#multichaptered fic

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER TEN, Resultance

Day 33/34, Sunday night / Monday morning

The sun shines brilliantly off of Newt's golden hair, lighting the spot in the field that the man was grazing, pulling weeds and plucking something or other from the tops of the growing crops. He looked peaceful, standing there with a content smile, just going about his day as if farming wasn't the most boring thing in the entire world. The only reason you had even made it through one day was because you had picked play-fights with him, throwing random weeds and clumps of dirt at his apron, trying to make it into his front pocket like it was some sort of game. He had laughed- and by the creators that laugh- and deigned to throw some from his basket right back at you. He'd, of course, had more in his basket than yours. But you could tell he was going slower than normal to begin with, so he wouldn't speed ahead and leave you in his literal dust. 

Now, however, you were off work. You were working with Gally now, who was just too sweet no matter what anyone else said. You could see why Ben liked the man, he had a soft spot for people in need, even with his gruff exterior. You let your eyes scan the Glade lazily, looking for Ben through the throng of people. It wasn't until you scanned the whole Glade that you remembered he was a Runner, and his day off didn't coincide with yours. You saw him every time he was off, though. He would always visit Gally and follow him around like a little puppy dog, not working with him but watching him work. Considering Gally said you were 'still in training,' that meant he sat nearby you constantly as well. 

You were sitting atop one of the lunch tables, letting your feet dangle off of the side while leaning back on your hands behind you. You suddenly feel the wood under you begin to shake and rattle as someone jumps up onto the table, and you let your head fall backwards to lazily look at Thomas, his upside-down face smiling at you and leaning in awfully close. You can see the sun dance across his eyelashes, making his darker brown eyes alight enough that they seem to melt in swirls- although that could be because your head is rather inverted right now.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" He questions, and you laugh softly as you stare into his mesmerizing earthen eyes. You feel connected, in an odd way- in a way you would've never expected given that you're not from this universe. The thought always sends a jolt of panic through you, but you're tired and languid today, and the thought just coasts away just as easily as the fake, puffy clouds above do. 

"You." Your answer is plain and causes a scoff and an eye roll from Thomas.

"I meant, what were you looking at?" You lift your head back up, letting your eyes scan the Glade once more before they, inevitably, land back on Newt. You feel the wood underneath you shimmer and shake, and as you feel a tap on your right upper arm, you casually scoot over enough that Thomas can take a seat next to you, copying your position.

"Newt." Your answer is once again short and to the point. You catch Thomas giving you a quick glance from the corner of your eye, but he turns his head away just as fast before you even begin to consider looking back. Newt bends down, causing the sunlight to glint off of his head at a certain angle, and Thomas raises one hand to block the sun from his eyes before slapping the hand back down once again.

"That all?" Thomas mumbled, though you could hear a hint of something in his voice. You try to parse it out, but the time has passed and he's no longer saying anything else. Plus, you feel really rather tired at the current moment. You've had a long first couple of days of working for Gally, who seems ready to work you to the bone. You'd even thought about just heading over for a day of sleep, but the thought of watching Newt work peacefully felt more compelling at the time. 

"He's rather beautiful, isn't he?" Your voice is only a whisper as you say this, and you don't want to turn your head so you try to watch Thomas from the corner of your eye. He doesn't turn either, or act surprised that you had said as much. He almost seems contemplative, tilting his head back and forth before sighing and nodding slowly.

"Yeah." 

You don't expect to get anything else out of him, so you finally push yourself up from your straining arms. You turn on the table, lifting one leg on top so you can face Thomas fully. The man looks over at you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, and with want of anything else to do, you raise a hand and poke at his muscled arm. "You're a different kind of beautiful, though." You pinch the edge of his sleeve between your fingers, feeling the thin, worn threads and wondering for how long he's been forced to wear this ratty thing. There were little moth-eaten holes along the edges of both his sleeves and the bottom hem, and you wonder whether the creators even care as much about this project anymore. It's been a lot longer than anyone would've expected by this point, you assumed. Especially since this current timeline was nothing like the actual books or movies.

"Yeah?" Thomas repeats himself, though with surprise instead of suppressed longing. You raise your gaze back up to his eyes, letting your hand drop away from his sleeve and land atop his closest hand. You feel his rough skin under your touch, letting your fingers gently graze along his scars and calluses. You nod slowly, staring into his now shadowed eyes as he tilts his head downward toward you- and you only just realize he's beginning to lean in closer. 

"Tommy," You begin, feeling the name like a weight on your tongue, like something only one person should be able to say yet here you were, copying Newt when it comes to Thomas, and copying Thomas when it comes to Newt. Who were you to get in the middle of them? "Do you think…" You trail off, letting your eyes unfocus and see through Thomas, your smile settling and numbing into a neutral expression on your face. "Do you think you could find yourself, find love, when you get out of here?" You blink yourself back into reality- this reality, anyway- and let your eyes meet with his confused ones. "Do you think you could let yourself?"

"What," Thomas leans forward even more, taking his free hand from the other side of him and pushing himself onto his side to face you, moving the hand to cup your cheek. "What do you mean? Let myself?" You bite your lip as you stare into his befuddled expression, leaning ever-so-slightly into his hand. 

"Tommy," Your whisper is even quieter now, but you can tell he can still hear you. If anything, the way he's so intensely focused on your lips could prove that he'd read them if the sound didn't quite reach his ears. "Let yourself fall. Let yourself have him. It'll make everything so much easier if you have someone to lean on." You raise your hand from its resting place on his own, brushing your fingers through his hair and trying to straighten it into something resembling order, although it was a fool's errand. "You're not alone. In here, or out there."

Thomas drops his hand suddenly, as if burned by your words. You watch him swallow roughly, then turn away and retake his leaned-back position, staring off into space. You continue your light grooming, brushing your fingers through his messy hair and combing it back out of his face. You figured if he wanted you to stop, he'd say so or stop your hand, so you continue on. It wasn't just calming for you, you come to realize, as his shoulders slowly fall from around his neck.

"You know what I did, don't you?" Thomas glances at you for a moment, but it seems like looking at you is too painful so he turns his gaze away once again, downcast.

"You didn't do anything they didn't force you to do."

"How could you even know that?"

You're silent for a few beats, waiting for him to realize. As he sucks in a breath, you believe he remembers your quiet talk from not too long ago, when you had told him you knew of Wicked. He blows his breath back out slowly, raising his shining gaze toward you. You drop your hand from his hair, rubbing a thumb across his cheek and swiping a tear away before anyone else can see it. You lean in close, wrapping your arms around him in a much-needed hug, turning your head to whisper into his ear.

"You're deserving of love, Tommy."

There's talking around you… Quiet whispers, like they're trying to be polite and maintain the status quo so you can stay restful. But- no, you can't. You can't quite remember why, but you need to get up. You need to be up, and- and running. You need to get away, it's not safe, it's not safe-

You groan, and finally something has happened. It's like you're trapped in your own body, but you're slowly gaining your senses back, your facilities back. You try to move your fingers, curl them into a ball, but it's hard. It's getting easier. You groan again, this time aloud, apparently. 

“I get that you don’t wanna sleep, but you don’t have to make all that racket, Tommy.” 

You try to wiggle your toes, and you feel that tingling sensation that comes when you've sat on your foot for too long and it needs to reawaken itself. You try to wince from the feeling but your face doesn't want to work. You're starting to get annoyed- this is your body, you should be able to move it. That's when it finally registers in your brain, the sound that you'd heard were words. They were Newt's words, Newt's voice- that meant he was here. You needed to see him, why was he in the maze?

"That wasn't me."

The maze! That's right, what happened in the maze? You groan again as images flood your mind's eyes, flashing too fast for you to comprehend, though you don't need to. You lived through it all, you remember. It's too much all at once, and you raise your arm, moving your hand to your face to rub your eyes roughly. When that doesn't stop the images, you open them slowly, blearily. You rest your elbow on the cot and begin to push yourself up to a lean, heavily enough on one side that you drop the other arm back down, leaning then on both elbows. You blink a few times, then look at your surroundings.

You were in the Medjack's hut- that much was for certain, you could tell that even in the dead of night. You'd been here before when it was just as dark before, though with different company. This time, however, your eyes land on Newt, sitting to your left in a rickety, can't-be-comfortable chair, a large book spread across a leg that was draped over the other's knee. His mouth was agape, his eyes hopeful, and it felt like too many emotions to deal with all at once. To your right, on top of another cot but sitting straight up as if ready to spring into action, was Thomas. He looked just as surprised, though not quite as hopeful. He almost looked… Angry? You glance back at Newt one last time before dropping your gaze to your lap, feeling ashamed.

"Sorry…"

"For what?"

"You better be."

They both spoke at the same time, though what surprised you the most was that it was Newt's voice indicating that you should be sorry. Thomas, with his angered expression, didn't seem to understand what you were apologizing for. You keep your eyes lowered as you hear Thomas begin to stammer, likely since Newt shot him a quick glare for his words. "I- I mean," Thomas starts, then just never finishes his sentence. You look up slowly, watching the boys stare at each other as if silently communicating something, before Newt slams his textbook closed, turning his full attention to you. He stands, walking closer to the head of your bed, laying the book down on your nightstand and leaning just slightly over the bed to get a better look at you.

"Are you alright?" You weren't quite expecting those words, at least not so soon following his last ones, and you struggled to keep up with where his mind might be at. You blink a few times, then take a deep breath and look down at your body. You wiggle your toes, watching them move, and raise a hand to feel at your stomach. Nothing hurts- not even your ankle, which you would've assumed would be even worse off than when you first injured it. Confused, you look back up to Newt.

"I- I think so."

"Good," Newt begins, then slaps the side of your arm roughly. You flinch away, staring up at him incredulously. You could hear aggravated cot springs to your right, and you figured Thomas was getting up to get closer to the both of you, but you didn't dare take your eyes off of Newt right now. He looked murderous. "How dare you do something like that to us! How- How dare you just run off into the maze without so much as a good-bye, and then-" He swallows, and you can hear the emotion in his voice, the tinge of anger and sadness and anxiety that you know you put there yourself. "And leave this- this stupid, bloody, shucking letter-" He pulls a square from his pocket, flinging it back and forth as if to unravel it quickly before throwing it down with force onto your bed. It was just a lightweight piece of parchment, however, so it didn't land with even a fraction of the force he used to throw it down with. He places both hands down on your cot, leaning over it and breathing heavily. "Saying you- what, you'd rather die than spend another day in the Glade with us?"

"No," You're quick to defend, shaking your head and widening your eyes, and you can feel tears spring to them but you try to blink them back. This isn't about your feelings, you did this to them- to him. What you feel doesn't matter right now. "No, of course not. I just couldn't bear another second of knowing how to get out of this stupid fucking hell-hole, watching you day by day just give up more and more. I know how to get you out, Newt. I wanted to help!"

"I don't want out if it's not with you!" He yells, and you suck in a breath, the tears blurring your vision until you blink them away, feeling the trails of warmth flow down your cheeks. Thomas has finally made his way around your cot at this point, encircling Newt's shoulders with one arm and pulling him in against his chest. Newt coughs out a sob, turning and burying his face into Thomas' chest. You can feel yourself gaping, your mouth opening and closing like a poor imitation of a fish on land, and you meet Thomas' eyes now that you can no longer see Newt's. He's not angry any longer, you can see in his eyes, but there are questions there that you know you'll have to answer at some point. Whether he's told Newt about Wicked or not- that'll be the deciding factor of whether it's now or later.

"Newt," You whisper, after waiting for his cries to quiet. When he doesn't turn, you can feel your heart twisting and ripping in your chest. "Newt, please." He slowly pulls away from Thomas, and you can see him raise his head enough- and in turn Thomas turns his gaze away from you finally- and their locked eyes must give him enough strength to carry on. He raises a hand to rub roughly at his face, wiping away his own tears before he finally turns back around to face you. He sighs out slowly, then lets his gaze travel over your form before resting on your face once again. He isn't meeting your eyes, rather letting his own eyes rest on your lips, but he reaches out and takes one of your hands into his own.

"Tell me your story, [Y/N]."

You bite your lip, glancing at Thomas and then around the room in search of something. In search of that blinking red light that revealed that Wicked was watching. Except- it's been so long now, hasn't it? They could've developed who-knows-what at this point, they could be watching right now. Was it safe to talk about? Would it ever be safe to talk about? You let your gaze wander back to Newt with a wince, then glance over to Thomas as if pleading with him to understand. Somehow, you think he does. He reaches forward, placing a hand on his forearm and leaning in even closer.

"Newt, I don't know if now is the time."

"Now is most certainly the time, Tommy. I'm not waiting another moment."

"You-" He stutters as Newt turns a sharp glare onto him, but presses forward regardless. "You might need to wait just one more moment. Long enough for us to know that they aren't listening." Newt's face relaxes in understanding, turning back to look at you with an appraising look. Thomas turns to look at you as well, and the way they both stare at you soothes the ache that had been there not but a moment before. Like you were their whole world, just laying there on a medical cot. 

"Is there anywhere we could do that?"

It's silent again between the three of you, and you wrack your brain for something- anything. And that's when it finally hits you. It might be a long shot, but as far as you knew Gally hadn't told hardly anyone else about that spot. 

"I think I know a place."

You move to get up, pulling the blanket aside and tossing your legs over the left side of your bed. You sit there for a moment, dizziness overtaking you, and you watch Newt reach forward as if to catch you when you wobble unsteadily. You blink a few times, waiting for your vision to return fully before glancing upward. Newt and Thomas took a few steps to the side, as if to give you space to stand, though before you have a chance your hand slips when your gaze lands on another body.

It could only be Chuck, with that body shape under the blanket, and that head of hair at the top. You swallow roughly, turning your head first toward the boys before letting your eyes finally separate from Chuck. You look at them questioningly, and Newt nods, Thomas speaking up quietly.

"He's alright. He woke up earlier, during the day. He's just resting more now, but he's perfectly fine. Something in that blue serum healed him- both of you, it seems, completely." You nod slowly, trying to ingrain his words into your mind so you can calm the worry that spiked from seeing him- from remembering. You push yourself to a stand, and you feel a hand on your shoulder from Newt, and another hand on your waist from Thomas who reaches past Newt to help as well. You can't help the smile that comes to your face from their attempt to help, and you want to lean into them but you need to see for yourself. 

You take a step away from their grasp, closer to Chuck's cot. You let yourself lean against it, leaning over Chuck's sleeping body to take a peek at his face. It's covered by his mounds of curled hair, so you reach over and gently pull it to the side. His face is peaceful at rest, something you've always found comforting every time you catch him napping during the day on his days off. You study his sleeping face for a few more moments, watching as his body rises and falls from his breath, before letting his hair drop right back out of your grasp. You turn toward the boys, giving them a soft but guilty smile. "Alright. I'm ready."

It was rather easy to find Gally's secret little hide-away bunker, considering it was at the very corner of the Glade inside the Deadheads. As you circle around what looks to be just a little hill, you come across the flat metal doors of the bunker you knew would be there. It's tied together by some sort of hempen rope, likely just to keep the door closed as it's not very hard to pull the rope out from between the handles. Gally was probably worried if he ever locked it then it would practically become useless when the time came. You drop the rope to the ground, taking one last look around.

You'd been keeping an eye out this whole time, and you thought at one point you saw a blinking flash of red, but it sped in the direction of the Medjack hut, and you hoped that Wicked was too tired and oblivious to notice the three of you heading into the woods. It didn't seem like the rest of the Glade noticed, anyway, considering the majority of them were asleep under their little overhang across the way. You don't notice any more blinking red lights, and your eyes land on Thomas who seems to be doing the same sort of sweep. Once his eyes land on you, and you receive a nod in affirmation that he didn't spot anything either, you pull open the doors and make your way down into the dark hole. While you still had enough light bouncing off of the giant walls into the hole, you located where Gally put the matches and lit a small lantern, just in time for Thomas to close the doors behind the three of you.

You hang the lantern along one of the ropes covering the ceiling, letting it sway above the three of you as you take a seat on a random box nearby. You only realize after you sit that it's the same box you had sat on before, back when Gally had shown you to this spot and became surprisingly vulnerable with you. You shake the memory away, looking up as Newt gingerly takes a seat, sitting on the edge of a box like he's ready to jump up at any moment, but also like he's trying to give you space to be able to speak freely. Thomas, predictably, is too restless to sit, but he does take a few steps away so he's not pacing between the two of you.

"Alright, so…" You begin, but you're not quite sure where to start. Luckily, Newt seems to pick up on that, and he digs out a square piece of folded parchment from his pocket- the letter he had thrown at you not too long ago. You must've missed when he picked it right back up and pocketed it once again. Thomas must've as well, from the surprised look he dons.

"Let's start with this." He tosses it onto the ground between you, and you bite your lip. Truthfully, you barely remember what you even wrote, considering you were in a rush to get it all out before the doors started to close. You blink down at it, then raise your gaze back up to Newt. He gestures toward it with a sigh. "You go ahead and read it, take it step by step. You don't have to read it aloud, I've memorized the words by now." That takes you by surprise, but you heed his advice and push yourself from the box you sit on just long enough to stretch and snatch it from the dirt-covered ground, brushing the stray pieces from the worn parchment. You glance back up at him, slowly unravelling it with a question on your lips.

"How long, exactly, was I out for?"

"Just an extra day. We found you the morning after you entered the maze, injected you with the serum almost immediately- as soon as Clint realized what you'd done to Chuck. Then it was all day and- well, partly into the night until you woke up." Thomas was the one who answered, still pacing back and forth while recounting the story as if in a daze. You swallow, then nod slowly. You finish spreading the paper out in front of you, looking down at the hastily scribbled words on the paper. 

'If you're reading this, then I'm dead.'

So much for that. You continue reading, then take a long breath as you try to compose what you would like to say in your head. They're patient- as patient as they can be when their entire life is on the line. Thomas continues to pace, and Newt just stares at the empty ground between you where the letter once lay. The first thing that comes to mind, though, starts with the second paragraph…

"I'm sorry I lied to you, Tommy."

He freezes in his steps, and as you glance over to watch him, you can see Newt react similarly in his seat. He freezes, then slowly looks up and looks between the two of you. You wait for Thomas to do something, to say something, but he stands there as if you've just given him grave news. Eventually, when it seems as if you won't elaborate, he sighs and roughly rubs his face with his hands. He turns toward you, crossing his arms with a stern expression. "For lying about working for them?"

"I never once said I worked for them," You counter, raising a hand. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I explicitly said I did not work for them." You watch as Thomas freezes, then pulls his brows together like he's trying to remember your conversation. He hesitates, slowly uncrossing his arms.

"You… You did say that, but…" He hesitates, then huffs a disapproving breath, shaking his head. "But how could you know so much without working for them? Surely you remember by now?"

"I-" You swallow roughly, then glance down. "That's what I'm sorry about. I lied about how I remember so much. I knew, at the time. It was just…" You close your eyes, then squeeze them together, raising your fists to cover them. "The truth sounds more far-fetched than working for Wicked, trust me."

"Wicked?" Newt questions, and as you release your hold on your eyes you finally let yourself look at him. He looks confused, and pissed off for being confused, and both you and Thomas realize at the same time that you should be including him in this. In all of it. It's Thomas who speaks first, clarifying.

"The creators. They're a- a company? Named Wicked. The letters that come up on the box, W C K D. It's an abbreviation for Wicked." Newt swallows roughly, then waves a hand as if messily saying to carry on. You turn your attention back toward Thomas, though it seems as though he's lost his fight now, moving to take a seat on a box near Newt, across from you. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and takes a deep breath before looking up at you. "Fine. I understand you think it's not going to be believable. But starting with that is enough. You tell us the truth, and no matter what it is, we'll believe you."

You blink a few times, then wonder if he really means that. And you mean really means that, after he hears what you have to say. You didn't write it in your letter, technically. You'd hinted at it, sure, but the reality of the truth is so much heavier, so much harder to accept. You bite your lip, looking between the two boys you realize you have fallen in love with, and wonder how exactly they'll react. Perhaps they'll find you so unbelievable that they won't just leave you forever, but completely ignore your valid way of escaping out of this place. Although… Maybe they shouldn't leave… Nothing else could happen if they stay here, if they continue to live in this place that supplies them fresh food and water, that keeps them safe from the sickness.

But that's not fair, for you to choose for them.

"I think the easiest way to explain it- is that I'm from another universe." You give it a second, waiting for them to interrupt or berate you, to ask you to tell the truth. After they just stare at you, waiting for you to continue on and explain what you mean, you begin to feel a warmth fill your chest. It seems as if, for now, they're willing to believe whatever it is you say. "Everything here, all of this. You, both of you-" You hesitate at this part, taking a long breath in before blowing it back out, nodding. "This is all just a book series to me. Or- was. It all was a book series, until I woke up in that elevator."

"Did you remember everything right away?" Newt questions, his expression open and not-disbelieving. You blink for a moment, taken aback by his specific question, considering any other he could be asking. But, you assure yourself, if he's asking questions like this then that means he believes you- or at least, is trying to.

"Not right away. And," You glance between the both of them with a smile, "Not when I remembered my name either. It came slowly, over time. Dreams, and memories hit me out of nowhere. I didn't know what was happening at first until I had a dream, I think about a week in?"

"Oh," Thomas interrupts, sitting up straighter with a thoughtful look. "I- I think I remember that one. You had said something like," He huffs out a breath, staring unseeing at the ground as he tries to remember. "You asked me why I was still here? That I was supposed to get out by now?" You nod along, then tilt your head back and forth in contemplation before sighing.

"I think it was the night after that one, actually. That had been a flashback, a memory of the books but it hadn't been what alerted me to my situation. The next night, I woke up from a weird dream and knew then. But no one else had been up, and I took a little walk around." You sigh once again, shaking your head. "Not the point."

"What did you mean, then? If you remember?" Newt asks, unmoving from his current lean forward, his elbows on his knees as he studies you, hands clasped together. "When you asked Tommy why he was still here?" You suck in a breath, nodding. 

"Yeah, so, that's the thing. This is all pretty reminiscent of that book series, but it's not quite the same. In the books," You nod toward Thomas, growing worried about how he might react to this information. "When Tommy got sent up, he was pretty quickly after attacked by Ben."

"Ben?" Thomas questions, and you can understand the confusion between both boys. You nod along, taking a deep breath.

"So, Ben had been stung in the maze. No one knew how it had happened, or why. But he ended up- well, going crazy." The two of them nod, sharing glances as if they knew exactly what you were talking about. You supposed they would, at this point. "So, when he attacked you- and no one knew how to cure it- well…"

"He was banished." Newt completes your sentence as if this was obvious, nodding along. Thomas shuffles in his seat restlessly, leaning back and raising a hand to run it through his hair roughly. It's pretty obvious he doesn't enjoy this story so far, but you doubt he'd enjoy any of it, to be honest. 

"Yeah. That kinda kick-started the whole thing." The boys look confused, so you continue without prompting. "Alby and Minho went to go check around the maze, and they thought they came across a dead Griever. Apparently, it had only pretended to be dead, and stung Alby." You watched as Thomas leaned forward again quickly, paying close attention. "They escaped it, somehow, and Minho was helping Alby get back to the Glade but they were running late. They weren't going to make it. So," You look over to him, nodding, "Tommy ran in."

"Of course he would," Newt mutters under his breath, leaning back finally and slumping his shoulders in defeat. 

"The three of them got locked in the maze at night. That's how Tommy was able to kill a Griever for the first time. It was-" You stare off into space, images of your night in the maze flashing before your eyes. "You just use the maze against them. Let the stone crush them, or trick them into jumping off the edge of a cliff. Things like that."

"That's what you did, then?" Thomas asks, and you finally come to, looking up to meet his stern gaze. You nod again, agreeing, and watch him sigh out slowly.

"After you all escaped the maze and gave Alby the Grief serum-"

"The what?" Newt interrupts, his brows furrowing.

"The blue serum, the one that I gave Chuck?"

"Grief serum," Newt mutters to himself again, then takes a deep breath and nods to indicate you can continue.

"Minho and Tommy went back in. Found the dead Griever, pulled the stinger out-" You hesitate here, then look at them sharply. "Wait, where's my backpack? It had the stinger in there, right?" Newt nods, but Thomas is the one who speaks up with exhaustion.

"Minho took the bag, and the stinger. We read the letter out to him, so he began trying to solve that puzzle you mentioned immediately." You nod along, letting out a breath of relief.

"Good, that's good." You look back down at the letter, scanning it quickly to see if you were forgetting anything. You reach the bottom of the page, swallowing roughly at what you had written there. As if reading your thoughts, Newt's calm voice speaks up once again.

"There's still a few more questions I have about that letter." You nod, already knowing what he might ask. You hear it anyway; "Why did you warn us about Gally? To take the shot?" An ache begins in your chest, having written out that they shouldn't trust him. He's obviously different now than in the books… Was that Ben's doing? Was his exile the reason Gally had become so hard and distant in the books?

"I don't know why I wrote that," You whisper, but Newt interrupts just as quickly.

"We need to know, [Y/N]."

"In the books," You take a deep breath, placing the letter to your side on the box, looking back up at them with a guilty expression. "Look, you have to keep in mind that Ben was exiled, Tommy was made a runner almost immediately; his entire world was falling apart."

"[Y/N],"

"Gally didn't want to leave the Glade," You begin, letting your eyes fall back to the ground so you can try and remember things fully. "He tried to stay, and tried to convince others to stay with him. He was pretty successful, about half of what remained of the Glade stayed. But, they were all killed when the Grievers attacked again. At this point, the doors weren't closing at night-" You stop, raising your hands to rub your face roughly. "I don't know how I'm going to explain everything to you, it's all such a mess."

"It's okay," Thomas murmurs, his voice trying to be gentle. "Just try."

"Wicked didn't like that you found the stringer, or perhaps just didn't like that you were in the maze at all, Tommy. They sent Teresa in, said she was the last one ever. This wasn't but a week or two after you came up. After she was up, the doors stopped closing. It was a race to the exit, otherwise everyone would die at night when the Grievers attacked. Alby sacrificed himself that first night so that you all could survive." You let out a breath, raising your eyes to them. They were both understandably horrified, and you shrug with a humourless laugh. "I guess Gally making this bunker would've worked out better back then."

"And Gally still wanted to stay? After the doors didn't close?"

"He thought we'd- well, you had angered the 'creator's, and wanted to sacrifice Tommy to the maze. But he had too many friends, and a good bit of Gladers, including you, Newt, helped him out of his binds and escaped into the maze to leave. Some came with, some stayed behind with Gally." You sighed, leaning your head back on your shoulders. "So, Gladers that stayed behind died, Gally chased after you all. He had been stung, I think? Either that, or he was losing everything and had nothing left. He was pointing a gun at Tommy, trying to hold him accountable for everything that happened." 

"I wouldn't blame him," Thomas muttered under his breath, which caused both you and Newt to look at him sharply. Newt spoke up before you could, however.

"Don't say that." He lets out a slow breath, waiting for Thomas to meet his eyes before continuing. "Do not start blaming yourself for something that never even happened." Thomas blinks a few times, as if coming to this realization. This really hadn't happened, not in this timeline anyway. After Thomas takes another deep, calming breath, they both nod and turn their attention back to you.

"He shot the gun," You immediately say, watching Thomas flinch. This next part, even just the thought, hurts you to say. "But, Chuck jumped in front."

"That's why you said protect Chuck," Newt mutters once more, and you nod.

"He killed him. Chuck died trying to protect Tommy, and I just… I couldn't have that happen again." You let your eyes fall from them, staring at that spot on the ground once again that you've become so accustomed to so far through this conversation. "I said not to hesitate so maybe Chuck wouldn't get hurt. There's a spear, I think? Maybe- maybe Minho threw it? I can't quite remember, but it pierced Gally and everyone thought he was dead."

"Thought?" Newt asks softly, and you scoff out a laugh, shaking your head.

"That turns into a long story. But no, he didn't die." It's quiet again, and you don't quite blame them. It's a lot to take in, but even just trying to remember what happened in the books is getting harder and harder as you live through this life. You think perhaps they're trying to reconcile what you know versus what has actually happened in their lives. Maybe they were trying to figure out what happened along the way to stop all of these events from occurring. You knew you had always wondered, this whole time. It's a few minutes before Newt finally breaks the silence, his voice tired and grave.

"So why did you say Tommy is the cure?"

[venator-signum]

kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man

"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"

[driftingdreams]

New life series fanfic idea where lifer winners remember the games but because Joel is Joel he doesn't care, so everyone is surprised when he continues to act the same, if not a little more egotistical about winning. Potential for some angst but it's all a comedy now. He's built another car on Hermitcraft.

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | { ɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, for future chapters: social media au, eventual smut

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

A career in sports photography was never something your parents wanted for you- they had decided your career path since the moment you were born. A surgeon. Bound to make them plenty of money, to make them proud. They wanted it more than anything else, and…

You decided that wasn’t your problem. 

You researched the job, the career path, and began building a portfolio. Taking pictures of athletes at games, major ones and others such as college games. Mostly baseball. In fact, it was almost all baseball.  

Oh. College games. Baseball.

You’d attended college in the States, attending the baseball games and snapping pictures. And, for some reason, you seemed to gravitate towards one specific player. 

You had no idea what his name was.

You didn’t share any classes. You saw him around campus occasionally, but you weren’t one for parties so you had no chance of running into him at one of those. Your circles barely even touched. You didn’t know each other at all. 

Correction: he didn’t know you at all, and you only knew him as the hot athlete guy you took pictures of. 

-

“Another one?” Your friend, Taika grumbled, another one of your posts coming up on her feed. “[name], this is the fifteenth time you’ve posted this guy.”

You rolled your eyes, laptop balanced on your thigh as you edited a picture. “I’m just building my portfolio.”

“No one’s gonna hire you if your portfolio is just a million pictures of the same guy.”

“It’s not, there’s other pictures too.”

“Yeah, like, two.”

“Hyperbole much?”

Taika sighed aggressively, setting her phone-face down next to her as she leaned forward, face turning serious. “[name], is this some weird fetish? Kink?”

“What?” You almost threw your laptop at her. “You’re so dramatic. Obviously it’s not. What kind of kink would that even be?”

“Just admit you think he’s hot.”

You pressed your lips together, slamming your laptop shut. “Okay, get out.”

“But-!”

“Out!”

-

And that was that. You kept taking pictures of Mysterious Hot Athlete Guy,, eventually veering away from him in the end to expand your name. Your portfolio grew, you gained jobs, and your parents got increasingly frustrated until the point where they threatened to cut contact with you. 

You didn’t care. This was your passion. You’d much rather be on a pitch, capturing the essence of exhausted yet still exhilarated camaraderie than in a sterile surgeon’s scrub, brandishing a scalpel, cutting into flesh to expose your patients innards. 

Unfortunately they went through with the threat. Oh well. 

With the little savings you had, the weight of college debt for a degree you’d never use on your shoulders and your rather expensive camera equipment for which you’d somehow managed to scrape together the money for, you decided to follow Taika back to Japan.

“There’s plenty of opportunities for you there,” she told you.

Taika, being a trust fund baby, had more than enough of her parents' money to support herself, and you in Japan. You slowly grew your career and by a couple of months, you could afford to move into your own apartment. 

And now you were a- somewhat-well known sports photographer in the industry, despite never actually having a stable job, and… that was that. 

That was your story. 

But not the end of it.

Because after a good few months deep into your path of sports photography, a baseball player rose to stardom. 

Kenji Sato.

-

“Oh my god!” Taika grabbed onto your arm, nails digging into your skin and making you yelp as she thrust the phone in your face. “Dude! That’s the guy you had a crush on in college!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and your voice was grating. “I didn’t have a crush on him.”

He just had a nice… bone structure.

Maybe I should have taken pictures of models for magazines or something. 

You looked at the article. Newest player on the field sparks talk of the rise of a new baseball legend. 

Oh damn. Maybe he should have been a model. 

“Kenji Sato,” Taika read out the name. “Dude, I swear this is the guy.” Pulling up your instagram account, she scrolled all the way to the bottom, at your earlier days of shooting. “Dude. That’s him.”

“It’s him,” you said weakly. She grinned at you, a knowing smirk that made you want to tear her hair out. 

-

Another stretch of time passed, until the days where your life was immediately thrust into a direction it did not give consent into going. 

Firstly, Ken Sato made headlines by coming back to Japan. Secondly, you’d landed a job at a baseball game in the Tokyo Dome. Thirdly, it was the game which the Yomiuri Giants were playing. 

You were now on the corner of the pitch, equipment set up, game in full play. The heat of the crowd pressed down on you as you angled your camera at a figure all too familiar. 

Fucking focus, [name].

The ball whizzed through the air. He hit it, arm and bat lashing out, and-

“Fuck!”

You cursed, jerking away from the camera set up and throwing your hands over your head. It fell to the ground, shattered, and the ball rolled across the ground, hitting your knee. 

You looked up. The crowd was roaring. Your head was ringing, feeling faint as you stared at the broken camera lying on the ground. Oh jeez, you were going to faint. Fuck, those players hit the ball hard.

You looked up and saw Ken Sato hurrying towards you. 

And that was when you fainted. 

-

Kenji Sato was going to fucking jump off of a bridge.

Pacing his living room, he dragged his hands through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Mina, I’m so screwed.” He paused, looking at her hopefully. “Am I? Screwed, I mean.”

“That would be an interesting topic of debate, Ken.”

“Give me a proper answer, dammit!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about the girl?” He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. “I feel awful, you know.” Mina stared at him. “Yes, I can feel regret. Shocker.” He ran his hand through his hair, again. “I already replaced her broken stuff, right?” He looked sick. “Should I apologize? In person? Over text?”

“You could apologize over text,” Mina said.

Kenji immediately fell into the couch, pulling out his phone. “What’s her instagram account name?” Pulling it up, he scrolled through the photos. “[name] [surname], sports photographer,” he read aloud, eyes flicking down to the pictures. 

“She has taken photos for teams, articles, and even major sports magazines.” Mina flew down, hovering near his head as he scrolled curiously. 

“How many photos do you bet she’s got of me?”

“Would you like me to run a search?”

Ken looked up, surprised. “I was just kidding.” He dug his nail beneath his other nail, considering the offer, but Mina was already doing it. 

“Approximately ninety-seven out of two-hundred and twenty-nine images posted on her professional account include your face,” Mina concluded. Ken stared at her blankly. She remained silent for a few more seconds, letting it sink in, then spoke again. “I suggest scrolling to the very bottom of her account, her earliest days of photography, Ken.”

“Ninety-seven?” He asked incredulously, and Mina simply repeated her previous statement. Scroll down.

He did. It took him a while, but he finally managed to hit it, and-

“I’m in college in these.”

His eyes scanned the pictures on the screen- most of which were of him. College games, every one of them. He’d never noticed her in the crowd. Had he?

And there were so, so many.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck. He didn’t find it creepy, or stalkerish- not at all, but instead dared to feel a tiny bit flattered. 

Oh, she was obsessed with me. That’s kind of cute. 

He wondered if she still was. 

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie, @lovingyeet, @aise-30, @scarasw1f3, @v1ennie im only doing taglist this once but I’d prefer it if people just followed me instead because they’re such a hassle

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 21

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: hard conversations, angst (minimal comfort), boundary breaking wc: 3.2k

Chapter Selection

A thin beam of soft yellow light spread across the bed, and I turned to face the door. Damian stood, gripping the doorknob. I sat up, gesturing for him to come in. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, but didn’t step away from the wall.

“... I need you to know that I would never have hurt you.” He whispered wetly.

“... What?” I frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“... Father told you about us. … You know I was trained to be a living weapon. A remorseless killing machine. … I broke into your apartment, and you barely batted an eye. You let me come back, over and over, and I … It is important to me that you know, I would never have hurt you. I will never hurt you. I … I’m good now. … I promise, I’m good.”

“Oh, Damian…. Come here sweetheart.” I patted the bed next to me, and he slowly approached, sitting next to me. I held an arm out, letting him decide if he wanted to accept a hug or not. He considered me for a moment before leaning in and I wrapped my arms around him, stroking his back gently. “Of course you are good! You are so, so good, Damian. I promise you, I am not afraid of you, or mad that you didn’t tell me, or anything like that.”

He slowly wrapped an arm around my back. “... You’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad at you, kiddo.”

“... You were screaming at Father.”

“Well, I am mad at Bruce.”

“Why?”

“Your safety is his responsibility, and he’s letting you spend your time fighting criminals … Jason died doing this, and Bruce did nothing about it. He let another kid come in and start the process all over again. And now you …”

Damian frowned; “Father couldn’t stop us if he tried. We choose to do these things, he doesn’t make us. If I said I didn’t want to anymore, he would be thrilled.”

“ … Then stop. Please, stop. Please, Damian, be safe, and happy, and free, let someone else clean up the messes. They’re not your messes…” Tears filled my eyes again and I shut my eyes, silently begging him to agree. “You’re not obligated to do this. You’re just a kid… You deserve to be a kid. I don’t care what anyone else tried to make you be, you are good, and you are kind, and you are a person. You aren’t responsible for the world’s problems, Damian. Please…”

“... I can’t. I’m sorry. … I have the skills necessary to help people survive the worst days of their lives. There are people who are living normal, happy lives because I made sure they survived their worst day. … I’m proud of that. I’m going to keep doing it. I’m not alone, I always have a team. We make a difference, and I … my dreams aren't filled with the screams of my victims anymore. … I don’t ever want to hear those screams again. … I’m going to keep fighting…. They taught me to be a monster. I’m going to use it to be a hero.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, kissing his forehead. “I … I don’t know what to say to that … I … nothing in my life could have prepared me for this … Just … please, please always come home to us. Ok? … I … I won’t be able to take it …”

“I will. I’ll always come home. I know how to take care of myself, you know.”

I nodded slowly. “... I know you do. ... But worrying is part of the job description for being an adult in a kid’s life. So I’m going to worry, and sometimes you’re going to entertain my worries without fighting me on it. Ok?”

He smiled a little and nodded, letting me hold him like that for a little while before he finally pulled back. “... Can I stay?”

I nodded, scooting back to make room on the bed. “I’d like that.”

The bed was big enough that we didn’t have to cuddle close like at my apartment, but Damian did set his hand near mine. I could feel his warmth on the side of my hand, like a guiding light in the darkness. We laid in silence for a long while, just existing in the moment.

“You’re going to keep dating Todd?”

“...If he’ll let me.”

“Why wouldn’t he let you?”

“... Among other things, I … I used what happened to him in the fight, and how that was making him act, to manipulate him into letting me take the blood sample Tim and Babs needed. … It was for his own good, but I still knowingly crossed his boundaries. And I … don’t know if he’ll forgive me. … I don't deserve to be forgiven.”

“... He might not remember.”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because keeping a secret like that from him would be cruel. He deserves to know what kind of person he’s dating, … if he’s going to continue dating me at all…”

He regarded me for a moment, frowning deeply. “... He’ll forgive you.”

“You think so?” Damian nodded. “... I really hope you’re right. …”

“He will. And that will make you my sister.”

I blinked a bit; “... You want me to be your sister?”

He nodded. “It’s the appropriate title, given our situation.”

“Situation?”

“If you marry him you’ll be my sister-in-law. It may not be an official title yet, but you have more than earned it. So, … unless you object, … Todd will stop making his ‘mommy’ jokes, and I will call you sister.”

I shook my head quickly, sniffling; “No, I don’t object at all!”

He nodded, gently squeezing my hand on the sheets. “.... Can Jon still sleepover next weekend?”

I chuckled, brushing my tears away; “Of course, sweetheart. Nothing about our plans has changed.”

He smiled a little and nodded. “Thank you, Sister.”

“You’re welcome, baby brother.”

Dick had been right about things looking different in the morning. But they certainly didn’t look better. In the light of day I saw Damian, curled up next to me. He was small for a fourteen year old. He could pass for ten effortlessly, younger if he played it right. He was so small, looking so fragile, and there on his arm, peeking out from under his pj top, was a crisp white bandage. That hadn’t been there when he left my apartment the night before. Which meant he had been injured fighting Mr. Freeze. 

He was injured. … And Jason was in the Batcave, fighting the effects of Mr. Freeze’s experiment. … It was morning, and my boys were going to have to deal with the consequences of last night for the next several weeks, if not longer. Was Steph injured? Was Dick? The only one I hadn’t seen on the news was the Signal - Duke. He was the only one who was definitely ok, from last night. But was he nursing any injuries from his patrols? It was entirely possible. Surely they all had some scars, but Jason was the only one of them with such obvious ones … It seemed improbable that the others had avoided being hit so much more often than Jay. … Which probably meant that most of his scars would look more like theirs if … what? … What was the missing variable? …

I slowly slid out of bed, making sure Damian was tucked in comfortably, and slipped out of the room, going back to Bruce’s office. Before I got there, I ran into Alfred in the hall. He smiled gently, calling me Miss; “is there anything I can do for you?”

“I need to speak to Bruce, Alfred. Do you know if he’s up yet?”

He nodded. “I believe he’s checking on Master Jason. Would you like me to show you the way?”

I thought for a moment. When Bruce had led me up to the mansion the night before, Babs and Tim had been stripping Jason for treatment. And he still hadn’t shown me his chest yet. I had crossed so many of his boundaries last night, I was not about to cross another. “... No, Jason wouldn’t want me down there until he’s awake. Can I just wait for him in his office?”

Alfred nodded, gesturing for me to go inside, and turned on his heel to let Bruce know I was waiting. I sat in the same chair from the night before, watching the birds outside the window. When Bruce finally arrived, he took a seat on the other side of his desk, frowning slightly.

“... Why are Jason’s scars so prominent?”

Bruce frowned more; “... what do you mean?”

“Obviously all of you get hit, but only Jason has so many, and his are incredibly visible. Why does everyone else have normal, healed scars, and he has those?” I watched Bruce’s face.

“... Jason doesn’t seek medical treatment. Not here, not at the hospital. If he can handle it himself, he does, no matter how poorly. He only gets professional care when he’s brought in unconscious.”

“Why?”

“... I don’t know. He wasn’t so opposed to medical attention before … the Pit.”

I sighed softly, nodding once. “... Ok. … You said that when I had a trajectory, you had funding available for my education?”

Bruce tilted his head, curious. “Yes?”

I nodded. “If Jason can forgive me, … if he can ever trust me again, I want to be able to help him. And the thing it looks like he needs most is someone he trusts with medical equipment. So, if he somehow finds it in him to trust me, after everything I did, you will fund my medical training.”

Bruce nodded. “You want to be a doctor?”

“No. I want to take care of Jason. And Damian. … Any of them really.” I frowned. “Dick, Steph, Tim, Duke. They can all come to me, if they wish.”

“... A sort of … vigilante clinic?”

“... Call it what you want. … But, let me be perfectly clear on one point. I want you to fund this. I do not want you coming to me for treatment. Not ever. … I will never be able to forgive you for what those children have been through, Bruce. I will never forgive you for Jason’s pain, or for how brave Damian has had to be to survive the life you have subjected him to.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “... I do not seek your forgiveness, young lady. You have no idea the choices I have had to make. … But I have seen first hand that you are good for Jason, and Damian seems happier with you around as well. And their happiness matters to me more than you could know. … So, yes. I will fund your medical education, and when you are ready I will keep you stocked with the supplies you will need for them. You'll have a salary, so you can be available when you are needed. … You will need better security as well, it will be taken care of.”

I nodded slowly. “Two more things. First, I will need more self defense training if I’m dating a vigilante.”

He nodded. “You would be welcome to join our household’s Thursday training sessions. … What else?”

“... I want to be added to the emergency contact list at Damian’s school. … Frankly, Bruce, the ways you have failed him terrify me. I can’t fix that any more than you can, but I can guarantee that at every school event parents are meant to go to, Damian will have at least one adult in attendance. I will go to his parent/teacher conferences, whether you’re there or not. I will go to after school activities, PTA meetings, I’ll chaperone field trips and dances, whatever it takes to make sure he knows that this part of his life matters… And I don’t want you to do anything to discourage him from spending time with me either. If he wants to spend the night at my place on a school night, I will make him dinner, help him with homework, tuck him in, make breakfast, and get him to school on time in the morning. And you will say nothing about it.”

Bruce frowned. “Damian is perfectly fine here on school nights.”

“Damian thought your public persona was more important to you than his emotional wellbeing. That is what you have taught him; that you don’t value him as your child, just as a soldier. He needs to be allowed to be a child. If he wants to spend time with me, I will be there. If it’s on a school night, I will make sure he’s ready and at school on time. He feels safe with me, so I will be available to him any time, day or night. Because he may be your son, but I am his adult. If you have any love for him, you will not make it harder for him to have a childhood than you already have. You will put your ego aside, and let him have this. Because you know, in the end, I will be better at this than you are.

You are consumed by the Bat. That’s the way it is, and there’s no changing it. If you were to step back even for a moment, every psychotic clown, mad scientist, and brightly colored sociopath out there would drag everyone into the darkness. That’s the world we live in, the world you have established for yourself. There is no space left in you for Damian's ordinary childhood needs. But I can and will dedicate every moment to my boys' emotional and physical wellbeing. That can be what my life is, and I will be happy to do it. So, you can be consumed with the Bat. And I will be consumed with them.”

Bruce stared me down, frowning deeply. “... You are an incredibly intense person … I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Does that mean…?”

“I’ll have you listed as the primary point of contact for Damian’s school.”

“Thank you.”

Jason woke to the smell of a sterile room, and the sound of his vital signs being monitored. He ripped the monitors off, climbing off the table. The memories from the night before flooded his mind, leaving him a bit nauseous, but he continued staggering away. He found a pile of his clothes, pulling them on quickly, and stumbled out of the room.

The cave was empty. But she said she wasn't leaving … So where was she? Was it a lie? Had she gone home? Her helmet was still on Dick's handlebars. He found his phone and checked his texts.

💖☕: Hey baby, lockdown's pretty scary, huh? Hope you're safe! ❤️

5:40pm

💖☕: Jace? You safe?

6:30pm

💖☕: … Jason? If you're getting these, I'm getting really freaked out. Please tell me you're ok.

8:45pm

Her most recent messages were all from before she found out he was Red Hood. Maybe it was too much for her … He had been so entirely out of control, maybe she didn't want to be with him anymore. God, had he really tried to get her to have sex with him? Fuck, that was humiliating. Maybe she didn't like him pressuring her like that … Maybe she hated him for lying for so long. He should have told her before the gala.

He gasped for breath, shaking. She was gone, wasn't she? She hated him now, and she was gone. He was alone … alone … so alone …

He didn't feel his knees hit the cold stone floor, or hear his screams echoing around the cave. He didn't even register the tears running down his cheeks. He only felt his heart shattering.

Small feet slowly came into view, and Damian crouched in front of him, frowning. “... I heard you from the kitchen. What's wrong?”

Jason's hands fisted in his hair as he took a gasping breath; “... Sh- she's gone … She's gone …”

Damian frowned more. “She's in the sitting room, Todd. She didn't want to check on you herself; something about you not wanting her to see your chest.”

Jason's head snapped up to look at Damian's face; “... She … she's here? She didn’t leave?”

Damian nodded, standing, and offered the large man a hand. “Breath, wipe your face, and let's go.”

Jason frowned, taking a deep breath. “... Why are you … being like this?”

“Sister thinks she broke your trust. I'd put her at five, maybe ten minutes from a full panic attack. Now fix your face, get up there, and tell her you love her. … You do still love her, don't you?”

Alfred gently pressed a cup of tea into my hands. Tim and Dick stared at me from across the sitting room, sipping from their own cups. I simply stared into mine, going numb again. It had been hours, but Jason was still unconscious.

“... You seem … upset. … In a way I wasn't anticipating.” Tim frowned.

“I am upset, Tim.” I sighed.

“... Do you want to talk about it?”

“... No.”

Babs reached for my hand. “You did well, yesterday…”

I snatched my hand away, growling; “No! No I did not! How can you even say that?”

“You probably saved Jason's life.” Dick frowned.

“I used the position of power I had over him to force him to do things he didn’t want to do! Things he wasn’t ready for. He begged in that alley, begged, no needles! And I made him give me the blood sample you wanted. … He was all over me, it was uncomfortable and weird, and I knew it was the pheromones, but I didn’t even try to stop him! It was easier to just keep him calm! … He hadn’t told me he’s Red Hood, I told him to take his helmet off, and he didn’t even hesitate. Because he couldn’t! … I took his choices from him. And I did it because it was easier. … How can he ever look at me the same ever again? How can he trust me? How can I ask him to trust me?! I’m not the safe person I promised to be! He shouldn't trust me!” I buried my face in my knees, sobbing. “I promised him, every single day since we met, we never had to do anything he wasn't ready for! I promised! And the second I had the ability to make him go against his own wishes, I broke my promise! H- how can I claim to love him when I did that?! How do I even start to apologize??”

I shook violently, sobbing into my knees, until a large, familiar pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders. Jason's chin rested on my shoulder as he pulled me close. “We talk it out. Just like everything else, we'll figure it out together. Right, princess?”

I gasped sharply, turning toward him. “J- Jason? … Y- … you're …”

He gently cupped my cheek, smiling gently. “I'm ok, doll. Come on, let's talk.”

Next->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open): @jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ever in our favour

CHAPTER FOUR

[Table of Contents]

Summary: You find Peeta- but also find others along the way. Warnings: Cannon-typical violence, descriptions of blood Author's Note: I'm supposed to be going to sleep for work right now, but I wanted to get this posted since it's written out completely. I've already started on chapter five, so we'll see how soon that'll get posted (also I'll likely be making a table of contents for this series here soon so watch out for that i guess)

Peeta’s head comes bobbing out of the water with a gasp, his arms flailing on either side of him to gain some sort of purchase. The relief you felt was palpable as you began to run to catch up to him, running downstream to chase him along. You looked for anything to help, a branch or rope of some kind, but you came up empty. Peeta’s head sank under the water before reemerging once more, sputtering and coughing out water.

“Peeta! Just hang on!” You scan with your eyes, running to speed up ahead of Peeta’s stumbling gait. A bend was coming up soon and- There! You ran forward toward a large fallen branch, heaving with the effort to lift it. The other end dragged along the dirt, but you managed to push it into the river. The rushing water tried to take the branch from you but you held tight, pushing it farther out into the river.

Peeta seemed to finally be getting his bearings. He kept going under every so often, but he wasn’t coughing as he emerged anymore which was a good sign. He was facing forward now, downstream, and he seemed coherent enough to listen to you.

“Grab the branch, Peeta!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping beyond hope that he could hear you over the rushing water. Peeta tried his best to swim against the current, ducking under the water and reappearing a moment later closer to your end of the banks. The river finally pushed him within range, and he full-body tackled the branch you held out. Your grip stuttered and you almost lost hold, instead taking a note from Peeta’s book and tackling your own end of the branch.

You were both heaving breaths, resting against the dead tree limb. Peeta was still very much in danger, but he wasn’t using his full effort to stay alive any longer, and you weren’t sure whether you could move from your position without dipping Peeta back into the water. During this resting period- that’s when it happens.

You’re hit with a sharp pain in your side, calling out in surprise. You turn onto your side to look up, catching a boy maybe a few years younger than you withdrawing a bloodied knife. Fear flashed through you quickly, eyes widening as you stare up at this boy. You hear your name get called loudly, panicked, but you don’t remove your eyes from the current threat. You kick your feet out suddenly, knocking the boy off balance. You crawl up farther on the branch, sitting down on it and trying to kick and push the other tribute away as he tries to crawl on top of you. You would fight back more, push him into the river maybe, but you had to make sure the branch stayed up. You had to make sure Peeta didn’t get lost in the river again.

“Agh!” The boy yelled out, his head twisting to the side from an awful kick you threw. He snarled, tackling you further and pinning you to the ground with a struggle. “Just- fucking die!” He thrusts his dagger down toward your throat and you were only just able to dodge to the side, avoiding the attack. You miss your name being called once more as you dodge another attack, the branch under your body wiggling nonstop. It was rough, trying to hold it down and worry about someone attacking you at the same time.

You finally managed to get your bearings, reaching up to grab ahold of the boy’s dagger arm. He used his other hand on top of it, trying his hardest to push down, as you tried with all of your own strength to push back. Unfortunately, the current positioning was not on your side. As the boy sat above you, pushing desperately down on the dagger, he was gaining ground. The tip pressed against your throat and you swallowed, feeling a shallow cut against your throat. He was going to do it- you were going to die.

You gasped in fear, pushing harder than you thought possible. The dagger lifted another inch before the boy growled, leaning his whole weight down onto you and the offending knife. You cried out, squeezing your eyes closed as you struggled. You could feel tears burning inside your eyes, a few sneaking out down your face and into your hair. You were running out of strength, arms burning and breath coming in heaving pants.

When it happened, it took you a moment to realize you didn’t have to struggle anymore. The boy was removed from your chest, the dagger nowhere in sight as your eyes flew open. Sitting up, you immediately looked to the river, not seeing Peeta anywhere. You quickly scanned the area and- there, behind you, was Peeta sitting atop the boy that had just been about to kill you. You heave your breaths, trying desperately to regain oxygen as you watch. The struggle between the two boys was fruitless, Peeta was obviously stronger as he sat atop the boy. He managed to wrestle the dagger from him, then swipe quickly.

Peeta’s body was blocking your view, but you heard the choked gurgle of the boy. Peeta had killed him. You look away quickly, not wanting to see what you knew was there. You pushed slowly back until you fell off the uncomfortable branch, watching it swing wildly upward, then get dragged away by the river current. The white noise from the water drowned out anything else around you, and you turned to look at Peeta again. He sat there, staring downward at the boy he had just killed. The delayed sound of a cannon shot off, and you swallowed roughly in response.

“Peeta,” You call out softly, watching as his head snaps upward and begins frantically searching for you. Once his eyes lock with your own, he scrambles to get away, dagger still clutched tightly in his hand as he stumbles to get closer. Kneeling next to you, Peeta brings his free hand up to place against your cheek.

“You’re alright?”

“I should be asking you that,” You breathe out, coughing lightly before reaching out toward his leg, remembering where he had been caught by the mutt. You press next to the wound, hearing him hiss and look down at it.

“Ah, that explains why I couldn’t get there quick enough. I kept stumbling on the branch.” Peeta laughs, and you look at him with a crazed look.

“You almost just died, and you’re laughing?”

“Better to laugh than rage,” Peeta shrugs, sitting fully on the ground next to you with a groan. “No one to rage against anymore, right now.” He reaches out, placing a hand on your leg and giving you an obvious once-over. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You think things through, trying to wonder about it all. You take stock of your body, realizing just how badly your back was hurting. Thinking back- hadn’t the fish mutts gotten your back as you ran? Then the boy wrestled with you atop the branch, pushing your back down onto it, with Peeta pushing on the other end to send it upward. You were beginning to worry, unsure whether you should tell Peeta and let him see it. You’re quiet for a moment too long, however, and Peeta immediately catches it. He scoots closer, eyeing you more obviously.

“What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“Who was that boy?” You ask, trying to distract him. You can see in his eyes that he knew what you were doing. He’s too nice to deny you, it seems, as he answers.

“I remember Cato calling him Jason in the training rooms, thinking he stole his knife. He was district six’s boy.” You hum, nodding along. Your eyes jump quickly over to the slumped-over body, but you look away just as fast. You didn’t want to have to see that, but you were exhausted so where else were you supposed to go? “You still haven’t answered my question, Y/N.” You sigh, looking back up into his worried eyes.

“My back hurts,” You mumble, trying to play it off. Peeta, however, immediately moves around behind you. His breath stutters audibly, and you worry about the state you must be in if he has that reaction before even lifting your shirt up. “That bad, huh?”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Peeta was frantic, his hands were shaking as one laid across your hip, the other slowly and carefully lifting your shirt.

“Too busy dying, probably.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Peeta whispers, his hand tightening on your hip. You wondered at the tone of his voice, how the worry seeped through even his touch.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks,” You whisper back, turning your head to try and catch him out of the corner of your eye. Peeta’s gaze meets you, unable to keep the worry and guilt from being obvious on his face.

“It looks pretty bad, Y/N,” Peeta breathed out, and you finally turn, taking his cheeks into your hands.

“Hey, look at me. I’m right here.” He nods, repeating the sentiment. “See? Everything is fine, we’ll be-”

That was the last thing you remembered before everything faded to black.

The train ride was weird, to say the least. The train was outfitted with furniture that likely cost more than your parent’s house and farm put together, and they served food so decadent and different from the bland foods that you were allowed that you were unsure whether you were supposed to eat another bite or mix them with something else. Your district partner stayed in the room assigned to them, and anytime you passed by you could hear their crying within.

Your mentor- a thirty-year-old, blonde and gentle woman who ended up becoming a children’s teacher- tried to answer any questions you had to the best of her ability. She wasn’t as helpful as you’d have hoped, repeating that she really didn’t know how she won. The games really were just pure luck. This didn’t inspire you at all, and you began to wonder if holding out hope for yourself was useless.

You were dismounting from your carriage ride, hearing the whispers surrounding you about district twelve’s fire show. You tried to find their boy in the crowd, but his black outfit ended up blending into the background and you couldn’t find him again. A gentle voice brings you out of your stupor, turning to face your mentor.

“That was good, I think you might’ve gained a few sponsors with that smile of yours.”

“Unlikely,” Your district partner murmurs next to you, crossing their arms. “All eyes were on District Twelve.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little hope,” Their mentor scolds, and the three of you begin your way toward the elevators. She ends up leaning in close to you, her blonde hair full of a new scent you couldn’t recognize. “Don’t worry, I’ll find sponsors for you.”

“So, this first training session is going to be the first time you’re allowed to interact with the rest of the tributes.” Your mentor looked up from the steak she was cutting, locking eyes with you, then your district partner. “Don’t show them what skills you’ve already acquired, they’ll keep it in mind and know to watch out for it.”

“Then what are we supposed to-”

“You train in the things you’re unsure of. The things that you’ve never done before, or that you know you need improvement with.” Her advice recently has been improving, and you wondered blandly if she was asking for advice from other victors and parroting it to you. Either way, you took the advice to heart.

“So you said this is the first time we’ll be meeting each other,” You begin between bites, poking your food around your plate, “So shouldn’t we be trying to make allies?”

“No,” She replied in a harsh tone, lifting her steely gaze to lock onto you. “Do not trust any of them or their promises. It’s all fabrication, all lies to lure you into a trap. Everything changes once you step foot into that arena.”

Gasping awake, you move to sit up and yelp as pain stretches across your back. You breathe heavily, looking around quickly. You were outside, in some sort of meadow, it appeared. Glancing around, you try to make heads or tails of where you were and what happened, but everything was coming back foggy. Blinking a few more times and stretching your eyes, you begin to push against the ground to stand.

“I wouldn’t do that,” A soft voice called from nearby, and you fall back onto your bottom to look around wildly. You don’t see the source of the sound, but she sounded feminine and small.

“Who’s there?”

Silence is your only answer, and you hiss in pain, reaching behind you to try and touch the wound. It seemed to be on the centre of your back where you couldn’t reach, but as you pulled your hand away it came back bloody anyway. You wipe the blood on the grass below you, biting your lip and looking around. Everything came back slowly- the cave, the mutts, the river, the boy. Peeta.

“Hey, I had a boy with me,” You call out, turning this way and that to try and locate whoever had been nearby. “His name was Peeta? Do you know where he went?”

“He’s trying to fish,” She giggled out, and you were able to pinpoint a general location of her. “He’s not very good at it.”

“No,” You agreed, studying the trees above you, “No, he’s really not.” You spot a curl of brown hair before it disappears behind a tree and you sigh, finally thankful to have found her. “Hey, you can come down from there. I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Everyone here is here to hurt us,” She replies but starts to poke her head around anyway. She was an adorable little girl, but much too young to have been put into this place.

“What is your name?” You call out first, leaning back and resting your weight against your elbows. This seemed to calm her a bit more, climbing down a few branches until she was on the lowest one. Only after she settled, her feet swinging in the wind, did she answer you.

“Rue. I’m from District 11.” You nod along toward her, turning to scan your surroundings once before looking back at her. “He’ll be back soon. He comes back every hour or so.”

“Thank you.” Your voice was sincere and you could see Rue smile gently in response. “Does he know that you’re here too?” She pursed her lips, then shook her head. Again, you nodded to her, “Will it be okay if I tell him? He won’t hurt you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Absolutely.” Your assured voice must’ve resonated with her, because she nods then. She looked to be gearing up to climb down to join you until you both hear a noise coming from the brush. You quieted your voice, keeping your eyes averted away from her. “Hurry, up the tree, hide.”

You tried to push yourself back to sitting up, groaning at the pain. Patting yourself down, you couldn’t find anything on you that could’ve been used as a weapon. As you begin to search the surrounding area for something suitable- a rock, maybe, since you’ve had such success with that- you start hearing the noises get louder, followed by a masculine voice muttering out curses. Eventually, recognizing the voice once it becomes more clear, you finally let yourself relax and stop searching for a rock that appeared to be nowhere nearby.

“Peeta?” You call out, then hear the foilage crinkle more as he audibly rushes to get to you. He pushes through some foliage and appears in the glade with you, a smile lighting up his face.

“Y/N, oh thank goodness,” Peeta calls out, rushing forward and falling to his knees before you. “I was so worried, you have no idea.”

“Peeta-”

“I tried to press whatever medicinal leaves I could find to your back but it wasn’t working. I wanted to use the medicine-”

“Peeta, hey-”

“But I didn’t want to put it on your back and have you turn over in your sleep and rub it off-”

“Peeta!” You take his face into your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He finally quiets, his fretting pausing for just a second. “We’re not alone.” You watch his eyes widen, reaching and pulling a familiar dagger out of his pants and standing away from your hands to scan the area. “No, Peeta-”

“Where did you hear it? Did you see someone?”

“Peeta, please just listen to me,” You sigh out, your tone defeated. He hesitates, looking back down at you before resuming his previous position. Smiling, and with a small laugh, you reach forward to take his hands. “Do you remember who Rue is?”

“Yes,” He whispers, leaning in closer, “District 11, she was the youngest tribute to get chosen.”

“Well, she’s here. I promised her you wouldn’t hurt her.” At this Peeta immediately nods, pocketing his dagger again. His blind faith in you brings a roaring pleasure to your chest, and you have to breathe deep to try to contain the sudden onslaught of feelings. “You can come out now Rue,” You call out to her, though you were unable to look away from Peeta’s gaze. His eyes really were as blue as the sky back home.

Rue climbed slowly down, and the sound of her boots hitting the ground finally drew Peeta’s attention away from you. You stared at him a moment longer before you, as well, turn to look over at her. She was so small, and you swallowed roughly. What were you going to do? What were you all going to do?

“So,” Rue dragged out the word, a mischievous smile forming on her lips, “Are you two… Y’know.” Peeta’s eyes widen and he coughs, scanning the area and unable to make eye contact with either of you. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, reaching forward to take his hand in yours. Looking back at Rue, you shrug.

“Not in so many words. But, well, I do care for him.”

“And I care for you,” Peeta immediately inserted, tugging on your hand until you faced him once more. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I? You remind me every second.” Peeta smiles, but also looks confused, so you laugh and elaborate, “You don’t speak it, sure, but you show me in every action you take. You’ve done so much to take care of me already.” His face softens, his shoulders slumping in what looks like defeat.

“I’ll try my best, at least.”

“We can help you too if you need it.” You look over to Rue, raising your eyebrows. She widened her eyes in response, slowly shaking her head. “Don’t worry too much. I know our mentors said not to trust anyone but-” You sigh, shaking your head, “Rue, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re much too young. If anyone is going to survive this, it should be you.”

“We’ll protect you with our lives, Rue,” Peeta adds, facing her with a resolute expression. You were glad he was jumping on board. You were willing to look after her by yourself if you had to, but it was nice to know you still could have Peeta there to watch your back.

“Okay,” Rue agrees quietly, taking a few steps forward. You reach your other hand out to her, and she takes it gently. You pull her slowly forward, then sit her down in your lap, wrapping your arms around her. She snuggles into your chest, and you wonder if she might’ve had an older sibling back home that used to comfort her like this.

“Stay like that,” Peeta whispers to you, circling around to your back. “I’m going to apply that medicine now.”

[stiltonbasket]

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan. 

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun. 

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem. 

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong. 

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier. 

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu. 

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand. 

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son. 

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead. 

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem. 

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils. 

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it. 

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.  

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying. 

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing. 

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth. 

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle. 

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there. 

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within. 

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two. 

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty. 

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy. 

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight. 

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave. 

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward. 

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin. 

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes. 

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him. 

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded. 

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve. 

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand. 

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him. 

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled. 

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Summary:

Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule.

In his defense, they keep feeding him every time they see him, and Patton's cooking is really good.

Chapter 1: Halloween Party

Wordcount: 1.9K

~

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism, he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two, is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name.

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people, I don't know anybody, etc—would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Morning After

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

au where stan actually says no to ford's offer of sailing around the world with ford at the end of weirdmageddon (which literally impossible for stan ik but its an au where he finally gains some self respect lmao) and says he wants to go away on his own like some kind of evil parallel to ford wanting to go his own way when they were teens/in their 30s. and ford is. not taking it well after he finally decides to open his heart without being forced for the very first time again to be rejected by not just his brother, but the person who saved the world. his hero. the person who saved him and he thought he would always have even when ford was angry and unforgiving towards stanely.

for the first time ever, ford has to deal with the idea of him losing stan due to events out of their control like their dad kicking stan out or stan sacrificing himself to defeat bill— this is stan actively choosing not to be involved with ford.

so instead of dealing with it normally ford shrinks himself with those size crystals to be very very small and hide himself in stans luggage because hes not normal and wants to follow stan everywhere and he feels so very small and useless and his brother is so much bigger and better than him and hes literally like this->🥺🥺🥺 all the time @ stan its very pathetic

[wwillywonka]

hello lgbt community. i just wrote over 2000 words of a star trek fanfic in two hours

[planetwaynez]

FLOWERS AND GOLDEN STRINGS

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

SOULMATES AU!

Synopsis: Jason is certain that he is meant to help others, not just as a vigilante but also as some sort of twisted cupid. He thinks he is meant to only watch other fall in love and never find his forever and always, however after buying Lian some flowers for her birthday and a sucession of events envolving soulmates, he can't get the flower shop girl out of his head. Y/N thinks that the Red Hood is so hopeless in love with his soulmate but why does this fact bothers her so much? Why she wanted to be the center of his affaction? After months helping the vigilante, she meets her soulmate, Jason, but she can't forget the Red Hood. How will she deal with all those new and complicated emotions?

Warnings: SMUT! Canon-divergent, violence, foul lingauge, jelousy, complicated feelings, angst, fluffly, miscominucation, slow burn, injuries, kidnaping, paranoia and more to be added.

CHAPTERS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

[totheidiot]

that little element of grief in lawlight has got to me. it crawled itself into my brain. i have started to work on this ghost!L au where he haunts light after he died but really, it's all just a metaphor for grief. if i had a nickel for every time etc etc etc

[lupinmoonlight]

Between Classes

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You visit Remus Lupin in his office during school hours. Ever the caring and overprotective boyfriend, he questions you about your self-care habits. He notices your exhaustion and, despite your deflections, gently scolds you for skipping meals and losing sleep over studies. Don't worry, though, you're still his good girl (839 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, age gap, kissing, discussing self-care, mention of stress, mention of snape (love him tho), fluff, mention of eating, some "good girl", my grammar (english is my 2nd language), not proof-read.

Notes - I don't know what this is guys. I'm tired. I submitted two papers in two weeks. One to a journal, one to a conference. I needed to write something soft and fluffy I guess. I need him.

Remus was gazing out at the grounds from his office, a sigh escaping his lips. The day had been relentless, a blur of staff meetings, frantic students, and the gnawing worry that loomed over him when the full moon approached. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax before his next class.

His peace, however, was interrupted when the heavy door of his office burst open. He tensed momentarily, but relaxed as the sight of you. His sunshine, his secret, his love. As soon as you entered, you ran to him and jumped into his arms. Remus caught you easily, closing the door with a flick of his wand and warding it. He wrapped his arms around you properly, holding you close.

"Hello, love," he greeted you, kissing the top of your head. "You know you shouldn't be here between classes…" he admonished gently.

"I missed you," you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

"I missed you too," Remus replied softly. He lifted you gently and sat you down on his desk, then leaned in to kiss you.

"How is your day going?" he asked, his eyes filled with love and concern as he noticed how exhausted you looked.

"Ugh, it's so stressful" you admitted, your shoulders slumping a bit dramatically. "I'm swamped with homework and exams. I barely have any time to breathe."

Remus stroked your cheek tenderly as you spoke, his touch grounding and soothing. "I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," he said gently. "What's got you so swamped in particular?"

"Essays, mostly," you huffed. "Snape's essay on the Bezoar is probably the worst. I swear, this man thrives on making everything miserable."

Remus raised an eyebrow, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Professor Snape is not so bad. He's just a bit…ah, passionate?"

You mocked a glare but it was quickly subdued as you leaned into his hand. "If you say so, Professor," you teased.

Remus kissed your forehead. "Have you been at least taking care of yourself?"

You fidgeted under his gaze. You knew you hadn't been. Sleep had become a luxury you couldn't afford. Your body was running on hurried bites of toasts and gulps of pumpkin juice. And Remus knew that. He knew you too well. And it was slightly annoying.

"I'm trying, honestly," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You hated disappointing him.

His brows furrowed, and he gently held your chin, tilting your face up so he could see your eyes. "Trying isn't enough, love," he said firmly, although his voice had remained soft. "You're running yourself ragged. You'll burn out before exams even start, and then what good will it be?"

You sighed. He was right. As always. But time management wasn't exactly your forte.

"I know…" you admitted in defeat.

"Have you eaten properly today?" he pressed.

"Yes. I mean, I had lunch. But I skipped breakfast because I was running late."

Remus frowned slightly. "Good girl for eating lunch, but you need to do better with breakfast. It's important."

"Yes, Professor Lupin," you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

"Very good," he praised with a soft chuckle.

He tilted your chin up to kiss you. "And what about sleep? Have you been getting enough rest?" He knew you haven't been, but he wanted you to admit it.

You hesitated, then shook your head. "Not really. I've been up late studying."

Remus sighed softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. "You need your sleep, sweetheart. Promise me you'll try to get to bed earlier tonight."

"Okay, okay. I promise," you said sincerely.

"Good girl," Remus murmured, kissing you again. "You need to take care of yourself, for me and for you."

"Yeah yeah yeah," you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck in an attempt to distract him.

"Alright, love, it's time for you to get back to your classes. I don't want you to be late," he said as he pulled away reluctantly.

You pouted, clinging to him for a moment longer. "But I don't want to go. Can't I just stay a little bit longer?"

Remus chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted the wards. "No, you can't. You've already broken our rule about no visiting during school hours." He tapped your nose playfully. "Besides, I don't want you getting into trouble because of me."

You rolled your eyes again but smiled. "Fine, Professor. I'll go."

"Good girl," he said with a grin. "Now, off you go before I change my mind and keep you here for detention myself."

You giggled, giving him a quick kiss. "I wouldn't mind detention with you."

"You're impossible, you know that?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yep," you replied, "but you love me anyway."

"That I do," he said, pulling you in for one last kiss. "Now, get to class, Miss."

You sighed dramatically but turned to leave.

"Don't forget to eat breakfast tomorrow! And remember, early bedtime tonight."

"Yes, Professor Lupin." you replied teasingly.

Remus shook his head with a smile. "See you later, love."

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 15

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: we have officially hit "vaguely suggestive" (spice incoming ... eventually... still), but mostly we're dealing with trauma and boundaries

wc: 2.2k

Chapter Selection

Jason insisted I shouldn't be alone overnight after everything, and I didn't want to be anyway. After losing him in the dark, even just for a few minutes, I wanted to know exactly where he was for a while. He kept a hand on my knee the whole ride to his place, lazily running his thumb over my skirt.

As I predicted, the panic did start to settle in eventually, though much later than I thought it would. As we made our way to his door, I realized my hands and knees were trembling and I was struggling to regulate my breathing. Jason looked over to me and gently pulled me against him, kissing my forehead.

“You’re finally coming down from all that adrenaline, huh?” I nodded, shakily clinging to him. “Just breathe for me, ok? In through your nose … out through your mouth… good, good girl~ I got you, ok?”

I squeaked softly, blushing bright red. Jason tilted his head, clearly confused, and mimed the deep, slow breathes he wanted me to take. I eventually matched my breathing to his, clinging to his arm. Once I was breathing regularly, he unlocked the door and scooped me up with an arm under my knees and one on my back. I gasped sharply, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“W-woah! … How'd you do that?” I blinked a bit, feeling my cheeks warm up. I knew he was strong, but he was carrying me into the apartment with the same effort I used to carry a bag of potatoes!

He chuckled, kicking the door shut behind us. “Did you think the muscles were for aesthetics?”

I blushed bright red, blinking. “... N- no, I didn't, just … no one's picked me up like this before.”

He smirked a bit, locking the door. “I would carry you like this all day if it would make you happy~”

I giggled softly, cupping his cheek. My other hand hovered near the scarred side of his face; “Can I..?” 

He nodded, and I cupped that cheek as well, kissing him deeply. He groaned softly, and his lips pressed firmly against mine. He carried me through the living room and sat on the couch, holding me across his lap. His arms were so strong and steady around me, and I slowly melted against his chest. After a moment, he gently nibbled on my lower lip, letting out a happy sigh when my lips parted to let him in.

Jason stroked my back more, and one hand wrapped around my cheek so his fingers tangled into my hair as he slowly deepened the kiss, keeping me pressed firmly against him. When I pulled back to gasp for breath, he nuzzled my neck with the tip of his nose, kissing the soft flesh of my pulse point. 

“Mhhh~ J- Jay?~”

He moaned softly, purring; “Mh~ … Mh-hm?~”

“N-not that I'm complaining -I'm definitely not- but … what … what are you doing?”

“... Not really sure. Just … need you … Need to feel you, all soft, and warm, and safe in my arms~” he nuzzled me more, holding me close. “... I- is that ok?”

“Yeah, that’s ok~ that's definitely ok, baby~” I let my fingers thread through his hair, tilting my head back for him. He continued to nuzzle and kiss my throat, gripping me a bit tighter, like he was afraid I'd disappear.

“Mhh~ … want you all to myself~ you're mine, right?~” his teeth grazed against my neck, drawing out an eager gasp.

“Ah~ yes~ all yours, my love~ I'm here, anything you want~”

“Want you so bad, baby~” he groaned, pulling me into a deep kiss.

“Mhh~ I want you too, Jason~” I gently tugged on his hair, biting his lower lip a bit. I shifted so my legs were on either side of his, and he wrapped his arms around my back and thighs, pressing my body flush against his chest. His lips trailed down my neck, panting softly as his hand gently kneaded into my plush thighs. 

My hands slipped out of his hair and down his neck, marveling at how the anxiety from earlier just melted away under his touch. I was safe in Jason's arms, and I never wanted to leave. My fingertips slid under his collar and he shivered a bit, stiffening. His breaths came out in short, shallow gasps, and his chest and arms were suddenly trembling against me. I slowly pulled back, sliding my hands away from his neck. He blinked repeatedly, still holding me tightly, but not focused on me anymore.

“... Jason? … Honey?” There was a far away look in his eyes as he slowly looked up at me. “... Jace, can you hear me?”

He nodded, taking a deep, slow breath. After a moment his eyes came back into focus and he sighed softly. “... S- sorry, I …”

“... You were in the past, weren't ya?” He nodded again, looking off to the side. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. … Do you know what triggered it?”

“... I … I think it was … the adrenaline spike, and then … th- this got really intense, really fast. …”

I gently stroked his hair, nodding. “Do you wanna let go of me so I can give you a bit of space?”

His hands flexed a bit on my thighs as he considered; “... I … no … I want this, my god, I want this, I … I want you, I just …” he sighed softly, resting his forehead against my chest, mumbling into my tummy; “... I … don't think I can have your hands under my clothes yet. … I'm sorry.”

I softly hushed him, stroking his hair more and kissed the top of his head; “you don't have to apologize for having boundaries. And I'm glad you know you can tell me when they come up, that's how this is supposed to work.”

“... Ok.” He nodded, sighing softly as he looked up at me. “... I don't want to stop, but I don't know how to continue either …”

I nodded, stroking his hair gently. “Hmm … well, … why don't we start by getting changed into some more comfortable clothes?”

He nodded, nuzzling into my chest. “Yeah, I … I can do that.”

I stroked his hair more, smiling gently. “Ok. … Since you don't want my hands under your clothes yet, why don't you pick out something that covers anywhere you don't want me to touch? And then, after we're changed and had a moment to calm down, we can see about continuing this in a way that feels safe and comfortable?”

He nodded again, sliding his arms up to hug my waist. “Yeah, that … that sounds nice. … It's really ok?”

“It's really ok. Thank you for telling me what went wrong so we could fix it together.” he slowly released me, and I slid off his thighs, turning around. “Can you help me unzip this?”

He stood, resting a hand on my back, and slowly slid the zipper down. “... You look incredible tonight~”

I giggled softly, looking over my shoulder; “thank you~ you do too~”

I went into the bathroom to change into my pj shorts and an oversized shirt, took my makeup off, and finally met Jason in his room. He was sitting on his bed in the dark when I came in. “Do you want the light to stay off?”

He cleared his throat; “Um … yeah, I … I think it would help. Is that weird?”

“No, it's not weird, baby. And even if it were, it would be ok.” I carefully made my way toward the bed, stopping when my knees hit the side. “Can I come up?”

“Yeah, come sit next to me.” He leaned forward, his hand finding mine and gently pulling me onto the bed with him. I grinned, letting him pull me into a hug. I was surprised to realize his arms were bare; he had opted for a tank top, the first time I'd known him to wear one, and sweatpants.

“You’re ok with me touching your arms?” I looked up at his face, barely making out his eyes in the dark room.

“Yeah, I … I think it'll be ok. I want to try at least.” He nodded, gently cupping my cheek. “Can I do something?”

I nodded, kissing his thumb as it slid across my lower lip. He shifted, laying down, and pulled me to lay on my side in front of him. Face to face, he carefully rested his hand on my waist, stroking my side gently. I sighed happily, blinking slowly. “Mh~ this is nice~ … you make me feel so safe~”

“... I wish I could have done something to actually make you safe tonight … Fucking Nightwing …” he growled softly, sounding a bit … bitter?

I frowned, gently cupping his cheek; “You did make me safe; you kept me close, stayed between me and the guys with the guns, and then you pulled me into the cellar. My big, strong, handsome protector~”

He squirmed a bit, sighing softly; “... If you say so…”

I chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. “I do say so~ I'm your girl, remember? I choose you, always.”

He pulled me closer, kissing back. “... You could have better…”

“Even if there was better out there, I wouldn't want it. I want you.”

“... I want you too. … God, I want you so much~” he cupped my cheeks, kissing me gently.

I moaned softly, kissing back, and gently gripped his wrists. My fingers trailed across his muscular arms, eventually finding a long thin scar. I delicately traced it, feeling him shiver a bit.

“Ah … wh- what are you doing?”

“Sorry, should I stop?” I whispered.

“... No, it's just … what is it?”

I shrugged a bit, nuzzling against him; “... I like the scars.”

“... You … like them?”

“Well, to be clear - I don't like that you got hurt. But yeah, I like the scars.”

“... Why?” He pulled back slightly.

I could feel myself blushing a bit as I continued to trace a long, hooked scar near his elbow. “... Probably because of what they represent.”

His voice came out a choked, incredulous whisper; “... They represent times I've failed. Or almost failed. … Times I wasn't fast enough, or strong enough, or smart enough…” 

“What? … Jay, no! No, no, no, baby!” I guided his hand to my lips, kissing the scar by his wrist. My lips trailed from one scar to the next as I whispered; “Your scars are from times you were brave, and strong, and kind. … When I see your scars, I see a man who doesn't let bullies win just because it's easier to walk away. I see a man who'd stand in the blade's path rather than let someone else get hurt. … You've been through so much, suffered so much, and yet you still don't turn your back and let someone else take the hit. … Some people let pain make them cruel, but not you. My man is so kind; so brave, and gentle, and determined, and loving. … These scars mean that I am safe; you would probably see and dispense with any danger long before I even got that prickly ‘being watched' feeling on the back of my neck.”

I kissed every scar I found from his hand to his inner elbow, caressing and tracing them reverently. Soon enough, he was squirming and panting softly under my touch, and moving his arm on his own to give me access to the next one. “... Y- yes … yes, of course! … W- wouldn't let anyone hurt you, baby. Promise!”

I kissed further up his arm, whispering; “I know~ you're so protective of me~ I love you so much, Jason~”

“I love you too~ God, I love you so much~ … I …” he cut himself off, shaking.

I looked up at him, nuzzling and kissing a large round scar on his bicep; “... What is it, baby?”

“I just … I don't understand … you say these things, but … I haven't even been able to tell you … how do you know?”

“... You don't have to tell me how they got here; scars born from violence are very different from scars born from clumsiness or accidents. These are the kinds of scars you expect to see on boxers and soldiers, not the remnants of that one time you cut yourself while chopping onions.”

“... You're really not mad that I haven't told you yet?”

“... Are you mad that it took me six months to tell you I was attacked the night before our first date?”

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “Of course not!”

“Then why would I be mad you're having trouble talking about these?”

He stroked my back gently, holding me against his chest. “... I'll figure out how to do it soon. I promise…”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing his shoulder. “Whenever you're ready, I'll listen.”

“... I just … I don't want anything to change, when I do …”

“Sweetheart, of course things will change. But I think they'll change for the better, when I have more context. … We're stumbling in the dark, but if we know the light switch is to the left, we can search for it more efficiently.”

“ … What if it's worse? …”

“... Then we'll navigate it together. … If there's no light switch, we'll make candles.”

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