cobblestones you opened them again. 

“You alright, petal?” Alfie’s hand found your lower back, his thumb moving in small circles against the fabric of the dress. 

“I’m fine Alf’, thanks for taking me out tonight,” You smiled at him

“Oh, it was my pleasure, now, let's get you home before you freeze to death, eh?” 

His hand curled around your waist as you walked through the streets, he guided through the darkness with only the lamplights illuminating the narrow alleyways. 

Within twenty minutes, you had reached your home and were yet again fiddling with the lock. You stumbled inside slightly as the door gave way without warning, you giggled slightly to yourself as clutched onto the wooden frame. You straightened yourself out, not wanting Alfie to think that you were beside yourself due to the alcohol. 

His face bore an easy grin as he held his hand out to make sure you wouldn’t fall. 

It was definitely a date. A romantic restaurant. His hand around your waist in a gentlemanly yet intimate nature. You weren’t blind, but how long had it been since you went on a date? What was the etiquette? 

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” You offered, rubbing your arms slightly.

No, that wasn’t date etiquette. That was ‘I want to sleep with you’ etiquette, if there even was such a thing. You could envision it now, he would call you a whore and leave immediately. The night would be ruined, and it was all your fault.

“You still got that rum?” He inquired as he followed you inside, placing his hat on the coffee table. 

Oh. Oh. 

You nodded and departed to the kitchen. You pulled the bottle of rum from the dark depths of the cupboard, and two glasses. You inspected them to double check that they were clean, before pouring a decent measure in both. 

Alfie had made himself at home on your sofa, reclining back with his arm stretched across the back. You couldn’t help but think that he looked out of place. It was a peculiar notion, that anyone could look out of place in someone’s living room, but he did. It was as if it was all too small for him, but you were unsure if it was physically or metaphorically. The ceiling seemed to stoop lower than usual, and the sofa creaked everytime he shifted his weight. 

“Bread?” You joked, offering him one of the glasses.

He let out a bark-like laugh and swilled the rum in one before setting the empty glass on the coffee table. Alfie wiped the excess off his beard in one solid motion, before resting his hand on his thigh.

You looked at him with wide eyes as you slowly made your way to sit beside him on the sofa. Tucking your legs underneath you, you looked down into your glass - hoping that one more drink wouldn’t push you over the edge.

“Did you enjoy dinner, Y/N?” He asked, his rumbling voice pensive. He seemed so close to you, just a couple inches away. From this distance, you could see every minor detail of his face. The slight curve of his upper lip that was usually hidden by his beard. The blur of blue and green eyes peered at you as he waited for an answer. 

You snapped back to reality, “It was brilliant, Alf” You whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. 

His eyes widened and he tilted his head in surprise, “Well, yeah, it’s a nice little spot, innit?” A smile broke out on his face and his tongue danced across his bottom lip. The daring side of you wanted to lean over and kiss him, to just forget about professionalism and what you wanted for a change. 

You blinked and the spell was broken. You looked away from him and took a large sip of your rum; you really needed to get a grip before you embarrassed yourself. What was it about Alfie Solomons that made you incapable of thinking straight? He was just a man! A man that made you lose all senses, it seemed.

The clock once again chimed to mark the hour. 

“Right then pet, I should probably get going,” He suggested, looking into your eyes. 

“You could stay, for just another drink,” You pleaded, your hand going to hold onto his in a moment of drunken courage. His fingers curled around yours and gripped them tightly, 

“One more, then” 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

One more drink had turned into several, several had turned into plenty. Now, Alfie had fallen asleep on your sofa. With his back straight and his head thrown back against the cushions, he seemed unwakeable. 

You giggled to yourself as you crawled to the kitchen. Your legs felt so weak, like they were made of plasticine. So instead of walking, you dragged yourself along. You knew that the smartest thing to do would be to chug down some water.  What was it about the kitchen tiles that was so cooling? You were just one metre away from the sink. But to get up from the tiles seemed like a painful idea. Reaching one hand out, your fingers lightly graced the cupboard door, water was so close. Yet all you wanted to do was close your eyes. 

By the time you opened them again, your body felt heavy and the giddiness had passed and had long since been replaced by the scratchiness of your throat. You groaned as you hoisted yourself up to the sink, turning on the tap and sticking your head underneath it. You lapped at the dripping water like a dog to a puddle. Once your thirst had been quenched, you pulled your sopping hair out of your face and slowly trudged your way to your bedroom. 

The bed was a welcomed comfort, you felt there was no need to undress or indeed slip underneath the covers. Sleep called out to you like a beacon of light to the lost.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

HRH?💏😍💔😥

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias | Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed |  Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech | Part XXII: The Harlot Queen

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XXIII: Rarer

Claire’s teenaged fingers had been nicotine yellow when the King – her uncle – told her that she needed to manage her reputation. A shamed and orphaned royal for whom money could no longer buy silence, Claire had been brought to London quietly after her boarding school declared no more. To prevent a scandal, a cover story had been constructed. She would never forget the disappointment in his voice when he explained, “Your future rides on it.” She had been different then – lashing out against loneliness and authority in the senseless, minor ways that seem significant only to a teenager. 

And while her indiscretions had been charming when there was still time for an heir – a real heir, her Uncle Lamb’s progeny – they were not when she was lined up to succeed him to the throne. At that time, her youthful dalliances had made her The Accidental Queen and The Party Queen. Newsink had made it so, and a nation had laughed, picked her apart. 

Now she was something different. Her new monicker, designated by a headline, had been brought to her attention just as Mrs. Fitz’s calming influence had taken hold, and she was quiet. As she finished straightening her jacket and pinning to its lapel the brooch her Uncle Lamb had given to her for her seventeenth birthday (“a hummingbird, a free spirit for my free spirit,” he explained), one of her staff entered her bedroom suite with the paper. 

 The Harlot Queen. Newsink again had made it so. 

“Ye dinna need to read that… that… rag,” Mrs. Fitz said, giving the newspaper’s bearer the kind of look that quite possibly could kill in an alternate dimension. Despite Mrs. Fitz’s firm protestations, Claire took the paper. She looked utterly happy in the photograph that they had chosen, and she recognized it from Frank’s private cache of holiday snapshots. He was holding her hand tight, half of his body out of the frame. Her hair was loose and she was wearing sunglasses, ones that did not really fit her and were constantly slipping down her nose. She remembered arguing with him endlessly on that holiday – nothing was ever quite right, really. Her eyes scanned over the article, picking up bland bits here and there about her ring, a biographical sketch and dashing, quite young portrait of the uniformed suspect – Colonel James Fraser, discredited war hero from a small town, about whom little was known save that he was never quite right after the war according to acquaintances. 

 “Came back from the war completely mad, but you canna blame the lad. Word is that they tore him up in that war camp – tore him up good, disfigured him. It doesna surprise me that the poor chap turned on the hand that fed him.” 

Claire’s stomach soured as her heart sank. 

This was what she had wanted to prevent.

“Leave then,” Fraser had said to her, his eyes flashing when she told him that she was going to take them public before someone else did.

Disfigured him. Completely mad.

She wished that she had a way to contact him. To have the time to reach out, to explain that she was doing this to make it better, to redirect the spotlight. He didn’t understand what it meant to be in the spotlight like this, to have millions of pairs of eyes scrutinizing, judging. Absently, she prayed that the first edition of this particular printing had not made it around the jail before he was whisked away. Perhaps he hadn’t even had an opportunity to see it. 

She kept skimming. Then, there in the center of it all, was a quote from Frank. It was a monologue transcribed as truth by a man with ambitions that were decidedly political, not as the ranting of a disgraced, disgruntled lover:

“It makes me worry about her health, really. She was erratic in the final days of our engagement before she gave that dreadful, meandering speech. She frequently slipped away to the stables, and I attributed it to the fact that she could not bear the weight of the crown that rested so easily atop the King’s head. However, now I fear that she was being manipulated by someone – or rather some scoundrel – on her staff. Groomed for him to accomplish some ends. Would I forgive her for what she has done for me? Of course. Do I have concerns about her judgment? I cannot answer that for a nation. However, I can pose an alternative question. Who among us would not have such concerns? This nation, this continent, has seen more than its fair share of what misplaced trust can bring.”

Claire did not taste bile or see red. Instead, she carefully folded the paper, set it on the side table, and stood. “Are we ready?” she called to Mrs. Fitz. When the woman nodded, Claire responded in kind with a tight little tilt of her head towards the newspaper. “Throw that in the fireplace. Find every copy. I do not want to see a single trace of the bloody thing when we are finished with this.” 

Again, Mrs. Fitz nodded. By the time the instruction was firmly given, Claire was already gone. One room over, she had taken a seat on the couch where she had delivered the first of her Christmas addresses to the empire for which she was Queen. She inspected her fingertips. They were pink, scrubbed, filed, and polished a her-nail-color-but-better neutral. 

 Claire swallowed, fixed her eyes on the cameraman, and nodded. 

7:58 a.m. 

 She felt as though her entire life was about to change, though she knew that it already had. 

 She turned her hands over, studied them. She had expected her palms to sweat, to go clammy, for her fingers to tremble. But she was dry, still. She laid them to rest on her thighs, crossed her legs at the ankle, watched the cameraman do some last-minute fussing with the lens on his equipment. When the lights clicked on, she didn’t even blink, just lifted her head. 

7:59 a.m. 

 She brushed a curl back, not out of nerves, but for the mere fact that it had been tickling her cheek. It had been a firm refusal when she declined some sort of helmeted, serious chignon. If she was going to expose herself on television, she figured she might as well really go for it. 

 8:00 a.m. 

 “Yer majesty, on three,” the cameraman said, his voice smooth. The countdown was hardly over when she started. 

 “On this day, I am taking the opportunity to speak to all the peoples of the British Commonwealth and Empire, wherever they live. I speak to you today from my home in Edinburgh before I depart for the Highlands, which I have come to hold so dear. My priorities as Queen are to secure for my people the inalienable rights of health, happiness, security, and freedom. They have always been so, and they will always remain as such. It is from this important business that some seek to distract this great nation.” 

She paused, catching her breath for a beat.

Fraser. 

 That headline. 

 The article.

She prayed that he had made it, that he was far from all of this. 

“I assure you that despite the cluckings of small men, I am well and truly in possession of all of my faculties. You see, some weeks ago, I made a decision. It was a the type of decision that was unheard of, not just for a queen, but for a woman. I decided that I would not put my happiness or myself last. In that vein, I ended my engagement to Frank Randall.” 

She paused a second time, fought the urge to wet her lips, and leaned forward. 

“I did so in the service of finding something rare. Based on the examples set for me by the King, my parents, and their parents, I knew that love was dear, but I had not experienced it. Never with Mr. Randall or any other man. But I have found that now. With a man – a solid one, someone captivatingly different, one who I was bound to through no particular effort or ingratiation on his part. When I met him, I felt a connection more profound, more fundamental than any I had ever felt.” 

She was beyond the point of no return, and she knew it. Fraser had taught her to save herself, not to need saving. Now, she would save him. 

“His name is Colonel James Fraser. He served this nation at a great personal sacrifice, he has served his Queen. He has no agenda other than to love me, and at a great personal cost. It has been at the cost of his privacy, his honor, and his dignity. And by loving me as he does, he has now been accused of doing something ugly, of being something ugly. Of being a thief who stole brazenly from the Crown. He stands accused of taking a ring that is dear to me and that is made of stones that were dear to my uncle and that have been in my family for as long as any historian can trace. He did not do it.” 

Having long forgotten the script, she swallowed, spoke from the heart. 

“While I was with him, I left the ring in a certain place where it was discovered not on Colonel Fraser, but someone related to him. Now, a horrible misunderstanding has caused an innocent man – Colonel Fraser – to be ripped away from his job and family, and to be put into an Edinburgh jail. While some seek to use the Crown for fame or glory, Colonel Fraser was prepared to forsake both, to sacrifice himself for me. Because he loves me. And because I love him – because what we have is rarer than the gold or gems he was wrongly accused of taking – I sit here now, speaking to you from the heart.  As Queen and as a woman.”

She could feel the twist in her stomach, the throb in that heart that produced the words her mouth spoke into the public space where their relationship now lived.

“Colonel James Fraser is a good man, better than the small, insignificant man who has attempted to smear him and to smear me. Do not harbor small-minded conclusions about Colonel James Fraser or the man he is.”

Enough. It was enough.

What was rare was sacred, private.  She was a Queen, but she was also Claire. She would never not be both.

And so she concluded, “Although I have found the great love of my life, I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service, and to the service of our nation. God help me to make good my vow, and God bless all of you who are willing to continue to share in it.”* 

 When the lights switched off, she rose. Her palms were still dry as she turned to Mrs. Fitz. 

 “Get him a message. I am going to our place. He will know.”

* the first sentence of the speech and this *’ed part were adapted from Queen Elizabeth’s 21st birthday speech, which you can read here, if you’re so inclined 

[intricate-oeuvre]

say it before you run out of time || B. Hardy || part II

part I  part II  part III  part IV  part V  part VI  part VII   part VIII  part IX  part X  part XI  part XII part XIII

Word count: 2k

Summary: Ben and the reader have been friends since childhood. And along the way reader falls in love with him. But it might be too late when another girl shows up claiming that she’s his girlfriend.

Warnings: none, horrible writing tho, puppy overload

A/n: huge thank you to all of you who enjoyed the first part! <3 sorry from answering from my main (@saint-hardy) . also tell me if you want to be tagged into future chapters

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

Girlfriend??? It rang in your ears.

“Pardon, what?” You tried to compose yourself as lump formed in your throat.

“We have been dating for two months now. Well, he doesn’t want to label it just yet nor to go public about it, but I feel he wants more.” She smiled and looked around. That didn’t sound like Ben.

“Oh, really?” Your voice cracked. Were you too late? Thousand thoughts were running through your mind at the moment. You looked around as tears gathered in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall.

“Yes. He’s really amazing man… He told me a lot about you.” Nina said the last part with distaste while putting her bag on the living rooms sofa and taking a look around the room.

“He did mention that you might swing around sometime.” Nina said while she checked the photos on the wall. Some polaroids and printed pictures with friends, family, his dog and even you.

“And..?” you asked, feeling that something was coming.

“Nothing. When are you leaving?” Nina turned to you with serious look on her face.

“Tomorrow. Why?” You asked, carefully assessing her. Feeling that you might need to go back to the dorms.

“No reason. Don’t you have like dorms to go and studies to do? Homework? Something?” Nina asked. You could feel that she was not the friendliest type of people.

“I have enough time to do those.” You crossed your arms. Trying to calm down.

“Ben gave you a spare key?” You asked nodding towards the door.

“I wondered the same thing. Of course, he did.” Nina said looking you up and down. The fact that Ben had given you his spare key made you felt special, but not anymore as it seemed.

“I’m here to surprise him when he comes here tomorrow. Show me where is his room.” Nina said looking pass you.

“I’ll better show you guest room.” You said with distaste.

“So, you can take his?” Nina scoffed.

“So, you don’t make mess before he arrives.” You could bite too if you wanted to. And sofa in the living room didn’t look too bad.

“I would advise to watch your tongue before I call him and ask you to leave.” Nina said as she went in the guest room you had showed her.

“Sure. You do that.” You mumbled so she couldn’t hear.

Rest of the evening was silent between you two. She seemed like really possessive person. And jealous of you. She had occupied the guest room as her closet and migrated to Ben’s room to watch TV. You were sure she was planning on staying in both rooms. With slight roll of your eyes you reached under one of the sofas and pulled out a blanket and a pillow. Slipping on Ben’s sweater over your head you nestled on one of the sofas. Too lazy to push the glass coffee table out of the way and pull out the sofa, you tried to fall asleep. 

But the only thoughts that filled your mind where those of Ben and all the good time you two had shared. You stared at the ceiling, hoping that your mind would stop running in circles. Tucking the blanket around your chest you reached for your phone. Checking your IG, your dating apps that you hardly used and only usually checked when you were drunk. And you scrolled through your messages. Your group chat Booty Hunters 69/420 with Maddie and Rose seemed appropriate.

y/n: You guys up?

mAdDie: What happened?

y/n: Ben has gf…

mAdDie: WHAT

mAdDie: THE

mAdDie: ACTUAL

mAdDie: FUCK???

ROSAlinda: what? i’ll beat his stupid ass for real

After that you didn’t answer the texts, just let them roll in and shush your friends that you’ll somehow manage. Then you scrolled list and looked at Ben’s contact. Tapping on his name you let your fingers hover over the keyboard. This wasn’t the first time you had been staring at his contact like this. Letting your fingers slide across the screen you started typing.

y/n: im sorry if this wakes you up. But its 1:34 here and all I can think about is you…

You glanced at the text and instead of hitting send, you deleted it, and throwing your phone on the ground, went to bed.

You woke up some time later from someone’s whispers and shuffling near the front door. You quietly sat up, still covered by blanket and glanced behind the sofa to make sure that it wasn’t Nina walking around, but both bedroom doors were closed.

“Shhh… You’re going to wake up Nina, Frankie…” you heard a deep voice whisper near the door. Then the small lamp near the front door lit up. Emitting small glow around the door area. You fucking knew that voice everywhere.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice still full with sleep. He wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow afternoon. Did you accidentally hit send to that message?

Upon hearing your voice, Ben froze.

“Y/n?” your name escaped him in a small gasp.

“Am I dreaming?” you mumbled to yourself as you rubbed your eyes.

“Why are you…? If I had known… You’re not dreaming. Hello.” He seemed puzzled but then softly greeted you, stepping closer. You furrowed your brows for a second, munching on what he said. Shit, it was him!

“Ben!” You gasped, jumping off the sofa and sprinting to him, just to crush your body to his.

“I fucking missed you!” you mumbled as your hands wrapped around him.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” Ben said fondly as his hands went around your waist and picked you up from the ground to capture you in bone crushing hug. For a moment both of you enjoyed each other’s closeness. Stealing that feeling of home that you associated with each.

He gently let go of you and in that moment, Ben realised that you weren’t fully decent. You were only wearing panties and sweater. Without a bra. HIS sweater. Looking you up and down, he tilted his head while biting his lip:

“Lovely number you have going on here.” He grinned.

“What?” you looked down at yourself.

“Shit! Fuck!” you rushed to your bag to grab some shorts.

“Relax. And besides, it looks better on you anyways.” Ben was referencing the sweater and chuckled at your frantic movements. So, he totally knew it was his sweater. Cool.

“Someone wants to meet you, y/n.” Ben said when he heard small whine behind himself. He had finally taken his pup with him. And you were too excited to finally meet the beagle girl he talked so much about.

“She’s here with you?” You smiled like child.

“Of course.” He turned around and urged Frankie to come closer to you.

“Oh, god! She’s so lovely!” you couldn’t stop laughing as the pup gave you kisses.

“Look, she likes you.” Ben smiled and kneeled beside you two.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Both of you heard tired voice from the hall.

“Nina.” Ben was up and looking at her. If you were allowed to guess then you would say that he didn’t seem so thrilled to see her here.

“Boo? You are here?” Nina’s voice turned into unnatural squeak.

“Hey, Nina.” Ben smiled at her as the named girl rushed to hug him and give him kiss on the lips. Awkwardly clearing his throat, Ben pulled away from her.

“It seems you two have already met.” He said looking from Nina to you, but letting his eyes stay on you.

“Yeah, she’s a nice girl. And it seems you have brought your little pet too.” Nina said with smile, looking at Frankie who was excitedly wiggling her tail next to you.

“Yeah, I know you’re not a fan of Franksta here, but I couldn’t leave her behind.” Ben said apologetically.

“Nonsense. It’s alright until she sleeps in different room.” Nina smiled at him and laid her head on his shoulder. With small nod he agreed.

“Come to bed, boo. You must be tired.” Nina pulled on his arm.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a second.” He kissed her cheek.

“Don’t make me wait.” Nina winked at him and went down the hall.

“Sorry about that.” Ben shuffled awkwardly.

“It’s alright.” You smiled and looked down at Frankie. Still trying to process the fact that he had a girlfriend now. You had no idea how to bring this up. What do you even do in such situation?

“Why are you sleeping here in the living room, I have a perfect guest bedroom that you have never turned down before.” He gestured to the back.

“That’s Nina’s.” You said and petted the pup.

“You know you could just sleep in mine then.” He leaned back against the back of the sofa.

“That’s Nina’s too now.” You said straightening. Ben furrowed his eyebrows.

“Guest room sort of is her walk-in closet now. And I think she sleeps in yours.” You shrugged explaining.

“You could have just said something to her.” He smiled.

“I don’t think that she’s a fan of me either.” You sighed, looking at Frankie with whom you now had something in common.

“Don’t be silly.” Ben’s smile faltered.

“It’s alright, Ben. Your expensive sofas are enough.” You reassured, patting his shoulder.

“I think there might be a horny girlfriend that waits for you.” You tried to joke and not sound hurt. For you it hurt more than it made you laugh.

“Don’t even start. I rather stay with you here that deal with that.” Ben said and walked around the sofa to sit.

“Tired, huh?” You whispered.

“Jetlagged as hell.” He corrected.

“Ben?!” Both of you heard Nina’s voice from bedroom. With roll of his eyes, Ben sighed. You rested your forearms on the back of the sofa and looked at Ben. You quietly admired how he looked even if he was jetlagged. His messy hair, the dark hoodie, the way he sat with resting his elbows on his knees.

“How did- How did you meet—You know, the girlfriend Nina thing...?” You somehow tried to word it, but it only came out as weak whisper. You leaned down, now resting your chin on the sofa’s back.

“At one dinner after shooting. Somehow, she stuck around.” Ben sighed and leaned back, his head laying close to yours as his eyes bore into the ceiling, just like yours couple hours earlier.

“What about it?” He asked turning his head to look at you. His breath hitting your cheek now. You didn’t answer, feeling that your voice would give away how you truly feel, so you only shook your head.

“There’s something wrong.” Ben said as his eyes flickered around the side of your face.

“Is there?” You tried to sound uninterested.

“Yeah.” Ben sat up straight and turned to you.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” You said and walked around the sofa to pet Frankie and distract yourself.

“Is it about Nina? Because I know-” Ben started, but you interrupted him with a hiss:

“I said I don’t want to talk about it! Not now, please.” At the end you seemed almost desperate. With small nod, Ben didn’t say a word.

 “Can I leave Frankie here with you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Of course.” You scooped the pup in your arms. The dog nuzzled the sweater with her nose.

“Even she knows it’s my sweater.” Ben chuckled, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Sorry, I’ll give it back.” You apologized.

“Nah, keep it.” He stepped closer and pulled the collar of the sweater on your nose.

“Goodnight, y/n.” Ben said with tired smiled. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Frankie’s head, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

“Be good.” He said to his dog and left you there with his sweater over your nose and his dog in your arms. Only now you realised how much the sweater smelled of him.

“Goodnight, Ben…” You whispered and readied to the bed again. Mentally saying to yourself to get to sleep because he wasn’t even thinking about you.

~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @brianandthemays @queen-turtle-boiii @rogahloveshiscar @radiob-l-a-hblah @scarsout @sara-1705 @babydazz

[honekitteh]

FIC: Countdown - Chapter 1

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre:  Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Author's Notes: First installment of an actual chaptered fic in this fandom. Hopefully there will be more in the future.   Warnings: Future chapters will raise the rating to M/E.

Crossposted to AO3

How did I get to this point?  That is an excellent question.  One would expect the so-called Hero of Tython to have a far more heroic introduction.  Jump in to save the day.  Say something suave or clever.  Jyana Kai, the “famous” Jedi Battlemaster who was reported to have killed the Sith Emperor would be able to jump into the fray and defeat anything.

Sure, you would think that.

Instead I was standing underneath a domed barrier with SIS Agent Theron Shan, just waiting.  My bruises had bruises; my mental defenses were on high guard.  He didn’t look too much better but calling down Archiban Frodrick “Doc” Kimble, the most humble doctor I’ve ever known, from the orbital station was out of the question.  

He straightened up after ensuring the shield was properly set and looked to me.  “Okay.  We should wait until they’re good and close.”   

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my senses to reach out to get a good feel for how much time we had.  It wasn’t much.  I moved slightly closer to Theron and said softly, “I wasn’t sure when I’d run into you again.  Not the greatest circumstances, but still.”  I very nearly reached to him but halted myself with a small glance behind me.  It wasn’t my fellow Jedi and closest friend Kira Carsen though that I sensed when I could feel we weren’t alone.

He offered a weak but knowing smile.  “Maybe next time the lives of an entire world won’t be in danger – but, yeah, feeling’s mutual.”  

I felt my heart flip flop a bit at his smile and met his with my own.  Soon though, I could feel them.  His amber eyes shifted from mine to behind me.  Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I took a deep breath, then reopened them to follow his gaze.  Kira had already drawn her dual-saber, its green light reflecting against the metallic floor.

Theron pulled out his data pad and started tapping. “Okay, here comes the puppet brigade.  Fingers crossed…”

It was a fairly sizeable group, Imperials, Republic troops, and even some Jedi.  I silently cursed the Chancellor and added it to the growing list of matters I will add to a report, should I bother to file one.  At this particular moment, the choice words I had planning were significantly less Jedi than they had been the beginning of this entire fiasco.  The horde moved closer and Theron triggered the device.

That Theron even had to modify it to be non-lethal was not lost on me.  As I saw the soldiers all be stunned and fall to the ground, I could not help but wonder what the result would have been had that modification not been made.  The Empire, putting a weapon in one of its capital cities with the capability to kill a vast amount of their own citizens?  If they had one of these in New Adasta, they could have it on Kass City, or in a number of other cities.  But why?  Because of riots?  Gee, I wonder why anyone would riot against a ruling body that had no regard for their lives.

My eyes glanced over to a Republic soldier that had collapsed.  Were we even better?  The Republic should be better than this.  Theron followed my eyes and let the shield dome collapse.  He approached the soldier and knelt.  “This one was closet, took the biggest hit.”  He reached for his neck, checking his pulse as I walked up beside him.  I looked out towards the door and across the landscape of unconscious bodies.  “Still alive,” Theron confirmed, relief in his voice, “We did it!  Let’s just hope we got all of them.”

“Let’s hope,” I murmured, still scanning the surroundings.  Something still felt off.  This moment was far from over, I could feel it.

“We should call Lana now, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

The bodies began to float in the air.  “I have a better idea,” a booming male imperial voice spoke through a woman sauntering onto the platform.  With a small flick of a hand motion, the bodies crashed back away from her, clearing a path.  Her eyes yellow and wild, she smirked as she drew her lightsaber.

“Master Surro.”  Theron’s entire stance sunk and he moved to stand between me and the unconscious puppet army and the approaching Jedi Master.  “No...”  I lightly reached an arm to his shoulder, trying to pull him back and shift him behind me, but he stood his ground.

“Watching you believe you had a chance; it’s amused me.”   Master Surro raised her hand sluggishly as if it were pulled by string, the Force lifting a dazed Imperial lieutenant into a sitting position. “Now this whole charade is pathetic.”

I shifted my own position, trying to assess the situation and moved in front of Theron.  Not soon enough, as Master Surro summarily executed the dazed man she’d just set up.  The range of emotions in the man beside me went from shock, to horror, to anger.  It took a great deal of my own willpower and Force meditation to not absorb Theron’s pain and have it fuel me and complement the dread that I felt; the very dread I’ve been feeling rising since the moment I’d received his distress holo.

Master Surro’s lips turned in a cruel sneer.  “Now, how do you wish to die?  In combat or on your knees?”

Lana Beniko, Sith Lord and Director of Sith Intelligence, raced from within the building, lightsaber drawn and poised to attack.

“Go away, little Sith.”  Master Surro easily shoved the approaching Sith Lord with a shove.  Theron moved in front of me again and drew his weapon but was immediately lifted in the air.  He gave me a wincing glance before he was unceremoniously thrown against the wall and crashed the ground.  I looked between Lana and Theron and took the last reserves of my energy to take a deep breath. 

Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.

Glancing back to Master Surro, I furrowed my brow and drew both my shoto.  The Emperor controlled puppet smirked.  “This has nothing to do with your friends.  This is you and I.”

Igniting my sabers, I leaped into the air.

So how did I get to this point?  I guess I could start from the beginning…

At some point in my early life, I was brought to Hasshimut to take up training to be a Jedi.  I have no recollection of much before this point, no memory of a mother or a father.  The Jedi didn’t see a need to enlighten me and eventually I never truly thought to ask.  Perhaps that was a mistake looking back.

But I digress.  While that may be the beginning of my story, it is not the beginning of this particular story.

Approximately a year or so ago I became more than what was called the Hero of Tython.  I was now the Battlemaster, a reward for helping bring together both Empire and Republic to defeat Revan and to attempt to stop Vitiate from regaining power.  The latter failed however, and a team had been put together to continue trying to find out where he’d gone. 

 “I’ll get the shuttle started,” Kira stated and walked towards the shuttles at the edge of the camp.

Not a second later, I felt another hand brush mine, startling me out of my thoughts and I turned around.  “Theron?”

Theron Shan smiled a bit awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Jedi Battlemaster, huh?”

I shuffled my feet and looked down.  “Yeah, that surprised me too.”

“I suppose we’re both going to be pretty busy.”

“Guess so…” I looked back over the ridge across the lush green jungle moonscape of Yavin IV.  I took a deep breath as the wind blew through my hair.

“So Jy… I guess this is...”

I spun quickly and grabbed his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.  He startled, but then opened his mouth and met my tongue with his own. He wrapped his arms around me, one of his hands lowering to my waist, palm spread out slightly as one of his fingers slightly hooked underneath my belt.  A flash of memory of this morning where a very similar kiss led into a shuttle caused my cheeks to heat up slightly.  Slowly easing myself out of the thought, on how much I wanted to get lost in his arms again, I lowered my hands to rest on his chest and pulled out of the kiss, both of us breathless.  I attempted to play it cool as I said, “Don’t be a stranger, Agent Shan.”

He smiled softly and his eyes seemed to twinkle as he leaned his head against mine.  He traced his fingers against my cheek and whispered softly, “I won’t.”

I slowly opened my eyes and wondered when I’d drifted off.  The pilot chair wasn’t the most comfortable place to nap, but I supposed I was tired.  Pinching the bridge of my nose I leaned back in the seat and sorted through my thoughts.  The Defender was quiet as it usually was when I opted to take the night shift.  No bickering over space or Doc being a bit confused why he was suddenly thinking of all his old ex-girlfriends.  I usually used this time to meditate.

Or accidentally fall asleep and dream about...

It’d been months without a holo.  Just a small message about actually having caf with his mother.  That’s progress though, so I don’t begrudge him that.  It’s not like I’d entirely made a lot of time to reach out either, so I couldn’t pin it all on him.  Flying from planet to planet, seeing where I can lend my hand with the war effort or even some of the little things like Master Orgus reminded me, didn’t always lend me a lot of time to go to Carrick Station or Coruscant just to see what a good-looking SIS Agent was up to.

The planet I was in orbit of wasn’t extremely remarkable, though that was from the eyes of someone who had been staring at it for the last five days.  It was an unnamed Jovian type gas giant, swirling with green and teal colors of gas.  It had two ringed belts, one full of asteroids and the other vibrant and as colorful as the world surrounding it.  The two rings intersected in an X shape. 

There has been a mine there within the asteroid belt, though it had been long abandoned many years ago.  There were some fairly rare minerals that had been mined from within the asteroids and within the gas giant itself.  There were numerous reports of a space whale like creature called Purrgils that frequented this system as well.  Those creatures were apparently fairly notorious for knocking spacers out of hyperspace so I had to fly carefully in this region.  I vaguely recalled images of them, which reminded me of something I used to dream of as a child.  The dreams didn’t make them out to be a menace, but no one ever said spacers told accurate tales.

The Council wanted me to send a few probes within the system to assess its strategic worth.  An odd task for the Jedi Battlemaster I thought.  I’m a Jedi, not a Scientist.  I solved problems easier with a lightsaber.  But I could sense there was definitely more within this system than just a simple mineral assessment.  Though this seemed it would have been better to just send an actual expert in this field.  Everything I found I just forwarded to Barsen’thor Sheridan to show to her scientist companion, Tharan Cedrix.

I thought I caught a blip of a lifesign flying into the gas giant when suddenly, a holo comm started breaking through.  Staticky at first, I fiddled with the settings.

“--repeat: Repubic call sign Aurek Nen—hey! Finally!”

It felt like time stopped.  I was walking through a desolated world: buildings, ground, even the sun all washed out in shades of brown and grey.  My own bright white clothing, faded with the terrain.  As soon as the vision hit, it was over, and I heard Theron’s voice trying to get my attention.

Snapping out of it, I took a quick breath and quickly responded, “Theron. Are you all right?”

His voice came across frantic.  “That would be a negative, Master Jedi! I’m in Imperial space, over Ziost.  Tried to slip in, help out my ground team, but I used the wrong set of clearance codes and shields are low!”

I furrowed my brow slightly but tried to keep mostly calm. “Focus on getting yourself to safety, then we’ll talk. “

“No, you really need to hear what I have to say. I was getting reports: demented soldiers; slave and civilian populations under fire. Had suspicions of what it meant, but I wasn’t sure.”  My heart sunk even lower as he continued speaking.  “I sent a team in dark to investigate, maybe handle it, but it’s all gone out of control now. I think it’s him. The Emperor.”

“I’m supposed to be the first one you contact when it comes to him, not your last resort,” I snapped.

“I should have said something—I know.”

I closed my eyes briefly to try to settle my own racing heartbeat.

He continued, “Sending through the right set of clearance codes along with the coordinates to meet my-- “ There was a loud explosion and he lost balance as his ship rattled.  “I’m hit! Going to try to land this thing! Don’t come looking for me, I’ll—”

“Theron? Theron, come in!”  I frantically tried to get the signal back.  When that didn’t work, I just mashed the buttons on console and the Defender quickly jumped into hyperspace.

[reystars]

all the pieces fall (a jessica logan character study) (4.3K)

(read on ao3)

Ten snapshots of Jessica Logan’s complicated life.

The woman crouches next to her so they’re face to face. Her red hair is shiny and her eyes are nice and she’s holding out a lollipop so Jessica takes it and listens as she talks.

“My name is Emma,” she says. “I’m with Rittenhouse. We’re here to help you. We’re here to save him.”

I. She’s five years old and sitting in the lobby of a hospital.

Jessica’s mother gently pulls her hand away from where she’s nervously tugging at her blonde hair. Her father had sternly instructed her to leave her blanket in the car, the thing she normally tugged at. So now she's pulling on the ends of her locks, the fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzing, staring at the shiny, plastic floor. Her feet don’t even come close touching the ground and she’s swinging her tiny shoes, waiting for her brother and the doctor with the funny haircut to come out of the room.

On one side, her mother is twisting her hands together, over and over again. On the other, her father is stone. His face is expressionless. Jessica looks up at him.

“I’m thirsty,” she says.

He doesn’t seem to hear her. She tugs on her mother’s sleeve.

“I’m thirsty,” she says again.

Her mother glances down at her, distracted.

“There’s a drinking fountain over there,” she says.

Jessica hops down, her plastic shoes squeaking on the linoleum as she makes her way over to the drinking fountain. Standing in front of it, still pulling the ends of her hair, she realizes with a frown that she can’t reach it. She stands on her tippy toes, placing both small hands on it, trying to lift herself up.

“Here, let me help you,” a kind voice says.

Jessica turns. There’s a pretty woman with red hair standing behind her, wearing a trench coat. Jessica takes a step back and the woman lifts her slightly so she can reach the water. As soon as she’s done drinking the woman sets her down and Jessica wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” Jessica says. Then makes sure to inform her, “I’m five.”

The woman smiles. “You seem very smart for your age.”

Jessica looks past the woman at where her parents are sitting, still lost in their own world, not even noticing her conversation with this stranger.

“Do you love your brother?” the woman asks her.

Jessica thinks it’s a silly question, but nods. Kevin is only two and not a lot of fun to play with yet but her parents promise her that he’ll get fun and not as loud someday. She hopes it’s someday soon.

The woman crouches next to her so they’re face to face. Her hair is shiny and her eyes are nice and she’s holding out a lollipop so Jessica takes it and listens as she talks.

“My name is Emma,” she says. “I’m with Rittenhouse. We’re here to help you. We’re here to save him.”

II. She’s ten years old when they buy her her first gun.

Emma has been a constant in her life since that day at the hospital. She never seems to age, and sometimes is wearing the same clothes even when it’s months between visits. Sometimes she has the blonde woman, Carol, with her. But she’s always around, waiting, watching.

Emma finds her after her first baseball game. Her knees are bruised and her messy blonde hair is sticking out of her baseball cap, red dust smudged on her face. Her parents are still in the stands, chatting up the coach’s husband, Kevin sitting on her father’s lap, munching on an ice cream bar.

She’s ducked around the back of the dugout to get a drink from the lukewarm water fountain when Emma steps around the corner.

“Hi Emma,” she says, leaning over the drinking fountain, holding her blonde hair so it won’t fall into the water.

“You did great,” Emma says with a smile. “You’re pretty coordinated.”

Jessica straightens up. “Thanks.”

“I got you a present.”

Emma pulls the gun out of her purse by the front barrel, but Jessica still jumps back a little bit at the sight of it. Emma is still smiling comfortably, but Jessica still feels electrified by the sight of it. Her parents won’t even let her near the rifle their father keeps locked in a safe in their basement.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says. “I’ll teach you how to shoot it.”

Jessa steps forward, hesitant, and looks at it closer. It’s silver and it looks more advanced than any of the guns she’s seen her dad or uncles use.

Emma slips it back into her bag.

“It’s for self defense,” she says. “You know that Rittenhouse is highly secretive for a reason. There’s lots of people, really bad people, that want to hurt us. Would want to hurt you because we helped you.”

Jessica hears her mother calling for her in the distance.

“But I promise I won’t let that happen,” Emma says. “I’ll teach you how to protect yourself.”

III. She’s fourteen years old when they finally tell her what her mission truly is.

She’s been working at her grandpa’s auto shop all summer and she’s bored to death. She doesn’t mind spending her time underneath cars, oil smudged down her arms, and she’s actually a pretty good mechanic, but she only took this job because Emma had told her to, and she’s been itching to finally join her and get the real work started. But it’s been almost two years since she last saw Emma or anyone from Rittenhouse. She’s starting to worry that they changed their mind, or forgot about her.

Her parents don’t know about the gun she has hidden in her bed frame.

Emma had told her that she was important. Important to Rittenhouse, important to the future. When she thinks about it, pride swells in her chest. They wouldn’t forget about her. They couldn’t. That meant something.

She’s sitting on top of one of the old tables in the back, drinking a Coca-Cola, her dirty sneakers swinging, staring out at the passing traffic when she sees a flash of red out of the corner of her eye.

She turns her head to see Emma standing there.

“Emma!” she shouts, jumping down off the table, barreling over and engulfing her in a hug. She’s missed her. Emma laughs and hugs her back.

“Hey kid,” she says, finally pulling away, putting some space in between them so she can see her face. She tilts Jessica’s chin back as she smiles.

“Your braces came off fast,” she says.

Using the side of the table as a bottle opener, Jessica opens a coke with a crack and a hiss. She hands it to Emma. A satisfied smile spreads across her face after she takes a sip, climbing up to sit on the table next to her.

“Mmmm,” she says. “They just don’t make it like they used to.”

Jessica feels her pulse leap like it always does when Emma talks about the future. About time travel. They promised her that she’d get to try it someday. She’s spent hours pouring over history books, trying to decide where she’d like to go most. To help save the world.

Emma pulls something out of her pocket.

“I think you’re old enough now to know why we chose you. Why you’re special.”

She hands the photo to Jessica, and she unfolds it. It’s a man, probably in his late twenties. He has striking blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and an intense gaze, almost challenging the camera. She can see army tags hanging around his neck. Jessica runs her thumb down the side of the photo absentmindedly. He’s handsome in distant way, like a film star.

“Who is he?” Jessica asks.

“Wyatt Logan,” Emma explains. “Your future husband.”

IV. She’s fifteen years old and she absolutely hates Texas.

It’s hot, and dusty, and dry, and boring. The sun is always too bright, the sky is always devoid of clouds, and the roads stretch across the desert like dirty ribbons baked into the ground.

This is the year she’s meant to meet Wyatt Logan, and she’s standing outside her new high school, marveling at the fact that it looks more like a prison than anything else.

She’s squinting, the sun intrusively bright as usual, and she’s trying to muster the energy to even care about school at all with the knowledge that her future is secured with the most powerful organization in the world anyway.

And then she sees him.

He walks out of the building, wearing an worn out T-shirt and loose jeans, and even though he looks about 10 years younger than the only picture she’s seen of him, it’s unmistakable. Cosmic, almost, is the feeling that floods her body when she sees him.

Without meaning to, she freezes. She has her instructions clearly in her mind, she knows exactly what she’s supposed to do, supposed to say, but she can’t move.

And as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. He makes eye contact with her, a smirk already the default on his lips, and walks over to her.

“Hey,” he says. His smile is irresistibly charming. So is his slight southern accent.

“Wyatt Logan,” he says as an introduction. He's looking at her curiously, intensely. She'll soon learn that there's not much about him that isn't intense. But under his gaze, something feels right.

This is the first moment that Jessica realizes playing pretend might be more complicated than she thought.

V. She’s seventeen years old when he proposes to her.

She's too young, she feels too young, but they're laying on a pile of blankets in the back of his pickup truck under the stars and he's staring at her adoringly with his blue eyes and she knows, she knows she can't say no.

They've been through a lot, these past two years. Wyatt thinks she doesn't know about the drug running, but she does. He thinks she doesn't know about his asshole father, but she does. She wonders why lying comes to him as naturally at breathing but when she looks at him, she doesn't see a liar, she sees a survivor. She sees a man who wants to join the army just like his grandfather, a man who wants to buy them a beautiful house with a white picket fence. She sees an idealist who can't see more than two feet in front of his face. She sees someone she's accidentally fallen in love with.

It terrifies her.

"So?" he asks, rolling over onto his stomach, running his finger down her arm. It makes her shiver slightly, and she keeps her eyes on the sky.

"We're so young, Wyatt," she says, and he interrupts her with a kiss that she doesn't exactly hate. "We have nothing but time. There's no need to rush."

He kisses her collarbone, and she no longer feels like making excuses.

"I don't want to wait another second to call you my wife."

He says it so truthfully, so earnestly, that her heart tightens. In moments like this it's hard for her to remember why she's here, and what she's doing. She's playing the long game, she knows this, but she finally settles her eyes on his and gives in, for just a moment, to the fantasy.

"After graduation," she concedes, and he grins his cocky grin and wraps her in his arms. As she listens to his steady breathing, her head on his chest, she imagines what it will feel like to have to kill him someday. She wonders if she'll be able to do it.

VI. She's eighteen years old, and it's her wedding day.

She's in the back room of a tiny church, looking at herself in the full length antique mirror, the beautiful white dress cascading on the ground. She's alone, just for the moment. Her mother's taking care of a last-minute flower issue, and as she runs her hand over the soft white satin fabric, the golden Texas sun shining softly through the window, she feels almost dizzy with happiness. Tucking a hair behind her ear, she hears Kevin's familiar laugh just outside the door. He's only fifteen, but Wyatt asked him to be his best man anyway, and he's been loving every second of it.

Jessica is adjusting her (very traditional, mother requested) veil when the door cracks open.

"Did you work it out?" she asks, assuming it's her mother with news on the garlands. She doesn't realize she has a huge smile on her face until she turns and it immediately drops. It's Emma standing there, arms crossed, serious as the grave.

Jessica tries to quickly plaster the smile back on, but the air has chilled.

"I was hoping you'd make it," she tries. It falls flat.

"Congratulations on your big day," It's almost sarcastic, the way Emma bites out the words. There's a fresh bruise on her face and fury in her eyes. "I thought I'd bring you a wedding gift."

She hands, almost shoves something into Jessica's hands. It's a manila folder and when she opens it, all that's inside is a worn, handwritten page that looks like it’s been torn from a journal. Jessica doesn't recognize the handwriting. Taped to the page is a newspaper clipping. Carefully, slowly, Jessica unfolds it. Immediately, she feels like the wind has been knocked out of her.

Soldier's Wife, 28, Found Strangled to Death

It's her photograph.

"What is this?" Jessica asks. It comes out as a whisper.

"I've been saving it just in case I needed to remind you why you're here," Emma says. Her voice is curt, blunt. "To remind you that your husband out there is the reason why without Rittenhouse, you'd die in a few years."

Jessica can't catch her breath. Slowly, terrified, she pulls up the newspaper clipping to read the handwriting underneath.

Wyatt told me the truth about what happened the night Jessica disappeared. They were at a dive bar in San Diego called the Pelican Lounge when they ran into an old boyfriend of hers. He was jealous, drank too much, and as they drove home they had a major fight. Started shouting. She told him to stop the car and got out right there on the side of the road. Wyatt drove away. It only took him twenty minutes to calm down but by the time he came back, she was gone. She never came home. They found her body—

Jessica tears her eyes away from the paper. She can’t bear to read any more. Blinking away tears, she hands the folder back to Emma, making her face as even as she can.

"Who wrote that?" she asks. The handwriting is a woman's, the description emotionless, like a historian idly describing an important event. Not her life. Her death.

"It doesn't matter," Emma says. "What matters is that you remember why you're here. And what Rittenhouse did for you."

As if almost on cue, there's a knock on the door. It's Kevin.

"Jess?" he calls through the door. "Are you ready?"

Emma gives her a pointed look.

"I'll be out in a second," Jessica calls. Her hands are shaking.

When she walks down the aisle, a beautiful smile elegantly crafted on her face, she can barely even look at Wyatt. Despite the tears in his eyes, the overwhelming joy shining out of his face, the sounds of her mother sniffling in the first row, she feels the steel cage wrapping around her heart.

VII. She’s twenty-two years old, and marriage is harder than she ever thought it would be.

Wyatt’s been in the army almost three years now. She supported him when he enlisted, encouraged it, knowing all along that’s where he would end up. And that he’d be good at it too. She was surprised, at first, at how much she missed him when he would leave.

But then he comes back from a summer in Afghanistan and he’s different. He’s moodier, drinking more and more despite swearing that he’d never follow in his son-of-a-bitch father’s footsteps. He’s lying to her, too, about other women. And she knows there’s other women.

She tries to focus on the mission, her purpose, with Rittenhouse but it doesn’t take away the sting of knowing what’s happening when he’s not around. She takes care of the home—their home—and takes a job as a bartender, working nights to pick up extra cash. It’s only supposed to be temporary.

Cleaning out muggy glasses, the stinging scent of alcohol permeating the air, it’s hard for her to feel like she’s making a difference to the universe.

But Emma is there. She’s there often, stopping by, reminding Jessica of how important she is. How this is all temporary, and soon enough she’ll take her place in Rittenhouse like she’s always meant to. She won’t be cleaning glasses forever.

And Jessica keeps her mouth shut, ignoring the long brown hair she finds on his coat, the scent of perfume that’s not hers, the late nights and the lies. She forgives and forgives and forgives, feeling a piece of herself chip away with every tear soaked kiss.

VIII. She’s twenty-eight years old, and this is the night she’s supposed to die.

She’s been waiting for this day for ten years, and it’s all happening exactly how Emma said it would. They’re visiting Wyatt’s grandfather in San Diego. He mentions a dive bar that his buddy recommended to him, the Pelican Lounge. The moment she hears him say it out loud she goes numb. But she smiles, flips her hair over her shoulder, and says, "Yeah, sounds like fun."

That night she puts her earrings on with shaking hands. She tries to enjoy her drink, but she can barely sip it without feeling nauseous. And there’s no surprise when they run into someone they used to go to high school with, someone Jessica may have kissed once or twice before she started dating Wyatt. And who knows what sets him off—a lingering glance, too familiar of a touch—but he starts drinking. More than he should.

Jessica places a hand on his arm.

“Babe, you have to drive.”

He jerks his arm away from her.

“Stop trying to mother me, Jess, you’re always trying to mother me.”

His voice is unbearably loud and people are starting to stare.

She finally convinces him to walk out to the car, and that’s when the fight really begins. He refuses to hand her the keys, climbs into the driver’s seat of the same truck he's been driving since high school. It's hard to see him as the same person sitting there. Windows down, blowing Jessica's hair into her eyes, the sounds of the cars speeding past, Jessica can’t help but get caught up in it, her emotions choking her as she spits out things she’s kept tucked away deep inside.

“You’re just like your father, you know.”

It’s the one thing she doesn’t yell, just speaks it, her voice low. She doesn't know where it comes from. She doesn't mean to say it. But she does mean it. Wyatt slams on the breaks, jerking the truck over to the shoulder of the road.

“Get the hell out of my car.”

Her body goes icy cold. She stares at him, he’s breathing heavily, almost unrecognizably angry. Her knuckles are white, balled into fists in her lap. The worst part of it all is that despite everything she knows, she wants to get out of the car anyway. She wants to storm off. She wants him to see her twisted, mangled body in the bushes two weeks later, if that's what it will take for him to see how he's making her feel. The rawness of the thought makes her feel like she's been punched in the gut.

A beat.

“No,” she finally says.

Wyatt is staring straight ahead, trying to get his anger under control. It’s clear that he’s still furious. But after a few more seconds he throws the car into gear and pulls it back onto the road. They spend the rest of the drive in complete silence.

It’s not until they’re pulling into their driveway that Jessica finally breathes.

IX. She’s twenty-nine years old when she files for divorce.

It’s on Emma’s orders, really, but the sense of relief she feels is genuine. So is the flood of guilt that follows. But it’s not like they haven’t tried. They’ve been working with a counselor for months, trying to talk through their issues.

Wyatt won’t budge, won’t open up, and Jessica is still keeping the biggest secret between the two of them anyway. It’s all an act, a charade, but there’s still no reason why Wyatt should look so shocked when she slides the papers across the table at him.

“Jess, please don’t do this,” he says. And the way he says it is so genuine that for a moment she forgets all the shit he’s been putting her through. Then she drops the pen on the table. Her bags are already packed, she’s staying with Kevin and his wife for the time being.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she says. She picks up her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “I can’t be married to a state secret. I can’t keep doing these lies.”

Wyatt’s not even looking at her, his head is in his hands, his elbows on the table. He looks defeated. It’s almost sad.

“Goodbye, Wyatt,” she says.

She leaves her key behind. He doesn’t try to stop her.

X. She’s thirty years old when Emma tells her that it’s finally time.

She’s back at her job as a bartender. She’s had no contact with Wyatt for two months. He’s seemed to disappear off the face of the planet but, as Emma explains to her over a whiskey on the rocks, he’s gone into hiding after a blow to Rittenhouse.

“Him, the pilot and the princess,” Emma sneers, finishing off the whiskey. “They’ve been real pains in my ass. But when they get back from this trip, it’ll be the first time he’s seen you since you died. Don’t be surprised if he acts strange.”

She pushes the glass back toward her across the mahogany bar and Jess stacks it on the rest of the dirty glasses hidden out of sight of the customers. She’s thrumming with energy. Her entire life has been leading to this moment.

“Your goal is to get in the bunker, gather intel, and when the moment is right, take out as many as you can.”

All she needs to do now, though, is send a simple text. Have you signed the papers yet?

So she does. Then she waits.

And happy hour is about to start, she’s yelling at the new guy and waiting for Mark to show up with the four extra cases she’s ordered for grad night when she hears him say her name.

“Jessica?”

She turns around, immediately, instinctively. Not happily. He’s standing there in complete and total shock.

“Oh my god, you’re actually here.”

She’s holding a clipboard in her arms, actually feeling a little more irritated and inconvenienced than anything else. She’s expecting him to do what he always does, run his hands through his hair and avoid eye contact and make excuses. So many excuses.

But then he doesn’t. He walks forward, tears in his eyes, and pulls her into a hug. Wraps his arms around her so tightly, so passionately, so close that she can actually physically feel the pounding of his heart.

His breath moves his hair as he repeats himself. “You’re actually here.”

That’s all it takes for her to realize that this is not the Wyatt that she’s married to. He’s not the same man at all. This is someone completely different, someone she’s never met and can barely even recognize. This is the Wyatt that, in another world, moved heaven and earth for her. The man who stole a time machine to try and bring her back.

Before she gets too overwhelmed she pulls away from the hug, spotting the keg delivery man. She shouts at him to bring her the rest of the order and turns away from Wyatt, busying herself with whatever she’d been doing before. The most completely insignificant things. Trying to snap back into it. She can almost hear Emma scolding her in her head.

“When are you off?” she hears him say. “You wanna have dinner?”

The way that he says it actually helps her gain her footing again.

She whips around.

“You ignore my texts for two months and now you want to have dinner?” she says.

They stumble through an awkward conversation. She emphasizes that she’s been working doubles while implying that he’s been off with some other woman. Something flashes over his face when she says it and she realizes it might actually be true. But she agrees to meet up with him when she’s done with her shift.

And he’s just staring at her, dumbstruck, like he’s never seen her before. Like he thought he’d never see her again. It’s so tender, so soft, so very unlike the Wyatt Logan that she knows that she absentmindedly shouts at one of the newer employees and brushes him off.

“I’ll see you later,” she says, and her almost looks like he’s going to stay but he doesn’t. He leaves.

And Jessica slips into the back room, leaning against the concrete wall, trying to catch her breath. Then she straightens up, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She’s on autopilot as she dials the numbers she’s had memorized for years. The dial tone abruptly stops, she hears the click on the other line. She doesn’t wait for Emma to speak.

“He came here,” she says. “We’re meeting up after my shift. It all happened exactly how you said it would.”

She feels numb.

[jintard]

If it's okay to submit multiple requests, 5) iv) for Moxiety please :3

@justanotherpurplebutterfly 

5) iv) Moxiety

We keep accidentally running into each other I’m not a stalker I swear

Virgil had originally noticed the other man because, well, he was cute and Virgil was very gay. He had at first been quite happy to frequent the same shop as the cardigan clad, slightly nerdy looking guy. He felt like it was a small blessing to be allowed to sneak a few glances a couple of times a week, and when they had reached for the same milk and their hands had brushed, well, that had kept Virgil content for the rest of the week (once he got over the embarrassing squeak he’d let out before running away).

Originally it had been nice, even with his anxiety telling him he was creepy, he’d managed to ignore it. So they frequented the same shop? That was allowed. And everyone glanced around every once in awhile. As long as Virgil was careful, no one would notice his quick looks at the man with a permanent smile on his face (and that smile did things to Virgil, so help him).

But, just as everything in his life, it soon turned into something terrible. Because Virgil started seeing the cute guy everywhere. He was in their cornershop, but also at the park, and he took the same bus to centrum (at the same time!) and Virgil had even run into him at a random McDonalds. Sure, it was nice to see that smile, but the random meetings did some very terrible things to Virgil’s heart.

What if the guy thought Virgil was following him? Oh, god. He definitely thought Virgil was following him, like some psycho stalker with a machete and a hidden cellar filled with torture-devices and a weird old video camera. He was probably so creeped out. Who wouldn’t be? Virgil knew better than anyone that his style was a bit… dark…. or like a homicidal murderer waiting to happen. How had the guy not called the cops on his ass already? Actually, that was worrying, he should be more cautious. That smile just screamed naivety and purity and all the good things Virgil could never associate with himself. God, now he was hoping the guy had a pepper spray ready for him.

Needless to say, this whole thing was already enough to make Virgil incredibly paranoid. He had spent about a week and a half inside his apartment, somewhere between wishing he’d just disappear and hoping the guy had never even noticed him. He mumbled this all through the blanket fort to a very exasperated Roman who gave such useless advice as “talk to him” or “just ask his number” or even “you should introduce us”. Virgil did not deign him with an answer.

After almost two weeks even Virgil had to admit some fresh air would feel pretty nice, and grabbed his favorite hoodie before heading out to get something from the shop (a different one just in case). He was probably the furthest thing from an outdoor person one could get, but the crisp air of early spring did feel nice. He went so far as to lower his hood to feel the breeze in his hair. It was… nice. Maybe life wasn’t as bad as he-

“Oh my goodness! It’s you!”

Virgil felt his blood run cold. He could recognize that happy voice anywhere, and the street was empty and oh god, he really shouldn’t turn around.

He turned around.

The cute guy was looking at him with wide eyes and an excited smile on his face. Virgil wondered not for the first time whether the guy had any sense of self preservation in him. Who just calls out to random strangers? Or stalkers?

Actually, maybe this was a trap? Was he trying to lure Virgil into admitting his stupid crush on the guy and recording him to have proof to give to the police of Virgil stalking him? But then again, wouldn’t it be rude not to acknowledge that he knew the other guy? But what if there were like police just ready and waiting to arrest him?

Virgil looked around quickly, wondering whether a cop could fit behind one of the trash cans.

“I was wondering where you’d disappeared off to! You stopped coming to the shop,” the cute guy continued. Virgil looked back at him, feeling his heart start to beat faster, for various reasons. He was fairly certain the other guy thought he was a stalker, but he was also, like, stupidly cute, and Virgil was not equipped to handle the sunlight shining on his hair or the way his glasses were slightly askew.

“Uh…” was his eloquent answer. On an optimistic note, it was a sound and he had been unsure whether he was capable of making any, but unfortunately Virgil had never been very optimistic. And his brain translated his “uh” to “I’m unable to properly answer because I’m a crazy person who has been stalking you for half a year”. This in turn resulted in a very hasty decision on his part.

“I don’t have a machete or a cellar or a weird camera!”

The guy stared at Virgil.

Virgil was slowly dying inside. Jail, here we come. How could anything ever sound more incriminating than that? Was he stupid? Well, yes, but that stupid? God, he wished Roman would at least visit him in prison.

“Me neither?”

Virgil blinked in surprise and looked back up at the guy. The usual smile was replaced with something Virgil’s brain took a second or two to recognize as suppressed laughter. For some reason he felt his own lips twitch up.

And suddenly the cute guy was laughing, and it was the most wonderful laugh Virgil had ever heard. It changed from the loud kind of laughter that shook your whole body to adorable giggles and snorts and finally to the type where the other person was mostly just gasping for air. It was infectious and Virgil felt a few stray giggles escape his mouth too. He wasn’t even really sure of what the joke was, but the hysteria and paranoia somehow translated to strangled giggles.

“You-, oh wow, that was-, you don’t own a-, oh wow!” the cute guy kept gasping for breath. It took a few more aborted attempts at talking and some giggles before the guy finally straightened back up. Virgil felt a jolt in his stomach at the wide, pretty smile the other guy offered him… along with his hand.

“My name is Patton. I felt like it was about time I introduced myself.”

Patton. Virgil felt his mouth go dry.

“I-, I’m not a creep. Honest,” he managed to say. Patton did a curious head tilt and gave another giggle.

“Nice to meet you ‘not a creep’. I was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch with me? I’ve wanted to get to know you.”

Virgil stared at the man, and very slowly felt his knotted intestines unwind. Patton didn’t think he was a stalker. Actually, now that he thought about it, the reason he always saw Patton smiling…. was because Patton always smiled at him.

Oh.

“I-, yeah, ok. Yeah,” he finally took the offered hand. “My name is Virgil.”

Patton smiled and it did things to Virgil again. He really was too cute, and Virgil really was too gay.

This was a lot of fun to write! I wonder what it says about me that I enjoy writing awkward characters with no sense when it comes to social interactions. Rambling dialogue or thoughts are also a hoot.

Anyways, hope you like it!